She is innocent.
Durade held her for revenge. He had loved--then hated her mother ...
Hough won all Durade's gold--and then the girl ... But we had to
fight ... Stanton, this Allie Lee is Neale's sweetheart ... He
believes her dead ... You hide her--bring Neale to her."
Quickly she replied, "I promise you, Ancliffe, I promise ... How
strange--what you tell! ... But not strange for Benton! ...
Ancliffe! Speak to me!--Oh, he is going!"
With her first words a subtle change passed over Ancliffe. It was
the release of his will. His whole body sank. Under the intense
whiteness of his face a cold gray shade began to creep. His last
conscious instant spent itself in the strange gaze Allie had felt
before, and now she had a vague perception that in some way it
expressed a blessing and a deliverance. The instant the beautiful
light turned inward, as if to illumine the darkness of his soul, she
divined what he had once been, his ruin, his secret and eternal
remorse--and the chance to die that had made him great.
So, forgetful of the other beside her, Allie Lee watched Ancliffe,
sustained by a nameless spirit, feeling with tragic pity her duty as
a woman--to pray for him, to stay beside him, that he might not be
alone when he died.
And while she watched, with the fading of that singular radiance,
there returned to his face a slow, careless weariness.
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