DANIELS AND DONALD MEET
"Certainly; why should we remain enemies?"
His lips trembled under the beard, his eyes full of bewilderment.
"I—I don't understand," he stammered. "Ther feud; ther years of fightin'; don't yer suppose I know who yer be?"
"Yes, of course, you know," her slender form straightening, but her hand still outstretched. "Yet if I can forget and forgive, so can you. No one of us can tell how this feud started. For generations our families have fought without knowing what they were fighting for. Both sides in this senseless quarrel have killed, burned, and destroyed. We have been born to an inheritance of hate. For one, I am sick and tired of it all; I am ashamed of my part in it. I want to act and feel like a woman, not a fiend. I don't hate you, Bill Daniels; I don't hate your wife or your children; I would rather do you good than evil. Can't you understand that? Can't you forget who I am, and accept my hand in the same spirit with which I offer it?"
As God is my witness, there were actually tears shining in the man's cold gray eyes, but I thought he would never move, never answer. He appeared paralyzed, stricken motionless and speechless. Then his hand, which had been convulsively gripping the arm of the chair, seemed to steal forth without volition, touched hers and clung to it in pitiful uncertainty. I could hear the beating of my own heart, the heavy, rapid breathing of both the others; and suddenly the girl sank to her knees, her head bowed on the arm of the chair, her
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