sufferings had only served to develop a strong personality with an
intangible charm; whose whole being suggested unnumbered possibilities
of mind and character. Her face was like a lily, so fair, and almost
classic, yet showing unmistakably the warm heart and emotional nature
of the woman. A wealth of golden hair that crowned her regal grace,
and eyes that had stolen the tenderest blue from a turquoise sky
beneath the shade of modest lashes. Appealing lotus-like lips, rosy-
ripe and moist with the dew of promised bliss; sensuous curves and
graceful feminine lines..... such a woman was Helen. And he! Six feet
of Western manhood; a graduate of Yale, and still an athlete at 35. A
man with the highest ideals of fine, clean, strong manhood. He had
gone West shortly after leaving college and had made his fortune, but
he liked the West and its people, and there he made his home. The
rough mining life he had led had worn off a little of the drawing room
polish of his younger years, which made him even more fascinating, and
something had turned his raven-black hair just a little bit gray at
the temples.

This man sat in a lawyer's office one afternoon, his wide brimmed
Stetson pulled low over his eyes, and a cigar between his teeth, when
a rather timid little blonde lady entered. He removed both cigar and
hat and stood up. Jack Worthington was the man, and he was presented
to Helen by his old friend, Dick Sheldon, who was also Helen's lawyer.

Were you ever alone in a strange land, sitting between the four walls
of a barren, stuffy room with the blue devils swarming thick around
you? That had been the case with poor little Helen for two long weeks
before her meeting with Jack Worthington.

Two whole weeks!....it had seemed an eternity to this beautiful woman,