The Finding of Jasper Holt by Grace Livingston Hill

Down the long silent road beyond the sleeping town the rider passed, out to the plains. His horse knew the trail well, was rested and glad to be used. He stepped away into the gray dawning carrying his beloved master with willing feet. There was no need to hurry him. He seemed to know as if by instinct just how fast to travel to arrive at the Junction in time for the early morning train. It was not the first time he had journeyed thus at that hour.

The rider sat his horse as one who had entered upon a long quest which may not end this side the other world. There was weariness in his attitude, and profound thoughtfulness, with steady determination to pursue his way to the end.

Now and then he bent his head and laid his lips on the cool fragrance of a great, dim bud stuck carelessly into his buttonhole, its branch and thorns and leaves still attached as if it might have been plucked from the vine by hasty impulse. Later, when the day came up and houses were in sight, he tore it from its stem and wrapped it quickly in his handkerchief to hide away in his pocket.

The stars were paling when he started. They slipped one by one silently into the oblivion of a background of light as he rode, but before they left him they spoke many things to his sad, determined soul. Sometimes it almost seemed to him that a girl rode at his side and understood his thoughts.

His thoughts were as one would go with lighted lamp and eyes suddenly awake to see, through the long unvisited chambers of his soul, and find with startled senses the dirt and cobwebs and musty, dusty corners, cluttered with moth-eaten garments of a dead past; and, searching closer in dark crannies, find the bones of dead things that should have lived but for the unwatchful keeper of that house.

The young face lost its boyishness and grew grave and haggard with suffering. Then he laid his lips on the cool flower petals and heard again the voice of the girl like music in his soul: "I will trust you always, no matter what anybody says! " and it thrilled him and gave him courage, so that when morning burst upon the plain and he came in sight of the straggling houses surrounding the Junction, he lifted up his face to the golden morning sky and breathed aloud solemnly the words:

"Oh God! Help me to keep my vow to her, always, even to the end of life! Help me to be what she believes me to be! Help me to be worthy of her trust!"

With these words upon his lips and the memory of her kiss upon his brow he went forward into the new day and the new life that was before him. This duty that was his to-day was by no means a pleasant one, and it might be long and hard, but he must do it in a different way from that which he would have done it three days before, for to-day he was a different creature. He had seen himself as he was before God, and henceforth all things were become new.

He was in time to make all his arrangements to leave the horse before the train arrived. He had chosen to travel across country to the Junction rather than to take the train at his home station, partly to avoid publicity, and partly to save time, for there was no train from Hawk Valley early enough to connect with this Eastern Express which stopped at the Junction. Passengers from Hawk Valley wishing to catch this train would be forced to leave the evening before and put up at the Junction tavern, a most unpleasant experience for any traveller. Jasper Holt preferred travelling on horseback at all times to riding on the railroad, and besides, every minute counted now in the errand he was on his way to perform.

All the morning while the train glided over the level plain he was going over his recent experience; going back to the moment when the girl entered upon his vision and looked at him with that clear, direct gaze that trusted him; thinking over every detail of his finding her in the darkness and peril; the miracle that he and not some other should have found and saved her; recalling every incident of the beautiful, wearisome way by which they had gone home together; and the wonder of the girl's faith in him, her love for him -- his love for her.

Any one watching the absorbed, silent man sitting alone, his head dropped back against the seat, his hat drawn down over his eyes, the lines of gravity deep upon brow and lip and chin, would have judged him for a much older man than he was, so maturing had life thus far been to him.

And now, the task that was before him was to find Scathlin -- if, indeed, he were still in the land of the living -- or some evidence that he was dead; and to know beyond a question of doubt what had become of those papers, and just how far Harrington had been responsible for the theft.

He loathed his task, yet felt compelled by some inner urging to finish it. Almost his soul revolted to the extent of giving up the case and letting his enemies triumph over him. What to him now was his silver mine, since he had found her -- and lost her forever? Why not let his property go and leave Hawk Valley forever, where his reputation had undone him in his greatest opportunity? Why not go to some new land where he was unknown and begin all over again?

But his soul was too strong and true for that. He must face his mistakes in the place where he had made them and undo, if might be, some of the harm he had done. He had to do this whether he would or no. It was right that he should find his papers and make good his claim. It was a part of the true living he had set himself from this time forth. He had promised to let people see that he was trustworthy and this was the first step. If Harrington and his men got their way he would be branded as a thief and a liar again and the old reputation only fixed the firmer.