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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14858-h.zip b/14858-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c84616 --- /dev/null +++ b/14858-h.zip diff --git a/14858-h/14858-h.htm b/14858-h/14858-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2601f66 --- /dev/null +++ b/14858-h/14858-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9422 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Windows (vers 1st February 2004), see www.w3.org" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Man Thou Gavest, by +Harriet T. Comstock.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Man Thou Gavest, by Harriet T. Comstock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Man Thou Gavest + +Author: Harriet T. Comstock + +Release Date: February 1, 2005 [EBook #14858] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN THOU GAVEST *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Robert Ledger and the PG Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>THE MAN THOU GAVEST</h1> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>HARRIET T. COMSTOCK</h2> +<h4>AUTHOR OF JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS, A SON OF THE HILLS, +ETC.</h4> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;"><img src= +"images/frontis.jpg" width="50%" alt= +"Do you think I am the sort of girl who would sell herself for anything--even for the justice I might think was yours?" + title="FRONTISPIECE BY E.F. WARD" /> +<h3>“Do you think I am the sort of girl who would sell +herself for anything—even for the justice I might think was +yours?”</h3> +</div> +<h4>FRONTISPIECE BY E.F. WARD</h4> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>DEDICATION</h2> +<h4><i>I dedicate this book of mine to the lovely spot where most +of it was written</i></h4> +<h3>THE MACDOWELL COLONY PETERBOROUGH NEW HAMPSHIRE</h3> +<h4>AND</h4> +<h3>“TO HER WHO UNDERSTANDS”</h3> +<p class="center">Deep in the pine woods is the little Studio where +work is made supremely possible. Around the house the birds and +trees sing together and no disturbing thing is permitted to +trespass.</p> +<p class="center">Within, like a tangible Presence, an atmosphere +of loved labour; good will and high hopes greet the coming guests +and speed the parting.</p> +<p class="center">Little Studio in the pine woods, my appreciation +and affection are yours!</p> +<p class="center">HARRIET T. COMSTOCK</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<p>The passengers, one by one, left the train but Truedale took no +heed. He was the only one left at last, but he was not aware of it, +and then, just as the darkness outside caught his attention, the +train stopped so suddenly that it nearly threw him from his +seat.</p> +<p>“Accident?” he asked the conductor. “No, sah! +Pine Cone station. I reckon the engineer come mighty nigh +forgetting—he generally does at the end. The tracks stop +here. You look mighty peaked; some one expecting +yo’?”</p> +<p>“I’ve been ill. My doctor ordered me to the hills. +Yes: some one will meet me.” Truedale did not resent the +interest the man showed; he was grateful.</p> +<p>“Well, sah, if yo’ man doesn’t show +up—an’ sometimes they don’t, owing to bad +roads—you can come back with us after we load up with the +wood. I live down the track five miles; we lie thar fur the night. +Yo’ don’t look equal to taking to yo’ two +standing feet.”</p> +<p>The entire train force of three men went to gather fuel for the +return trip and, dejectedly, Truedale sat down in the gloom and +silence to await events.</p> +<p>No human being materialized and Truedale gave himself up to +gloomy thoughts. Evidently he must return on the train and +to-morrow morning take to—just then a spark like a falling +star attracted his attention and to his surprise he saw, not a +dozen feet away, a tall lank man leaning against a tree in an +attitude so adhesive that he might have been a fungus growth or +sprig of destroying mistletoe. It never occurred to Truedale that +this indifferent onlooker could be interested in him, but he might +be utilized in the emergency, so he saluted cordially.</p> +<p>“Hello, friend!”</p> +<p>By the upward and downward curve of the glowing pipe bowl, +Truedale concluded the man was nodding.</p> +<p>“I’m waiting for Jim White.”</p> +<p>“So?” The one word came through the darkness without +interest.</p> +<p>“Do you happen to know him?”</p> +<p>“Sorter.”</p> +<p>“Could you—get me to his place?”</p> +<p>“I reckon. That’s what I come ter do.”</p> +<p>“I—I had a trunk sent on ahead; perhaps it is in +that shed?”</p> +<p>“It’s up to—to Jim’s place. Can you ride +behind me on the mare? Travelling is tarnation bad.”</p> +<p>Once they were on the mare’s back, conversation dragged, +then died a natural death. Truedale felt as if he were living a bit +of anti-war romance as he jogged along behind his guide, his grip +knocking unpleasantly against his leg as the way got rougher.</p> +<p>It was nine o’clock when, in a little clearing close by +the trail, the lights of a cabin shone cheerily and the mare +stopped short and definitely.</p> +<p>“I hope White is at home!” Truedale was worn to the +verge of exhaustion.</p> +<p>“I be Jim White!” The man dismounted and stood ready +to assist his guest.</p> +<p>“Welcome, stranger. Any one old Doc McPherson sends here +brings his welcome with him.”</p> +<p>About a fortnight later, Conning Truedale stretched his long +legs out toward Jim White’s roaring fire of pine knots and +cones. It was a fierce and furious fire but the night was sharp and +cold. There was no other light in the room than that of the +fire—nor was any needed.</p> +<p>Jim sat by the table cleaning a gun. Truedale was taking account +of himself. He held his long, brown hand up to the blaze; it was as +steady as that of a statue! He had walked ten miles that day and +felt exhilarated. Night brought sleep, meal time—and often in +between times—brought appetite. He had made an immense gain +in health.</p> +<p>“How long have I been here, Jim?” he asked in a +slow, calm voice.</p> +<p>“Come Thursday, three weeks!” When Jim was most +laconic he was often inwardly bursting with desire for +conversation. After a silence Conning spoke again:</p> +<p>“Say, Jim, are there any other people in this mountain +range, except you and me?”</p> +<p>“Ugh! just bristlin’ with folks! Getting too darned +thick. That’s why I’ve got ter get into the deep woods. +I just naturally hate folks except in small doses. +Why”—here Jim put the gun down upon the +table—“five mile back, up on Lone Dome, is the +Greyson’s, and it ain’t nine miles to Jed +Martin’s place. Miss Lois Ann’s is a matter o’ +sixteen miles; what do you call population if them figures +don’t prove it?”</p> +<p>Something had evidently disturbed White’s ideas of +isolation and independence—it would all come out later. +Truedale knew his man fairly well by that time; at least he thought +he did. Again Jim took up his gun and Con thought lazily that he +must get over to his shack. He occupied a small cabin—Dr. +McPherson’s property for sleeping purposes.</p> +<p>“Do yo’ know,” Jim broke in suddenly; +“yo’ mind me of a burr runnin’ wild in a flock of +sheep—gatherin’ as yo’ go. Yo’ sho are a +miracle! Now old Doc McPherson was like a shadder when he headed +this way—but he took longer gatherin’, owin’ to +age an’ natural defects o’ build. Your frame was picked +right close, but a kind o’ flabby layer of gristle and fat +hung ter him an’ wasn’t a good foundation to build +on.”</p> +<p>Conning gave a delighted laugh. Once Jim White began to talk of +his own volition his discourse flowed on until hunger or weariness +overtook him. His silences had the same quality—it was the +way Jim began that mattered.</p> +<p>“When I first took ter handlin’ yo’ for ole +Doc McPherson, I kinder hated ter take my eyes off yo’ +fearin’ yo’ might slip out, but Gawd! yo’ can +grapple fo’ yo’ self now and—I plain hanker fur +the sticks.”</p> +<p>“The sticks?” This was a new expression.</p> +<p>“Woods!” Jim vouchsafed (he despised the stupidity +that required interpretation of perfectly plain English), +“deep woods! What with Burke Lawson suspected of bein’ +nigh, an’ my duty as sheriff consarnin’ him +hittin’ me in the face, I’ve studied it out that it +will be a mighty reasonable trick fur this here officer of the law +to be somewhere else till Burke settles with his friends an’ +foes, or takes himself off, ’fore he’s strung up or +shot up.”</p> +<p>Truedale turned his chair about and faced Jim.</p> +<p>“Do you know,” he said, “you’ve +mentioned more names in the last ten minutes than you’ve +mentioned in all the weeks I’ve been here? You give me a +mental cramp. Why, I thought you and I had these hills to +ourselves; instead we’re threatened on every side, and yet I +haven’t seen a soul on my tramps. Where do they keep +themselves? What has this Burke Lawson done, to stir the +people?”</p> +<p>“You don’t call your santers real tramps, do you? +Why folks is as thick as ticks up here, though they don’t +knock elbows like what they do where you cum from. They don’t +holler out ter ’tract yer attention, neither. But +they’re here.”</p> +<p>“Let’s hear more of Burke Lawson.” Truedale +gripped <i>him</i> from the seething mass of humanity portrayed by +White, as the one promising most colour and interest. “Just +where does Burke live?”</p> +<p>“Burke? Gawd! Burke don’t live anywhere. He is a +born floater. He scrooges around a place and raises the devil, then +he just naturally floats off. But he nearly always comes back. +Since the trap-settin’ a time back, he has been mighty scarce +in these parts; but any day he may turn up.”</p> +<p>“The trap, eh? What about that?” With this Truedale +turned about again, for Jim, having finished his work on the gun, +had placed the weapon on its pegs on the wall and had drawn near +the fire. He ran his hand through his crisp, gray hair until it +stood on end and gave him a peculiarly bristling appearance. He was +about to enjoy himself. He was as keen for gossip as any cabin +woman of the hills, but Jim was an artist about sharing his +knowledge. However, once he decided to share, he shared +royally.</p> +<p>“I’ve been kinder waitin’ fur yo’ to +show some interest in us-all,” he began, “it’s a +plain sign of yo’ gettin’ on. I writ the same to old +Doc McPherson yesterday! ‘When he takes to +noticin’,’ I writ, ‘he’s on the +mend.’”</p> +<p>Conning laughed good naturedly. “Oh! I’m on the +mend, all right,” he said.</p> +<p>“Now as to that trap business,” Jim took up the +story, “I’ll have to go back some and tell yo’ +about the Greysons and Jed Martin—they all be linked like +sassages. Pete Greyson lives up to Lone Dome. Pete came from stock; +he ain’t trash by a long come, but he can act like it! +Pete’s forbears drank wine and talked like lords; Pete has +ter rely on mountain dew and that accounts fur the difference in +his goin’s-on; but once he’s sober, he’s +quality—is Pete. Pete’s got two darters—Marg +an’ Nella-Rose. Old Doc McPherson use’ ter call +’em types, whatever that means. Marg is a type, sure and +sartin, but Nella-Rose is a little no-count—that’s what +I say. But blame it all, it’s Nella-Rose as has set the +mountains goin’, so far as I can see. Fellers come +courtin’ Marg and they just slip through her fingers +an’ Nella-Rose gets ’em. She don’t want ’em +’cept to play with and torment Marg. Gawd! how them two gals +do get each other edgy. Round about Lone Dome they call Nella-Rose +the doney-gal—that meaning ‘sweetheart’; +she’s responsible for more trouble than a b’ar with a +sore head, or Burke Lawson on a tear.”</p> +<p>Conning was becoming vitally interested and showed it, to +Jim’s delight; this was a dangerous state for White, he was +likely, once started and flattered, to tell more than was +prudent.</p> +<p>“Jed Martin”—Jim gave a +chuckle—“has been tossed between them two gals like a +hot corn pone. He’d take Nella-Rose quick enough if +she’d have him, but barrin’ her, he hangs to Marg so as +ter be nigh Nella-Rose in any case. And right here Burke Lawson +figgers. Burke’s got two naturs, same as old Satan. Marg can +play on one and get him plumb riled up to anythin’; +Nella-Rose can twist him around her finger and make him act like +the Second Coming.”</p> +<p>Conning called a halt. “What’s the Second +Coming?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.</p> +<p>“Meaning?—good as a Bible character,” Jim +explained huffily. “Gawd, man! do your own thinkin’. I +can’t talk an’ splanify ter onct.”</p> +<p>“Oh! I see. Well, go on, Jim.”</p> +<p>“There be times of the moon when I declare that no-count +Nella-Rose just plain seems possessed; has ter do somethin’ +and does it! Three months ago, come Saturday, or thereabouts, she +took it into her head to worst Marg at every turn and let it out +that she was goin’ to round up all the fellers and take her +pick! She had the blazin’ face ter come down here and tell +<i>me</i> that! Course Marg knew it, but the two most consarned +didn’t—meaning Jed and Burke. Least they +suspected—but warn’t sure. Jed meant to get Burke out +o’ the way so he could have a clear space to co’t +Nella-Rose, so he aimed to shoot one o’ Burke’s feet +just enough to lay him up—Jed is the slow, calculatin’ +kind and an almighty sure shot. He reckoned Burke couldn’t +walk up Lone Dome with a sore foot, so he laid for him, +meanin’ afterward to say he was huntin’ an’ took +Burke for a ’possum. Well, Burke got wind of the plot; +I’m thinkin’ Marg put a flea in his ear, anyway he set +a trap just by the path leading from the trail to Lone Dome. Gawd! +Jed planted his foot inter it same as if he meant ter, and what +does that Burke do but take a walk with Nella-Rose right past the +place where Jed was caught! ’Corse he was yellin’ +somethin’ terrible. They helped Jed out and I reckon +Nella-Rose was innocent enough, but Jed writ up the account +’gainst Burke and Burke floated off for a spell. He +ain’t floated back yet—not <i>yet!</i> But so long as +Nella-Rose is above ground he’ll naturally cum +back.”</p> +<p>“And Nella-Rose, the little no-count; did she repay Jed, +the poor cuss?”</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose don’t repay no one—she ain’t +more’n half real, whatever way you put it. But just see how +this fixes a sheriff, will yo’? Knowing what I do, I +can’t jail either o’ them chaps with a cl’ar +conscience. Gawd! I’d like to pass a law to cage all females +and only let ’em out with a string to their legs!” Then +White laughed reminiscently.</p> +<p>“What now, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Gals!” White fairly spit out the word. +“Gals!” There was an eloquent pause, then more quietly: +“Jest when yo’ place ’em and hate ’em +proper, they up and do somethin’ to melt yo’ like snow +on Lone Dome in May. I was harkin’ back to the little white +hen and Nella-Rose. There ain’t much chance to have a +livin’ pet up to Greyson’s place. Anything fit to eat +is et. Pete drinks the rest. But once Nella-Rose came totin’ +up here on a cl’ar, moonlight evenin’ with +somethin’ under her little, old shawl. ‘Jim’ she +says—wheedlin’ and coaxin’—‘I want +yo’ to keep this here hen fo’ me. I’ll bring its +keep, but I love it, and I can’t see it—killed!’ +That gal don’t never let tears fall—they jest wet her +eyes and make ’em shine. With that she let loose the most +owdacious white bantam and scattered some corn on the floor; then +she sat down and laughed like an imp when the foolish thing hopped +up to her and flopped onter her lap. Well, I kept the sassy little +hen—there wasn’t anything else ter do—but one day +Marg, she followed Nella-Rose up and when she saw what was going +on, she stamped in and cried out: ‘So! yo’ can have +playthings while us-all go starved! Yo’ can steal +what’s our’n,—an’ with that she took the +bantam and fo’ I could say a cuss, she wrung that +chicken’s neck right fo’ Nella-Rose’s +eyes!”</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” exclaimed Conning; “the young +brute! And the other one—what did she do?”</p> +<p>“She jest looked at me—her eyes swimmin’. +Nella-Rose don’t talk much when she’s hurt, but she +don’t forget. I tell yo’, young feller, bein’ a +sheriff in this settlement ain’t no joke. Yo’ know +folks too well and see the rights and wrongs more’n is good +for plain justice.”</p> +<p>“Well?” Jim rose and stretched himself, +“yo’ won’t go on the b’ar hunt +ter-morrer?”</p> +<p>“No, Jim, but I’ll walk part of the way with you. +When do you start?”</p> +<p>“’Bout two o’ the mornin’.”</p> +<p>“Then I’ll turn in. Good-night, old man! +You’ve given me a great evening. I feel as if I were suddenly +projected into a crowd with human problems smashing into each other +for all they’re worth. You cannot escape, old man; +that’s the truth. You cannot escape. Life is life no matter +where you find it.”</p> +<p>“Now don’t git ter talkin’ perlite to +me,” Jim warned. “Old Doc McPherson’s orders was +agin perlite conversation. Get a scrabble on yer! I’ll knock +yer up ’bout two or thereabouts.”</p> +<p>Outside, Truedale stood still and looked at the beauty of the +night. The moon was full and flooded the open space with a radiance +which contrasted sharply with the black shadows and the outlines of +the near and distant peaks.</p> +<p>The silence was so intense that the ear, straining for sound, +ached from the effort. And just then a bewitched hen in +White’s shed gave a weird cry and Truedale started. He smiled +grimly and thought of the little no-count and the tragedy of the +white bantam. In the shining light around him he seemed to see her +pitiful face as White had described it—the eyes full of tears +but never overflowing, the misery and hate, the loneliness and +impotency.</p> +<p>At two the next morning Jim tapped on Truedale’s window +with his gun.</p> +<p>“Comin’ fur a walk?”</p> +<p>“You bet!” Con was awake at once and alert. Ten +minutes later, closing the doors and windows of his cabin after +him, he joined White on the leaf-strewn path to the woods. He went +five miles and then bade his host good-bye.</p> +<p>“Don’t overwork!” grinned Jim sociably. +“I’ll write to old Doc McPherson when I git +back.”</p> +<p>“And when will that be, Jim?”</p> +<p>“I ain’t goin’ ter predict.” White set +his lips. “When I stay, I stay, but once I take ter the woods +there ain’t no sayin’. I’ll fetch fodder when I +cum, and mail, too—but I ain’t goin’ ter hobble +myself when I take ter the sticks.”</p> +<p>Tramping back alone over the wet autumn leaves, Truedale had his +first sense of loneliness since he came. White, he suddenly +realized, had meant to him everything that he needed, but with +White unhobbled in the deep woods, how was he to fill the time? He +determined to force himself to study. He had wedged one solid +volume in his trunk, unknown to his friends. He would brush up his +capacity for work—it could not hurt him now. He was as strong +as he had ever been in his life and the prospect ahead promised +greater gains.</p> +<p>Yes, he would study. He would write letters, too—real +letters. He had neglected every one, especially Lynda Kendall. The +others did not matter, but Lynda mattered more than anything. She +always would! And thinking of Lynda reminded him that he had also, +in his trunk, the play upon which he had worked for several years +during hours that should have been devoted to rest. He would get +out the play and try to breathe life into it, now that he himself +was living. Lynda had said, when last they had discussed his work, +“It’s beautiful, Con; you shall not belittle it. It is +beautiful like a cold, stone thing with rough edges. Sometime you +must smooth it and polish it, and then you must pray over it and +believe in it, and I really think it will repay you. It may not +mean anything but a sure guide to your goal, but you’d be +grateful for that, wouldn’t you?” Of course he would be +grateful for that! It would mean life to him—life, not mere +existence. He began to hope that Jim White would stay away a month; +what with study, and the play, and the doing for himself, the time +ahead was provided for already!</p> +<p>Stalking noiselessly forward, Truedale came into the clearing, +passed White’s shack, and approached his own with a fixed +determination. Then he stopped short. He was positive that he had +closed windows and doors—the caution of the city still clung +to him—but now both doors and windows were set wide to the +brilliant autumn day and a curl of smoke from a lately replenished +fire cheerfully rose in the clear, dry air.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be—!” and then Truedale +quietly slipped to the rear of the cabin and to a low, sliding +window through which he could peer, unobserved. One glance +transfixed him.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>The furnishing of the room was bare and plain—a deal +table, a couple of wooden chairs, a broad comfortable couch, a +cupboard with some nondescript crockery, and a good-sized mirror in +the space between the front door and the window. Before this glass +a strange figure was walking to and fro, enjoying hugely its own +remarkable reflection. Truedale’s bedraggled bath robe hung +like a mantle from the shoulders of the intruder—they were +very straight, slim young shoulders; an old ridiculous fez—an +abomination of his freshman year, kept for sentimental +reasons—adorned the head of the small stranger and only +partly held in check the mass of shadowy hair that rippled from it +and around a mischievous face.</p> +<p>Surprise, then wonder, swayed Truedale. When he reached the +wonder stage, thought deserted him. He simply looked and kept on +wondering. Through this confusion, words presently reached him. The +masquerader within was bowing and scraping comically, and in a low, +musical voice said:</p> +<p>“How-de, Mister Outlander, sir! How-de? I saw your smoke +a-curling way back from home, sir, and I’ve come a-visiting +’long o’ you, Mister Outlander.”</p> +<p>Another sweeping curtsey reduced Truedale to helpless mirth and +he fairly shouted, doubling up as he did so.</p> +<p>The effect of his outburst upon the young person within was +tremendous. She seemed turned to stone. She stared at the face in +the window; she turned red and white—the absurd fez dangling +over her left ear. Then she emitted what seemed to be one word, so +lingeringly sweet was the drawl.</p> +<p>“Godda’mighty!”</p> +<p>Seeing that there was going to be no other concession, Truedale +pulled himself together, went around to the front door and knocked, +ceremoniously. The girl turned, as if on a pivot, but spoke no +word.</p> +<p>She had the most wonderful eyes—innocent and pleading; she +was a mere child and, although she looked awed now, was evidently a +forward young native who deserved a good lesson. Truedale +determined to give her one!</p> +<p>“If you don’t mind,” he said, +“I’ll come in and sit down.”</p> +<p>This he did while the big, solemn eyes followed him alertly.</p> +<p>“And now will you be kind enough to tell me what you mean +by—wearing my clothes?”</p> +<p>Still the silence and the blank stare.</p> +<p>“You must answer my questions!” Truedale’s +voice sounded stern. “I suppose you didn’t expect me +back so soon?”</p> +<p>The deep eyes confirmed this by the drooping of the lids.</p> +<p>“And you broke in—what for?”</p> +<p>No answer.</p> +<p>“Who are you?”</p> +<p>Really the situation was becoming unbearable, so Truedale +changed his tactics. He would play with the poor little thing and +reassure her.</p> +<p>“Now that I look at you I see what you are. You’re +not a human at all. You’re a spirit of something or +other—probably of one of those perky mountains over yonder. +The White Maid, I bet! You had to don my clothes in order to +materialize before my eyes and you had to use that word of the +hills—so that I could understand you. It’s quite plain +now and you are welcome to my—my bath robe; I dare say that, +underneath it, you are decked out in filmy clouds and vapours and +mists. Oh! come now—” The strange eyes were +filling—but not overflowing!</p> +<p>“I was only joking. Forgive me. Why—”</p> +<p>The wretched fez fell from the soft hair—the bedraggled +robe from the rigid shoulders—and there, garbed in a rough +home-spun gown, a little plaid shawl and a checked apron, +stood—</p> +<p>“It’s the no-count,” thought Truedale. Aloud +he said, “Nella-Rose!”</p> +<p>With the dropping of the disguise years and dignity were added +to the girl and Truedale, who was always at his worst in the +presence of strange young women, gazed dazedly at the one before +him now.</p> +<p>“Perhaps”—he began +awkwardly—“you’ll sit down. Please do!” He +drew a chair toward her. Nella-Rose sank into it and leaned her +bowed head upon her arms, which she folded on the table. Her +shoulders rose and fell convulsively, and Truedale, looking at her, +became hopelessly wretched.</p> +<p>“I’m a beast and nothing less!” he admitted by +way of apology and excuse. “I—I wish you <i>could</i> +forgive me.”</p> +<p>Then slowly the head was raised and to Truedale’s further +consternation he saw that mirth, not anguish, had caused the +shaking of those deceiving little shoulders.</p> +<p>“Oh! I see—you are laughing!” He tried to be +indignant.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“At what?”</p> +<p>“Everything—you!”</p> +<p>“Thank you!” Then, like a response, something +heretofore unknown and unsuspected in Truedale rose and overpowered +him. His shyness and awkwardness melted before the warmth and glow +of the conquering emotion. He got up and sat on the corner of the +table nearest his shabby little guest, and looking straight into +her bewitching eyes he joined her in a long, resounding laugh.</p> +<p>It was surrender, pure and simple.</p> +<p>“And now,” he said at last, “you must stay and +have a bite. I am about starved. And you?”</p> +<p>The girl grew sober.</p> +<p>“I’m—I’m always hungry,” she +admitted softly.</p> +<p>They drew the table close to the roaring fire, leaving doors and +windows open to the crisp, sweet; morning air.</p> +<p>“We’ll have a party!” Truedale announced. +“I’ll step over to Jim’s cabin and bring the best +he’s got.”</p> +<p>When he returned Nella-Rose had placed cups, saucers, and plates +on the table.</p> +<p>“Do you—often have parties?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I never had one before. I’ll have them, though, +from now on if—if you will come!”</p> +<p>Truedale paused with his arms full of pitchers and platters of +food, and held the girl with his admiring eyes.</p> +<p>“And you will let me come and see you—you and your +sister and your father? I know all about you. White has +explained—everything. He—”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose braced herself against the table and quietly and +definitely outlined their future relations.</p> +<p>“No, you cannot come to see us-all. You don’t know +Marg. If she doesn’t find things out, there won’t be +trouble; when she does find things out there’s goin’ +t’ be a right smart lot of trouble brewing!”</p> +<p>This was said with such comical seriousness that Truedale +laughed again, but sobered instantly when he recalled the incident +of the white bantam which Jim had so vividly portrayed.</p> +<p>“But you see,” he replied, “I don’t want +to let you go after this first party, and never see you +again!”</p> +<p>The girl shrugged her shoulders and apparently dismissed the +matter. She sat down and, with charming abandon, began to eat. +Presently Truedale, amused and interested, spoke again:</p> +<p>“It would be very unkind of you not to let me see +you.”</p> +<p>“I’m—thinking!” Nella-Rose drew her +brows together and nibbled a bit of corn bread meditatively. +Then—quite suddenly:</p> +<p>“I’m coming here!”</p> +<p>“You—you mean that?” Truedale flushed.</p> +<p>“Yes. And the big woods—you walk in them?”</p> +<p>“I certainly do.”</p> +<p>“Sometimes—I am in the big woods.”</p> +<p>“Where—specially?” Truedale was playing this +new game with the foolish skill of the novice.</p> +<p>“There’s a Hollow—where—” +(Nella-Rose paused) “where the laurel tangle is like a +jungle—”</p> +<p>Truedale broke in: “I know it! There’s a little +stream running through it, and—trails.”</p> +<p>“Yes!” Nella-Rose leaned back and showed her white +teeth alluringly.</p> +<p>“I—I should not—permit this!” For a +moment Truedale broke through the thin ice of delight that was +luring him to unknown danger and fell upon the solid rock of +conservatism.</p> +<p>“Why?” The eyes, so tenderly innocent, confronted +him appealingly. “There are nuts there and—and other +things! You are just teasing; you’ll let me—show you +the way about?”</p> +<p>The girl was all child now and made Truedale ashamed to hold her +to any absurd course that his standards acknowledged but that hers +had never conceived.</p> +<p>“Of course. I’ll be glad to have you for a guide. +Jim White has no ideas about nuts and things—he goes to the +woods to kill something; he’s there now. I dare say mere are +other things in the mountains besides—prey?”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose nodded.</p> +<p>“Let’s sit by the fire!” she suddenly said. +“I—I want to tell you—something, and then I must +go.”</p> +<p>The lack of shyness and reserve might so easily have become +boldness—but they did not! The girl was like a creature of +the wilds which, knowing no reason for fear, was revelling in +heretofore unsuspected enjoyment. Truedale pulled the couch to the +hearth for Nella-Rose, piled the pillows on one end and then seated +himself on the stump of a tree which served as a settee.</p> +<p>“Now, then!” he said, keeping his eyes on his breezy +little guest. “What have you got to tell me—before you +go?”</p> +<p>“It’s something that happened—long ago. You +will not laugh if I tell you? You laugh right much.”</p> +<p>“I? You think I laugh a good deal? Good Lord! Some folk +think I don’t laugh enough.” He had his friends back +home in mind, and somehow the memory steadied him for an +instant.</p> +<p>“P’r’aps they-all don’t know you as well +as I do.” This with amusing conviction.</p> +<p>“Perhaps they don’t.” Truedale was deadly +solemn. “But go on, Nella-Rose. I promise not to laugh +now.”</p> +<p>“It was the beginning of—you!” The girl turned +her eyes to the fire—she was quaintly demure. “At first +when I saw you looking in that window, yonder, I was right +scared.”</p> +<p>Jim White’s statement that Nella-Rose wasn’t more +than half real seemed, in the light of present happenings, little +less than bald fact.</p> +<p>“It was the way <i>you</i> looked—way back there +when I was ten years old. I had run away—”</p> +<p>“Are you always running away?” asked Truedale from +the hollow depths of unreality.</p> +<p>“I run away a smart lot. You have to if you want +to—see things and be different.”</p> +<p>“And you—you want to be different, +Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“I—why, can’t you see?—I <i>am</i> +different.”</p> +<p>“Of course. I only meant—do you like to be +different.”</p> +<p>“I have to like it. I was born with a cawl.”</p> +<p>“In heaven’s name, what’s that?”</p> +<p>“Something over your eyes, and when they take it off you +see more, and farther, than any one else. You’re part +ha’nt.”</p> +<p>Truedale wiped his forehead—the room was getting hot, but +the heat alone was not responsible for his emotions; he was being +carried beyond his depth—beyond himself—by the wild +fascination of the little creature before him. He would hardly have +been surprised had a draught of air wafted her out of the window +like a bit of mountain mist.</p> +<p>“But you mustn’t interrupt so much!” She +turned a stern face upon him. “I ran away that time to see +a—railroad train! One of the niggers told me about +it—he said it was the Bogy Man. I wanted to know, so I went +to the station. It’s a right smart way down and I had to +sleep one night under the trees. Don’t the stars look starry +sometimes?”</p> +<p>The interruption made Truedale jump.</p> +<p>“They certainly do,” he said, looking at the soft, +dark eyes with their long lashes.</p> +<p>“I wasn’t afraid—and I didn’t hurry. It +was evening, and the sun just a-going down, when I got to the +station. There wasn’t any one about so I—I ran down the +big road the train comes on—to meet it. And then” (here +Nella-Rose clasped her hands excitedly and her breath came short), +“and then I saw it a-coming and a-coming. The big fire-eye +a-glaring and the mighty noise a-snorting and I reckoned it was old +Master Satan and I just—couldn’t move!”</p> +<p>“Go on! go on!” Truedale bent close to her—she +had caught him in the mesh of her dramatic charm.</p> +<p>“I saw it a-coming, and set on—on devouring o’ +me, and still I couldn’t stir. Everything was growing black +and black except a big square with that monster eye a-glaring into +the soul o’ me!”</p> +<p>The girl’s face was set—her eyes vacant and wild; +suddenly they softened, and her little white teeth showed through +the childish, parted lips.</p> +<p>“Then the eye went away, there was a blackness in the +square place, and then a face came—a kind face it +was—all a-laughing and it—it kept going farther and +farther off to one side and I kept a-following and a-following and +then—the big noise went rushing by me, and there I was right +safe and plump up against a tree!”</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” Again Truedale wiped his brow.</p> +<p>“Since then,” Nella-Rose relaxed, “I can shut +my eyes and always there is the black square and +sometimes—not always, but sometimes—things +come!”</p> +<p>“The face, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“No, I can’t make that come. But things I want to, +do and have. I always think, when I see things, that I’m +going to do a big, fine thing some day. I feel upperty and +then—poof! off go the pictures and I am just—lil’ +Nella-Rose again!”</p> +<p>A comically heavy sigh brought Truedale back to earth.</p> +<p>“But the face you saw long ago,” Truedale whispered, +“was it my face, do you think?”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose paused—then quietly:</p> +<p>“I—reckon it was. Yes, I’m mighty sure it was +your face. When I saw it at that window”—she pointed +across the room—“I certainly thought my eyes were +closed and that—it had come—the kind, good face that +saved me!” A sweet, friendly smile wreathed the girl’s +lips and she rose with rare dignity and held out her thin, delicate +hand:</p> +<p>“Mister Outlander, we’re going to be neighbours, +aren’t we?”</p> +<p>“Yes—neighbours!” Truedale took the hand with +a distinct sense of suffocation, “but why do you call me an +outlander?”</p> +<p>“Because—you are! You’re not <i>of</i> our +mountains.”</p> +<p>“No, I wish I were!”</p> +<p>“Wishing can’t make you. You are—or you +aren’t.”</p> +<p>Truedale noted the girl’s language. Distorted and crude as +it often was, it was never positively illiterate. This surprised +him.</p> +<p>“You—oh! you’re not going yet!” He put +his hand out, for the definite way in which Nella-Rose turned was +ominous. Already she seemed to belong to the cabin room—to +Truedale himself. Not a suggestion of strangeness clung to her. It +was as if she had always been there but that his eyes had been +holden.</p> +<p>“I must go!”</p> +<p>“Wait—oh! Nella-Rose. Let me walk part of the way +with you. I—I have a thousand things to say.”</p> +<p>But she was gone out of the door, down the path.</p> +<p>Truedale stood and looked after her until the long shadows +reached up to Lone Dome’s sharpest edge. White’s dogs +began nosing about, suggesting attention to affairs nearer at hand. +Then Truedale sighed as if waking from a dream. He performed the +duties Jim had left to his tender mercy—the feeding of the +animals, the piling up of wood. Then he forced himself to take a +long walk. He ate his evening meal late, and finally sat down to +his task of writing letters. He wrote six to Brace Kendall and tore +them up; he wrote one to his uncle and put it aside for +consideration when the effect of his day dreams left him sane +enough to judge it. Finally he managed a note to Dr. McPherson and +one to Lynda Kendall.</p> +<p>“I think”—so the letter to Lynda +ran—“that I will work regularly, now, on the play. With +more blood in my own body I can hope to put more into that. +I’m going to get it out to-morrow and begin the infusion. I +wish you were here to-night—to see the wonderful effect of +the moon on the mists—but there! if I said more you might +guess where I am. When I come back I shall try to describe it and +some day you must see it. Several times lately I have imagined an +existence here with one’s work and enough to subsist on. No +worry, no nerve-racking, and always the tremendous beauty to +inspire one! Nothing seems wholly real here.”</p> +<p>Then Truedale put down his pen. Nella-Rose crowded Lynda Kendall +from the field of vision; later, he simply signed his name and let +the note go with that.</p> +<p>As for Nella-Rose, as soon as she left Truedale, her mind turned +to sterner matters close at hand. She became aware before long of +some one near by. The person, whoever it was, seemed determined to +remain hidden but for that very reason it called out all the +girl’s cunning and cleverness. It might be—Burke +Lawson! With this thought Nella-Rose gasped a little. Then, it +might be Marg; and here the dark eyes grew hard—the lips +almost cruel! She got down upon her knees and crawled like a +veritable little animal of the wilds. Keeping close to the ground, +she advanced to where the trail from Lone Dome met the broader one, +and there, standing undecided and bewildered, was a tall, fair +girl.</p> +<p>Nella-Rose sprang to her feet, her eyes ablaze.</p> +<p>“Marg! What you—hounding me for?”</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose, where you been?”</p> +<p>“What’s that to you?”</p> +<p>“You’ve been up to Devil-may-come Hollow!”</p> +<p>“Have I? Let me pass, Marg. Have your mully-grubs, if you +please; I’m going home.”</p> +<p>As Nella-Rose tried to pass, Marg caught her by the arm.</p> +<p>“Burke’s back!” she whispered, +“he’s hiding up to Devil-may-come! He’s been seen +and you know it!”</p> +<p>“What if I do?” Nella-Rose never ignored a possible +escape for the future.</p> +<p>“You’ve been up there—to meet him. You ought +to be licked. If you don’t let him alone—let him and me +alone—I’ll turn Jed on him, I will; I swear +it!”</p> +<p>“What is he—to you!” Nella-Rose confronted her +sister squarely. Blue eyes—bold, cold blue they +were—looked into dark ones even now so soft and winning that +it was difficult to resist them.</p> +<p>“If you let him alone, he’ll be everything to +me!” Marg blurted out. “What do you want of him, +Nella-Rose?—of him or any other man? But if you must have a +sweetheart, pick and choose and let me have my day.”</p> +<p>The rough appeal struck almost brutally on Nella-Rose’s +ears. She was as un-moral, perhaps, as Marg, but she was more +discriminating.</p> +<p>“I’m mighty tired of cleaning and cooking +for—for father and you!” Marg tossed her head toward +Lone Dome. “Father’s mostly always drunk these days and +you—what do you care what becomes of me? Leave me to get a +man of my own and then I’ll be human. I’ve +been—killing the hog to-day!” Marg suddenly and +irrelevantly burst out; “I—I shall never do it again. +We’ll starve first!”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t father?” Nella-Rose said, +softly.</p> +<p>“Father? Huh! he couldn’t have held the knife. He +went for the jug—and got it full! No, I had to do it, but +it’s the last time. Nella-Rose, tell me where Burke is +hidden—tell me! Leave me free to—to win him; let me +have my chance!”</p> +<p>“And then who’ll kill the pig?” Nella-Rose +shuddered.</p> +<p>“Who cares?” Marg flung back.</p> +<p>“No! Find him if you can. Fair play—no favours; what +I find is open to you!” Nella-Rose laughed impishly and, +darting past her sister, ran down the path.</p> +<p>Marg stood and watched her with baffled rage and hate. For a +moment she almost decided to take her chances and seek Burke Lawson +in the distant Hollow. But night was coming—the black, drear +night of the low places. Marg was desperate, but a primitive +conservatism held her. Not for all she hoped to gain would she +brave Burke Lawson alone in the secret places of Devil-may-come +Hollow! So she followed after Nella-Rose and reached home while her +sister was preparing the evening meal.</p> +<p>Peter Greyson, the father, sat huddled in a big chair by the +fire. He had arrived at that stage of returning consciousness when +he felt that it was incumbent upon him to explain himself. He had +been a handsome man, of the dashing cavalry type and he still bore +traces of past glory. In his worst moments he never swore before +ladies, and in his best he remembered what was due them and upheld +their honour and position with fervour.</p> +<p>“Lil’ Nella-Rose,” he was saying as Marg +paused outside the door in the dark, “why don’t you +marry Burke Lawson and settle down here with me?”</p> +<p>“He hasn’t asked me, father.”</p> +<p>“He isn’t in any position now to pick and +choose”—this between hiccoughs and yawns—“I +saw him early this morning; I know his back anywhere. I’d +just met old Jim White. I reckon Burke was calculating to shoot +Jim, but my coming upset his plans. Shooting a sheriff ain’t +safe business.” What Greyson really had seen was +Truedale’s retreat after parting company with Jim, but not +knowing of Truedale’s existence he jumped to the conclusion +which to his fuddled wits seemed probable, and had so informed Marg +upon his return.</p> +<p>“I tell yo’, Nella-Rose,” he ran on, +“yo’ better marry Burke and tame him. There ain’t +nothing as tames a man like layin’ responsibilities on +him.”</p> +<p>“Come, father, let me help you to the table. I don’t +want to talk about Burke. I don’t believe he’s +back.” She steadied the rolling form to the head of the +table.</p> +<p>“I tell yo’, chile, I saw Burke’s back; +don’t yo’ reckon I know Lawson when I see him, back or +front? Don’t yo’ want ter marry Lawson, +Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“No, I wouldn’t have him if he asked me. It would be +like marrying a tree that the freshet was rolling about. I’m +not going to seek and hide with any man.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t yo’ let Marg have ’im then? +She’d be a right smart responsibility.”</p> +<p>“She can have him and welcome, if she can find him!” +Then, hearing her sister outside, she called:</p> +<p>“Come in, Marg. Shut out the cold and the dark. +What’s the use of acting like a little old +hateful?”</p> +<p>Marg slouched in; there was no other word to describe her +indifferent and contemptuous air.</p> +<p>“He’s coming around?” she asked, nodding at +her father.</p> +<p>“Yes—he’s come,” Nella-Rose +admitted.</p> +<p>“All right, then, I’m going to tell him +something!” She walked over to her father and stood before +him, looking him steadily in the eyes.</p> +<p>“I—I killed the hog to-day;” she spoke +sharply, slowly, as to a dense child. Peter Greyson started.</p> +<p>“You—you—did that?”</p> +<p>“Yes. While you were off—getting drunk, and while +Nella-Rose was traipsing back there in the Hollow I killed the hog; +but I’ll never do it again. It sickened the soul of me. +I’m as good as Nella-Rose—just as good. If you +can’t do your part, father, and she <i>won’t</i> do +hers, that’s no reason for me being benastied with such work +as I did to-day. You hear me?”</p> +<p>“Sure I hear you, Marg, and I’m plumb humiliated +that—that I let you. It—it sha’n’t happen +again. I’ll keep a smart watch next year. A gentleman +can’t say more to his daughter than that—can +he?”</p> +<p>“Saying is all very well—it’s the +doing.” Marg was adamant. “I’m going to look out +for myself from now on. You and Nella-Rose will find +out.”</p> +<p>“What’s come to you, Marg?” Peter looked +concerned.</p> +<p>“Something that hasn’t ever come before,” Marg +replied, keeping her eyes on Nella-Rose. “There be times when +you have to take your life by the throat and strangle it until it +falls into shape. I’m gripping mine now.”</p> +<p>“It’s the killing of that hog!” groaned Peter. +“It’s stirred you, and I can’t blame you. Killing +ain’t for a lady; but Lord! what a man you’d ha’ +made, Marg!”</p> +<p>“But I ain’t!” Marg broke in a bit wildly, +“and other things are not for—for women to do and bear. +I’m through. It’s Nella-Rose and me to share and share +alike, or—”</p> +<p>But there was nothing more to say—the pause was eloquent. +The three ate in silence for some moments and then talked of +trivial things. Peter Greyson went early to bed and the sisters +washed the dishes, sharing equally. They did the out-of-door duties +of caring for the scanty live stock, and at last Nella-Rose went to +her tiny room under the eaves, while Marg lay down upon the +living-room couch.</p> +<p>When everything was at rest once more Nella-Rose stole to the +low window of her chamber and, kneeling, looked forth at the +peaceful moonlit scene. How still and white it was and how safe and +strong the high hills looked! What had happened? Why, nothing +<i>could</i> happen and yet—and yet—Then Nella-Rose +closed her eyes and waited. With all her might she tried to force +the “good, kind face” to materialize, but to no +purpose. Suddenly an owl hooted hideously and, like a guilty thing, +the girl by the window crept back to bed.</p> +<p>Owls were very wise and they could see things in the dark places +with their wide-open eyes! Just then Nella-Rose could not have +borne any investigation of her throbbing heart.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>Lynda Kendall closed her desk and wheeled about in her chair +with a perplexed expression on her strong, handsome face. Generally +speaking, she went her way with courage and conviction, but since +Conning Truedale’s breakdown, an element in her had arisen +that demanded recognition and she had yet to learn how to control +it and insist upon its subjection.</p> +<p>Her life had been a simple one on the whole, but one requiring +from early girlhood the constant use of her faculties. Whatever +help she had had was gained from the dependence of others upon her, +not hers upon them. She was so strong and sweet-souled that to give +was a joy, it was a joy too, for them that received. That she was +ever tired and longed for strong arms to uphold her rarely occurred +to any one except, perhaps, William Truedale, the invalid uncle of +Conning.</p> +<p>At this juncture of Lynda’s career, she shrank from +William Truedale as she never had before. Had Conning died, she +knew she would never have seen the old man again. She believed that +his incapacity for understanding Conning—his rigid, unfeeling +dealing with him—had been the prime factor in the physical +breakdown of the younger man. All along she had hoped and believed +that her hold upon old William Truedale would, in the final +reckoning, bring good results; for that reason, and a secret one +that no one suspected, she kept to her course. She paid regular +visits to the old man—made him dependent upon her, though he +never permitted her to suspect this. Always her purpose had centred +upon Con, who had, at first, appealed to her loyalty and justice, +but of late to something much more personal and tender.</p> +<p>The day’s work was done and the workshop, in which the +girl sat, was beginning to look shadowy in the far corners where +evidences of her profession cluttered the dim spaces. She was an +interior decorator, but of such an original and unique kind that +her brother explained her as a “Spiritual and Physical +Interpreter.” She had learned her trade, but she had +embellished it and permitted it to develop as she herself had grown +and expanded.</p> +<p>Lynda looked now at her wrist-watch; it was four-thirty. The +last mail delivery had brought a short but inspiring note from +Con—per Dr. McPherson.</p> +<p>“I’ve got my grip again, Lynda! The day brings +appetite and strength; the night, sleep! I wonder whether you know +what that means? I begin to believe I am reverting to type, as +McPherson would say, and I’m intensely interested in finding +out—what type? Whenever I think of study, I have an attack of +mental indigestion. There is only one fellow creature to share my +desolation but I am never lonely—never lacking employment. +I’m busy to the verge of exhaustion in doing nothing and +getting well!”</p> +<p>Lynda smiled. “So he’s not going to die!” she +murmured; “there’s no use in punishing Uncle William +any longer. I’ll go up and have dinner with him!”</p> +<p>The decision made, and Conning for the moment relegated to +second place, Lynda rose and smiled relievedly. Then her eyes fell +upon her mother’s photograph which stood upon her desk.</p> +<p>“I’m going, dear,” she confided—they +were very close, that dead mother and the live, vital +daughter—“I haven’t forgotten.”</p> +<p>The past, like the atmosphere of the room, closed in about the +girl. She was strangely cheerful and uplifted; a consciousness of +approval soothed and comforted her and she recalled, as she had not +for many a day, the night of her mother’s death—the +night when she, a girl of seventeen, had had the burden of a +mother’s confession laid upon her young heart....</p> +<p>“Lynda—are you there, dear?”</p> +<p>It had been a frequent, pathetic question during the month of +illness. Lynda had been summoned from school. Brace was still at +his studies.</p> +<p>“Yes, mother, right here!”</p> +<p>“You are always—right here! Lyn, once I thought I +could not stand it, and I was going to run away—going in the +night. As I passed your door you awoke and asked for a drink of +water. I gave it, trembling lest you might notice my hat and coat; +but you did not—you only said: ‘What would I do if I +woke up some night and didn’t have a mother?’ Lyn, +dear, I went back and—stayed!”</p> +<p>Lynda had thought her mother’s mind wandering so she +patted the seeking hands and murmured gently to her. Then, +suddenly:</p> +<p>“Lyn, when I married your father I thought I loved +him—but I loved another! I’ve done the best I could for +you all; I never let any one know; I dared not give a sign, but I +want you—by and by—to go to—William Truedale! You +need not explain—just go; you will be my gift to him—my +last and only gift.”</p> +<p>Startled and horrified, Lynda had listened, understood, and +grown old while her mother spoke....</p> +<p>Then came the night when she awoke—and found no mother! +She was never the same. She returned to school but gave up the idea +of going to college. After her graduation she made a home for the +father who now—in the light of her secret knowledge—she +comprehended for the first time. All her life she had wondered +about him. Wondered why she and Brace had not loved and honoured +him as they had their mother. His weakness, his superficiality, had +been dominated by the wife who, having accepted her lot, carried +her burden proudly to the end!</p> +<p>Brace went to college and, during his last year there, his +father died; then, confronting a future rich in debts but little +else, he and Lynda consequently turned their education to account +and were soon self-supporting, full of hope and the young joy of +life.</p> +<p>Lynda—her mother’s secret buried deep in her loyal, +tender heart—began soon after her return from school to +cultivate old William Truedale, much to that crabbed +gentleman’s surprise and apparent confusion. There was some +excuse for the sudden friendship, for Brace during preparatory +school and college had formed a deep and sincere attachment for +Conning Truedale and at vacation time the two boys and Lynda were +much together. To be sure the visiting was largely one-sided, as +the gloomy house of the elder Truedale offered small inducement for +sociability; but Lynda managed to wedge her way into the loneliness +and dreariness and eventually for reasons best known to herself +became the one bright thing in the old man’s existence.</p> +<p>And so the years had drifted on. Besides Lynda’s +determination to prove herself as her mother had directed, she soon +decided to set matters straight between the uncle and the nephew. +To her ardent young soul, fired with ambition and desire for +justice, it was little less than criminal that William Truedale, +crippled and confined to his chair—for he had become an +invalid soon after Lynda’s mother’s +marriage—should misunderstand and cruelly misjudge the nephew +who, brilliantly, but under tremendous strain, was winning his way +through college on a pittance that made outside labour necessary in +order to get through. She could not understand everything, but her +mother’s secret, her growing fondness for the old man, her +intense interest in Conning, all held her to her purpose. She, +single-handed, would right the wrong and save them all alive!</p> +<p>Then came Conning’s breakdown and the possibility of his +death or permanent disability. The shock to all the golden hopes +was severe and it brought bitterness and resentment with it.</p> +<p>Something deep and passionate had entered into Lynda’s +relations with Conning Truedale. For him, though no one suspected +it, she had broken her engagement to John Morrell—an +engagement into which she had drifted as so many girls do, at the +age when thought has small part in primal instinct. But Conning had +not died; he was getting well, off in his hidden place, and so, +standing in the dim workshop, Lynda kissed her mother’s +picture and began humming a glad little tune.</p> +<p>“I’ll go and have dinner with Uncle William!” +she said—the words fitting into the +tune—“we’ll make it up! It will be all +right.” And so she set forth.</p> +<p>William Truedale lived on a shabby-genteel side street of a +neighbourhood that had started out to be fashionable but had been +defeated in its ambitions. It had never lost character, but it +certainly had lost lustre. The houses themselves were well built +and sternly correct. William Truedale’s was the best in the +block and it stood with a vacant lot on either side of it. The +detachment gave it dignity and seclusion.</p> +<p>There had been a time when Truedale hoped that the woman he +loved would choose and place furniture and hangings to her taste +and his, but when that hope failed and sickness fell upon him, he +ordered only such rooms put in order as were necessary for his +restricted life. The library on the first floor was a storehouse of +splendid books and austere luxury; beyond it were bath and bedroom, +both fitted out perfectly. The long, wide hall leading to these +apartments was as empty and bare as when carpenter and painter left +it. Two servants—husband and wife—served William +Truedale, and rarely commented upon anything concerning him or +their relations to him. They probably had rooms for themselves +comfortably furnished, but in all the years Lynda Kendall had never +been anywhere in the house except in the rooms devoted to her old +friend’s use. Sometimes she had wondered how Con fared, but +nothing was ever said on the subject and she and Brace had been, in +their visiting, limited to the downstair rooms.</p> +<p>When Lynda was ushered now into the library from the cold, outer +hall it was like finding comfort and luxury in the midst of +desolation. The opening door had not roused the man by the great +open fire. He seemed lost in a gloomy revery and Lynda had time to +note, unobserved, the tragic, pain-racked face and the pitifully +thin outlines of the figure stretched on the invalid chair and +covered by a rug of rare silver fox.</p> +<p>There were birds in gilded cages by the large south +window—mute little mites they were; they rarely if ever sang +but they were alive! There were plants, too, luxuriously growing in +pots and boxes—but not a flower on one! They existed, not +joyously, but persistently. A Russian hound, white as snow, lay +before the fire; his soft, mournful eyes were fixed upon Lynda, but +he did not stir or announce the intrusion. A cat and two kittens, +also white, were rolled like snowballs on a crimson cushion near +the hearth; Lynda wondered whether they ever played. Alone, like a +dead thing amid the still life, William Truedale, +helpless—death ever creeping nearer and nearer to his bitter +heart—passed his weary days.</p> +<p>As she stood, watching and waiting, Lynda Kendall’s eyes +filled with quick tears. The weeks of her absence had emphasized +every tragic detail of the room and the man. He had probably missed +her terribly from his bare life, but he had made no sign, given no +call.</p> +<p>“Uncle William!”</p> +<p>Truedale turned his head and fixed his deep-sunk, brilliant eyes +upon her.</p> +<p>“Oh! So you’ve thought better of it?” was all +that he said.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ve thought better of it. Will you let me +stay to dinner?”</p> +<p>“Take off your wraps. There now! draw up the ottoman; so +long as you have a spine, rely upon it. Never lounge if you can +help it.”</p> +<p>Lynda drew the low, velvet-covered stool near the couch-chair; +the hound raised his sharp, beautiful head and nestled against her +knee. Truedale watched it—animals never came to him unless +commanded—why did they go to Lynda? Probably for the same +reason that he clung to her, watched for her and feared, with +sickening fear, that she might never come again!</p> +<p>“I suppose, since Con’s death isn’t on my +head, you felt that you could forgive me, eh?”</p> +<p>“Well, something like that, Uncle William.”</p> +<p>“What business is it of yours what I do with my +money—or my nephew?”</p> +<p>These two never approached each other by conventional lines. +Their absences were periods in which to store vital topics and +questions—their meetings were a series of explosive +outbursts.</p> +<p>“None of my business, Uncle William, but if I could not +approve, why—”</p> +<p>“Approve! Huh! Who are you that you should judge, approve, +or disapprove your elders?”</p> +<p>There was no answer to this. Lynda wanted to laugh, but feared +she might cry. The hard, indignant words belied the quivering +gladness of the voice that greeted her in every tone with its +relief and surrender.</p> +<p>“I’ve got a good deal to say to you, girl. It is +well you came to-day—you might otherwise have been too late. +I’m planning a long journey.”</p> +<p>Lynda started.</p> +<p>“A—long journey?” she said. Through the past +years, since the dread disease had attacked Truedale, his +travelling had been confined to passing to and from bedchamber and +library in the wheelchair.</p> +<p>“You—you think I jest?” There was a grim +humour in the burning eyes.</p> +<p>“I do not know.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, I’ll tell you. I am quite serious. +While I have been exiled from your attentions—chained to this +rock” (he struck the arms of the chair like a passionate +child), “I have reached a conclusion I have always +contemplated, more or less. Now that I have recognized that the +time will undoubtedly come when you, Con—the lot of +you—will clear out, I have decided to prove to you all that I +am not quite the dependant you think me.”</p> +<p>“Why—what can you mean, Uncle William?”</p> +<p>This was a new phase and Lynda bent across the dog at her knee +and put her hand on the arm of the chair. She was frightened, +aroused. Truedale saw this and laughed a dry, mirthless laugh.</p> +<p>“Oh! a chair that can roll the length of this house can +roll the distance I desire to go. Money can pay for +anything—anything! Thank God, I have money, plenty of it. It +means power—even to such a thing as I am. Power, Lynda, +power! It can snarl and unsnarl lives; it can buy favour and cause +terror. Think what I would have been without it all these years. +Think! Why, I have bargained with it; crushed with it; threatened +and beckoned with it—now I am going to play with it! +I’m going to surprise every one and have a gala time myself. +I’m going to set things spinning and then I’m going on +a journey. It’s queer” (the sneering voice fell to a +murmur), “all my prison-years I’ve thought of this and +planned it; the doing of it seems quite the simplest part. I wonder +now why I have kept behind the bars when, by a little +exertion—a little indifference to opinion—I might have +broadened my horizon. But good Lord! I haven’t wasted time. +I’ve studied every detail; nothing has escaped me. +This” (he touched his head—a fine, almost noble head, +covered by a wealth of white hair), “this has been doing +double duty while these” (he pointed to his useless legs) +“have refused to play their part. While I felt +conscientiously responsible, I stuck to my job; but a man has a +right to a little freedom of his own!”</p> +<p>Lynda drew so close that her stool touched the chair. She bent +her cheek upon the shrivelled hand resting upon the arm. The +excitement and feverish banter of Truedale affected her painfully. +She reproached herself bitterly for having left him to the mercy of +his loneliness and imagination. Her interest in, her resentment +for, Conning faded before the pitiful display of feeling expressed +in every tone and word of Truedale.</p> +<p>The touch of the warm cheek against his hand stirred the man. +His eyes softened, his face twitched and, because the young eyes +were hidden, he permitted his gaze to rest reverently upon the +bowed head. She was the only thing on earth he loved—the only +thing that cut through his crust of hardness and despair and made +him human. Then, from out the unexpected, he asked:</p> +<p>“Lynda, when did you break your engagement to John +Morrell?”</p> +<p>The girl started, but she did not change her position. She never +lied or prevaricated to Truedale—she might keep her own +counsel, but when she spoke it was simple truth.</p> +<p>“About six months ago.”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you tell me?”</p> +<p>“There was nothing to tell, Uncle William.”</p> +<p>“There was the fact, wasn’t there?”</p> +<p>“Oh! yes, the fact.”</p> +<p>“Why did you do it?”</p> +<p>“That—is—a long story.” Lynda looked up, +now, and smiled the rare smile that only the stricken man +understood. Appeal, confusion, and detachment marked it. She +longed, helplessly, for sympathy and understanding.</p> +<p>“Well, long stories are welcome enough here, child; +especially after the dearth of them. Ring the bell; let’s +have dinner. Pull down the shades and” (Truedale gave a wide +gesture) “put the live stock out! An early meal, a long +evening—what better could we add than a couple of long +stories?”</p> +<p>In the doing of what Truedale commanded, Lynda found a certain +relief. These visits were like grim plays, to be sure, but they +were also sacred duties. This one, after the lapse of time filled +with new and strange emotions, was a bit grimmer than usual, but it +had the effect of a tonic upon the ragged nerves of the two +actors.</p> +<p>The round table was set by the fire—it was the manservant +who attended now; silver and glass and linen were perfect, and the +simple fare carefully chosen and prepared.</p> +<p>Truedale was never so much at his ease as when he presided at +these small dinners. He ate little; he chose the rarest bits for +his guest; he talked lightly—sometimes delightfully. At such +moments Lynda realized what he must have been before love and +health failed him.</p> +<p>To-night—shut away from all else, the strain of the past +weeks ignored, the long stories deliberately pushed +aside—Truedale spoke of the books he had been reading; Lynda, +of her work.</p> +<p>“I have two wonderful houses to do,” she said, +poising a morsel of food gracefully. “One is for a couple +recently made rich; they do not dare to move for fear of going +wrong. I have that place from garret to cellar. It’s an awful +responsibility—but lots of fun!”</p> +<p>“It must be. Spending other people’s money and +making them as good as new at the same time, must be rare sport. +And the other contract?”</p> +<p>“Oh! that is another matter.” Lynda leaned back and +laughed. “I’m toning up an old house. Putting false +fronts on, a bit of rouge, filling in wrinkles; in short, giving a +side-tracked old lady something to interest her. She doesn’t +know it, but I’m letting her do the work, and she’s +very happy. She has a kind of rusty good taste. I’m polishing +it without hurting her. The living room! Why, Uncle William, it is +a picture. It is a tender dream come true.”</p> +<p>“And you are charging for that, you pirate?”</p> +<p>“I do not have to. The dear soul is so grateful that +I’m forced to refuse favours.”</p> +<p>“Lynda, ring for Thomas.” Truedale drew his brows +close. “I think I’ll—I’ll smoke. It may +help me to sleep after the long stories and—when I am +alone.” He rarely indulged in this way—tobacco excited +instead of soothed him—but the evening must have all the +clear thought possible!</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>Lynda sat again upon her ottoman—her capacity for sitting +hours without a support to her back had always been one of her +charms for William Truedale. The old man looked at her now; how +strong and fine she was! How reliant and yet—how appealing! +How she would always give and give—be used to the breaking +point—and rarely understood. Truedale understood her through +her mother!</p> +<p>“I want to ask you, Lynda, why do you come here—you +of all the world? I have often wondered.”</p> +<p>“I—I like to come, generally, Uncle +William.”</p> +<p>“But—other times, out of the general? You come +oftener then. Why?”</p> +<p>And now Lynda turned her clear, dark eyes upon him. A sudden +resolve had been taken. She was going to comfort him as she never +had before, going to recompense him for the weeks just past when +she had failed him while espousing Con’s cause. She was going +to share her secret with him!</p> +<p>“Just before mother went, Uncle William, she told +me—”</p> +<p>The hand holding the cigar swayed—it was a very frail, +thin hand.</p> +<p>“Told you—what?”</p> +<p>“That you once—loved her.”</p> +<p>The old wound ached as it was bared. Lynda meant to comfort, but +she was causing excruciating pain.</p> +<p>“She—told you that? And you so young! Why should she +so burden you—she of all women?”</p> +<p>“And—my mother loved you, Uncle William! She found +it out too late and—and after that she did her best +for—for Brace and me and—father!”</p> +<p>The room seemed swaying, as all else in the universe was, at +that moment, for William Truedale. Everything that had gone to his +undoing—to the causing of his bitter loneliness and +despair—was beaten down by the words that flooded the former +darkness with almost terrifying light. For a moment or two he dared +not speak—dared not trust his voice. The shock had been +great. Then, very quietly:</p> +<p>“And—and why did she—speak at the +last?”</p> +<p>Lynda’s eyes filled with tears.</p> +<p>“Because,” she faltered, “since she could not +have come to you without dishonour—she sent me! Her +confidence has been the sacredest thing in my life and I have tried +to do as she desired. I—I have failed sadly—lately, but +try to forgive me for—my mother’s sake!”</p> +<p>“And you—have”—the voice trembled +pitifully in spite of the effort Truedale made to steady +it—“kept silence—since she went; why? Oh! youth +is so ignorant, so cruel!” This was said more to himself than +to the girl by his knee upon whose bowed head his shrivelled hand +unconsciously rested.</p> +<p>“First it was for father that I kept the secret. He seemed +so stricken after—after he was alone. And then—since I +was trying to be to you what mother wanted me to be—it did +not seem greatly to matter. I wanted to win my way. I always meant +to tell you, and now, after these weeks of misunderstanding, I felt +you should know that there will always be a reason for me, of all +the world, to share your life.”</p> +<p>“I see! I see!” A great wave of emotion rose and +rose, carrying the past years of misery with it. The knowledge, +once, might have saved him, but now it had come too late. By and by +he would be able to deal with this staggering truth that had been +so suddenly hurled upon him, but not now while Katherine +Kendall’s daughter knelt at his side!</p> +<p>“Lynda, I cannot talk to you about this. When you are +older—when life has done its best or its worst for +you—you will understand better than you do to-day; but +remember this: what you have told me has cut deep, but it has cut, +by one stroke, the hardness and bitterness from my heart. Remember +this!”</p> +<p>Then with a sudden reversion to his customary manner he +said:</p> +<p>“And now tell me about Morrell.”</p> +<p>Lynda started; the situation puzzled her. She had meant to +comfort—instead she seemed to have hurt and confused her old +friend.</p> +<p>“About John Morrell?” she murmured with a rising +perplexity; “there isn’t much to tell.”</p> +<p>“I thought it was a long story, Lynda.”</p> +<p>“Somehow it doesn’t seem long when you get close to +it. But surely you must see, Uncle William, that after—after +father and mother—I would naturally be a bit keener than most +girls. It would never do for me to marry the wrong man and, of +course, a girl never really knows until—she faces the +situation at close quarters. I should never have engaged myself to +John Morrell—that was the real mistake; and it was only when +he felt sure of me—that I knew! Uncle William, I must have my +own life, and John—well, he meant to have his own and mine, +too. I couldn’t stand it! I have struggled up and conquered +little heights just as he has—just as Con and Brace have; +we’ve all scrambled up together. It didn’t seem quite +fair that they should—well, fly their colours from their +peaks and that I should” (here Lynda laughed) “cuddle +under John’s standard. I don’t always believe in his +standard; I don’t approve of it. Much as I like men, I +don’t think they are qualified to arrange, sort, fix, and +command the lives of women. If a woman thinks the abdication +justifies the gains, that’s all right. If I had sold myself, +honourably, to John Morrell I would have kept to the agreement; I +hate and loathe women who don’t! I’m not belittling the +romance and sentiment, Uncle William, but when all’s told the +usual marriage is a bargain and half the women whine about holding +to it—the others play up and, if there is love enough, it +pans out pretty well—but I couldn’t! You see I had +lived with father and mother—felt the lack between +them—and I saw mother’s eyes when she—let go and +died! No! I mean to have my own life!”</p> +<p>“And you are going to forego a woman’s +heritage—home and children—for such a whim? Your mother +had recompenses; are you not afraid of the—future?”</p> +<p>“Not if I respect it and do not dishonour the +present.”</p> +<p>“A lonely man or woman—an outcast from the +ordinary—is a creature of hell!”</p> +<p>Lynda shook her head.</p> +<p>“Go on!” Truedale commanded sternly. “Morrell +is a good fellow. From my prison I took care to find that out. +Brace did me practical service when he acted as sleuth before your +engagement!”</p> +<p>Lynda coloured and frowned.</p> +<p>“I did not know about that,” was all she said.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter—only I’m glad I can +feel sorry for him and angry at you. I never knew you could be a +fool, Lynda.”</p> +<p>“I dare say we all can, if we put our minds to +it—sometimes without. Well! that’s the whole story, +Uncle William.”</p> +<p>“It’s only the preface. See here, Lynda, did it ever +strike you that a woman like you doesn’t come to such a +conclusion as you have without an experience—a contrast to go +by?”</p> +<p>“I—I do not know what you mean, Uncle +William.”</p> +<p>“I think you do. I have no right to probe, but I have a +right to—to help you if I can. You’ve done much for +your mother; can you deny me the—the honour of doing +something for her?”</p> +<p>“There’s nothing—to do.”</p> +<p>“Let us see! You’re just a plain girl when +all’s said and done. You’ve got a little more backbone +and wit than some, but your heart’s in the same place as +other women’s and you’re no different in the main. You +want the sane, right things just as they do—home, children, +and security from the things women dread. A man can give a woman a +chance for her best development; she ought to recognize that +and—yes—appreciate it.”</p> +<p>“Surely!” this came very softly from the lips +screened now by two cold shivering hands. “A woman does +recognize it; she appreciates it, but that does not exclude her +from—choice.”</p> +<p>“One man—of course within limits and reason—is +as good as another when he loves a woman and makes her love him. +You certainly thought you loved Morrell. You had nothing to gain +unless you did. You probably earned as much as he.”</p> +<p>“That’s true. All quite true.”</p> +<p>“Then something happened!” Truedale flung his +half-smoked cigar in the fire. “What was it, +Lynda?”</p> +<p>“There—was nothing—really—”</p> +<p>“There was something. There was—Con!”</p> +<p>“Oh! how—how can you?” Lynda started back. She +meant to say “How dare you?”—but the drawn and +tortured face restrained her.</p> +<p>“Because I must, Lynda. Because I must. You know I told +you I had a story? You must bear with me and listen. Sit down again +and try to remember—I am doing this for your mother! I +repeat—there was Con. At first you took up arms for him as +Brace did; your sex instincts were not awakened. You were all good +fellows together until you drifted, blindfolded, into the trap poor +Morrell set for you. You thought I was ill-treating +Con—disregarding his best interests—starving his soul! +Oh! you poor little ignoramus; the boy never had a soul worth +mentioning until it got awakened, in self-defense, and grew its own +limit. What did you and Brace know of the past—the past that +went into Con’s making? You were free enough with your young +condemnation and misplaced loyalty—but how about +justice?”</p> +<p>Lynda’s eyes were fixed upon Truedale’s face. She +had never seen him in this mood and, while he fascinated, he +overawed her.</p> +<p>“Why, girl, Con’s father, my younger brother, was as +talented as Con, but he was a scamp. He had money enough to pave +the way to his own destruction. Until it was gone he spurned +me—spurned even his own genius. He married a woman as mad as +himself and then—without a qualm—tossed her aside to +die. He had no sense of responsibility—no shame. He had +temperament—a damnable one—and he drifted on it to the +end. When it was all over, I brought Conning here. Just at that +time—well, it was soon after your mother married your +father—this creeping disease fell upon me. If it hadn’t +been for the boy I’d have ended the whole thing then and +there, but with the burden laid upon me I couldn’t slip out. +It has been a kind of race ever since—this menace mounting +higher and higher and the making of Con keeping pace. I swore that +if he had talent it must prove itself against hardship, not in +luxury. I made life difficult in order to toughen and inspire. I +never meant to kill—you must do me that justice. Only you +see, chained here, I couldn’t follow close enough, and Con +had pride, thank God! and he thought he had hate—but he +hasn’t or he’d have starved rather than accept what I +offered. In his heart he—well, let us say—respects me +to a certain extent. I saw him widening the space between himself +and his inheritance—and it has helped me live; you saw him +making a man of himself and it became more absorbing than the +opportunity of annexing yourself to a man already made. Oh, I have +seen it all and it has helped me in my plan.”</p> +<p>“Your—plan?” The question was a feeble attempt +to grapple with a situation growing too big and strong. “Your +plan—what is your plan?”</p> +<p>“Lynda, I have made my will! Sitting apart and looking on, +the doing of this has been the one great excitement of my life. +Through the years I have believed I was doing it alone; now I see +your mother’s guiding hand has led me on; I want you to +believe this as—I do!”</p> +<p>“I—I will try, Uncle William.” Lynda no longer +struggled against that which she could not understand. She felt it +must have its way with her.</p> +<p>“This house,” Truedale was saying, “was meant +for your mother. I left it bare and ready for her taste and choice. +After—I go, I want you to fit it out for her—and me! +You must do it at once.”</p> +<p>“No! No!” Lynda put up a protesting hand, but +Truedale smiled her into silence and went on: “I may let you +begin to-morrow and not wait! You must fill the bare +corners—spare no expense. You and I will be quite reckless; I +want this place to be a—home at last.”</p> +<p>And now Lynda’s eyes were shining—her rare tears +blinded her.</p> +<p>“You have always tried indirectly, Lynda, to secure +Con’s greatest good; you have done it! I mean to leave him a +legacy of three thousand a year. That will enable him to let up on +himself and develop the talent you think he has. I have seen to it +that the two faithful souls who have served me here shall never +know want. There will be money, and plenty of it, for you to carry +out my wishes regarding this house, should—well—should +anything happen to me! After these details are attended to, my +fortune, rather a cumbersome one, goes to—Dr. McPherson, my +old and valued friend!”</p> +<p>Lynda started violently.</p> +<p>“To—to Dr. McPherson?” she gasped, every +desire for Conning up in arms.</p> +<p>“There! there! do not get so excited, Lynda. It is only +for—three years. McPherson and I understand.”</p> +<p>“And then?”</p> +<p>“It will go to Conning—if—”</p> +<p>“If what?” Lynda was afraid now.</p> +<p>“If he—marries you!”</p> +<p>“Oh! this is beyond endurance! How could you be so cruel, +Uncle William?” The hot, passionate tears were burning the +indignant face.</p> +<p>“He will not know. The years will test and prove +him.”</p> +<p>“But I shall know! If you thought best to do this thing, +why have you told me?”</p> +<p>“There have been hours when I myself did not know why; I +understand to-night. Your mother led me!”</p> +<p>“My mother could never have hurt me so. Never!”</p> +<p>“You must trust—her and me, Lynda.”</p> +<p>“Suppose—oh! suppose—Con does not ... Oh! this +is degrading!”</p> +<p>“Then the fortune will—be yours. McPherson and I +have worked this out—most carefully.”</p> +<p>“Mine! Mine! Why”—and here Lynda flung her +head back and laughed relievedly—“I refuse absolutely +to accept it!”</p> +<p>“In that case it goes—to charities.”</p> +<p>A hush fell in the room. Baffled and angry, Lynda dared not +trust herself to speak and Truedale sank back wearily. Then came a +rattle of wheels in the quiet street—a toot of a taxi +horn.</p> +<p>“Thomas has not forgotten to provide for your home trip; +but the man can wait. The night is mild”—Truedale spoke +gently—“and you and I are rich.”</p> +<p>Lynda did not seem to hear. Her thoughts were rushing wildly +over the path set for her by her old friend’s words.</p> +<p>“Conning would not know!” she grasped and held to +that; “he would be able to act independently. At first it had +seemed impossible. Her knowledge could affect no one but herself! +If”—and here Lynda breathed faster—“if +Conning should want her enough to ask her to share his life that +the three thousand dollars made possible, why then the happiness of +bringing his own to him would be hers!—hers!”</p> +<p>Again the opposite side of the picture held her. “But +suppose he did <i>not</i> want her—in that way? Then she, his +friend—the one who, in all the world, loved him the +best—would profit by it; she would be a wealthy woman, for +her mother’s sake or”—the alternative staggered +her—“she could let everything slip, everything and bear +the consequences!”</p> +<p>At this point she turned to Truedale and asked pitifully +again:</p> +<p>“Oh! why, why did you do this?”</p> +<p>There was no anger or rebellion in the words, but a pathos that +caused the old man to close his eyes against the pleading in the +uplifted face. It was the one thing he could not stand.</p> +<p>“Time will prove, child; time will prove. I could not make +you understand; your mother might have—I could not. But time +will show. Time is a strange revealer. All my life I have been +working in darkness until—now! I should have trusted +more—you must learn from me.</p> +<p>“There, do not keep the man waiting longer. I +wonder—do not do it unless you want to, or think it +right—but I wonder if you could kiss me good-bye?”</p> +<p>Lynda rose and, tear-blinded, bent over and kissed +him—kissed him twice, once for her mother!—and she felt +that he understood. She had never touched her lips to his before, +and it seemed a strange ceremony.</p> +<p>An hour later Truedale called for Thomas and was wheeled to his +bedroom and helped to bed.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” he said to the man, “you had better +put those drops on the stand. If I cannot sleep—” +Thomas smiled and obeyed. There had been a time when he feared that +small, dark bottle, but not now! He believed too sincerely in his +master’s strength of character. Having the medicine near +might, by suggestion, help calm the restlessness, but it had never +been resorted to, so Thomas smiled as he turned away with a +cheery:</p> +<p>“Very well, sir; but there will be no need, I +hope.”</p> +<p>“Good-night, Thomas. Raise the shade, please. It’s a +splendid night, isn’t it? If they should build on that rear +lot I could not see the moon so well. I may decide to buy that +property.”</p> +<p>When Thomas had gone and he was alone at last, Truedale heaved a +heavy sigh. It seemed to relieve the restraint under which he had +been labouring for weeks.</p> +<p>All his life the possibility of escape from his bondage had made +the bondage less unendurable. It was like knowing of a secret +passage from his prison house—an exit dark and attended by +doubts and fears, but nevertheless a sure passage to freedom. It +had seemed, in the past, a cowardly thing to avail himself of his +knowledge—it was like going with his debts unpaid. But now, +in the bright, moonlit room it no longer appeared so. He had +finished his task, had ended the bungling, and had heard a clear +call ringing with commendation and approval. There was nothing to +hold him back!</p> +<p>Over in the cabinet by the window were a photograph and a few +letters; Truedale turned toward them and wondered if Lynda, instead +of his old friend McPherson, would find them? He wished he had +spoken—but after all, he could not wait. He had definitely +decided to take the journey! But he spoke softly as if to a +Presence:</p> +<p>“And so—you played a part? Poor girl! how +well—you played it! And you—suffered—oh! my +God—and I never did you the justice of understanding. And you +left your girl—to me—I have tried not to fail you +there, Katherine!”</p> +<p>Then Truedale reached for the bottle. He took a swallow of the +contents and waited! Presently he took another and a thrill of +exhilaration stirred his sluggish blood. Weakly, gropingly, he +stretched his benumbed hand out again; he was well on his way now. +The long journey was begun in the moonlight and, strange to say, it +did not grow dark, nor did he seem to be alone. This surprised him +vaguely, he had always expected it would be so different!</p> +<p>And by and by one face alone confronted him—it was +brighter than the moonlit way. It smiled understandingly—it, +too, had faced the broad highway—it could afford to +smile.</p> +<p>Once more the heavy, dead-cold hand moved toward the stand +beside the bed, but it fell nerveless ere it reached what it +sought.</p> +<p>The escape had been achieved!</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>The days passed and, unfettered, Jim White remained in the deep +woods. After Nella-Rose’s disturbing but thrilling advent, +Truedale rebounded sharply and, alone in his cabin, brought himself +to terms. By a rigid arraignment he relegated, or thought he had +relegated, the whole matter to the realm of things he should not +have permitted, but which had done no real harm. He brought out the +heavy book on philosophy and endeavoured to study. After a few +hours he even resorted to the wet towel, thinking that suggestion +might assist him, but Nella-Rose persistently and impishly got +between his eyes and the pages and flouted philosophy by the magic +of her superstition and bewitching charm.</p> +<p>Then Truedale attacked his play, viciously, commandingly. This +was more successful. He reconstructed his plot somewhat—he +let Nella-Rose in! Curbed and somewhat re-modelled, she +materialized and, while he dealt strictly with her, writing was +possible.</p> +<p>So the first day and night passed. On the second day +Truedale’s new strength demanded exercise and recreation. He +couldn’t be expected to lock himself in until White returned +to chaperone him. After all, there was no need of being a fool. So +he packed a gunny sack with food and a book or two, and sallied +forth, after providing generously for the live stock and calling +the dogs after him.</p> +<p>But Truedale was unaware of what was going on about him. Pine +Cone Settlement had, since the trap episode, been tense and +waiting. Not many things occurred in the mountains and when they +did they were made the most of. With significant silence the +friends and foes of Burke Lawson were holding themselves in check +until he returned to his old haunts; then there would be +considerable shooting—not necessarily fatal, a midnight raid +or two, a general rumpus, and eventually, a truce.</p> +<p>All this Jim White knew, and it was the propelling factor that +had sent him to the deep woods. His sentiments conflicted with +duty. Guilty as Lawson was, the sheriff liked him better than he +did Martin and he meant, should he come across Burke in “the +sticks,” to take him off for a bear hunt and some good +advice. Thus he would justify his conscience and legal duties. But +White, strange to say, was as ignorant as Truedale was of an +element that had entered into conditions. It had never occurred to +Jim to announce or explain his visitor’s arrival. To Pine +Cone a “furriner” aroused at best but a superficial +interest and, since Truedale had arrived, unseen, at night, why +mention him to a community that could not possibly have anything in +common with him? So it was that Greyson and a few others, noting +Truedale at a distance and losing sight of him at once, concluded +that he was Burke, back and in hiding; and a growing but stealthy +excitement was in the air. He was supposed by both factions to be +with the sheriff, and feeling ran high. In the final estimate, +could White have known it, he himself held no small part!</p> +<p>Beloved and hated, Lawson divided the community for and against +himself about equally. There were those who defended and swore they +would kill any who harmed the young outlaw—he was of the +jovial, dare-devil type and as loyal to his friends as he was +unyielding to his foes. Others declared that the desperado must be +“finished”; the trap disagreement was but the last of a +long list of crimes; it was time to put a quietus on one who +refused to fall into line—who called the sheriff his friend +and had been known to hobnob with revenue men! That, perhaps, was +the blackest deed to be attributed to any native.</p> +<p>So all Pine Cone was on the war path and Truedale, heedless and +unaware, took his air and exercise at his peril.</p> +<p>The men of the hills had a clear case now, since Peter Greyson +had given his evidence, which, by the way, became more conclusive +hour by hour as imagination, intoxication, and the delight of +finding himself important, grew upon Greyson.</p> +<p>“Jim told me,” Peter had confided to Jed Martin, +“that he was going to get a posse from way-back and round +Lawson up.”</p> +<p>This was wholly false. White never took any one into his +business secrets, least of all Greyson for whom he had deep +contempt. “But I don’t call that clean to us-all, Jed. +We don’t want strangers to catch Burke; we don’t want +them to—to string him up or shoot him full of holes; what +we-all want is to force White to hand him over to justice, give him +a fair trial, and then send him to one of them prison traps to eat +his soul out behind bars. Jed—just you shut your eyes and +<i>see</i> Burke Lawson behind bars—eating sop from a pan, +drinking prison water—just you call that picture +up.”</p> +<p>Jed endeavoured to do so and it grew upon his imagination.</p> +<p>“We-all wants to trail him,” Greyson continued, +“we don’t want to give him a free passage to +Kingdom-Come by rope or shot—we-all want prison for Lawson, +prison!”</p> +<p>As Jed was the one most concerned, this edict went abroad by +mountain wireless.</p> +<p>“Catch him alive!” Friend and foe were alert.</p> +<p>“And when all’s fixed and done—when +Burke’s trapped,” Greyson said, “what you going +to do—for me, Jed?”</p> +<p>This was a startling, new development.</p> +<p>“I didn’t reckon yo’ war doin’ +this—fur pay!” Jed faltered. Then Greyson came +forth:</p> +<p>“No pay, Jed. Gawd knows I do my duty as I see it. But +being keen about duty, I see more than one duty. When you catch and +cage Lawson, Jed, I want to be something closer to you than a +friend.”</p> +<p>“Closer than—” Jed gasped.</p> +<p>“And duty drives me to confess to you, Jed, that the +happiness of a lady is at stake.”</p> +<p>Jed merely gaped now. Visions of Nella-Rose made him giddy and +speechless.</p> +<p>“The day you put Lawson in jail, Jed, that day I’ll +give you the hand of my daughter. She loves you; she has confessed! +You shall come here and share—everything! The hour that Burke +is convicted—Marg is yours!”</p> +<p>“Marg!” The word came on a gasp.</p> +<p>“Not a word!” Greyson waved his hand in a princely +way—this gesture was an heirloom from his ancestry. “I +understand your feelings—I’ve seen what has been going +on—but naturally I want my daughter to marry one worthy of +her. You shall have my Marg when you have proven yourself! +I’ve misjudged you, Jed, but this will wipe away old +scores.”</p> +<p>With a sickening sense of being absorbed, Jed sank into black +silence. If Marg wanted him and old Greyson was helping her, there +was no hope! Blood and desire would conquer every time; every +mountaineer recognized that!</p> +<p>And so things were seething under a surface of deadly calm, when +Truedale, believing that he had himself well in control, packed his +gunny sack and started forth for a long tramp. He had no particular +destination in mind—in fact, the soft, dreamy autumn day +lulled him to mental inertia—he simply went along, but he +went as directly toward the rhododendron slick as though he had +long planned his actions. However, it was late afternoon before he +came upon Nella-Rose.</p> +<p>On the instant he realized that he had been searching for her +all day. His stern standards crumbled and became dry dust. One +might as well apply standards to flickering sunlight or to swirling +trifles of mountain mist as to Nella-Rose. She came upon him gaily; +the dogs had discovered her on one of their ventures and were now +quietly accompanying her.</p> +<p>“I—I’ve been looking for you—all +day!” Truedale admitted, with truth but indiscretion. And +then he noted, as he had before, the strange impression the girl +gave of having been blown upon the scene. The pretty, soft hair +resting on the cheek in a bewildering curve; the large, dreamy eyes +and black lashes; the close clinging of her shabby costume, as if +wrapped about her slim body by the playful gale that had wafted her +along; all held part in the illusion.</p> +<p>“I had to—to lead Marg to Devil-may-come Hollow. +She’s hunting there now!” Nella-Rose’s white +teeth showed in a mischievous smile. “We’re right safe +with Marg down there, scurrying around. Come, I know a sunny +place—I want to tell you about Marg.”</p> +<p>Her childish appropriation of him completed Truedale’s +surrender. The absolute lack of self-consciousness drove the last +remnant of caution away. They found the sunny spot—it was +like a dimple in a hill that had caught the warmth and brightness +and held them always to the exclusion of shadows. It almost seemed +that night could never conquer the nook.</p> +<p>And while they rested there, Nella-Rose told him of the belief +of the natives that he was the refugee Lawson.</p> +<p>“And Marg would give you up +like—er—this” (Nella-Rose puffed an imaginary +trifle away with her pretty pursed lips). “She trailed after +me all day—she lost me in a place where hiding’s +good—and there I left her! She’ll tell Jed Martin this +evening when she gets back. Marg is scenting Burke for Jed and his +kind to catch—that’s her way and Jed’s!” +Stinging contempt rang in the girl’s voice.</p> +<p>“But not your way I bet, Nella-Rose.” The fun, not +the danger, of the situation struck Truedale.</p> +<p>“No!—I’d do it all myself! I’d either +warn him and have done with it, or I’d stand by +him.”</p> +<p>“I’m not sure that I like the misunderstanding about +me,” Truedale half playfully remarked, “they may shoot +me in the back before they find out.”</p> +<p>“Do you” (and here Nella-Rose’s face fell into +serious, dangerously sweet, lines), “do you reckon I would +leave you to them-all if there was that danger? They don’t +aim to shoot or string Burke up; they reckon they’ll take him +alive and—get him locked up in jail +to—to—”</p> +<p>“What, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“Die of longing!”</p> +<p>“Is that what would happen to Burke Lawson?”</p> +<p>The girl nodded. Then the entrancing mischief returned to her +eyes and she became a child once more—a creature so +infinitely young that Truedale seemed grandfatherly by +comparison.</p> +<p>“Can’t you see how mighty funny it will be to lead +them and let them follow on and then some day—they’ll +plump right up on you and find out! Godda’mighty!”</p> +<p>Irresponsible mirth swayed the girl to and fro. She laughed, +silently, until the tears stood in the clear eyes. Truedale caught +the spirit of her mood and laughed with her. The picture she +portrayed of setting jealousy, malice, and stupidity upon the wrong +trail was very funny, but suddenly he paused and said +seriously:</p> +<p>“But in the meantime this Burke Lawson may return; you may +be the death of him with your pranks.”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose shook her head. “I would know!” she +declared confidently. “I know everything that’s going +on in the hills. Burke would let me know—first!”</p> +<p>“It’s like melodrama,” Truedale murmured half +to himself. By some trick of fancy he seemed to be looking on as +Brace Kendall might have. The thought brought him to bay. What +would good old Brace do in the present situation?</p> +<p>“What is melodrama?” Nella-Rose never let a new word +or suggestion escape her. She was as keen as she was dramatic and +mischievous.</p> +<p>“It would be hard to make you understand—but see +here”—Truedale drew the gunny sack to +him—“I bet you’re hungry!” He deliberately +put Brace from his thoughts.</p> +<p>“I reckon I am.” The lovely eyes were fixed upon the +hand that was bringing forth the choicest morsels of the food +prepared early that morning. As he laid the little feast before +her, Truedale acknowledged that, in a vague way, he had been saving +the morsels for Nella-Rose even while he had fed, earlier, upon +coarser fare.</p> +<p>“I don’t know about giving you a chicken +wing!” he said playfully. “You look as if you were +about to fly away as it is—but unfortunately I’ve eaten +both legs!”</p> +<p>“Oh! please”—Nella-Rose reached across the +narrow space separating them, she was pleading +prettily—“I just naturally admire wings!”</p> +<p>“I bet you do! Well, eat plenty of bread with them. And +see here, Nella-Rose, while you are eating I’m going to read +a story to you. It is the sort of thing that we call +melodrama.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” This through the dainty nibbling of the +coveted wing. “I’m right fond of stories.”</p> +<p>“Keep quiet now!” commanded Truedale and he began +the spirited tale of love and high adventure that, like the +tidbits, he knew he had brought for Nella-Rose!</p> +<p>The warm autumn sun fell upon them for a full hour, then it +shifted and the chill of the approaching evening warned the reader +of the flight of time. He stopped suddenly to find that his +companion had long since forgotten her hunger and food. Across the +débris she bent, absorbed and tense. Her hands were clasped +close—cold, little hands they were—and her big eyes +were strained and wonder-filled.</p> +<p>“Is that—all?” she asked, hoarsely.</p> +<p>“Why, no, child, there’s more.”</p> +<p>“Go on!”</p> +<p>“It’s too late! We must get back.”</p> +<p>“I—I must know the rest! Why, don’t you see, +you know how it turns out; I don’t!”</p> +<p>“Shall I tell you?”</p> +<p>“No, no. I want it here with the warm sun and the pines +and your—yourself making it real.”</p> +<p>“I do not understand, Nella-Rose!” But as he spoke +Truedale began to understand and it gave him an uneasy moment. He +knew what he ought to do, but knew that he was not going to do it! +“We’ll have to come again and hear the rest,” was +what he said.</p> +<p>“Yes? Why”—and here the shadowy eyes took on +the woman-look, the look that warned and lured the man near +her—“I did not know it ever came like +that—really.”</p> +<p>“What, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“Why—love. They-all knew it—and took it. It +was just like it was something all by itself. That’s not the +sort us-all have. Does it only come that—er—way in +mel—melerdrammer?”</p> +<p>“No, little girl. It comes that way in real life when +hearts are big enough and strong enough to bear it.” Truedale +watched the effect of his words upon the strange, young face before +him. They forced their way through her ignorance and untrained +yearning for love and admiration. It was a perilous moment, for +conscience, on Truedale’s part, seemed drugged and sleeping +and Nella-Rose was awakening to that which she had never known +before. Gone, for her, were caprice and mischief; she seemed about +to see and hear some wonderful thing that eluded but called her +on.</p> +<p>And after that first day they met often. “Happened upon +each other” was the way Truedale put it. It seemed very +natural. The picturesque spots appealed to them both. There was +reading, too—carefully selected bits. It was intensely +interesting to lead the untrained mind into bewildering +mazes—to watch surprise, wonder, and perplexity merge into +understanding and enjoyment. Truedale experienced the satisfaction +of seeing that, for the first time in his life, he was a great +power. The thought set his brain whirling a bit, but it made him +seriously humble as well.</p> +<p>Gradually his doubts and introspections became more definite; he +lived day by day, hour by hour; while Jim White tarried, Nella-Rose +remained; and the past—Truedale’s past—faded +almost from sight. He could hardly realize, when thinking of it +afterward, where and how he decided to cut loose from his past, and +all it meant, and accept a future almost ludicrously different from +anything he had contemplated.</p> +<p>One day a reference to Burke Lawson was made and, instead of +letting it pass as heretofore, he asked suddenly of Nella-Rose:</p> +<p>“What is he to you?”</p> +<p>The girl flushed and turned away.</p> +<p>“Burke?—oh, Burke +isn’t—anything—now!”</p> +<p>“Was he ever—anything?”</p> +<p>“I reckon he wasn’t; I <i>know</i> he +wasn’t!”</p> +<p>Then, like a flash, Truedale believed he understood what had +happened. This simple girl meant more to him than anything +else—more than the past and what it held! A baser man would +not have been greatly disturbed by this knowledge; a man with more +experience and background would have understood it and known that +it was a phase that must be dealt with sternly and +uncompromisingly, but that it was merely a phase and as such bound +to pass. Not so Truedale. He was stirred to the roots of his being; +every experience was to him a concrete fact and, consequently, +momentous. In order to keep pure the emotions that overpowered him +at times, he must renounce all that separated him from Nella-Rose +and reconstruct his life; or—he must let <i>her</i> go!</p> +<p>Once Truedale began to reason this out, once he saw +Nella-Rose’s dependence upon him—her trust and +happiness—he capitulated and permitted his imagination to +picture and colour the time on ahead. He refused to turn a backward +glance.</p> +<p>Of course all this was not achieved without struggle and +foreboding; but he saw no way to hold what once was dear, without +dishonour to that which now was dearer; and he—let go!</p> +<p>This determined, he strenuously began to prepare himself for the +change. Day by day he watched Nella-Rose with new and far-seeing +interest—not always with love and passion-blinded eyes. He +felt that she could, with his devotion and training, develop into a +rarely sweet and fine woman. He was not always a fool in his +madness; at times he was wonderfully clear-sighted. He meant to +return home, when once his health was restored, and take the +Kendalls into his confidence; but the thought of Lynda gave him a +bad moment now and then. He could not easily depose her from the +most sacred memories of his life, but gradually he grew to believe +that her relations to him were—had always +been—platonic; and that she, in the new scheme, would play no +small part in his life and Nella-Rose’s.</p> +<p>There would be years of self-denial and labour and then, by and +by, success would be achieved. He would take his finished work, and +in this he included Nella-Rose, back to his old haunts and prove +his wisdom and good fortune. In short, Truedale was +love-mad—ready to fling everything to the ruthless winds of +passion. He blindly called things by wrong names and steered +straight for the rocks.</p> +<p>He meant well, as God knew; indeed all the religious elements, +hitherto unsuspected in him, came to the fore now. Conventions were +absurd when applied to present conditions, but, once having +accepted the inevitable, the way was divinely radiant. He meant to +pay the price for what he yearned after. He had no other +intention.</p> +<p>Now that he was resigned to letting the past go, he could afford +to revel in the joys of the present with a glad sense of +responsibility for the future.</p> +<p>Presently his course seemed so natural that he wondered he had +ever questioned it. More and more men with a vision—and +Truedale devoutly believed he had the vision—were recognizing +the absurdity of old ideals.</p> +<p>Back to the soil meant more than the physical; it meant back to +the primitive, the simple, the real. The artificial exactions of +society must be spurned if a new and higher morality were to be +established.</p> +<p>If Truedale in this state of mind had once seen the actual +danger, all might have been well; but he had swung out of his +orbit.</p> +<p>At this juncture Nella-Rose was puzzling her family to the +extent of keeping her father phenomenally sober and driving Marg to +the verge of nerve exhaustion.</p> +<p>The girl had, to put it in Greyson’s words, “grown +up over night.” She was dazzling and recalled a past that +struck deep in the father’s heart.</p> +<p>There had been a time when Peter Greyson, a mere boy, to be +sure—and before the cruel war had wrecked the fortunes of his +family—had been surrounded by such women as Nella-Rose now +suggested. Women with dancing eyes and soft, white hands. Women +born and bred for love and homage, who demanded their privileges +with charm and beauty. There had been one fascinating woman, a +great-aunt of Nella-Rose’s, who had imperilled the family +honour by taking her heritage of worship with a high hand. +Disregarding the rights of another, she boldly rode off with the +man of her choice and left the reconstruction of her reputation to +her kith and kin who roused instantly to action and lied, like +ladies and gentlemen, when truth was impossible. Eventually they so +toned down and polished the deed of the little social highwaywoman +as to pass her on in the family history with an escutcheon shadowed +only, rather than smirched.</p> +<p>Nella-Rose, now that her father considered, was dangerously like +her picturesque ancestress! The thought kept Peter from the still, +back in the woods, for many a day. He, poor down-at-heel fellow, +was as ready as any man of his line to protect women, especially +his own, but he was sorely perplexed now.</p> +<p>Was it Burke Lawson who, from his hiding place, was throwing a +glamour over Nella-Rose?</p> +<p>Then Peter grew ugly. The protection of women was one thing; +ridding the community of an outlaw was another. Men knew how to +deal with such matters and Greyson believed himself to be very much +of a man.</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose,” he said one day as he smoked +reflectively and listened to his younger daughter singing a camp +meeting hymn in a peculiarly sweet little voice, “when my +ship comes in, honey, I’m going to buy you a harp. A gold +one.”</p> +<p>“I’d rather have a pink frock, father, and a real +hat; I just naturally hate sunbonnets! I’d favour a feather +on my hat—flowers fade right easy.”</p> +<p>“But harps is mighty elegant, Nella-Rose. Time was when +your—aunts and—and grandmothers took to harps like they +was their daily nourishment. Don’t you ever forget that, +Nella-Rose. Harps in families mean <i>blood</i>, and blood +don’t run out if you’re careful of it.”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose laughed, but Marg, in the wash-house beyond, listened +and—hated!</p> +<p>No one connected <i>her</i> with harps or blood, but she held, +in her sullen heart and soul, the true elements of all that had +gone into the making of the best Greysons. And as the winter +advanced, Marg, worn in mind and body, was brought face to face +with stern reality. Autumn was gone—though the languorous +hours belied it. She must prepare. So she gathered her +forces—her garden products that could be exchanged for +necessities; the pork; the wool; all, all that could be spared, she +must set in circulation. So she counted three dozen eggs and +weighed ten pounds of pork and called Nella-Rose, who was driving +her mad by singing and romping outside the kitchen door.</p> +<p>“You—Nella-Rose!” she called, “are you +plumb crazy?”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose became demure at once and presented herself at the +door.</p> +<p>“Do I look it?” she said, turning her wonderful +little face up for inspection. Something in the words and in the +appealing beauty made Marg quiver. Had happiness and justice been +meted out to Marg Greyson she would have been the tenderest of +sisters to Nella-Rose. Several years lay between them; the younger +girl was encroaching upon the diminishing rights of the older. The +struggle between them was as old as life itself, but it could not +kill utterly what should have existed ardently.</p> +<p>“You got to tote these things”—Marg held forth +the basket—“down to the Centre for trade, and you can +fetch back the lil’ things like pepper, salt, and sugar. Tell +Cal Merrivale to fetch the rest and bargain for what I’ve got +ready here, when he drives by. If you start now you can be back by +sundown.”</p> +<p>To Marg’s surprise, Nella-Rose offered no protest to the +seven-mile walk, nor to the heavy load. She promptly pulled her +sunbonnet to the proper angle on her head and gripped the +basket.</p> +<p>“Ain’t you goin’ to eat first?” asked +Marg.</p> +<p>“No. Put in a bite; I’ll eat it by the +way.”</p> +<p>As the Centre was in the opposite direction from the Hollow, as +seven miles going and seven miles coming would subdue the spirits +and energy even of Nella-Rose, Marg was perplexed. However, she +prepared food, tucked it in the basket, and even went so far as to +pin her sister’s shawl closely under her chin. Then she +watched the slim, straight figure depart—still puzzled but at +peace for the day, at least.</p> +<p>Nella-Rose, however, was plotting an attack upon Truedale quite +out of the common. By unspoken consent he and she had agreed that +their meetings should be in the open. Jim White might return at +anytime and neither of them wanted at first to include him in the +bewildering drama of their lives. For different reasons they knew +that Jim’s cold understanding of duty would shatter the +sacred security that was all theirs. Truedale meant to confide +everything to White upon his return—meant to rely upon him in +the reconstruction of his life; but he knew nothing could be so +fatal to the future as any conflict at the present with the +sheriff’s strict ideas of conduct. As for Nella-Rose, she had +reason to fear White’s power as woman-hater and upholder of +law and order. She simply eliminated Jim and, in order to do this, +she must keep him in the dark.</p> +<p>Early that morning she had looked, as she did every day, from +the hill behind the house and she had seen but one thin curl of +smoke from the clearing! If White had not returned the night before +the chances were that he would make another day of it! Nella-Rose +often wondered why others did not note the tell-tale smoke—a +clue which often played a vital part in the news of the hills. Only +because thoughts were focussed on the Hollow and on White’s +absence, was Truedale secure in his privacy.</p> +<p>“I’ll hurry mighty fast to the Centre,” +Nella-Rose concluded, after escaping from Marg’s disturbed +gaze, “then I’ll hide the things by the big road and +I’ll—go to his cabin. I’ll—I’ll +surprise him!”</p> +<p>Truedale had told her the day before, in a moment of caution, +that he would have to work hard for a time in order to make ready +for White’s return. The fact was he had now got to that point +in his story when he longed for Jim as he might have longed for +safety on a troubled sea. With Jim back and fully +informed—everything on ahead would be safe.</p> +<p>“I’ll surprise him!” murmured Nella-Rose, with +the dimples in full play at the corners of her mouth; “old +Jim White can’t keep me away. I’ll watch +out—it’s just for a minute; I’ll be back by +sundown; it will be only to say ‘how-de?’”</p> +<p>Something argued with the girl as she ran on—something +quite new and uncontrolled. Heretofore no law but that of the wilds +had entered into her calculations. To get what she could of +happiness and life—to make as little fuss as +possible—that had been her code; but now, the same restraint +that had held Marg from going to the Hollow awhile back, when she +thought that, with night, Burke Lawson might disclose his +whereabouts, held Nella-Rose! So insistent was the rising argument +that it angered the girl. “Why? Why?” her longings and +desires cried. “Because! Because!” was the stern +response, and the <i>woman</i> in Nella-Rose thrilled and throbbed +and trembled, while the girlish spirit pleaded for the excitement +of joy and sweetness that was making the grim stretches of her +narrow existence radiant and full of meaning.</p> +<p>On she went doggedly. The dimples disappeared; the mouth fell +into the pathetic, drooping lines that by and by, unless something +saved Nella-Rose, would become permanent and mark her as a +hill-woman—one to whom soul visions were denied.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>Wisdom had all but conquered Nella-Rose’s folly when she +came in sight of Calvin Merrivale’s store. But—who +knows?—perhaps the girl’s story had been written long +since, and she was not entirely free. Be that as it may, she +paused, for no reason whatever as far as she could tell, and +carefully took one dozen eggs from the basket and hid them under +some bushes by the road! Having done this she went forward so +blithely and lightly that one might have thought her load had been +considerably eased. She appeared before Calvin Merrivale, +presently, like a refreshing apparition from vacancy. It was high +noon and Merrivale was dozing in a chair by the rusty stove, in +which a fire, prepared against the evening chill, was already +burning.</p> +<p>“How-de, Mister Merrivale?” Calvin sprang to his +feet.</p> +<p>“If it ain’t lil’ Nella-Rose. How’se +you-all?”</p> +<p>“Right smart. I’ve brought you three dozen eggs and +ten pounds of pork.” Nella-Rose almost said +po’k—not quite! “And you must be mighty generous +with me when you weigh out—let me see!—oh, yes, pepper, +salt, and sugar.”</p> +<p>“I’ll lay a siftin’ more in the scale, +Nella-Rose, on ’count o’ yo’ enjoyin’ ways. +But I can’t make this out”—he was counting the +eggs—“yo’ said three dozen aigs?”</p> +<p>“Three dozen, and ten pounds of pork!” This very +firmly.</p> +<p>Merrivale counted again and as he did so Nella-Rose remembered! +The red came to her face—the tears to her ashamed eyes.</p> +<p>“Stop!” she said softly, going close to the old man. +“I forgot. I took one dozen out!”</p> +<p>Merrivale stood and looked at her and then, what he thought was +understanding, came to his assistance.</p> +<p>“Who fo’, Nella-Rose, who fo’?”</p> +<p>There was no reply to this.</p> +<p>“Yo’ needn’t be afraid to open yo’ mind +ter me, Nella-Rose. Keeping sto’ is a mighty help in +gettin’ an all-around knowin’ o’ things. Folks +jest naterally come here an’ talk an’ jest naterally I +listen, an’ ’twixt Jim White, the sheriff, an’ +old Merrivale, there ain’t much choosin’, jedgmatically +speakin’. I know White’s off an’ plannin’ +ter round up Burke Lawson from behind, as it war. T’warnt so +in my day, lil’ Nella-Rose. When we-uns had a reckonin +comin’, we naterally went out an’ shot our man; but +these torn-down scoundrels like Jed Martin an’ his kind they +trap ’em an’ send ’em to worse’n hell. +Las’ night”—and here Merrivale bent close to +Nella-Rose—“my hen coop was ’tarnally gone +through, an’ a bag o’ taters lifted. I ain’t +makin’ no cry-out. I ain’t forgot the year o’ the +fever an’—an’—well, yo’ know +who—took care o’ me day an’ night till I saw +faces an’ knew ’em! What’s a matter o’ a +hen o’ two an’ a sack o’ taters when lined up +agin that fever spell? I tell yo’, Nella-Rose, if +<i>yo’</i> say thar war three dozen aigs, thar <i>war</i> +three dozen aigs, an’ we’ll bargain +accordin’!”</p> +<p>And now the dimples came slowly to the relieved face.</p> +<p>“I’ll—I’ll bring you an extra dozen +right soon, Mister Merrivale.”</p> +<p>“I ain’t a-goin’ ter flex my soul ’bout +that, Nella-Rose. Aigs is aigs, but human nater is human nater; +an’ keepin’ a store widens yo’ stretch o’ +vision. Now, watch out, lil’ girl, an’ don’t take +too much fo’ granted. When a gun goes off yo’ hear it; +but when skunks trail, yo’ don’t get no sign, +’less it’s a smell!”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose took her packages, smiled her thanks, and ran on. She +ate her lunch by the bushes where the eggs lay hidden, then +depositing in the safe shelter the home bundles Merrivale had so +generously weighed, she put the eggs in the basket, packed with +autumn leaves, and turned into the trail leading away from the big +road.</p> +<p>Through the bare trees the clear sky shone like a shield of +blue-gray metal. It was a sky open for storm to come and pass +unchecked. The very stillness and calm were warnings of approaching +disturbance. Nature was listening and waiting for the breaking up +of autumn and the clutch of frost.</p> +<p>It was only two miles from the Centre to White’s clearing +and the afternoon was young when Nella-Rose paused at the foot of +the last climb and took breath and courage. There was a tangled +mass of rhododendrons by the edge of the wood and suddenly the +girl’s eyes became fixed upon it and her heart beat wildly. +Something alive was crouching there, though none but a trained +sense could have detected it! They waited—the hidden creature +and the quivering girl! Then a pair of eager, suspicious eyes shone +between the dead leaves of the bushes; next a dark, thin face +peered forth—it was Burke Lawson’s! Nella-Rose clutched +her basket closer—that was all. After a moment she spoke +softly, but clearly:</p> +<p>“I’m alone. You’re safe. How long have you +been back?”</p> +<p>“Mor’n two weeks!”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose started. So they had known all along, and while she +had played with Marg the hunt might at any moment have become +deadly earnest.</p> +<p>“More’n two weeks,” Lawson repeated.</p> +<p>“Where?” The girl’s voice was hard and +cold.</p> +<p>“In the Holler. Miss Lois Ann helped—but Lord! you +can’t eat a helpless old woman out of house and home. Last +night—”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes; I know. And oh, Burke, Mister Merrivale +hasn’t forgot—the fever and your goodness. He +won’t give you up.”</p> +<p>“He won’t need to. I’m right safe, ’cept +for food. There’s an old hole, back of a deserted +still—I can even have a bit of fire. The devil himself +couldn’t find me. After a time I’m +going—”</p> +<p>“Where? Where, Burke?”</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose, would you come with me? ’Twas you as +brought me back—I had to come. If you will—oh! my +doney-gal—”</p> +<p>“Stop! stop, Burke. Some one might be near. No, no; I +couldn’t leave the hills—I’d die from the +longing, you know that!”</p> +<p>“If I—dared them all—could you take me, +Nella-Rose? I’d run my chances with you! Night and day you +tug and pull at the heart o’ me, Nella-Rose.”</p> +<p>Fear, and a deeper understanding, drove Nella-Rose to the wrong +course.</p> +<p>“When you dare to come out—when they-all let you +stay out—then ask me again, Burke Lawson. I’m not going +to sweetheart with one who dare not show his head.”</p> +<p>Her one desire was to get Lawson away; she must be free!</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose, I’ll come out o’ this.”</p> +<p>“No! no!” the girl gasped, “they’re not +after you to shoot you, Burke; Jed Martin is for putting you in +jail!”</p> +<p>“Good God—the sneaking coward.”</p> +<p>“And Jim White is off raising a posse, he means +to—to see fair play. Wait until Jim comes back; then give +yourself up.”</p> +<p>“And then—then, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>The young, keen face among the dead leaves glowed with a light +that sent the blood from Nella-Rose’s heart.</p> +<p>“See”—she said inconsequently—“I +have” (she counted them out), “I have a dozen eggs; +give them to Miss Lois Ann!”</p> +<p>“Let me touch you, Nella-Rose! Just let me touch your +lil’ hand.”</p> +<p>“Wait until Jim White comes back!”</p> +<p>Then, because a rabbit scurried from its shelter, Burke Lawson +sank into his, and Nella-Rose in mad haste took to the trail and +was gone! A moment later Lawson peered out again and tried to +decide which way she went, but his wits were confused—so he +laughed that easy, fearless laugh of his and put in his hat the +eggs Nella-Rose had left. Then, crawling and edging along, he +retraced his steps to that hole in the Hollow where he knew he was +as safe as if he were in his grave.</p> +<p>With distance and reassurance on her side, Nella-Rose paused to +take breath. She had been thoroughly frightened. Her beautiful +plans, unsuspected by all the world, had been threatened by an +unlooked-for danger. She had never contemplated Burke Lawson as a +complication. She was living day by day, hour by hour. Jim White +she had accepted as a menace—but Burke never! She was no +longer the girl Lawson had known, but how could she hope to make +him understand that? Her tender, love-seeking nature had, in the +past, accepted the best the mountains offered—and Burke had +been the best. She had played with him—teased Marg with +him—revelled in the excitement, but <i>now</i>? Well, the +blindness had been torn from her eyes—the shackles from her +feet. No one, nothing, could hold her from her own! She must not be +defrauded and imprisoned again!</p> +<p>Yes, that was it—imprisoned just when she had learned to +use her wings!</p> +<p>Standing in the tangle of undergrowth, Nella-Rose clenched her +small hands and raised wide eyes to the skies.</p> +<p>“I seem,” she panted—and at that moment all +her untamed mysticism swayed her—“like I was going +along the tracks in the dark and something is +coming—something like that train long ago!”</p> +<p>Then she closed her eyes and her uplifted face softened and +quivered. Behind the drooping lids she saw—Truedale! Quite +vividly he materialized to her excited fancy. It was the first time +she had ever been able to command him in this fashion.</p> +<p>“I’m going to him!” The words were like a +passionate prayer rather than an affirmation. “I’m +going to follow like I followed long ago!” She clutched the +basket and fled along.</p> +<p>And while this was happening, Truedale, in his cabin, was +working as he had not worked in years. He had burned all his +bridges and outlying outposts; he was waiting for White, and his +plans were completed. He meant to confide everything to his only +friend—for such Jim seemed in the hazy and desolated +present—then he would marry Nella-Rose off-hand; there must +be a minister somewhere! After that? Well, after that Truedale +grasped his manuscript and fell to work like one inspired.</p> +<p>Lynda Kendall would never have known the play in its present +form. Truedale’s ideal had always been to portray a free +woman—a super-woman; one who had evolved into the freedom +from shattered chains. He now had a heroine free, in that she had +never been enslaved. If one greater than he had put a soul in a +statue, Truedale believed that he could awaken a child of nature +and show her her own beautiful soul. He had outlined, a time back, +a sylvan Galatea; and now, as he sat in the still room, the +framework assumed form and substance; it breathed and moved him +divinely. It and he were alone in the universe; they were to begin +the world—he and—</p> +<p>Just then the advance messenger of the coming change of weather +entered by way of a lowered window. It was a smart little breeze +and it flippantly sent the ashes flying on the hearth and several +sheets of paper broadcast in the room. Truedale sprang to recover +his treasures; he caught four or five, but one escaped his notice +and floated toward the door, which was ajar.</p> +<p>“Whew!” he ejaculated, “that was a narrow +escape,” and he began to sort and arrange the sheets on the +table.</p> +<p>“Sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two. Now where in thunder is that +sixty-three?”</p> +<p>A light touch on his arm made him spring to his feet, every +nerve a-tingle.</p> +<p>“Here it is! It seemed like it came to meet me.”</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose!”</p> +<p>The girl nodded, holding out the paper.</p> +<p>“So you have come? Why—did you?”</p> +<p>The dimples came into play and Truedale stood watching them +while many emotions flayed him; but gradually his weakness passed +and he was able to assume an extremely stern though kindly manner. +He meant to set the child right; he meant to see <i>only</i> the +<i>child</i> in her until White returned; he would ignore the +perilously sweet woman-appeal to his senses until such time as he +could, with safety, let them once more hold part in their relations +with each other.</p> +<p>But even as he arrived at this wise conclusion, he was noting, +as often before he had noted, the fascinating colour and quality of +Nella-Rose’s hair. It was both dark and light. If smoke were +filled with sunlight it would be something like the mass of more or +less loosened tendrils that crowned the girl’s pretty head. +Stern resolve began to melt before the girlish sweetness and +audacity, but Truedale made one last struggle; he thought of +staunch and true Brace Kendall! And, be it to Brace Kendall’s +credit, the course Conning endeavoured to take was a wise one.</p> +<p>“See here, Nella-Rose, you ought not to come +here—alone!”</p> +<p>“Why? Aren’t you glad to see me?”</p> +<p>“Of course. But why did you come?” This was risky. +Truedale recognized it at once.</p> +<p>“Just to say—‘how-de’! You certainly do +look scroogy.”</p> +<p>At this Truedale laughed. Nella-Rose’s capacity for +bringing forth his happier, merrier nature was one of her endearing +charms.</p> +<p>“You didn’t come just for that, Nella-Rose!” +This with stern disapproval.</p> +<p>“Take off the scroogy face—then I’ll tell you +why I came.”</p> +<p>“Very well!” Truedale smiled weakly. +“Why?”</p> +<p>“I’m right hungry. I—I want a +party.”</p> +<p>Of course this would never do. White, or one of the +blood-and-thunder raiders, might appear.</p> +<p>“You must go, Nella-Rose.”</p> +<p>“Not”—here she sat down firmly and undid her +ridiculous plaid shawl—“not till you give me a bite. +Just a mighty little bite—I’m starving!”</p> +<p>At this Truedale roared with laughter and went hurriedly to his +closet. The girl must eat and—<i>go</i>. Mechanically he set +about placing food upon the table. Then he sat opposite Nella-Rose +while she ate with frank enjoyment the remains of his own noon-day +meal. He could not but note, as he often did, the daintiness with +which she accomplished the task. Other women, as Truedale +remembered, were not prepossessing when attacking food; but this +girl made a gracious little ceremony of the affair. She placed the +small dishes in orderly array before her; she poised herself +lightly on the edge of the chair and nibbled—there was no +other word for it—as a perky little chipmunk might, the +morsels she raised gracefully to her mouth. She was genuinely +hungry and for a few minutes devoted her attention to the matter in +hand.</p> +<p>Then, suddenly, Nella-Rose did something that shattered the last +scrap of self-control that was associated with the trusty Kendall +and his good example. She raised a bit of food on her fork and held +it out to Truedale, her lovely eyes looking wistfully into his.</p> +<p>“Please! I feel so ornery eating alone. I want +to—share! Please play party with me!”</p> +<p>Truedale tried to say “I had my dinner an hour ago”; +instead, he leaned across his folded arms and murmured, as if quite +outside his own volition:</p> +<p>“I—I love you!”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose dropped the fork and leaned back. Her lids fell over +the wide eyes—the smile faded from her lips.</p> +<p>“Do you belong to any one—else, +Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“No—oh! no.” This like a frightened cry.</p> +<p>“But others—some one must have told you—of +love. Do you know what love means?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>And now she looked at him. Her eyes were dark, her face deadly +pale; her lips were so red that in the whiteness they seemed the +only trace of colour.</p> +<p>“How do I know? Why because—nothing else matters. It +seems like I’ve been coming all my life to it—and now +it just says: ‘Here I am, +Nella-Rose—here’!”</p> +<p>“I, too, have been coming to it all my life, little girl. +I did not know—I was driven. I rebelled, because I did not +know; but nothing else <i>does</i> matter, when—love gets +you!”</p> +<p>“No. Nothing matters.” The girl’s voice was +rapt and dreamy. Truedale put his hands across the space dividing +them and took hold of hers.</p> +<p>“You will be—mine, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“Seems like I must be!”</p> +<p>“Yes. Doesn’t it? Do you—you must understand, +dear? I mean to live the rest of my life here in the +hills—your hills. You once said one was of the hills or one +wasn’t; will they let me stay?”</p> +<p>“Yes”—almost +fiercely—“but—but your folks—off +there—will they let you stay?”</p> +<p>“I have no folks, Nella-Rose. I’m lonely and +poor—at least I was until I found you! The hills have given +me—everything; I mean to serve them well in return. I want +you for my wife, Nella-Rose; we’ll make a +home—somewhere—it doesn’t matter; it will be a +shelter for our love and—” He stopped short. Reality +and conventions made a last vain appeal. “I don’t want +you ever again to go out of my sight. You’re mine and nothing +could make that different—but” (and this came quickly, +desperately) “there must be a minister +somewhere—let’s go to him! Do not let us waste another +precious day. When he makes you mine by his”—Truedale +was going to say “ridiculous jargon” but he modified it +to—“his authority, no one in all God’s world can +take you from me. Come, come <i>now</i>, sweetheart!”</p> +<p>In another moment he would have had her in his arms, but she +held him off.</p> +<p>“I’m mighty afraid of old Jim White!” she +said.</p> +<p>Truedale laughed, but the words brought him to his senses.</p> +<p>“Then you must go, darling, until White returns. After I +have explained to him I will come for you, but first let me hold +you—so! and kiss you—so! This is why—you must go, +my love!”</p> +<p>She was in his arms, her lifted face pressed to his. She +shivered, but clung to him for a moment and two tears rolled down +her cheeks—the first he had ever seen escape her control. He +kissed them away.</p> +<p>“Of what are you thinking, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“Thinking? I’m not thinking; +I’m—happy!”</p> +<p>“My—sweetheart!” Again Truedale pressed his +lips to hers.</p> +<p>“Us-all calls +sweetheart—‘doney-gal’!”</p> +<p>“My—my doney-gal, then!”</p> +<p>“And”—the words came muffled, for Truedale was +holding her still—“and always I shall see your face, +now. It came to-day like it came long ago. It will always come and +make me glad.”</p> +<p>Truedale lifted her from his breast and held her at arms’ +length. He looked deep into her eyes, trying to pierce through her +ignorance and childishness to find the elusive woman that could +meet and bear its part in what lay before. Long they gazed at each +other—then the light in Nella-Rose’s face +quivered—her mouth drooped.</p> +<p>“I’m going now,” she said, “going till +Jim White comes back.”</p> +<p>“Wait—my—”</p> +<p>But the girl had slipped from his grasp; she was gone into the +misty, threatening grayness that had closed in about them while +love had carried them beyond their depths. Then the rain began to +fall—heavy, warning drops. The wind, too, was rising sullenly +like a monster roused from its sleep and slowly gathering power to +vent its rage.</p> +<p>Into this darkening storm Nella-Rose fled unheedingly. She was +not herself—not the girl of the woods, wise in mountain lore; +she was bewitched and half mad with the bewildering emotions that, +at one moment frightened her—the next, carried her closer to +the spiritual than she had ever been.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p>Alone in his cabin, Truedale was conscious of a sort of +groundless terror that angered him. The storm could not account for +it—he had the advantage of ignorance there! Certainly his +last half-hour could not be responsible for his sensations. He +justified every minute of it by terms as old as man’s desires +and his resentment of restrictions. “Our lives are our +own!” he muttered, setting to work to build a fire and to +light the lamp. “They will all come around to my way of +seeing things when I have made good and taken her back to +them!”</p> +<p>Still this arguing brought no peace, and more and more Truedale +found himself relying upon Jim White’s opinions. In that +troubled hour the sheriff stood like a rugged sign post in the +path. One unflinching finger pointed to the past; the +other—to the future.</p> +<p>“Well! I’ve chosen,” thought Truedale; +“it’s the new way and—thank God!” But he +felt that the future could be made possible or miserable by +Jim’s favour or disapproval.</p> +<p>Having decided to follow upon White’s counsel, Truedale +mentally prayed for his return, and at once. The fact was, Truedale +was drugged and he had just sense enough left to know it! He +vaguely realized that the half-hour with Nella-Rose had been a +dangerous epoch in his life. He was safe, thank heaven! but he +dared not trust himself just now without a stronger will to guide +him!</p> +<p>While he busied himself at feeding the animals, preparing and +clearing away his own evening meal, he grew calmer. The storm was +gaining in fury—and he was thankful for it! He was shut away +from possible temptation; he even found it easy to think of Kendall +and of Lynda, but he utterly eliminated his uncle from his mind. +Between him and old William Truedale the gulf seemed to have become +impassable!</p> +<p>And while Truedale sank into an unsafe mental calm, Nella-Rose +pushed her way into the teeth of the storm and laughed and +chattered like a mad and lost little nymph. Wind and rain always +exhilarated her and the fury of the elements, gaining force every +minute, did not alarm her while the memory of her great experience +held sway over her. She shook her hair back from her wide, vague +eyes. She was undecided where to go for the night—it did not +matter greatly; to-morrow she would go again to Truedale, or he +would come to her. At last she settled upon seeking the shelter of +old Lois Ann, in Devil-may-come Hollow, and turned in that +direction.</p> +<p>It was eight o’clock then and Truedale, with his books and +papers on the table before him, declared: “I am quite all +right now,” and fell to work upon the manuscript that earlier +had engrossed him.</p> +<p>As the time sped by he was able to visualize the play; <i>he</i> +was sitting in the audience—he beheld the changing scenes and +the tense climax. He even began to speculate upon the particular +star that would be fitted for the leading part. His one +extravagance, in the past, had been cut-rate seats in the best +theatres.</p> +<p>Suddenly the mood passed and all at once Truedale realized that +he was tired—deadly tired. The perspiration stood on his +forehead—he ached from the strain of cramped muscles. Then he +looked at his watch; it was eleven o’clock! The stillness out +of doors bespoke a sullen break in the storm. A determined +drip-drip from roof and trees was like the ticking of a huge clock +running down, but good for some time. The fire had died out, not a +bit of red showed in the ashes, but the room was hot, still. +Truedale decided to go to bed without it, and, having come to that +conclusion, he bent his head upon his folded arms and sank into a +deep sleep.</p> +<p>Suddenly he awoke. The room was cold and dark! The lamp had +burned itself out and the storm was again howling in its second +attack. Chilled and obsessed by an unnerving sense of danger, +Truedale waited for—he knew not what! Just then something +pressed against his leg and he put his hand down thinking one of +the dogs was crouching close, but a whispered “sh!” set +every muscle tense.</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“Yes—but, oh! be mighty still. They may be here any +minute.”</p> +<p>“They? Who?”</p> +<p>“All of them. Jed Martin, my father, and the +others—the ones who are friends of—of—”</p> +<p>“Whom, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“Burke Lawson! He’s back—and they +think—oh! they think they are on his trail—here! +I—I was trying to get away but the streams were swollen and +the big trees were bending and—and I hid behind a rock +and—I heard!</p> +<p>“First it was Jed and father; they said they were going to +shoot—they’d given up catching Burke alive! Then they +went up-stream and the—the others came—the friends, and +they ’lowed that Burke was here and they meant to get here +before Jed and—and da some killing on their side. I—I +thought it was fun when they-all meant to take Burke alive, but +now—oh! now can’t you see?—they’ll shoot +and find out afterward! They may come any minute! I put the light +out. Come, we must leave the cabin empty-looking—like you had +gone—and hide!”</p> +<p>The breathless whispering stopped and Truedale collected his +senses in the face of this real danger.</p> +<p>“But you—you must not be here, +Nella-Rose!”</p> +<p>Every nerve was alert now. “This is pure madness. Great +heavens! what am I going to do with you?”</p> +<p>The seriousness of the situation overpowered him.</p> +<p>“Sh!” The warning was caused by the restlessness of +the dogs outside. Their quick ears were sensing danger or—the +coming of their master! Either possibility was equally +alarming.</p> +<p>“Oh! you do not understand,” Nella-Rose was pleading +by his knee. “If they-all see you, they will have you killed +that minute. Burke is the only one in their minds—they +don’t even know that you live; they’re too full of +Burke, and if they see me—why—they’d kill you +anyway.”</p> +<p>“But what can I do with you?” That thought alone +swayed Truedale.</p> +<p>Then Nella-Rose got upon her feet and stood close to him.</p> +<p>“I’m yours! I gave myself to you. You—you +wanted me. Are you sorry?”</p> +<p>The simple pride and dignity went straight to Truedale’s +heart.</p> +<p>“It’s because I want you so, little girl, that I +must save you.”</p> +<p>Somehow Nella-Rose seemed to have lost her fear of the oncoming +raiders; she spoke deliberately, and above a whisper:</p> +<p>“Save me?—from what?”</p> +<p>There were no words to convey to her his meaning. Truedale felt +almost ashamed to hold it in his own mind. They so inevitably +belonged to each other; why should they question?</p> +<p>“I—I shall not go away—again!”</p> +<p>“My darling, you must.”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>The word brought him to his senses—where, indeed? With the +dark woods full of armed men ready to fire at any moving thing in +human shape, he could not let her go! That conclusion reached, and +all anchors cut, the danger and need of the hour claimed him.</p> +<p>“Yes; you are mine!” he whispered, gathering her to +him. “What does anything matter but our safety to-night? +To-morrow; well, to-morrow—”</p> +<p>“Sh!”</p> +<p>No ear but one trained to the secrets of the still places could +have detected a sound.</p> +<p>“They are coming! Yes, not the many—it is Jed! Come! +While you slept I carried a right many things to the rhododendron +slick back of the house! See, push over the chair—leave the +door open like you’d gone away before the storm.”</p> +<p>Quickly and silently Nella-Rose suited action to word. Truedale +watched her like one bewitched. “Now!” She took him by +the hand and the next minute they were out on the wet, sodden +leaves; the next they were crouching close under the bushes where +even the heavy rain had not penetrated. Half-consciously Truedale +recognized some of his property near by—his clothing, two or +three books, and—yes—it was his manuscript! The white +roll was safe! How she must have worked while he slept.</p> +<p>Once only did she speak until danger was past. Nestling close in +his arms, her head upon his shoulder, she breathed:</p> +<p>“If they-all shoot, we’ll die together!”</p> +<p>The unreality of the thing gradually wore upon Truedale’s +tense nerves. If anything was going to happen he wanted it to +happen! In another half-hour he meant to put an end to the farce +and move his belongings back to the cabin and take Nella-Rose home. +It was a nightmare—nothing less!</p> +<p>“Sh!” and then the waiting was over. Two dark +figures, guns ready, stole from the woods behind White’s +cabin. Where were the dogs? Why did they not speak out?—but +the dogs were trained to be as silent as the men. They were all +part and parcel of the secret lawlessness of the hills. In the dim +light Truedale watched the shadowy forms enter Jim’s unlocked +cabin and presently issue forth, evidently convinced that the prey +was not there—had not been there! Then as stealthy as Indians +they made their way to the other cabin—Truedale’s late +shelter. They kept to the bushes and the edge of the +woods—they were like creeping animals until they reached the +shack; then, standing erect and close, they went in the doorway. So +near was the hiding place of Truedale and his companion that they +could hear the oaths of the hunters as they became aware that their +quarry had escaped.</p> +<p>“He’s been here, all right!” It was Jed Martin +who spoke.</p> +<p>“I reckon he’s caught on,” Peter Greyson +drawled, “he’s makin’ for Jim White. White +ain’t more’n fifteen miles back; we can cut him off, +Jed, ’fore he reaches safety—the skunk!”</p> +<p>Then the two emerged from the cabin and strode boldly away.</p> +<p>“The others!” whispered Truedale—“will +they come?”</p> +<p>“Wait!”</p> +<p>There was a stir—a trampling—but apparently the +newcomers did not see Martin and Greyson. There was a crackling of +underbrush by feet no longer feeling need of caution, then another +space of silence before safety was made sure for the two in the +bushes.</p> +<p>At last Truedale dared to speak.</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose!” He looked down at the face upon his +breast. She was asleep—deeply, exhaustedly asleep!</p> +<p>Truedale shifted his position. He was cramped and aching; still +the even breathing did not break. He laid her down gently and put a +heavy coat about her—one that earlier she had carried from +the cabin in her effort to save him. He went to the house and +grimly set to work. First he lighted a fire; then he righted the +chairs and brought about some order from the chaos. He was no +longer afraid of any man on God’s earth; even Jim White was +relegated to the non-essentials. Truedale was merely a primitive +creature caring for his own! There was no turning back now—no +waiting upon conventions. When he had made ready he was going out +to bring his own to her home!</p> +<p>The sullen, soggy night, with its bursts of fury and periods of +calm, had settled down, apparently, to a drenching, businesslike +rain. The natives knew how to estimate such weather. By daylight +the streams would be raging rivers on whose currents trees and +animals would be carried ruthlessly to the lowlands. Roads would be +obliterated and human beings would seek shelter wherever they could +find it.</p> +<p>But Truedale was spared the worry this knowledge might have +brought him. He concentrated now upon the present and grimly +accepted conditions as they were. All power or inclination for +struggle was past; the inheritance of weakness which old William +Truedale had feared and with which Conning himself had so contended +in his barren youth, asserted itself and prepared to take +unquestioningly what the present offered.</p> +<p>At that moment Truedale believed himself arbiter of his own fate +and Nella-Rose’s. Conditions had forced him to this position +and he was ready to assume responsibility. There was no +alternative; he must accept things as they were and make them +secure later on. For himself the details of convention did not +matter. He had always despised them. In his youthful spiritual +anarchy he had flouted them openly; they made no claim upon his +attention now, except where Nella-Rose was concerned. Appearances +were against him and her, but none but fools would allow that to +daunt them. He, Truedale, felt that no law of man was needed to +hold him to the course he had chosen, back on the day when he +determined to forsake the past and fling his fortunes in with the +new. Never in his life was Conning Truedale more sincere or, he +believed, more wise, than he was at that moment. And just then +Nella-Rose appeared coming down the rain-drenched path like a +little ghost in the grim, gray dawn. She still wore the heavy coat +he had put about her, and her eyes were dreamy and vague.</p> +<p>Truedale strode toward her and took her in his arms.</p> +<p>“My darling,” he whispered, “are you able to +come with me now—at once—to the minister? It must be +now, sweetheart—now!”</p> +<p>She looked at him like a child trying to understand his +mood.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she said presently, “I ’most +forgot. The minister has gone to a burying back in the hills; +he’ll be gone a right long time. Bill Trim, who carries all +the news, told me to-day.”</p> +<p>“Where is he, Nella-Rose?” Something seemed +tightening around Truedale’s heart.</p> +<p>“Us-all don’t know; he left it written on his +door.”</p> +<p>“Where is there another minister, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“There is no other.”</p> +<p>“This is absurd—of course there is another. We must +start at once and find him.”</p> +<p>“Listen!” The face upon Truedale’s breast was +lifted. “You hear that?”</p> +<p>“Yes. What is it?” Truedale was alarmed.</p> +<p>“It means that the little streams are rivers; it means +that the trails are full of rocks and trees; it +means”—the words sank to an awed +whisper—“it means that we must <i>fight</i> for what +we-all want to keep.”</p> +<p>“Good God! Nella-Rose, but where can I take +you?”</p> +<p>“There is no place—but here.”</p> +<p>It seemed an hour that the silence lasted while Truedale faced +this new phase and came to his desperate conclusion.</p> +<p>Had any one suggested to him then that his decision was the +decision of weakness, or immemorial evil, he would have resented +the thought with bitterest scorn. Unknowingly he was being tempted +by the devil in him, and he fell; he had only himself to look to +for salvation from his mistaken impulses, and his best self, +unprepared, was drugged by the overpowering appeal that Nella-Rose +made to his senses.</p> +<p>Standing with the girl in his arms; listening to the oncoming +danger which, he realized at last, might destroy him and her at any +moment; bereft of every one—everything that could have held +them to the old ideals; Truedale saw but one course—and took +it.</p> +<p>“There is no place but here—no one but you and +me!”</p> +<p>The soft tones penetrated to the troubled place where Truedale +seemed to stand alone making his last, losing fight.</p> +<p>“Then, by heaven!” he said, “let us accept +it—you and I!”</p> +<p>He had crossed his Rubicon.</p> +<p>They ate, almost solemnly; they listened to that awful roar +growing more and more distinct and menacing. Nella-Rose was still +and watchful, but Truedale had never been more cruelly alive than +he was then when, with his wider knowledge, he realized the step he +had taken. Whether it were for life or death, he had blotted out +effectually all that had gone to the making of the man he once was. +Whatever hope he might have had of making Lynda Kendall and Brace +understand, had things gone as he once had planned, there was no +hope now. No—he and Nella-Rose were alone and helpless in the +danger-haunted hills. He and she!</p> +<p>The sun made an effort to come forth later but the rush and roar +of the oncoming torrent seemed to daunt it. For an hour it +struggled, then gave up. But during that hour Truedale led +Nella-Rose from the house. Silently they made their way to a little +hilltop from which they could see an open space of dull, leaden +sky. There Truedale took the girl’s hands in his and lifted +his eyes while his benumbed soul sought whatever God there might +be.</p> +<p>“In Thy sight,” he said slowly, deeply, “I +take this woman for my wife. Bless us; keep us; +and”—after a pause—“deal Thou with me as I +deal with her.”</p> +<p>Then the earnest eyes dropped to the frightened ones searching +his face.</p> +<p>“You are mine!” Truedale spoke commandingly, with a +force that never before had marked him.</p> +<p>“Yes.” The word was a faint, frightened whisper.</p> +<p>“My darling, kiss me!”</p> +<p>She kissed him with trembling lips.</p> +<p>“You love me?”</p> +<p>“I—I love you.”</p> +<p>“You—you trust me?”</p> +<p>“I—oh! yes; yes.”</p> +<p>“Then come, my doney-gal! For life or death, it is you and +I, little woman, from now on!”</p> +<p>Like a flash his gloom departed. He was gay, desperate, and free +of all hampering doubts. In such a mood Nella-Rose lost all fear of +him and walked by his side as complacently as if the one minister +in her sordid little world had with all his strange authority said +his sacred “Amen” over her.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p>There were five days of terrific storm. Truedale and Nella-Rose +had fought to save White’s live stock—even his cabin +itself; for the deluge had attacked that while leaving safe the +smaller cabin near by. All one morning they had worked gathering +débris and placing it so that it turned the course of a +rapid stream that threatened the larger house. It had been almost a +lost hope, but as the day wore on the torrent lessened, the rough +barrier held—they were successful! The gate and snake-fence +were carried away, but the rest was saved!</p> +<p>In the strenuous labour, in the dangerous isolation, the +ordinary things of life lost their importance. With death facing +them their love and companionship were all that were left to them +and neither counted the cost. But on the sixth day the sun shone, +the flood was past, and with safety and the sure coming of Jim +White at hand, they sat confronting each other in a silence new and +potent.</p> +<p>“Sweetheart, you must go—for a few hours!”</p> +<p>Truedale bent across the table that separated them and took her +clasped hands in his. He had burned all his social bridges, but +poor Nella-Rose’s progress through life had not been made +over anything so substantial as bridges. She had proceeded by +scrambling down and up primitive obstacles; she felt that at last +she had come to her Land of Promise.</p> +<p>“You are going to send me—away? Where?”</p> +<p>“Only until White returns, little girl. See here, dear, +you and I are quite gloriously mad, but others are stupidly sane +and we’ve got to think of them.”</p> +<p>Truedale was talking over her head, but already Nella-Rose +accepted this as a phase of their new relations. A mountain man +might still love his woman even if he beat her and, while +Nella-Rose would have scorned the suggestion that she was a +mountain woman, she did seriously believe that men were different +from women and that was the end of the matter!</p> +<p>“You run along, small girl of mine—the skies are +clear, the sun warm—but I want you to meet me at three +o’clock at the spot where the trail joins the road. I will be +there and I will wait for you.”</p> +<p>“But why?—why?” The blue-gray eyes were +troubled.</p> +<p>“Sweetheart, we’re going to find that minister of +yours if we have to travel from one end of the hills to the +other!”</p> +<p>“But we-all are married!” This with a little gasp. +“Back on the hill, when you told God and said He understood; +then we-all were married.”</p> +<p>“And so we were, my sweet, no minister could make you more +mine than you already are, but the others—your people. Should +they try to separate us they might cause trouble and the minister +can make it impossible for any one to take you away from my love +and care.”</p> +<p>And at that moment Truedale actually believed what he said. In +his heart he had always been a rebel—defiant and impotent. He +had, in this instance, proved his theories; but he did not intend +to leave loose ends that might endanger the safety of +others—of this young girl, most of all. He was only going to +carry out his original plans for her safety—not his own. +After the days just past—days of anxiety, relief, and the +proving of his love and hers—no doubt remained in +Truedale’s heart; he was of the hills, now and forever!</p> +<p>“No one can—<i>now</i>!” This came +passionately from Nella-Rose as she watched him.</p> +<p>“They might make trouble until they found that out. +They’re too free with their guns. There’s a lot to +explain, little doney-gal.” Conning smiled down her +doubts.</p> +<p>“Until three o’clock!” Nella-Rose pouted, +“that’s a right long time. But I’ll—just +run along. Always and always I’m going to do what you +say!” Already his power over her was absolute. She put her +arms out with a happy, wilful gesture and Truedale held her +closer.</p> +<p>“Only until three, sweetheart.”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose drew herself away and turned to pick up her little +shawl and hat from the couch by the fire; she was just reaching for +her basket, when a shadow fell across the floor. Truedale and the +girl turned and confronted—Jim White! What he had seen and +heard—who could tell from his expressionless face and steady +voice? The door had been on the latch and he had come in!</p> +<p>“Mail, and truck, and rabbits!” he explained, +tossing his load upon the table. Then he turned toward Truedale as +if noticing him for the first time.</p> +<p>“How-de?” he said. Finally his gaze shifted to +Nella-Rose and seemed to burn into her soul.</p> +<p>“Goin’, p’r’aps, +or—comin’?” he questioned.</p> +<p>“I—I am—going!” Fright and dismay marked +the girl’s voice. Truedale went toward her. The covert +brutality in White’s words shocked and angered him. He gave +no thought to the cause, but he resented the insult.</p> +<p>“Wait!” he commanded, for Nella-Rose was gone +through the open door. “Wait!”</p> +<p>Seeing that she had for the moment escaped him, Truedale turned +to White and confronted him with clear, angry eyes.</p> +<p>“What have you got to say for yourself?” he demanded +fiercely.</p> +<p>The shock had been tremendous for Jim. Three weeks previously he +had left his charge safe and alone; he had come back and +found—But shock always stiffened Jim White; that was one +reason for his success in life. He was never so inflexible and +deadly self-possessed as he was when he could not see the next step +ahead.</p> +<p>“Gawd, but I’m tired!” he said, when he had +stared at Truedale as long as he cared to, “I’m going +over to my place to turn in. Seems like I’ll sleep for a +month once I get started.”</p> +<p>“You don’t go, White, until you explain what you +meant by—”</p> +<p>But Truedale mistook his man. Jim, having drawn his own +conclusion, laughed and strode toward the door.</p> +<p>“I go when I’m damned pleased ter go!” he +flung out derisively, “and I come the same way, young feller. +There’s mail for yo’ in the sack and—a +telegram.” White paused by the door a moment while Truedale +picked the yellow envelope from the bag and tore it open.</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“Your uncle died suddenly on the 16th. Come at once. +Vitally important. McPHERSON.”</p> +</div> +<p>For a moment both men forgot the thing that had driven them wide +apart.</p> +<p>“Bad news?” asked the sheriff.</p> +<p>Something was happening to Truedale—he felt as if the +effect of some narcotic were losing its power; the fevered +unreality was giving place to sensation but the brain was recording +it dully.</p> +<p>“What date is this?” he asked, dazed.</p> +<p>“Twenty-fifth,” Jim replied as he moved out of the +door.</p> +<p>“When can I get a train from the station?”</p> +<p>“There’s one as leaves anywhere ’twixt nine +and ten ter-night.”</p> +<p>“That gives me time to pack. See here, White, while it +isn’t any of your business, I want to explain a thing or +two—before I go. I’ll be back as soon as I can—in +a week or ten days at furthest. When I return I intend to stay on, +probably for the rest of my life.”</p> +<p>White still held Truedale by the cold, steely gleam of his eyes +which was driving lucidity home to the dulled brain. By a power as +unyielding as death Jim was destroying the screen Truedale had +managed to raise against the homely codes of life and was leaving +his guest naked and exposed.</p> +<p>The shock of the telegram—the pause it evolved—had +given Truedale time to catch the meaning of White’s attitude; +now that he realized it, he knew he must lay certain facts +open—he could not wait until his return.</p> +<p>Presently Jim spoke from outside the door.</p> +<p>“I ain’t settin’ up for no critic. I +ain’t by nater a weigher or trimmer and I don’t care a +durn for what ain’t my business. When I <i>see</i> my +business I settle it in my own way!”—there was almost a +warning in this. “I’m dead tired, root and branch. +I’m goin’ ter take a bite an’ turn in. I may +sleep a couple o’ days; put off yo’ +’splainifyin’ ’til yo’ come back ter end +yo’ days. Take the mare an’ leave her by the trail; +she’ll come home. Tell old Doc McPherson I was askin’ +arter him.”</p> +<p>By that time Jim had ceased scorching his way to +Truedale’s soul and was on the path to his own cabin.</p> +<p>“Looks like yo’ had a tussle with the storm,” +he remarked. “Any livin’ thing killed?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Thank yo’!” Then, as if determined not to +share any further confidence, White strode on.</p> +<p>For a moment Truedale stood and stared after his host in +impotent rage. Was Jim White such a lily of purity that he presumed +to take that attitude? Was the code of the hills that of the Romany +gypsies? How dare any man judge and sentence another without +trial?</p> +<p>The effect of the narcotic still worked sluggishly, now that +White’s irritating presence was removed. Truedale shrugged +his shoulders and turned to his packing. He was feverishly eager to +get to Nella-Rose. Before nightfall she would be his before the +world; in two weeks he would be back; the future would shame White +and bring him to his senses. Jim had a soft heart; he was just, in +his brutal fashion. When he understood how matters were, he would +feel like the fool he was—a fool willing to cast a man off, +unheard! But Truedale blamed himself for the hesitation that meant +so much. The telegram—his fear of making a wrong +step—had caused the grave mistake that could not be righted +now.</p> +<p>At two o’clock Truedale started—on Jim’s mare! +White’s cabin had all the appearance of being barred against +intrusion. Truedale did not mean to test this, but it hurt him like +a blow. However, there was nothing to do but remedy, as soon as +possible, the error he had permitted to arise. No man on earth +could make Nella-Rose more his than his love and good faith had +made her, still he was eager now to resort to all the time-honoured +safeguards before he left. Once married he would go with a heart +almost light. He would confide everything to Kendall and +Lynda—at least he would his marriage—and urge them to +return with him to the hills, and after that White and all the +others would have an awakening. The possibility thus conceived was +like a flood of light and sweet air in a place dark and bewildering +but not evil—no, not that!</p> +<p>As he turned from the clearing Truedale looked back at his +cabin. Nella-Rose seemed still there. She would always be part of +it just as she was now part of his life. He would try and buy the +cabin—it would be sacrilege for others to enter!</p> +<p>So he hurried the mare on, hoping to be at the crossing before +Nella-Rose.</p> +<p>The crisp autumn air was redolent of pines and the significance +of summer long past. It had a physical and spiritual power.</p> +<p>Then turning suddenly from the trail, Truedale saw Nella-Rose +sitting on a rock—waiting! She had on a rough, +mannish-looking coat, and a coarse, red hood covered her bright +head. Nella-Rose was garbed in winter attire. She had worn this +outfit for five years and it looked it.</p> +<p>Never again was Truedale to see a face of such radiant joy and +trust as the girl turned upon him. Her eyes were wide and filled +with a light that startled him. He jumped from the horse and took +her in his arms.</p> +<p>“What is it?” he asked, fearing some intangible +danger.</p> +<p>“The minister was killed by the flood!” +Nella-Rose’s tones were thrilling. “He was going +through Devil-may-come Hollow and a mighty big rock struck him +and—he’s dead!”</p> +<p>“Then you must come with me, Nella-Rose.” Truedale +set his lips grimly; there was no time to lose. Between three and +nine o’clock surely they could locate a minister or a justice +of the peace. “Come!”</p> +<p>“But why, Mister Man?” She laughed up at him. +“Where?”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter. To New York if necessary. Jump +up!” He turned to the horse, holding the girl close.</p> +<p>“Me go away—in this? Me shame you +before—them-all?”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose stood her ground and throwing the rough coat back +displayed her shabby, shrunken dress.</p> +<p>“I went home—they-all were away. I got my warm +things, but I have a white dress and a pink ribbon—I’ll +get them to-morrow. Then—But why must we +go—away?”</p> +<p>For the first time this thought caught her—she had been +whirled along too rapidly before to note it.</p> +<p>“I have had word that my uncle is dead. I must go at once, +my dear, and you—you must come with me. Would you let a +little thing like a—a dress weigh against our love, and +honour?”</p> +<p>Above the native’s horror of being dragged from her +moorings was that subtle understanding of honour that had come to +Nella-Rose by devious ways from a source that held it sacred.</p> +<p>“Honour?” she repeated softly; “honour? If I +thought I had to go in rags to make you sure; if I thought I needed +to—I’d—”</p> +<p>Truedale saw his mistake. Realizing that if in the little time +yet his he made her comprehend, he might lose more than he could +hope to gain, he let her free while he took a card and pen from his +pocket. He wrote clearly and exactly his address, giving his +uncle’s home as his.</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose,” he said calmly, “I shall be back +in two or three weeks at the latest, but if at any moment you want +me, send word here—telegraph from the +station—<i>you</i> come first, always! You are wiser than I, +my sweet; our honour and love are our own. Wait for me, my +doney-gal and—trust me.”</p> +<p>She was all joy again—all sweetness. He kissed her, +turned, then came back.</p> +<p>“Where will you go, my darling?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Since they-all do not know”—she was lying +against his breast, her eyes heavy now with grief at the +parting—“I reckon I will go home—to +wait.”</p> +<p>Solemnly Truedale kissed her and turned dejectedly away. Once +again he paused and looked back. She stood against the tree, small +and shabby, but the late afternoon sun transfigured her. In the +gloomy setting of the woods, that fair, little face shone like a +gleaming star and so Truedale remembered her and took her image +with him on his lonely way.</p> +<p>Nella-Rose watched him out of sight and then she turned and did +something that well might make one wonder if a wise God or a cruel +demon controls our fates—she ran away from the home path and +took the trail leading far back to the cabin of old Lois Ann!</p> +<p>There was safety; there were compassion and comprehension. The +old woman could tell marvellous tales and so could beguile the +waiting days. Nella-Rose meant to confide in her and ask her to +hide her until Truedale came for her. It was a sudden inspiration +and it brought relief.</p> +<p>And that night—it was past midnight and cold as the north +land—Burke Lawson came face to face with Jed Martin! Lawson +was issuing from his cranny behind the old still and Martin was +nosing about alone. He, like a hungry thing of the wilds, had found +his foe’s trail and meant to bag him unaided and have full +vengeance and glory. But so unexpectedly, and alarmingly +unconcerned, did Burke materialize in the emptiness that +Jed’s gun was a minute too late in getting into position. +Lawson had the drop on him! They were both very quiet for a moment, +then Lawson laughed and did it so boldly that Jed shrank back.</p> +<p>“Coming to make a friendly call, Martin?”</p> +<p>“Something like that!”</p> +<p>“Well, come in, come right in!”</p> +<p>“I reckon you an’ me can settle what we’ve got +ter settle in the open!” Jed stuttered. It seemed a hideous, +one-sided settlement.</p> +<p>“As yo’ please, Jed, as yo’ please. I have a +leanin’ to the open myself. I’d just decided ter come +out; I was going up ter Jim White’s and help him mete out +justice, but maybe you and me can save him the trouble.”</p> +<p>“You—goin’ ter shoot me, Burke—like +a—like a—hedgehog?”</p> +<p>“No. I’m goin’ ter do unto yo’ as +yo’ would have—” Here Burke laughed—he was +enjoying himself hugely.</p> +<p>“What yo’ mean?”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m goin’ ter put yer in my quarters +and tie yer to a chair. Yo’ll be able to wiggle out in time, +but it will take yer long enough fur me to do what I’m set +about doin’. Yo’ torn down traitor!—yo’ +were ’lowing to put me behind bars, wasn’t yer? +Yo’ meant to let outsiders take the life out o’ +me—yo’ skunk! Well, instead, Jed—I’m +goin’ on my weddin’ trip—me and lil’ +Nella-Rose. I’ve seen her; she done promised to have me, when +I come out o’ hidin’. I’m coming out now! +Nella-Rose an’ me are goin’ to find a bigger place than +Pine Cone Settlement. Yo’ll wiggle yer blasted hide loose by +mornin’ maybe; but then her an’ me’ll be where +you-all can’t ketch us! Go in there, now, you green lizard; +turn about an’ get on yer belly like the crawlin’ thing +yo’ are! That’s it—go! the way opens +up.”</p> +<p>Jed was crawling through the bushes, Lawson after him with +levelled gun. “Now, then, take a seat an’ make yerself +ter home!” Jed got to the chair and turned a green-white face +upon his tormentor.</p> +<p>“Yer goin’ ter let me starve here?” he asked +with shaking voice.</p> +<p>“That depends on yo’ power to wiggle. See, I tie you +so!” Lawson had pounced upon Jed and had him pinioned. +“I ain’t goin’ ter turn a key on yer like +yo’ was aimin’ ter do on me! It’s up to yo’ +an’ yer wigglin’ powers, when yo’ get free. The +emptier yer belly is, the more room ye’ll have fer wiggling. +God bless yer! yer dog-gone hound! Bless yer an’—curse +yer! I’m off—with the doney-gal!”</p> +<p>And off he was—he and his cruel but gay laugh.</p> +<p>There was no fire in the cave-like place; no light but the +indirect moonlight which slanted through the opening. It was death +or wiggle for Jed Martin—so he wiggled!</p> +<p>In the meantime, Burke headed for Jim White’s. He meant to +play a high game there—to fling himself on White’s +mercy—appeal to the liking he knew the sheriff had for +him—confess his love for Nella-Rose—make his promise +for future redemption and then go, scot-free, to claim the girl who +had declared he might speak when once again he dared walk upright +among his fellows. So Lawson planned and went bravely to the doing +of it.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>At Washington, Truedale telegraphed to Brace Kendall. He felt, +as he drew nearer and nearer to the old haunts, like a stranger, +and a blind, groping one at that. The noises of the city disturbed +and confused him; the crowds irritated him. When he remembered the +few weeks that lay between the present and the days when he was +part and parcel of this so-called life, he experienced a sensation +of having died and been compelled to return to earth to finish some +business carelessly overlooked. He meant to rectify the omission as +soon as possible and get back to the safety and peace of the hills. +How different it all would be with settled ideas, definite work, +and Nella-Rose!</p> +<p>While waiting for his train in the Washington station he was +startled to find that, of a sudden, he was adrift between the Old +and the New. If he repudiated the past, the future as sternly +repudiated him. He could not reconcile his love and desire with his +identity. Somehow the man he had left, when he went South, appeared +now to have been waiting for him on his return, and while his +plans, nicely arranged, seemed feasible the actual readjustment +struck him as lurid and impossible. The fact was that his +experience of life in Pine Cone made him now shrink from contact +with the outside world as one of its loyal natives might have done. +It could no more survive in the garish light of a city day than +little Nella-Rose could have. That conclusion reached, Truedale was +comforted. He could not lure his recent past to this environment, +but so long as it lay safe and ready to welcome him when he should +return, he could be content. So he relegated it with a resigned +sigh, as he might have done the memory of a dear, absent friend, to +the time when he could call it forth to some purpose.</p> +<p>It was well he could do this, for with the coming of Brace +Kendall upon the scene all romantic sensation was excluded as +though by an icy-clear, north wind. Brace was at the New York +station—Brace with the armour of familiarity and unbounded +friendliness. “Old Top!” he called Truedale, and shook +hands with him so vigorously that the last remnant of thought that +clung to the distant mountains was freed from the present.</p> +<p>“Well, of all the miracles! Why, Con, I bet you tip the +scales at a hundred and sixty. And look at your paw! Why, +it’s callous and actually horny! And the colour you’ve +got! Lord, man! you’re made over.</p> +<p>“You’re to come to your uncle’s house, Con. +It’s rather a shock, but we got you as soon as we could. In +the meantime, we’ve followed directions. The will has not +been read, of course, but there was a letter found in your +uncle’s desk that commanded—that’s the only word +to express it, really—Lynda and you and me to come to the old +house right after the funeral. We waited to hear from you, Con, but +since you could not get here we had to do the best we could. Dr. +McPherson took charge.”</p> +<p>“I was buried pretty deep in the woods, Ken, and there was +a bad hitch in the delivery of the telegram. Such things do not +count down where I was. But I’m glad about the old +house—glad you and Lynda are there.”</p> +<p>“Con!”—and at this Brace became +serious—“I think we rather overdid our estimate of your +uncle. Since his—his going, we’ve seen him, Lyn and I, +in a new light. He was quite—well, quite a sentimentalist! +But see—here we are!”</p> +<p>“The house looks different already!” Conning said, +leaning from the cab window.</p> +<p>“Yes, Lyn’s had a lot to do, but she’s managed +to make a home of the place in the short time.”</p> +<p>Lynda Kendall had heard the sound of wheels in the quiet +street—had set the door of welcome open herself, and now +stood in the panel of light with outstretched hands. Like a +revelation Truedale seemed to take in the whole picture at once. +Behind the girl lay the warm, bright hall that had always been so +empty and drear in his boyhood. It was furnished now. Already it +had the look of having been lived in for years. There were flowers +in a tall jar on the table and a fire on the broad hearth. And +against this background stood the strong, fine form of the young +mistress.</p> +<p>“Welcome home, Con!”</p> +<p>Truedale, for a moment, dared not trust his voice. He gripped +her hands and felt as if he were emerging from a trance. Then, of a +sudden, a deep resentment overpowered him. They could not +understand, of course, but every word and tone of appropriation +seemed an insult to the reality that he knew existed. He no longer +belonged to them, to the life into which they were trying to draw +him. To-morrow he would explain; he was eager to do so and end the +restraint that sprang into being the moment he touched +Lynda’s hands.</p> +<p>Lynda watched the tense face confronting her and believed +Conning was suffering pangs of remorse and regret. She was filled +with pity and sympathy shone in her eyes. She led him to the +library and there familiarity greeted him—the room was +unchanged. Lynda had respected everything; it was as it always had +been except that the long, low chair was empty.</p> +<p>They talked together softly in the quiet place until +dinner—talked of indifferent things, realizing that they must +keep on the surface.</p> +<p>“This room and his bedchamber, Con,” Lynda +explained, “are the same. For the rest? Well, I hope you will +like it.”</p> +<p>Truedale did like it. He gave an exclamation of delight when +later they entered the dining room, which had never been furnished +in the past; like much of the house it had been a sad tribute to +the emptiness and disappointment that had overcome William +Truedale’s life. Now it shone with beauty and cheer.</p> +<p>“It is not merely a place in which to eat,” +explained Lynda; “a dining room should be the heart of the +home, as the library is the soul.”</p> +<p>“Think of living up to that!”—Brace gave a +laugh—“and not having it interfere with your +appetite!” They were all trying to keep cheerful until such +time as they dared recall the recent past without restraint.</p> +<p>Such an hour came when they gathered once more in the library. +Brace seized his pipe in the anticipation of play upon his +emotions. By tacit consent the low chair was left vacant and by a +touch of imagination it almost seemed as if the absent master were +waiting to be justified.</p> +<p>“And now,” Truedale said, huskily, “tell me +all, Lynda.”</p> +<p>“He and I were sitting here just as we all are sitting +now, that last night. He had forgiven me for—for staying +away” (Lynda’s voice shook), “and we were very +happy and confidential. I told him some things—quite intimate +things, and he, well, he came out of his reserve and gruffness, +Con—he let me see the real man he was! I suppose while he had +been alone—for I had neglected him—he had had time to +think, to regret his mistakes; he was very just—even with +himself. Con”—and here Lynda had to pause and get +control of herself—“he—he once loved my mother! +He bought this house hoping she would come and, as its mistress, +make it beautiful. When my mother married my father, nothing +mattered—nothing about the house, I mean. Before my mother +died she told me—to be kind to Uncle William. She, in a +sacred way, left him to me; me to him. That was one of the things I +told him that last night. I wish I had told him long ago!” +The words were passionate and remorseful. “Oh, it might have +eased his pain and loneliness. When shall we ever learn to say the +right thing when it is most needed? Well, after I had told him +he—he grew very still. It was a long time before he +spoke—the joy was sinking in, I saw that, and it carried the +bitterness away. When he did speak he made me understand that he +could not trust himself further on that subject, but he tried +to—to explain about you, Con. Poor man! He realized that he +had made a failure as a guide; but in his own way he had +endeavoured to be a guardian. You know his disease developed just +before you came into his life. Con, he lived all through the years +just for you—just to stand by!”</p> +<p>From out the shadow where he sat, Brace spoke unevenly:</p> +<p>“Too bad you don’t—smoke, old man!” It +was the only suggestion he had to offer in the tense silence that +gripped them all.</p> +<p>“It’s all right!” Truedale said heavily. +“Go on when you can, Lynda.”</p> +<p>“Do you—remember your father, Con?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, your uncle feared that too much ease and money +might—”</p> +<p>“I—I begin to understand.”</p> +<p>“So he went to the other extreme. Every step of your +well-fought way was joy to him—the only joy he knew. From his +detachment and loneliness he planned—almost plotted—for +you, but he did not tell you. It would all have been so +different—oh! so different if we had all known. Then he told +me a little—about his will.”</p> +<p>No one saw the sudden crimson that dyed Lynda’s white face +and throat. “He was very fantastic about that. He made +certain arrangements that were to take effect at once. He has left +you three thousand a year, Con, without any restrictions whatever. +He told me that. He left his servants and employees generous +annuities. He left me this house—for my mother’s sake. +He insisted that it should be a home at last. A large sum is +provided for its furnishing and upkeep—I’m a trustee! +The most beautiful thing, perhaps, was the thought expressed in +these words of his, ‘I want you to do your mother’s +work and mine, while still following your own rightful desires. +Make this house a place of welcome, peace, and friendliness!’ +I mean to do my best, Con.”</p> +<p>“And he’s left me”—Brace found relief in +the one touch of humour that presented +itself—“he’s left me a thousand dollars as a +token of his appreciation of my loyalty to you, when you most +needed it.”</p> +<p>But Truedale hardly heeded. His eyes were fixed upon the empty +chair and, since he had not understood in the past, he could not +express himself now. He was suffering the torture that all feel +when, too late, revealment makes clear what never should have been +hidden.</p> +<p>“And then”—Lynda’s low, even voice went +on—“he sent me away and Thomas put him to bed. He asked +for some medicine that it seems he always had in case of need; he +took too much—and—”</p> +<p>“So it was suicide!” Truedale broke in desperately. +“I feared that. Good God!” The tragedy and loneliness +clutched his imagination—he seemed to see it all, it was +unbearable!</p> +<p>“Con!” Lynda laid her firm hand upon his arm, +“I have learned to call it something else. It has helped me; +perhaps it will help you. He had waited wearily on this side of the +door of release; he—he told me that he was going on a long +journey he had often contemplated—I did not understand then! +I fancy the—the journey was very short. There was no +suffering. I wish you could have seen the peace and majesty of his +face! He could wait no longer. Nothing mattered here, and all that +he yearned for called loudly to him. He simply opened the door +himself—and went out!”</p> +<p>Truedale clasped the hand upon his arm. “Thank you, Lynda. +I did not realize how kind you could be,” was all he +said.</p> +<p>The logs fell apart and filled the room with a rich glow. Brace +shook the ashes from his pipe upon the hearth—he felt now +that he could trust himself.</p> +<p>“For the future,” Lynda’s calm voice almost +startled the two men by its practicability and purpose, “this +is home—in the truest, biggest sense. No one shall even enter +here and feel—friendless. This is my trust; it shall be as +<i>he</i> wished it, and I mean to have my own life, too! Why, the +house is big enough for us all to live our lives and not interfere +with each other. I mean to bring my private business here in the +rooms over the extension. I’ll keep the uptown office for +interviews. And you, Con?”</p> +<p>Truedale almost sprang to his feet, then, hands plunged in +pockets, he said:</p> +<p>“There does not seem to be anything for me to do; at least +not until the will is read. I think I shall go back—I left +things at loose ends; there will be time to +consider—later.”</p> +<p>“But, Con, there is something for you to do. You will +understand after you see the lawyers in the morning. There is a +great deal of business: many interests of your uncle’s that +he expected you to represent in his name—to see that they +were made secure. Dr. McPherson has told me something about the +will—enough to help me to begin.”</p> +<p>Truedale looked blankly at Lynda. “Very well, after +that—I will go back,” he spoke almost harshly. “I +will arrange affairs somehow. I’m no business man, but I +daresay Uncle William chose wise assistants.”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you, Con?” Brace eyed +his friend critically; “you look fit as a fellow can. This +has demanded a good deal of self-denial and faith from us all, but +somehow this duty was the biggest thing in sight; we rather owe him +that, I fancy. You know you cannot run to cover just now, old man. +This has been a jog, but by morning you’ll reconsider and +play your part.” There was a new note in Kendall’s +voice. It was a call to something he hoped was in his friend, but +which he had never tested. There was a sudden fear, too, of the +change that had come to Truedale. It was not all physical. There +was a baffling suggestion of unreality about him that made him +almost a stranger.</p> +<p>“I dare say you are right, Ken.” Truedale walked the +length of the room and back. “I own to being cut up over +this. I never did my part—I see that now—and of course +I’ll endeavour to do what I should. My body’s all right +but my nerves still jangle at a shock. To-morrow the whole thing +will settle into shape. You and Lynda have been—well—I +cannot express what I feel.” He paused. The hour was late, +and for the first time he seemed to realize that the old home was +not his in the sense it once had been. Lynda understood the +moment’s hesitation and smiled slightly.</p> +<p>“Con, there’s one other thing in the house that +remains as it was. Under the eaves the small room that was yours is +yours still. I saw to it myself that not a book or picture was +displaced. There are other rooms at your disposal—to share +with us—but that room is yours, always.”</p> +<p>Truedale stood before Lynda and put out his hands in quite the +old way. His eyes were dim and he said hoarsely: +“That’s about the greatest thing you’ve done yet, +Lyn. Thank you. Good-night.”</p> +<p>At the door he hesitated—he felt he must speak, but to +bring his own affairs into the tense and new conditions surrounding +him seemed impossible. To-morrow he would explain everything. It +was this slowness in reaching a decision that most defeated +Truedale’s best interest. While he deplored it—he +seemed incapable of overcoming it.</p> +<p>Alone in the little room, later, he let himself go. Burying his +tired head upon his folded arms he gave himself up to waves of +recollection that threatened to engulf him. Everything was as it +always had been—a glance proved that. When he had parted from +his uncle he had taken only such articles as pertained to his +maturer years. The pictures on the walls—the few shabby books +that had drifted into his lonely and misunderstood +childhood—remained. There was the locked box containing, +Conning knew full well, the pitiful but sacred attempts at +self-expression. The key was gone, but he recollected every scrap +of paper which lay hidden in the old, dented tin box. Presently he +went to the dormer window and opened it wide. Leaning out he tried +to find his way back to Pine Cone—to the future that was to +be free of all these cramping memories and hurting +restrictions—but the trail was too cluttered; he was lost +utterly!</p> +<p>“It is because they do not know,” he thought. +“After to-morrow it will be all right.”</p> +<p>Then he reflected that the three thousand dollars Lynda had +mentioned would clear every obstacle from his path and +Nella-Rose’s. He no longer need struggle—he could give +his time and care to her and his work. He did not consider the rest +of his uncle’s estate, it did not matter. Lynda was provided +for and so was he. And then, for the first time in many days, +Truedale speculated upon bringing Nella-Rose away from her hills. +He found himself rather insisting upon it, until he brought himself +to terms by remembering her as he had seen her last—clinging +to her own, vehemently, passionately.</p> +<p>“No, I’ve made my choice,” he finally +exclaimed; “the coming back unsettled me for the moment but +her people shall be my people.”</p> +<p>Below stairs Lynda was humming softly an old +tune—“The Song of To-morrow,” it was called. It +caught and held Truedale’s imagination. He tried to recall +the lines, but only the theme was clear. It was the everlasting +Song of To-morrow, always the one tune set to changing ideals.</p> +<p>It was the same idea as the philosophy about each man’s +“interpretation” of the story already written, which +Conning had reflected upon so often.</p> +<p>At this time Truedale believed he firmly accepted the principle +of foreordination, or whatever one chose to call it. One followed +the path upon which one’s feet had been set. One might linger +and wander, within certain limits, but always each must return to +his destined trail!</p> +<p>A distant church clock struck one; the house was still at +last—deathly still. Two sounded, but Truedale thought on.</p> +<p>He finally succeeded in eliminating the entangling circumstances +that seemed to lie like a twisted skein in the years stretching +between his going forth from his uncle’s house to this night +of return. He tried to understand himself, to estimate the man he +was. In no egotistical sense did he do this, but sternly, +deliberately, because he felt that the future demanded it. He must +account to others, but first he must account to himself.</p> +<p>He recalled his boyhood days when his uncle’s distrust and +apparent dislike of him had driven him upon himself, almost taking +self-respect with it. He re-lived the barren years when, longing +for love and companionship, he found solace in a cold pride that +carried him along through school and into college, with a +reputation for hard, unyielding work, and unsocial habits.</p> +<p>How desperately lonely he had been—how cruelly +underestimated—but he had made no outcry. He had lived his +years uncomplainingly—not even voicing his successes and +achievements. Through long practise in self-restraint, his strength +lay in deliberate calculation—not indifferent action. He hid, +from all but the Kendalls, his private ambitions and hopes. He +studied in order that he might shake himself free from his +uncle’s hold upon him. He meant to pay every cent he had +borrowed—to secure, by some position that would supply the +bare necessities of life, time and opportunity for developing the +talent he secretly believed was his. He was prepared, once loose +from obligation to old William Truedale, to starve and prove his +faith. And then—his breakdown had come!</p> +<p>Cast adrift by loss of health, among surroundings that appealed +to all that was most dangerous in his nature—believing that +his former ambitions were defeated—old longings for love, +understanding and self-revealment arose and conquered the weak +creature he was. But they had appealed to the best in him—not +the evillest—thank God! And now? Truedale raised his head and +looked about in the dim room, as if to find the boy he once had +been and reassure him.</p> +<p>“There is no longer any excuse for hesitation and the +damnable weakness of considering the next step,” thought +Truedale. “I have chosen my own course—chosen the +simple and best things life has to offer. No man in God’s +world has a right to question my deeds. If they cannot understand, +more’s the pity.”</p> +<p>And in that hour and conclusion, the indifference and false +pride that had upheld Truedale in the past fell from him as he +faced the demands of the morrow. He was never again to succumb to +the lack of confidence his desolate youth had developed; physically +and spiritually he roused to action now that exactions were made +upon him.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p>The following day Truedale heard the will read. Directly after, +he felt like a man in a quicksand. Every thought and motion seemed +but to sink him deeper until escape appeared impossible.</p> +<p>He had felt, for a moment, a little surprise that the bulk of +his uncle’s great fortune had gone to Dr. McPherson—an +already rich and prosperous man; then he began to understand. +Although McPherson was left free to act as he chose, there had +evidently been an agreement between him and William Truedale as to +the carrying out of certain affairs and, what was more startling +and embarrassing, Conning was hopelessly involved in these. Under +supervision, apparently, he was to be recognized as his +uncle’s representative and, while not his direct heir, +certainly his respected nephew.</p> +<p>Truedale was confounded. Unless he were to disregard his +uncle’s wishes, there was no way open for him but to +follow—as he was led. Far from being dissatisfied with the +distribution of the fortune, he had been relieved to know that he +was responsible for only a small part of it; but, on the other +hand, should he refuse to coöperate in the schemes outlined by +McPherson, he knew that he would be miserably misunderstood.</p> +<p>Confused and ill at ease he sought McPherson later in the day +and that genial and warm-hearted man, shrinking always behind so +stern an exterior that few comprehended him, greeted him almost +affectionately.</p> +<p>“I ordered six months for you, Truedale,” he +exclaimed, viewing the result of his prescription keenly, +“and you’ve made good in a few weeks. You’re a +great advertisement for Pine Cone. And White! Isn’t he +God’s own man?”</p> +<p>“I hadn’t thought of him in just that +way”—Conning reverted to his last memory of the +sheriff—“but he probably showed another side to you. He +has a positive reverence for you and I imagine he accepted me as a +duty you had laid upon him.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense, boy! his health reports were eulogies—he +was your friend.</p> +<p>“But isn’t he a freebooter with all his other +charms? His contempt for government, as we poor wretches know it, +is sublime; and yet he is the safest man I know. The law, he often +told me, was like a lie; useful only to scoundrels—torn-down +scoundrels, he called them.</p> +<p>“I tell you it takes a God’s man to run justice in +those hills! White’s as simple and direct as a child and as +wise as a judge ought to be. I wouldn’t send some folk I know +to White, they might blur his vision; but I could trust him to +you.”</p> +<p>Silently Truedale contemplated this image of White; then, as +McPherson talked on, the dead uncle materialized so differently +from the stupid estimate he had formed of him that a sense of shame +overpowered him. Lynda had somewhat opened Truedale’s eyes, +but Lynda’s love and compassion unconsciously coloured the +picture she drew. Here was a hard-headed business man, a man who +had been close to William Truedale all his life, proving him now, +to his own nephew, as a far-sighted, wise, even patient and +merciful friend.</p> +<p>Never had Truedale felt so small and humble. Never had his past +indifference and false pride seemed so despicable and +egotistical—his return for the silent confidence reposed in +him, so pitifully shameful.</p> +<p>He must bear his part now! There was no way but that! If he were +ever to regain his own self-respect or hope to hold that of others, +he must, to the exclusion of private inclination, rise as far as in +him lay to the demands made upon him.</p> +<p>“Your uncle,” McPherson was saying, “tied hand +and foot as he was, looked far and wide during his years of +illness. I thought I knew, thought I understood him; but since his +death I have almost felt that he was inspired. It’s a +damnable pity that our stupidity and callousness prevent us +realizing in life what we are quick enough to perceive in +death—when it is too late! Truedale’s faith in me, when +I gave him so little to go by, is both flattering and touching. He +knew he could trust me—and that knowledge is the best thing +he bequeathed to me. But I expect you to do your part, boy, and by +so doing to justify much that might, otherwise, be questioned. To +begin with, as you have just heard, the sanatorium for cases like +your uncle’s is to be begun at once. Now there is a strip of +land, which, should it suit our purpose, can be had at great +advantage if taken at once, and for cash. We will run down to see +it this week and then we’ll know better where we +stand.”</p> +<p>“I’d like,” Truedale coloured quickly, +“to return to Pine Cone for a few days. I could start at +once. You see I left rather suddenly and brought—”</p> +<p>But McPherson laughed and waved his hand in the wide gesture +that disposed of hope and fear, lesser business and even death +itself, at times.</p> +<p>“Oh! Jim won’t tamper with anything. Certainly your +traps are safe enough there. Such things can wait, but this +land-deal cannot. Besides there are men to see: architects, +builders, etc. The wishes of your uncle were most explicit. The +building, you recall, was to be begun within three months of his +death. Having all the time there was, himself, he has left precious +little for others.”</p> +<p>Again the big laugh and wide gesture disposed of Pine Cone and +the tragic affairs of little Nella-Rose. Unless he was ready to lay +bare his private reasons, Truedale saw he must wait a few days +longer. And he certainly had no intention of confiding in +McPherson.</p> +<p>“Very well, doctor,” he said after a slight pause, +“set me to work. I want you to know that as far as I can I +mean—too late, as you say—to prove my good intentions +at least to—my uncle.”</p> +<p>“That’s the way to talk!” McPherson rose and +slapped Conning on the back. “I used to say to old Truedale, +that if he had taken you more into his confidence, he might have +eased life for us all; but he was timid, boy, timid. In many ways +he was like a woman—a woman hurt and sensitive.”</p> +<p>“If I had only known—only imagined”; Conning +was walking toward the door; “well, at least I’m on the +job now, Dr. McPherson.”</p> +<p>And then for an hour or two Truedale walked the city streets +perplexed and distraught. He was being absorbed without his own +volition. By a subtle force he was convinced that he was part of a +scheme bigger and stronger than his own desires and inclinations. +Unless he was prepared to play a coward’s rôle he must +adjust his thoughts and ideas to coincide with the rules and +regulations of the game of life and men. With this knowledge other +and more blighting convictions held part. In his defiance and +egotism he had muddled things in a desperate way. In the cold, +clear light of conventional relations the past few weeks, shorn of +the glamour cast by his romantic love and supposed contempt for +social restrictions, stood forth startlingly significant. At the +moment Truedale could not conceive how he had ever been capable of +playing the fool as he had! Not for one instant did this +realization affect his love and loyalty to Nella-Rose; but that he +should have been swept from his moorings by passion, reduced him to +a state of contempt for the folly he had perpetrated. And, he +thought, if he now, after a few days, could so contemplate his acts +how could he suppose that others would view them with tolerance and +sympathy?</p> +<p>No; he must accept the inevitable results of his action. His +love, his earnest intention of some day living his own life in his +own way, were to cost him more than he, blinded by selfishness and +passion in the hills, had supposed.</p> +<p>Well, he was ready to pay to the uttermost though it cost him +the deepest heart-ache. As he was prepared to undertake the burden +his uncle’s belief in him entailed, so he was prepared, now +that he saw things clearly, to forego the dearest and closest ties +of his old life.</p> +<p>He wondered how he could ever have dreamed that he could go to +Lynda and Brace with his amazing confession and expect them, in the +first moment of shock, to open their hearts and understand him. He +almost laughed, now, as he pictured the absurdity. And just then he +drew himself up sharply and came to his conclusion.</p> +<p>He could not lay himself bare to any one as a sentimental ass; +he must arrange things as soon as possible to return South; he +would, just before starting, tell Lynda and Brace of his attachment +for Nella-Rose. They would certainly understand why, in the stress +and strain of recent events, he had not intruded his startling news +before. He would neither ask nor expect sympathy or +coöperation. He must assume that they could not comprehend +him. This was going to be the hardest wrench of his life, Truedale +recognized that, but it was the penalty he felt he must pay.</p> +<p>Then he would go—for his wife! He would secure her +privately, by all the necessary conventions he had spurned so +madly—he would bring her to his people and leave to her +sweetness and tender charm the winning of that which he, in his +blindness, had all but lost.</p> +<p>So, in this mood, he returned to his uncle’s house and +wrote a long letter to Nella-Rose. He phrased it simply, as to a +little child. He reminded her of the old story she had once told +him of her belief that some day she was to do a mighty big +thing.</p> +<p>“And now you have your chance!” he pleaded. “I +cannot live in your hills, dear, though often you and I will return +to them and be happy in the little log house. But you must come +with me—your husband. Come down the Big Road, letting me lead +you, and you must trust me and oh! my doney-gal, by your blessed +sweetness and power you must win for me—for us +both—what I, alone, can never win.”</p> +<p>There was more, much more, of love and longing, of tender +loyalty and passionate reassurance, and having concluded his letter +he sealed it, addressed it, and putting it in an envelope with a +short note of explanation to Jim White as to its delivery, etc., he +mailed it with such a sense of relief as he had not known in many a +weary day.</p> +<p>He prepared himself for a period of patient waiting. He knew +with what carelessness mail matter was regarded in the hills, and +winter had already laid its hold upon Pine Cone, he felt sure. So +while he waited he plunged eagerly into each day’s work and +with delight saw how everything seemed to go through without a +hitch. It began to look as if, when Nella-Rose’s reply came, +there would be no reason for delay in bringing her to the +North.</p> +<p>But this hope and vision did not banish entirely +Truedale’s growing sorrow for the part he must inevitably +take when the truth was known to Lynda and Brace. Harder and harder +the telling of it appeared as the time drew near. Never had they +seemed dearer or more sacred to him than now when he realized the +hurt he must cause them. There were moments when he felt that he +could not bear the eyes of Lynda—those friendly, trusting +eyes. Would she ever be able, in the years to come, to forgive and +forget? And Brace—how could that frank, direct nature +comprehend the fever of madness that had, in the name of love, +betrayed the confidence and faith of a lifetime? Well, much lay in +the keeping of the little mountain girl whose fascination and +loveliness would plead mightily. Of Nella-Rose’s power +Truedale held no doubt.</p> +<p>Then came White’s devastating letter at the close of an +exhausting day when Conning was to dine with the Kendalls.</p> +<p>That afternoon he had concluded the immediate claims of +business, had arranged with McPherson for a week’s absence, +and meant in the evening to explain to Brace and Lynda the reason +for his journey. He was going to start South on the morrow, whether +a letter came or not. He had steeled himself for the crucial hour +with his friends; had already, in his imagination, bidden farewell +to the relations that had held them close through the past years. +He believed, because he was capable of paying this heavy price for +his love, that no further proof would be necessary to convince even +Lynda of its intensity.</p> +<p>They dined cheerfully and alone and, as they crossed the hall +afterward, to the library, Lynda asked casually:</p> +<p>“Did you get the letters for you, Con? The maid laid them +on the stand by the door.”</p> +<p>Then she went on into the bright room with its long, vacant +chair, singing “To-morrow’s Song” in that sweet +contralto of hers that deserved better training.</p> +<p>There were three letters—one from a man whose son Truedale +had tutored before he went away, one from the architect of the new +hospital, and a bulky one from Dr. McPherson. Truedale carried them +all into the library where Brace sat comfortably puffing away +before the fire; and Lynda, some designs for interior decoration +spread out before her on a low table, still humming, rocked gently +to and fro in a very feminine rocker. Conning drew up a chair +opposite Kendall and tore open the envelope from his late +patron.</p> +<p>“I tell you, Brace,” he said, “if any one had +told me six weeks ago that I should ever be indifferent to a +possible offer to tutor, I would have laughed at him. But so it is. +I must turn down the sure-paying Mr. Smith for lack of +time.”</p> +<p>Lynda laughed merrily. “And six weeks ago if any one had +come to me in my Top Shelf where I carried on my profession, and +outlined this for me”—she waved her hand around the +room—“I’d have called the janitor to put out an +unsafe person. Hey-ho!” And then the brown head was bent over +the problem of an order which had come in that day.</p> +<p>“Oh! I say, Lyn!” Truedale turned from his second +letter. “Morgan suggests that <i>you</i> attend to the +decorating and furnishing of the hospital. I told him to choose his +man and he prefers you if I have no objection. Objection? Good +Lord, I never thought of you. I somehow considered such work out of +your line, but I’m delighted.”</p> +<p>“Splendid!” Lynda looked up, radiant. “How I +shall revel in those broad, clean spaces! How I shall see Uncle +William in every room! Thank him, Con, and tell him I +accept—on his terms!”</p> +<p>Then Truedale opened the third envelope and an enclosed letter +fell out, bearing the postmark of the Junction near Pine Cone!</p> +<p>There was a small electric reading lamp on the arm of +Truedale’s chair; he turned the light on and, while his face +was in shadow, the words before him stood out illumined.</p> +<p>“Sir—Mister Truedale.” The sheriff had +evidently been sorely perplexed as to the proper beginning of the +task he had undertaken.</p> +<p>“I send this by old Doc McPherson, not knowing any better +way.”</p> +<p>(Jim’s epistle was nearly innocent of punctuation, his +words ran on almost unbroken and gave the reader some trouble in +following.)</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Your letter to a certain young person has come and been +destroyed owing to my thinking under the present circumstances, +some folks what don’t know about you, better not hear now. I +took the letter to Lone Dome as you set down for me to do meaning +to give it to Nella-Rose like what you said, but she wasn’t +there. Pete was there and Marg—she’s Nella-Rose’s +sister, and getting ready to marry that torn-down scamp Jed Martin +which to my way of thinking is about the best punishment what could +be dealt out to him. Pete was right sober for him and spruced up +owing to facts I am now coming to and when Pete’s sober there +ain’t a more sensible cuss than what he is nor a gentlemaner. +Well, I asked natural like for Nella-Rose and Marg scrooged up her +mouth, knowing full well as how I knew Jed was second choice for +her—but Pete he done tell me that Nella-Rose had married +Burke Lawson and run to safer parts and when I got over the shock I +was certainly thankful for being a sheriff ain’t all it might +be when your ideas of justice and liking gets crossed. I +didn’t ask any more questions. Peter was sober—he only +lies when he’s drunk and not having any wish to rouse Marg I +just come away and burned the letter what you sent. But I’ve +done some thinking on my own ’count since your letter came +and I reckon I’ve studied the thing clear on circumstantial +evidence which is what I mostly have to go on in the sticks. I +certainly done you a black insult that day I came upon you and +Nella-Rose. I didn’t let on, and I never will, about her +being to my place, but no wonder the poor child was terrible upset +when I came in. She had come to me, so I study out, and found +you—stark stranger! How you ever soothed the poor little +thing I don’t know—her being wild as a flea—but +on top of that, in I slam and lit out on you both and ’corse +she couldn’t ’splain about Burke before you and +that’s plain enough what she had come to do, and I +didn’t leave either one of you a leg to stand on. I’ve +been pretty low in my spirits I can tell you and I beg your pardon +humble, young feller, and if ever I can do Nella-Rose a turn by +letting Burke free, no matter what he does—I will! But +’tain’t likely he’ll act up for some time. +Nella-Rose always could tame him and he’s been close on her +trail ever since she was a toddler. I’m right glad they took +things in their own hands and left. She didn’t sense the +right black meaning I had in my heart that day when she +ran—but you did and I sure am ashamed of the part I done +played.</p> +<p>If you can overlook what no man has a call to overlook in +another—your welcome is red hot here for you at any time.</p> +<p>JIM WHITE</p> +<p>Sheriff.</p> +</div> +<p>Truedale read and reread this amazing production until he began +to feel his way through the tangle of words and catch a +meaning—false, ridiculously false of course, but none the +less designed as an explanation and excuse. Then the non-essentials +dropped away and one bald fact remained! Truedale sank back in his +chair, turned off the electric light, and closed his eyes.</p> +<p>“Tired, old man?” Kendall asked from across the +hearth.</p> +<p>“Yes. Dead tired.”</p> +<p>“You’ll travel easier when you get the +gait.”</p> +<p>“Undoubtedly.”</p> +<p>“Take a bit of a nap,” Lynda suggested.</p> +<p>“Thanks, Lyn, I will.” Then Truedale, safe from +intrusion, tried to make his way out of the maze into which he had +been thrown. Slowly he recovered from the effect of the staggering +blow and presently got to the point where he felt it was all a +cruel lie or a stupid jest. There he paused. Jim was not the kind +to lie or joke about such a thing. It was a mistake—surely a +mistake. He would go at once to Pine Cone and make everything +right. Nella-Rose could not act alone. Tradition, training, +conspired to unfit her for this crisis; but that she had gone from +his love and faith into the arms of another man was incredible. No; +she was safe, probably in hiding; she would write him. She had the +address—she was keen and quick, even though she was helpless +to cope with the lawlessness of her mountain environment. Truedale +saw the necessity of caution, not for himself, but for Nella-Rose. +He could not go, unaided, to search for her. Evidently there had +been wild doings after he left; no one but White and Nella-Rose +knew of his actual existence—he must utilize White in +assisting him, but above all he must expect that Nella-Rose would +make her whereabouts known. Never for a moment did he doubt her or +put any credence in the conclusions White had drawn. How little Jim +really knew! By to-morrow word would come from Nella-Rose; somehow +she would manage, once she was safe from being followed, to get to +the station and telegraph. But there could be no leaving the girl +in the hills after this; he must, as soon as he located her, bring +her away; bring her into his life—to his home and hers!</p> +<p>A cold sweat broke out on Truedale’s body as he lashed +himself unmercifully in the still room where his two friends, one +believing him asleep, waited for his awakening.</p> +<p>Well, he was awake at last, thank God! The only difference +between him and a creature such as good men and women abhor was +that he meant to retrieve, as far as in him lay, the past error and +injustice. All his future life should prove his purpose. And then, +like a sweet fragrance or a spirit touch, his love pleaded for him. +He had been weak, but not vicious. The unfettered life had clouded +his reason, and his senses had played him false, but love was +untarnished—and it <i>was</i> love. That girl of the hills +was the same now as she had always been. She would accept him and +his people and he would make her life such that, once the +homesickness for the hills was past, she would have no regrets.</p> +<p>Then another phase held Truedale’s thought. In that day +when Nella-Rose accepted, in the fullest sense, his people and his +people’s code—how would he stand in her eyes? A groan +escaped him, then another, and he started nervously.</p> +<p>“Con, what is it—a bad dream?” Lynda touched +his arm to arouse him.</p> +<p>“Yes—a mighty bad one!”</p> +<p>“Tell it to me. Tell it while it is fresh in your mind. +They say once you have put a dream in words, its effect is killed +forever.”</p> +<p>Truedale turned dark, sorrowful eyes upon Lynda.</p> +<p>“I—I wish I could tell it,” he said with a +seriousness that made her laugh, “but it was the kind that +eludes—words. The creeping, eating impression—sort of +nightmare. Good Lord! how nerves play the deuce with +you.”</p> +<p>Brace Kendall did not speak. From his place he had been watching +Truedale, for the firelight had betrayed the truth. Truedale had +not been sleeping: Truedale had been terribly upset by that last +letter of his!</p> +<p>And just then Conning leaned forward and threw his entire mail +upon the blazing logs!</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p>For Truedale to await, calmly, further developments was out of +the question. He did, however, force himself to act as sanely as +possible. He felt confident that Nella-Rose, safely hidden and +probably enjoying it in her own elfish way, would communicate with +him in a few days at the latest, now that things had, according to +White, somewhat settled into shape after the outlaw Lawson had +taken himself off the scene.</p> +<p>To get to the station and telegraph would mean quite a feat for +Nella-Rose at any time, and winter was in all likelihood already +gripping the hills. To write and send a letter might be even more +difficult. So Truedale reasoned; so he feverishly waited, but he +was not idle. He rented a charming little suite of rooms, high up +in a new apartment house, and begged Lynda to set them in order at +once. Somehow he believed that in the years ahead, after she +understood, Lynda would be glad that he had asked this from +her.</p> +<p>“But why the hurry, Con?” she naturally questioned; +“if people are going to be so spasmodic I’ll have to +get a partner. It may be all right, looked at financially, but +it’s the ruination of art.”</p> +<p>“But this is a special case, Lyn.”</p> +<p>“They’re all special cases.”</p> +<p>“But this is a—welcome.”</p> +<p>“For whom?”</p> +<p>“Well, for me! You see I’ve never had a real home, +Lyn. It’s one of the luxuries I’ve always dreamed +of.”</p> +<p>“I had thought,” Lynda’s clear eyes clouded, +“that your uncle’s house would be your home at last. It +is big enough for us all—we need not run against each +other.”</p> +<p>“Keep my room under the roof, Lyn.” Truedale looked +at her yearningly and she—misunderstood! “I shall often +come to that—to you and Brace—but humour me in this +fancy of mine.”</p> +<p>So she humoured him—working early and late—putting +more of her own heart in it than he was ever to know, for she +believed—poor girl—that he would offer it to her some +day and then—when he found out about the money—how +exactly like a fairy tale it all would be! And Lynda had had so few +fairy tales in her life.</p> +<p>And while she designed and Conning watched and suggested, they +talked of his long-neglected work.</p> +<p>“You’ll have time soon, Con, to give it your best +thought. Did you do much while you were away?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Lyn, a great deal!” Truedale was sitting by +the tiny hearth in his diminutive living room. He and Lynda had +demanded, and finally succeeded in obtaining an open space for real +logs; disdaining, much to the owner’s amazement, an asbestos +mat or gas monstrosity. “I really put blood in the +thing.”</p> +<p>“And when may I hear some of it? I’m wild to get +back to our beaten tracks.”</p> +<p>Truedale raised his eyes, but he was looking beyond Lynda; he +was seeing Nella-Rose in the nest he was preparing for her.</p> +<p>“Soon, Lyn. Soon. And when you do—you, of all the +world, will understand, sympathize, and approve.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Con, thank you. Of course I will, but it is +good to have you know it! Let me see, what colour scheme shall we +introduce in the living room?”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t we have a sort of blue-gray; a rather +smoky tint with sunshine in it?”</p> +<p>“Good heavens, Con! And it is a north room, +too.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, how about a misty, whitish—”</p> +<p>“Worse and worse. Con, in a north room there must be +warmth and real colour.”</p> +<p>“There will be. But put what you choose, Lyn, it will +surely be all right.”</p> +<p>“Suppose, then, we make it golden brown, or—dull, +soft reds?”</p> +<p>Truedale recalled the shabby little shawl that Nella-Rose had +worn before she donned her winter disguise.</p> +<p>“Make it soft dull red, Lyn—but not <i>too</i> +dull.”</p> +<p>Truedale no longer meant to lay his secret bare before departing +for the South. While he would not acknowledge it to his anxious +heart, he realized that he must base the future on the outcome of +his journey. Once he laid hands upon Nella-Rose, he would act +promptly and hopefully, but—he must be sure, now, before he +made a misstep. There had been mistakes enough, heaven knew; he +must no longer play the fool.</p> +<p>And then when the little gilded cage was ready, Truedale +conceived his big and desperate idea. Two weeks had passed since +Jim White’s letter and no telegram or note had come from +Nella-Rose. Neither love nor caution could wait longer. Truedale +decided to go to Pine Cone. Not as a returned traveller, certainly +not—at first—to White, but to Lone Dome, and there, +passing himself off as a chance wayfarer, he would gather as much +truth as he could, estimate the value of it, and upon it take his +future course. In all probability, he thought—and he was +almost gay now that he was about to take matters into his own +hands—he would ferret out the real facts and be back with his +quarry before another week. It was merely a matter of getting the +truth and being on the spot.</p> +<p>Nella-Rose’s family might, for reasons of their own, have +deceived Jim White. Certainly if they did not know at the time of +Nella-Rose’s whereabouts they would, like others, voice the +suspicion of the hills; but by now they would either have her with +them or know positively where she was. For all his determination to +believe this, Truedale had his moments of sickening doubt. The +simple statement in White’s letter, burned, as time went on, +into his very soul.</p> +<p>But, whatever came—whatever there was to know—he +meant to go at once to headquarters. He would remain, too, until +Peter Greyson was sober enough to state facts. He recalled clearly +Jim’s estimate of Greyson and his dual nature depending so +largely upon the effect of the mountain whisky.</p> +<p>It was late November when Truedale set forth. No one made any +objection to his going now. Things were running smoothly and if he +had to go at all to straighten out any loose ends, he had better go +at once.</p> +<p>To Lynda the journey seemed simple enough. Truedale had left, +among other belongings, his manuscript and books. Naturally he +would not trust them to another’s careless handling.</p> +<p>At Washington, Truedale bought a rough tramping rig and +continued his journey with genuine enjoyment of the adventure. Now +that he was nearing the scene of his past experience he could +better understand the delay. Things moved so slowly among the hills +and naturally Nella-Rose, trusting and fond, was part of the +sluggish life. How she would show her small, white teeth when, +smiling in his arms, she told him all about it! It would not take +long to make her forget the weary time of absence and White’s +misconception.</p> +<p>Truedale proceeded by deliberate stages. He wanted to gather all +he possibly could as a foundation upon which to build. The first +day after he left the train at the station—and it had bumped +at the end of the rails just as it had on his previous +trip—he walked to the Centre and there encountered +Merrivale.</p> +<p>“Well, stranger,” the old man inquired, “whar +yer goin’, if it ain’t askin’ too +much?”</p> +<p>And Truedale expansively explained. He was tramping through the +mountains for pure enjoyment; had heard of the hospitality he might +expect and meant to test it.</p> +<p>Merrivale was pleased but cautious. He was full of questions +himself, but ran to cover every time his visitor ventured one. +Truedale soon learned his lesson and absorbed what was offered +without openly claiming more. He remained over night with Merrivale +and stocked up the next morning from the store.</p> +<p>He had heard much, but little to any purpose. He carried away +with him a pretty clear picture of Burke Lawson who, by +Merrivale’s high favour, appeared heroic. The storm, the +search, Lawson’s escape and supposed carrying off of +Nella-Rose, were the chief topics of conversation. Merrivale +chuckled in delight over this.</p> +<p>The afternoon of the second day Truedale reached Lone Dome and +came upon Peter, sober and surprisingly respectable, sunning +himself on the west side of the house.</p> +<p>The first glance at the stately old figure, gone to decay like a +tree with dead rot, startled and amazed Truedale and he thanked +heaven that the master of Lone Dome was himself and therefore to be +relied upon; no one could possibly suspect Peter of cunning or +deceit in his present condition.</p> +<p>Greyson greeted the stranger cordially. He was in truth +desperately forlorn and near the outer edge of endurance. An hour +more and he would have defied the powers that had recently taken +control of him, and made for the still in the deep woods; but the +coming of Truedale saved him from that and diverted his tragic +thoughts.</p> +<p>The fact was Marg and Jed had gone away to be married. Owing to +the death of the near-by minister in the late storm, they had to +travel a considerable distance in order to begin life according to +Marg’s strict ideas of propriety. Before leaving she had +impressed upon her father the necessity of his keeping a clear head +in her absence.</p> +<p>“We-all may be gone days, father,” she had said, +“and yo’ certainly do drop in owdacious places when +you’re drunk. Yo’ might freeze or starve. Agin, a +lurking beast, hunting fo’ food, might chaw yo’ +fo’ yo’ got yo’ senses.”</p> +<p>Something of this Greyson explained to his guest while setting +forth the evening meal and apologizing for the lack of +stimulant.</p> +<p>“Being her marriage trip I let Marg have her way and a +mind free o’ worry ’bout me. But women don’t +understand, God bless ’em! What’s a drop in yo’ +own home? But fo’ she started forth Marg spilled every jug +onto the wood pile. When I see the flames extry sparkling I know +the reason!”</p> +<p>Greyson chuckled, walking to and fro from table to pantry, with +steady, almost dignified strides.</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” Truedale hastened to say, +“I’m rather inclined to agree with your daughter; +and—” raising the concoction Peter had +evolved—“this tea—”</p> +<p>“Coffee, sir.”</p> +<p>“Excuse me! This coffee goes right to the spot.”</p> +<p>They ate and grew confidential. Edging close, but keeping under +cover, Truedale gained the confidence of the lonely, broken man +and, late in the evening, the hideous truth, as Truedale was +compelled to believe, was in his keeping.</p> +<p>For an hour Greyson had been nodding and dozing; then, +apologetically, rousing. Truedale once suggested bed, but for some +unexplainable reason Peter shrank from leaving his guest. Then, +risking a great deal, Truedale asked nonchalantly:</p> +<p>“Have you other children besides this daughter who is on +her wedding trip? It’s rather hard—leaving you alone to +shift for yourself.”</p> +<p>Greyson was alert. Not only did he share the mountain +dweller’s wariness of question, but he instantly conceived +the idea that the stranger had heard gossip and he was in arms to +defend his own. His ancestors, who long ago had shielded the +recreant great-aunt, were no keener than Peter now was to protect +and preserve the honour of the little girl who, by her recent +acts—and Greyson had only Jed’s words and the mountain +talk to go by—had aroused in him all that was fine enough to +suffer. And Greyson was suffering as only a man can who, in a rare +period of sobriety, views the wrecks of his own making.</p> +<p>Ordinarily, as White truly supposed, Peter lied only when he was +drunk; but the sheriff could not estimate the vagaries of blood and +so, at Truedale’s question, the father of Nella-Rose, with +the gesture inherited from a time of prosperity, rallied his forces +and lied! Lied like a gentleman, he would have said. Broken and +shabby as Greyson was, he appeared, at that moment, so simple and +direct, that his listener, holding to the sheriff’s estimate, +was left with little doubt concerning what he heard. He, watching +the weak and agonized face, believed Greyson was making the best of +a sad business; but that he was weaving from whole cloth the +garment that must cover the past, Truedale in his own misery never +suspected. While he listened something died within him never to +live again.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. I have another daughter—lil’ +Nella-Rose.”</p> +<p>Truedale shaded his face with his hand, but kept his eyes on +Greyson’s distorted face.</p> +<p>“Lil’ Nella-Rose. I have to keep in mind her youth +and enjoying ways or I’d be right hard on Nella-Rose. +Yo’ may have heard, while travelling about—o’ +Nella-Rose?” This was asked nervously—searchingly.</p> +<p>“I’ve—I’ve heard that name,” +Truedale ventured. “It’s a name that—somehow +clings and, being a writer-man, everything interests me.”</p> +<p>Then Greyson gave an account of the trap episode tallying so +exactly with White’s version that it established a firm +structure upon which to lay all that was to follow.</p> +<p>“And there ain’t nothing as can raise a +woman’s tenderness and loyalty to a man,“ Greyson went +on, ”like getting into a hard fix, and sho’ Burke +Lawson was in a right bad fix.</p> +<p>“I begin to see it all now. Nella-Rose went to +Merrivale’s and he told her Burke had come back. Merrivale +told me that. Naturally it upset her and she followed him up to +warn him. Think o’ that lil’ girl tracking ’long +the hills, through all that storm, to—to save the man she had +played with and flouted but loved, without knowing it! Nella-Rose +was like that. She lit on things and took her fun—but in the +big parts she always did come out strong.”</p> +<p>Truedale shifted his position.</p> +<p>“I reckon I’m wearying you with my troubles?” +Greyson spoke apologetically.</p> +<p>“No, no. Go on. This interests me very much.”</p> +<p>“Well, sir, Burke Lawson and Jed Martin came on each other +in the deep woods the night of the big storm and Burke and Jed had +words and a scene. Jed owned up to that. It was life and death and +I ain’t blaming any one and I have one thing to thank Burke +for—he might have done different and left a stain on a +lady’s name, sir! He told Jed how he had seen Nella-Rose and +how she had scorned him for being a coward, but how she would take +her words back if he dared come out and show his head. And he +’lowed he was going to come out then and there, which he did, +and he and Nella-Rose was going off to Cataract Falls where the +Lawsons hailed from, on the mother’s side.”</p> +<p>“But—how do you know that your daughter kept her +word? This Lawson may have been obliged to make away with +himself—alone.” Truedale grew more daring. He saw that +Greyson, absorbed by his trouble, was less on guard. But Greyson +was keenly observant.</p> +<p>“He’s heard the gossip,” thought the old man, +“it’s ringing through the hills. Well, a dog as can +fetch a bone can carry one!” With that conclusion reached, +Peter made his master stroke.</p> +<p>“I’ve heard from her,” he half whispered.</p> +<p>“Heard from her?” gasped Truedale, and even then +Greyson seemed unaware of the attitude of the stranger. +“How—did you hear from her?”</p> +<p>“She wrote and sent the letter long of—of Bill Trim, +a half-wit—but trusty. Nella-Rose went with Lawson—she +’lowed she had to. He came on her in the woods and held her +to her word. She said as how she wanted to—to come home, but +Lawson set forth as how an hour might mean his life—and put +it up to lil’ Nella-Rose! He—he swore as how he’d +shoot himself if she didn’t go with him—and it was like +Burke to do it. He was always crazy mad for Nella-Rose, and there +ain’t anything he wouldn’t do when he got balked. +She—she had ter go—or see Lawson kill himself; so she +went—but asked my pardon fo’ causing the deep trouble. +Lawson married her at the first stopping place over the ridge. He +ain’t worthy o’ my lil’ Nella-Rose—but +us-all has got to make the best o’ it. Come +spring—she’ll be back, and then—I’ll +forgive her—my lil’ Nella-Rose!”</p> +<p>From the intensity of his emotions Greyson trembled and the weak +tears ran down his lined face. Taking advantage of the tense moment +Truedale asked desperately:</p> +<p>“Will you show me that letter, Mr. Greyson?”</p> +<p>So direct was the request, so apparently natural to the old +man’s unguarded suffering, that it drove superficialities +before it and merely confirmed Greyson in his determination to save +Nella-Rose’s reputation at any cost. Ignoring the +unwarrantable curiosity, alert to the necessity of quick defense, +he said:</p> +<p>“I can’t. I wish to Gawd I could and then I could +stop any tongue what dares to tech my lil’ gal’s +name.”</p> +<p>“Why can you not show me the letter?” Truedale was +towering above the old man. By some unknown power he had got +control of the situation. “I have a reason for—asking +this, Mr. Greyson.”</p> +<p>“Marg burned it! It was allus Marg or lil’ +Nella-Rose for Lawson, and Nella-Rose got him! When Marg knew this +fur certain, there was no length to which she—didn’t +go! This is my home, sir; I’m old—Marg is a good girl +and the trouble is past now; her and Jed is making me comfortable, +but we-all don’t mention Nella-Rose. It eases me, though, to +tell the truth for lil’ Nella-Rose. I know how the tongues +are wagging and I have to sit still fo’—since Marg and +Jed took up with each other—my future lies ’long +o’ them. I’m an old man and mighty dependent; time was +when—” Greyson rose unsteadily and swayed toward the +fireplace.</p> +<p>“Gawd a’mighty!” he flung out desperately, +“how I want—whisky!”</p> +<p>Truedale saw the wildness in the old man’s eyes—saw +the trembling and twitching of the outstretched hands, and feared +what might be the result of trouble and enforced sobriety. He +pulled a large flask from his pocket and offered it.</p> +<p>“Here!” he said, “take a swallow of this and +pull yourself together.”</p> +<p>Greyson, with a cry, seized the liquor and drained every drop +before Truedale could control him.</p> +<p>“God bless yo’!” whined Greyson, sinking back +into his chair, “bless and—and keep +yo’!”</p> +<p>Truedale dared not leave the house though his soul recoiled from +the sight before him. He waited an hour, watching the effect of the +stimulant. Greyson grew mellow after a time—at peace with the +world; he smiled foolishly and became maudlinly familiar. Finally, +Truedale approached him again. He bent over him and shook him +sharply.</p> +<p>“Did you tell me—the +truth—about—Nella-Rose?” he whispered to the +sagging, blear-eyed creature.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir!” moaned Peter, “I sho’ +did!”</p> +<p>And Truedale did not reflect that when Greyson +was-drunk—he lied!</p> +<p>Truedale never recalled clearly how he spent the hours between +the time he left Greyson’s until he knocked on the door of +White’s cabin; but it was broad daylight and bitingly cold +when Jim flung the door open and looked at the stranger with no +idea, for a moment, that he had ever seen him before. Then, putting +his hand out wonderingly, he muttered:</p> +<p>“Gawd!” and drew Truedale in. Breakfast was spread +on the table; the dogs lay before the blazing fire.</p> +<p>“Eat!” commanded Jim, “and keep yer jaws shet +except to put in food.”</p> +<p>Conning attempted the feat but made a pitiful showing.</p> +<p>“Come to stay on?”</p> +<p>White’s curiosity was betraying him and the sympathy in +his eyes filled Truedale with a mad desire to take this +“God’s man” into his confidence.</p> +<p>“No, Jim. I’ve come to pack and go back to—to +my job!”</p> +<p>“Gosh! it can’t be much of a job if you can tackle +it—lookin’ like what you do!”</p> +<p>“I’ve been tramping for—for days, old man! +Rather overdone the thing. I’m not so bad as I +look.”</p> +<p>“Glad to hear it!” laconically.</p> +<p>“I’ll put up with you to-night, Jim, if you’ll +take me in.” Truedale made an effort to smile.</p> +<p>“Provin’ there ain’t any hard +feeling?”</p> +<p>“There never was, White. I—understood.”</p> +<p>“Shake!”</p> +<p>They got through the day somehow. The crust was forming over +Truedale’s suffering; he no longer had any desire to let even +White break through it. Once, during the afternoon, the sheriff +spoke of Nella-Rose and without flinching Truedale listened.</p> +<p>“That gal will have Burke eatin’ out o’ her +hand in no time. Lawson is all right at the kernel, all he needed +was some one ter steady him. Once I made sure he’d married +the gal, I felt right easy in my mind.”</p> +<p>“And you—did make sure, Jim? There was no doubt? +I—I remember the pretty little thing; it would have been +damnable to—to hurt her.”</p> +<p>“I scrooged the main fact out o’ old Pete, her +father. There was a mighty lot o’ talk in the hills, but I +was glad ter get the facts and shut the mouths o’ them that +take ter—ter hissin’ like all-fired scorpions! +Nella-Rose had writ to her father, but Marg, the sister, tore the +letter up in stormin’ rage ’cause Nella-Rose had got +the man she had sot her feelin’s on. Do you happen to call +ter mind what I once told you ’bout those two gals and a +little white hen?”</p> +<p>Truedale nodded.</p> +<p>“Same old actin’ up!” Jim went on. “But +when Greyson let out what war in the letter—knowin’ +Burke like what I do—I studied it out cl’ar enough. +Nella-Rose was sure up agin blood and thunder whatever way +yo’ put it—so she ran her chances with Burke. There +ain’t much choosin’ fo’ women in the hills and +Burke is an owdacious fiery feller, an’ he ain’t ever +set his mind to no woman but Nella-Rose.”</p> +<p>That night Truedale went to his old cabin. He built a fire on +the hearth, drew the couch before it, and then the battle was +on—the fierce, relentless struggle. In it—Nella-Rose +escaped. Like a bit of the mist that the sun burns, so she was +purified—consumed by the fire of Truedale’s remorse and +shame. Not for a moment did he let the girl bear a shadow of +blame—he was done with that forever!—but he held +himself before the judgment seat of his own soul and he passed +sentence upon himself in terms that stern morality has evolved for +its own protection. But from out the wreck and ruin Truedale +wrenched one sacred truth to which he knew he must hold—or +sink utterly. He could not expect any one in God’s world to +understand; it must always be hidden in his own soul, but that +marriage of his and Nella-Rose’s in the gray dawn after the +storm had been holy and binding to him. From now on he must look +upon the little mountain girl as a dear, dead wife—one whose +childish sweetness was part of a time when he had learned to laugh +and play, and forget the hard years that had gone to his un-making, +not his upbuilding.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>Truedale travelled back to the place of his new life bearing his +books, his unfinished play, and his secret sorrow with him. His +books and papers were the excuse for his journey; for the rest, no +one suspected nor—so thought Truedale—was any one ever +to know. That part of his life-story was done with; it had been +interpreted bunglingly and ignorantly to be sure, but the lesson, +learned by failure, had sunk deep in his heart.</p> +<p>He arranged his private work in the little room under the eaves. +He intended, if time were ever his again, to begin where he had +left off when broken health interrupted.</p> +<p>In the extension room over William Truedale’s bedchamber +Lynda carried on her designing and her study; her office, uptown, +was reserved for interviews and outside business. Her home workshop +had the feminine touch that the other lacked. There were her tea +table by the hearth, work bags of dainty silk, and flowers in glass +vases. The dog and the cats were welcome in the pleasant room and +sedately slept or rolled about while the mistress worked.</p> +<p>But Truedale, while much in the old home, still kept his +five-room flat. He bought a good, serviceable dog that preferred a +bachelor life to any other and throve upon long evening strolls and +erratic feeding. There were plants growing in the windows—and +these Conning looked after with conscientious care.</p> +<p>When the first suffering and sense of abasement passed, Truedale +discovered that life in his little apartment was not only possible, +but also his salvation. All the spiritual essence left in him +survived best in those rooms. As time went by and Nella-Rose as an +actuality receded, her memory remained unembittered. Truedale never +cast blame upon her, though sometimes he tried to view her from the +outsider’s position. No; always she eluded the material +estimate.</p> +<p>“Not more than half real,” so White had portrayed +her, and as such she gradually became to Truedale.</p> +<p>He plunged into business, as many a man had before him, to fill +the gaps in his life; and he found, as others had, that the taste +of power—the discovery that he could meet and fulfil the +demands made upon him—carried him out of the depths and +eventually secured a place for him in the world of men that he +valued and strove to prove himself worthy of. He wisely went slowly +and took the advice of such men as McPherson and his uncle’s +old lawyer. He grew in time to enjoy the position of trust as his +duties multiplied, and he often wondered how he could ever have +despised the common lot of his fellows. He deliberately, and from +choice, set his personal tastes aside—time enough for his +reading and writing when he had toughened his mental muscles, he +thought. Lynda deplored this, but Truedale explained:</p> +<p>“You see, Lyn, when I began to carve the thing +out—the play, you know—I had no idea how to handle the +tools; like many fools with a touch of talent, I thought I could +manage without preparation. I’ve learned better. You cannot +get a thing over to people unless you know something of +life—speak the language. I’m learning, and when I feel +that I cannot <i>help</i> writing—I’ll +write.”</p> +<p>“Good!” Lynda saw his point; “and now +let’s haunt the theatres—see the machinery in running +order. We’ll find out what people want and +<i>why</i>.”</p> +<p>So they went to the theatre and read plays. Brace made the +wholesome third and their lives settled into calm enjoyment that +was charming but which sometimes—not often, but +occasionally—made Lynda pause and consider. It would not +do—for Con—to fall into a pace that might defeat his +best good.</p> +<p>But this thought brought a deep crimson to the girl’s +cheeks.</p> +<p>And then something happened. It was so subtle that Lynda +Kendall, least of all, realized the true significance.</p> +<p>Once in the early days of her secured self-support, William +Truedale had said to her:</p> +<p>“You give too much attention, girl, to your tailor and too +little to your dressmaker.”</p> +<p>Lynda had laughingly called her friend frivolous and defended +her wardrobe.</p> +<p>“One cannot doll up for business, Uncle +William.”</p> +<p>“Is business your whole life, Lynda? If so you had better +reform it. If women are going to pattern their lives after +men’s they must go the whole way. A sensible man recognizes +the need of shutting the office door sometimes and putting on his +dress suit.”</p> +<p>“Well, but Uncle William, what is the matter with this +perfectly built suit? I always slip a fresh blouse on when I am off +duty. I hate to be always changing.”</p> +<p>“If you had a mother, Lynda, she would make you see what I +mean. An old fungus like me cannot be expected to command respect +from such an up-to-date humbug as you!”</p> +<p>They had laughed it off and Lynda had, once or twice, donned a +house gown to please her critical friend, but eventually had +slipped back into suits and blouses.</p> +<p>All of a sudden one day—it was nearing holiday +time—she left her workroom at midday and, almost +shamefacedly, “went shopping.” As the fever got into +her blood she became reckless, and by five o’clock had bought +and ordered home more delicate and exquisite finery than she had +ever owned in all her life before.</p> +<p>“It’s scandalous!” she murmured to her gay, +young heart, “an awful waste of good money, but for the first +time, I see how women can get clothes-mad.”</p> +<p>She devoted the hour and a half before dinner to locating an +artistic dressmaker and putting herself in her hands.</p> +<p>The result was both startling and exciting. The first gown to +come home was a dull, golden-brown velvet thing so soft and +clinging and individual that it put its wearer into quite a +flutter. She “did” and undid her hair, and, in the +process, discovered that if she pulled the “sides” +loose there was a tendency to curl and the effect was distinctly +charming—with the strange gown, of course! Then, marshalling +all her courage, she trailed down to the library and thanked heaven +when she found the room empty. It would be easier to occupy the +stage than to make a late entrance when the audience was in +position. So Lynda sat down, tried to read, but was so nervous that +her eyes shone and her cheeks were rosy.</p> +<p>Brace and Conning came in together. “Look who’s +here!” was Kendall’s brotherly greeting. “Gee! +Con, look at our lady friend!” He held his sister off at +arms’ length and commented upon her “points.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know your hair curled, Lyn.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t, myself, until this afternoon. You +see,” she trembled a bit, “now that I do not have to go +in the subway to business there’s no reason for +excluding—this sort of thing” (she touched the pretty +gown), “and once you let yourself go, you do not know where +you will land. Curls go with these frills; slippers, +too—look!”</p> +<p>Then she glanced up at Conning.</p> +<p>“Do you think I’m very—frivolous?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“I never knew”—he was gazing seriously at +her—“how handsome you are, Lyn. Wear that gown morning, +noon and night; it’s stunning.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad you both like it. I feel a little unusual +in it—but I’ll settle down. I have been a trifle prim +in dress.”</p> +<p>Like the giant’s robe, Lynda Kendall’s garments +seemed to transform her and endow her with the attributes peculiar +to themselves. So gradually, that it caused no wonder, she +developed the blessed gift of charm and it coloured life for +herself and others like a glow from a hidden fire.</p> +<p>All this did not interfere with her business. Once she donned +her working garb she was the capable Lynda of the past. A little +more sentiment, perhaps, appeared in her designs—a wider +conception; but that was natural, for happiness had come to +her—and a delicious sense of success. She, womanlike, began +to rejoice in her power. She heard of John Morrell’s marriage +to a young western girl, about this time, with genuine delight. Her +sky was clearing of all regrets.</p> +<p>“Morrell was in the office to-day,” Brace told his +sister one evening, “it seemed to me a bit brash for him to +lay it on so thick about his happiness and all that sort of +rot.”</p> +<p>“Brace!”</p> +<p>“Well, it might be all right to another fellow, but it +sounded out of tune, somehow, to me. He says she is the kind that +has flung herself body and soul into love; I wager she’s a +fool.”</p> +<p>Lynda looked serious at once.</p> +<p>“I hope not,” she said thoughtfully, “and +she’ll be happier with John, in the long run, if she has some +reservations. I did not think that once; I do now.”</p> +<p>“But—you, Lyn? You had reservations to +burn.”</p> +<p>“I had—too many. That was where the mistake +began.”</p> +<p>“You—do not regret?”</p> +<p>Lynda came close to him.</p> +<p>“Brace, I regret nothing. I am learning that every step +leads to the next—if you don’t stumble. If you +do—you have to pick yourself up and go back. If John learned +from me, I, too, have learned from him. I’m going to try +to—love his wife.”</p> +<p>“I bet she’s a cross, somehow, between a cowboy and +an idiot. John protested too much about her charms. She’s got +a sister—sounds a bit to me as if Morrell had married them +both. She’s coming to live with them after awhile. When I +fall in love, it’s going to be with an orphan out of an +asylum.”</p> +<p>Lynda laughed and gave her brother a hug. Then she said:</p> +<p>“Our circle is widening and, by the way Brace, I’m +going to begin to entertain a little.”</p> +<p>“Good Lord, Lyn!”</p> +<p>“Oh! modestly—until I can use my stiff little wings. +A dinner now and then and a luncheon occasionally when I know +enough nice women to make a decent showing. Clothes and women, when +adopted late in life, are difficult. But oh! Brace, it is +great—this blessed home life of mine! The coming away from my +beloved work to something even better.”</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p>The pulse of a city throbs faster in the winter. All the +vitality of well-nourished men and women is at its fullest, while +for them who fall below the normal, the necessity of the struggle +for existence keys them to a high pitch. Not so in the deep, far +mountain places. There, the inhabitants hide from the elements and +withdraw into themselves. For weeks at a time no human being +ventures forth from the shelter and comparative comfort of the dull +cabins. Families, pressed thus close and debarred from the freedom +of the open, suffer mentally and spiritually as one from the wider +haunts of men can hardly conceive.</p> +<p>When Nella-Rose turned away from Truedale that golden autumn +day, she faced winter and the shut-in terrors of the cold and +loneliness. In two weeks the last vestige of autumn would be past, +and the girl could not contemplate being imprisoned with Marg and +her father while waiting for love to return to her. She paused on +the wet, leafy path and considered. She had told Truedale that she +would go home, but what did it matter. She would go to Miss Lois +Ann’s. She would know when Truedale returned; she could go to +him. In the meantime no human being would annoy her or question her +in that cabin far back in the Hollow. And Lois Ann would while away +the long hours by story and song. It seemed to her there was but +one thing to do—and Nella-Rose did it! She fled to the woman +whose name Truedale had barely heard.</p> +<p>It took her three good hours to make the distance to the Hollow +and it was quite dark when she tapped on the door of the little +cabin. To all appearances the place was deserted; but after the +second knock a shutter to the right of the door was pushed open and +a long, lean hand appeared holding a lighted candle, while a deep, +rich voice called:</p> +<p>“Who?”</p> +<p>“Jes’ Nella-Rose!”</p> +<p>The hand withdrew, the shutter was closed, and in another minute +the door was flung wide and the girl drawn into the warm, +comfortable room. Supper, of a better sort than most hill-women +knew, was spread out on a clean table, and in the cheer and safety +Nella-Rose expanded and decided to take the old woman into her +confidence at once and so secure present comfort until Truedale +came back to claim her.</p> +<p>This Lois Ann, in whose sunken eyes eternal youth burned and +glowed, was a mystery in the hills and was never questioned. Long +ago she had come, asked no favours, and settled down to fare as +best she could. There was but one sure passport to her sanctuary. +That was—trouble! Once misfortune overtook one, sex was +forgotten, but at other times it was understood that Miss Lois Ann +had small liking or sympathy for men, while on the other hand she +brooded over women and children with the everlasting strength of +maternity.</p> +<p>It was suspected, and with good reason, that many refugees from +justice passed through Miss Lois Ann’s front door and escaped +by other exits. Officers of the law had, more than once, traced +their quarry to the dreary cabin and demanded entrance for search. +This was always promptly given, but never had a culprit been found +on the premises! White understood and admired the old woman; he +always halted justice, if possible, outside her domain, but, being +a hill-man, Jim had his suspicions which he never voiced.</p> +<p>“So now, honey, what yo’ coming to me fo’ this +black night?” said Lois Ann to Nella-Rose after the evening +meal was cleared away, the fire replenished, and “with four +feet on the fender” the two were content. +“Trouble?” The wonderful eyes searched the happy, young +face and at the glance, Nella-Rose knew that she was compelled to +confide! There was no choice. She felt the power closing in about +her, she found it not so easy as she had supposed, to explain. She +sparred for time.</p> +<p>“Tell me a right, nice story, Miss Lois Ann,” she +pleaded, “and of course it’s no trouble that has +brought me here! Trouble! Huh!”</p> +<p>“What then?” And now Nella-Rose sank to the +hearthstone and bent her head on the lap of the old woman. It was +more possible to speak when she could escape those seeking eyes. +She closed her own and tried to call Truedale to the dark space and +to her support—but he would not come.</p> +<p>“So it is trouble, then?”</p> +<p>“No, no! it’s—oh! it’s the—joy, +Miss Lois Ann.”</p> +<p>“Ha! ha! And you’ve found out that the young scamp +is back—that Lawson?” Lois Ann, for a moment, knew +relief.</p> +<p>“It—it isn’t Burke,” the words came +lingeringly. “Yes, I know he’s back—is he +here?” This affrightedly.</p> +<p>“No—but he’s been. He may come again. His +maw’s always empty, but I will say this for the +scoundrel—he gives more than he takes, in the long run. But +if it isn’t Lawson, who then? Not that snake-in-the-grass, +Jed?” Love and trouble were synonymous with Lois Ann when one +was young and pretty and a fool.</p> +<p>“Jed? Jed indeed!”</p> +<p>“Child, out with it!”</p> +<p>“I—I am going to tell you, Miss Lois Ann.”</p> +<p>Then the knotted old hand fell like a withered leaf upon the +soft hair—the woman-heart was ready to bear another burden. +Not a word did the closed lips utter while the amazing tale ran on +and on in the gentle drawl. Consternation, even doubt of the +girl’s sanity, held part in the old woman’s keen mind, +but gradually the truth of the confession established itself, and +once the fact was realized that a stranger—and <i>such</i> a +one—had been hidden in the hills while this thing, that the +girl was telling, was going on—the strong, clear mind of the +listener interpreted the truth by the knowledge gained through a +long, hard life.</p> +<p>“And so, you see, Miss Lois Ann, it’s like he opened +heaven for me; and I want to hide here till he comes to take me up, +up into heaven with him. And no one else must know.”</p> +<p>Lois Ann had torn the cawl from Nella-Rose’s baby +face—had felt, in her superstitious heart, that the child was +mysteriously destined to see wide and far; and now, with agony that +she struggled to conceal, she knew that to her was given the task +of drawing the veil from the soul of the girl at her feet in order +that she might indeed see far and wide into the kingdom of +suffering women.</p> +<p>For a moment the woman fenced, she would put the cup from her if +she could, like all humans who understand.</p> +<p>“You—are yo’ lying to me?” she asked +faintly, and oh, but she would have given much to hear the +girl’s impish laugh of assent. Instead, she saw +Nella-Rose’s eyes grow deadly serious.</p> +<p>“It’s no lie, Miss Lois Ann; it’s a right +beautiful truth.”</p> +<p>“And for days and nights you stayed alone with this +man?”</p> +<p>The lean hand, with unrelenting strength, now gripped the +drooping face and held it firmly while the firelight played full +upon it, meanwhile the keen old eyes bored into Nella-Rose’s +very soul.</p> +<p>“But he—he is my man! You forget the—marrying +on the hill, Miss Lois Ann!”</p> +<p>The voice was raised a bit and the colour left the trembling +lips.</p> +<p>“Your man!” And a bitter laugh rang out wildly.</p> +<p>“Stop, Miss Lois Ann! Yo’ shall not look at me like +that!”</p> +<p>The vision was dulled—Nella-Rose shivered.</p> +<p>“You shall not look at me like that; God would +not—why should you?”</p> +<p>“God!”—the cracked voice spoke the word +bitterly. “God! What does God care for women? It’s the +men as God made things for, and us-all has to fend them +off—men and God are agin us women!”</p> +<p>“No, no! Let me free. I was so happy until—Oh! Miss +Lois Ann, you shall not take my happiness away.”</p> +<p>“Yo’ came to the right place, yo’ po’ +lil’ chile.”</p> +<p>The eyes had seen all they needed to see and the hand let drop +the pretty, quivering face.</p> +<p>“We’ll wait—oh! certainly we-all will wait a +week; two weeks; then three. An’ we-all will hide close and +see what we-all shall see!” A hard, pitiful laugh echoed +through the room. “And now to bed! Take the closet back +o’ my chamber. No one can reach yo’ there, chile. Sleep +and dream and—forget.”</p> +<p>And that night Burke Lawson, after an hour’s struggle, +determined to come forth among his kind and take his place. +Nella-Rose had decided him. He was tired of hiding, tired of +playing his game. One look at the face he had loved from its +babyhood had turned the tide. Lawson had never before been so long +shut away from his guiding star. And she had said that he might ask +again when he dared—and so he came forth from his cave-place. +Once outside, he drew a deep, free breath, turned his handsome face +to the sky, and <i>felt</i> the prayer that another might have +voiced.</p> +<p>He thought of Nella-Rose, remembered her love of adventure, her +splendid courage and spirit. Nothing so surely could win her as the +proposal he was about to make. To ask her to remain at Pine Cone +and settle down with him as her hill-billy would hold small +temptation, but to take her away to new and wider fields—that +was another matter! And go they would—he and she. He would +get a horse somewhere, somehow. With Nella-Rose behind him, he +would never stop until a parson was reached, and after +that—why the world would be theirs from which to choose.</p> +<p>And it was at that point of Lawson’s fervid, religious +state that Jed Martin had materialized and made it imperative that +he be dealt with summarily and definitely.</p> +<p>After confiding his immediate future to the subjugated +Martin—having forced him to cover at the point of a +pistol—Burke, with his big, wholesome laugh, crawled again +out of the cave. Then, raising himself to his full height, he +strode over the sodden trail toward White’s cabin with the +lightest, purest heart he had carried for many a day. But Fate had +an ugly trick in store for him. He was half way to White’s +when he heard steps. Habit was strong. He promptly climbed a tree. +The moon came out just then and disclosed the follower. +“Blake’s dawg,” muttered Lawson and, as the big +hound took his stand under the tree, he understood matters. Blake +was his worst enemy; he had a score to settle about the revenue men +and a term in jail for which Lawson was responsible. While the +general hunt was on, Blake had entered in, thinking to square +things, while not bringing himself into too much prominence.</p> +<p>“Yo’ infernal critter!” murmured Lawson, +“in another minute you’ll howl, yo’ po’ +brute. I hate ter shoot yo’—yo’ being what +yo’ are—but here goes.”</p> +<p>After that White’s was impossible for a time and +Nella-Rose must wait. In a day or so, probably—so Burke +quickly considered—he could make a dash back, get White to +help him, and bear off his prize, but for the moment the sooner he +reached safety beyond the ridge, the better. Shooting a dog was no +light matter.</p> +<p>Lawson reached safety but with a broken leg; for, going +down-stream, he had met with misfortune and, during that long, hard +winter, unable to fend for himself, he was safely hidden by a +timely friend and served by a doctor who was smuggled to the scene +and well paid for his help and silence.</p> +<p>And in Lois Ann’s cabin Nella-Rose waited, at first with +serene hope, and then, with pitiful longing. She and the old woman +never referred to the conversation of the first night but the girl +was sure she was being watched and shielded and she felt the doubt +and scorn in the attitude of Lois Ann.</p> +<p>“I’ll—I’ll send for my man,” at +last she desperately decided at the end of the second week. But she +dared not risk a journey to the far station in order to send a +telegram. So she watched for a chance to send a letter that she had +carefully and painfully written.</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“I’m to Miss Lois Ann’s in Devil-may-come +Hollow. I’m trusting and loving you, but Miss Lois +Ann—don’t believe! So please, Mister Man come and tell +her and then go back and I will wait—most truly</p> +<p>Your Nella-Rose.”</p> +</div> +<p>then she crossed the name out and scribbled “Your +doney-gal.”</p> +<p>It was early in the third week that Bill Trim came whistling +down the trail, on a cold, bitterly cold, November morning. He bore +a load of “grateful gifts” to Lois Ann from men and +women whom she had succoured in times of need and who always +remembered her, practically, when winter “set.”</p> +<p>Bill was a half-wit but as strong as an ox; and, once set upon a +task, managed it in a way that had given him a secure position in +the community. He carried mail into the remotest +districts—when there was any to carry. He “toted” +heavy loads and gathered gossip and spilled it liberally. He was +impersonal, ignorant, and illiterate, but he did his poor best and +grovelled at the feet of any one who showed him the least +affection. He was horribly afraid of Lois Ann for no reason that he +could have given; he was afraid of her eyes—her thin, +claw-like hands. As he now delivered the bundles he had for her he +accepted the food she gave and then darted away to eat it in +comfort beyond the reach of those glances he dreaded.</p> +<p>And there Nella-Rose sought him and sat beside him with a choice +morsel she had saved from her finer fare.</p> +<p>“Trim,” she whispered when he was about to start, +“here is a letter—Miss Lois Ann wants you to +mail.”</p> +<p>The bright eyes looked yearningly into the dull, hopeless +face.</p> +<p>“I—hate the ole ’un!” confided Bill.</p> +<p>“But yo’ don’t hate me, Bill?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, do it for me, but don’t tell a living +soul that you saw me. See, Bill, I have a whole dollar—I +earned it by berry-picking. Pay for the letter and then keep the +rest. And if you ever see Marg, and she asks about me—and +whether you’ve seen me—tell her” (and here +Nella-Rose’s white teeth gleamed in the mischievous smile), +“tell her you saw me walking in the Hollow with Burke +Lawson!”</p> +<p>The dull fellow shook with foolish laughter. “I sho’ +will!” he said, and then tucked the letter and dollar bill in +the breast of his shirt. “And now, lil’ doney-gal, let +me touch yo’ hand,” he pleaded, +“this—er—way.” And like a poor frayed, +battered knight he pressed his lips to the small, brown hand of the +one person who had always been kind to him.</p> +<p>At sunset Bill halted to eat his supper and warm his stiffened +body. He tried to build a fire but the wood was wet and in +desperation he took, at last, the papers from inside his thin coat, +they had helped to shield him from the cold, and utilized them to +start the pine cones. He rested and feasted and later went his way. +At the post office he searched among his rags for the letter and +the money. Then his face went white as ashes:</p> +<p>“Gawd a’mighty!” he whimpered.</p> +<p>“What’s wrong?” Merrivale came from behind the +counter.</p> +<p>“I done burn my chest protector. I’ll freeze without +the papers.” Then Bill explained the fire building but, +recalling Lois Ann, withheld any further information.</p> +<p>“Here, you fool,” Merrivale said not unkindly, +“take all the papers you want. And take this old coat, too. +And look, lad, in yo’ wandering have yo’ seen +Greyson’s lil’ gal?”</p> +<p>Bill looked cunning and drawing close whispered:</p> +<p>“Her—and him, I seed ’im, back in the sticks! +Her—and him!” Then he laughed his foolish laugh.</p> +<p>“I thought as much!” Merrivale nodded, with the +trouble a good man knows at times in his eyes; but his faith in +Burke coming to his aid. “You mean—Lawson?” he +asked.</p> +<p>Bill nodded foolishly.</p> +<p>“Then keep yo’ mouth shut!” warned Merrivale. +“If I hear yo’ gabbing—I’ll flax the hide +o’ yo’, sure as I keep store.”</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p>A month, then two, passed in the desolate cabin in the Hollow. +Winter clutched and held Pine Cone Settlement in a deadly grip. Old +people died and little children were born. Lois Ann, when it was +physically possible, got to the homes of suffering and eased the +women, while she berated the men for bringing poor souls to such +dread passes. But always Nella-Rose hid and shrank from sight. No +need, now, to warn her. A new and terrible look had come into her +eyes, and when Lois Ann saw that creeping terror she knew that her +hour had come. To save Nella-Rose, she believed, she must lay low +every illusion and, with keen and deliberate force, she pressed the +apple of the knowledge of life between the girlish lips. The bitter +truth at last ate its way into the girl’s soul and gradually +hate, such as she had never conceived, grew and consumed her.</p> +<p>“She will not die,” thought the old woman watching +her day by day.</p> +<p>And Nella-Rose did not die, at least not outwardly, but in her, +as in Truedale, the fine, first glow of pure faith and passion, +untouched by the world’s interpretation, faded and shrivelled +forever.</p> +<p>The long winter hid the secret in the dreary cabin. The roads +and trails were closed; none drew near for shelter or succour.</p> +<p>By springtime Nella-Rose was afraid of every living creature +except the faithful soul who stood guard over her. She ran and +trembled at the least sound; she was white and hollow-eyed, but her +hate was stronger and fiercer than ever.</p> +<p>Early summer came—the gladdest time of the year. The heat +was broken by soft showers; the flowers bloomed riotously, and in +July the world-old miracle occurred in Lois Ann’s +cabin—Nella-Rose’s child was born! With its coming the +past seemed blotted out; hate gave place to reverent awe and +tenderness. In the young mother the woman rose supreme and she +would not permit her mind to hold a harmful thought.</p> +<p>Through the hours of her travail, when Lois Ann, desperate and +frightened, had implored, threatened, and commanded that she should +tell the name of the father of her child, she only moaned and +closed her lips the firmer. But when she looked upon her baby she +smiled radiantly and whispered to the patient old creature beside +her:</p> +<p>“Miss Lois Ann, this lil’ child has no father. It is +my baby and God sent it. I shall call her Ann—cuz +you’ve been right good to me—you sholy have.”</p> +<p>So it was “lil’ Ann” and, since the strange +reticence and misunderstood joyousness remained, Lois Ann, at her +wit’s end, believing that death or insanity threatened, went +secretly to the Greyson house to confess and get assistance.</p> +<p>Peter was away with Jed. The two hung together now like burrs. +Whatever of relaxation Martin could hope for lay in Greyson; +whatever of material comfort Peter could command, must come through +Jed, and so they laboured, in slow, primitive fashion, and edged in +a little pleasure together. Marg, having achieved her ambition, was +content and, for the first time in her life, easy to get along +with. And into this comparative Eden Lois Ann came with words that +shattered the peace and calm.</p> +<p>In Marg’s private thought she had never doubted that her +sister had often been with Burke Lawson in the Hollow. When he +disappeared, she believed Nella-Rose was with him, but she had +supported and embellished her father’s story concerning them +because it secured her own self-respect and covered the tracks of +the degenerate pair with a shield that they in no wise deserved, +but which put their defenders in a truly Christian attitude.</p> +<p>Marg was alone in the cabin when Lois Ann entered. She looked up +flushed and eager.</p> +<p>“How-de,” she said genially. “Set and have a +bite.”</p> +<p>“I ain’t got no time,” the old woman returned +pantingly. “Nella-Rose is down to my place.”</p> +<p>The warm, sunny room grew stifling to Marg.</p> +<p>“What a-doing?” she said, half under her breath.</p> +<p>“She’s got a—lil’ baby.”</p> +<p>The colour faded from Marg’s face, leaving it pasty and +heavy.</p> +<p>“Burke—thar?”</p> +<p>“He ain’t been thar all winter. I hid Nella-Rose and +her shame but I dare not any longer. I reckon she’s going +off.”</p> +<p>“Dying?”</p> +<p>“May be; or—” and here Lois Ann tapped her +head.</p> +<p>“And he—he went and left her?” groaned +Marg—“the devil!”</p> +<p>Lois Ann watched the terrible anger rising in the younger woman +and of a sudden she realized how useless it would be to voice the +wild tale Nella-Rose held to. So she only nodded.</p> +<p>“I’ll come with you,” Marg decided at once, +“and don’t you let on to father or +Jed—they’d do some killing this time, sure!”</p> +<p>Together the two made their way to the Hollow and found +Nella-Rose in the quiet room with her baby nestling against her +tender breast. The look on her face might well stay the reproaches +on Marg’s lips—she almost reeled back as the deep, true +eyes met hers. All the smothered sisterliness came to the surface +for an instant as she trembled and drew near to the two in the old +chintz-covered rocker.</p> +<p>“See! my baby, Marg. She is lil’ Ann.”</p> +<p>“Ann—what?” whispered Marg.</p> +<p>“Just lil’ Ann for—Miss Lois Ann.”</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose” (and now Marg fell on her knees beside +her sister), “tell me where he is. Tell me and as sure as God +lives I’ll bring him back! I’ll make him own you +and—and the baby or +he’ll—he’ll—”</p> +<p>And then Nella-Rose laughed the laugh that drove Lois Ann to +distraction.</p> +<p>“Send Marg away, Miss Lois Ann,” Nella-Rose turned +to her only friend, “she makes me so—so tired +and—I do not want any one but you.”</p> +<p>Marg got upon her feet, all the tenderness and compassion +gone.</p> +<p>“You are—” she began, but Lois Ann was between +her and Nella-Rose.</p> +<p>“Go!” she commanded with terrible scorn. “Go! +You are not fit to touch them. Go! Dying or mad—the girl +belongs to me and not to such as has viper blood in their veins. +Go!” And Marg went with the sound of Nella-Rose’s +crooning to her child ringing in her ears.</p> +<p>Things happened dramatically after that in the deep woods. Marg +kept the secret of the Hollow cabin in her seething heart. She was +frightened, fearing her father or Jed might discover Nella-Rose. +But she was, at times, filled with a strange longing to see her +sister and touch that wonderful thing that lay on the guilty +mother-breast.</p> +<p>Was Nella-Rose forever to have the glory even in her shame, +while she, Marg, with all the rights of womanhood, could hold no +hope of maternity?</p> +<p>For one reason or another Marg often stole to the woods as near +the Hollow as she dared to go. She hoped for news but none came; +and it was late August when, one sunny noon, she confronted Burke +Lawson!</p> +<p>Lawson’s face was strange and awful to look on. Marg drew +away from him in fear. She could not know but Burke had had a +terrific experience that day and he was on the path for revenge and +any one in his way must suffer. Freed at last from his captivity, +he had travelled across the range and straight to Jim White. And +the sheriff, ready for the recreant, greeted him without mercy, +judging him guilty until he proved himself otherwise.</p> +<p>“What you done with Nella-Rose?” he asked, standing +before Burke with slow fire in his deep eyes.</p> +<p>Lawson could never have been the man he was if he were not +capable of holding his own council and warding off attack.</p> +<p>“What makes you think I’ve done anything with +her?” he asked.</p> +<p>“None o’ that, Burke Lawson,” Jim warned. +“I’ve been yo’ friend, but I swear I’ll +toss yo’ ter the dogs, as is after you, with as little +feelin’ as I would if yo’ were a chunk o’ dead +meat—if you’ve harmed that lil’ gal.”</p> +<p>“Well, I ain’t harmed her, Jim. And now let’s +set down and talk it over. I want to—to bring her home; I +want ter live a decent life ’mong yo’-all. Jim, +don’t shoot ’til yo’ make sure yo’ ought +ter shoot.”</p> +<p>Thus brought to reason Jim sat down, shared his meal with his +reinstated friend, and gave him the gossip of the hills. Lawson ate +because he was well-nigh starved and he knew he had some rough work +ahead; he listened because he needed all the guiding possible and +he shielded the name and reputation of Nella-Rose with the splendid +courage that filled his young heart and mind. And then he set forth +upon his quest with these words:</p> +<p>“As Gawd A’mighty hears me, Jim White, I’ll +fetch that lil’ Nella-Rose home and live like a man from now +on. Wipe off my sins, Jim; make a place for me, old man, and +I’ll never shame it—or God blast me!”</p> +<p>White took the strong young hand and felt his eyes grow +misty.</p> +<p>“Yo’ place is here, Burke,” he said, and then +Lawson was on his way.</p> +<p>A half hour later he encountered Marg. In his own mind Burke had +a pretty clear idea of what had occurred. Not having heard any +suggestion of Truedale, he was as ignorant of him as though +Truedale had never existed. Jed, then, was the only man to hold +guilty. Jed had, in passion and revenge, wronged Nella-Rose and had +after, like the sneak and coward he was, sought to secure his own +safety by marrying Marg. But what had they done with Nella-Rose? +She had, according to White, disappeared the night that Jed had +been tied in the cave. Well, Jed must confess and pay!—pay to +the uttermost. But between him and Jed Marg now stood!</p> +<p>“You!” cried Marg. “You! What yo’ mean +coming brazen to us-all?”</p> +<p>“Get out of my way!” commanded Burke, +“Where’s Jed?”</p> +<p>“What’s that to you?”</p> +<p>“You’ll find out soon enough. Let me by.”</p> +<p>But Marg held her ground and Lawson waited. The look in his eyes +awed Marg, but his presence enraged her.</p> +<p>“What you-all done with Nella-Rose?” Lawson +asked.</p> +<p>“You better find out! You’ve left it long +enough.”</p> +<p>“Whar is she, I say? And I tell you now, Marg—every +one as has wronged that lil’ girl will answer to me. Whar is +she?”</p> +<p>“She—she and her young-un are up to Lois +Ann’s. They’ve been hid all winter. No one but me +knows; you’ve time to make good—before—before +father and Jed get yo’.”</p> +<p>Lawson took this like a blow between the eyes. He could not +speak—for a moment he could not think; then a lurid fire of +conviction burned into his very soul.</p> +<p>“So—that’s it!” he muttered, coming so +close to Marg that she shrank back afraid. “So that’s +it! Yo’-all have damned and all but killed the po’ +lil’ girl—then flung her to—to the devil! +You’ve taken the leavings—you! ’cause yo’ +couldn’t get anything else. Yo’ and Jed” (here +Lawson laughed a fearless, terrifying laugh), “yo’ and +Jed is honourably married, you two, and she—lil’ +Nella-Rose—left to—” Emotion choked Lawson; then +he plunged on: “He—he wronged her—the brute, and +you took him to—to save him and yourself you—! And +she?—why, she’s the only holy thing in the hills; you +couldn’t damn her—you two!”</p> +<p>“For the love o’ Gawd!” begged Marg, +“keep yo’ tongue still and off us! We ain’t done +her any wrong; every one, even Jed, thinks she is with you. Miss +Lois Ann hid her—I only knew a week ago. I ain’t told a +soul!”</p> +<p>A look of contempt grew upon Burke’s face and hardened +there. He was thinking quick and desperately. In a vague way he +realized that he had the reins in his hands; his only concern was +to know whither he should drive. But, above and beyond +all—deep true, and spiritual—were his love and pity for +Nella-Rose.</p> +<p>They had all betrayed and deserted her. Not for an instant did +Lawson doubt that. Their cowardice and duplicity neither surprised +nor daunted him; but his pride—his sense of +superiority—bade him pause and reflect before he plunged +ahead. Finally he said:</p> +<p>“So you-all depend upon her safety for your safety! Take +it—and be damned! She’s been with me—yo’ +followin’ me? She’s been with me, rightful married and +happy—happy! From now on I’ll manage lil’ +Nella-Rose’s doings, and the first whisper from man or woman +agin her will be agin me—and God knows I won’t be +blamed for what I do then! Tell that skunk of yours,” Lawson +glared at the terrified Marg, “I’m strong enough to +outbid him with the devil, but from now on him and you—mind +this well, Marg Greyson—him and you are to be our loving +brother and sister. See?”</p> +<p>With a wild laugh Burke took to the woods.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p>Two years and a half following William Truedale’s death +found things much as the old gentleman would have liked. Often +Lynda Kendall, sitting beside the long, low, empty chair, longed to +tell her old friend all about it. Strange to say, the recluse in +life had become very vital in death. He had wrought, in his silent, +lonely detachment, better even than he knew. His charities, shorn +of the degrading elements of many similar ones, were carried on +without a hitch. Dr. McPherson, under his crust of hardness, was an +idealist and almost a sentimentalist; but above all he was a man to +inspire respect and command obedience. No hospital with which he +had to deal was unmarked by his personality. Neglect and +indifference were fatal attributes for internes and nurses.</p> +<p>“Give the youngsters sleep enough, food and relaxation +enough,” he would say to the superintendents, “but +after that expect—and get—faithful, conscientious +service with as much humanity as possible thrown in.”</p> +<p>The sanatorium for cases such as William Truedale’s was +already attracting wide attention. The finest men to be obtained +were on the staff; specially trained nurses were selected; and +Lynda had put her best thought and energy into the furnishing of +the small rooms and spacious wards.</p> +<p>Conning, becoming used to the demands made upon him, was at last +dependable, and grew to see, in each sufferer the representative of +the uncle he had never understood; whom he had neglected and, too +late, had learned to respect. He was almost ashamed to confess how +deeply interested he was in the sanatorium. Recalling at times the +loneliness and weariness of William Truedale’s +days—picturing the sad night when he had, as Lynda put it, +opened the door himself, to release and hope—Conning sought +to ease the way for others and so fill the waiting hours that less +opportunity was left for melancholy thought. He introduced +amusements and pastimes in the hospital, often shared them himself, +and still attended to the other business that William +Truedale’s affairs involved.</p> +<p>The men who had been appointed to direct and control these +interests eventually let the reins fall into the hands eager to +grasp them and, in the endless labour and sense of usefulness, +Conning learned to know content and comparative peace. He grew to +look upon his present life as a kind of belated reparation. He was +not depressed; with surprising adaptability he accepted what was +inevitable and, while reserving, in the personal sense, his past +for private hours, he managed to construct a philosophy and +cheerfulness that carried him well on the tide of events.</p> +<p>It was something of a shock to him one evening, nearly three +years after his visit to Pine Cone, to find himself looking at +Lynda Kendall as if he had never seen her before.</p> +<p>She was going out with Brace and was in evening dress. Truedale +had never seen her gowned so, and he realized that she was +extremely handsome and—something more. She came close to him, +drawing on her long, loose, white gloves.</p> +<p>“I cannot bear to go and leave you—all alone!” +she said, raising her eyes to his.</p> +<p>“You see, John Morrell is showing us his brand-new wife +to-night—and I couldn’t resist; but I’ll try to +break away early.”</p> +<p>“You are eager to see—Mrs. Morrell?” Truedale +asked, and suddenly recalled the relation Lynda had once held to +Morrell. He had not thought of it for many a day.</p> +<p>“Very. You see I hope to be great friends with her. I +want—”</p> +<p>“What, Lynda?”</p> +<p>“Well, to help her understand—John.”</p> +<p>“Let me button your glove, Lyn”—for Truedale +saw her hands were trembling though her eyes were peaceful and +happy. And then as the long, slim hand rested in his, he asked:</p> +<p>“And you—have never regretted, Lyn?”</p> +<p>“Regretted? Does a woman regret when she’s saved +from a mistake and gets off scot-free as well?”</p> +<p>They looked at each other for a moment and then Lynda drew away +her hand.</p> +<p>“Thanks, Con, and please miss us a little, but not too +much. What will you do to pass the time until we return?”</p> +<p>“I think”—Truedale pulled himself up +sharply—“I think I’ll go up under the eaves and +get out—the old play!”</p> +<p>“Oh! how splendid! And you will—let me hear +it—some day, soon?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Business is going easier now. I can think of it +without neglecting better things. Good-night, Lyn. Tuck your coat +up close, the night’s bad.”</p> +<p>And then, alone in the warm, bright room, Truedale had a +distinct sense of Lynda having taken something besides herself +away. She had left the room hideously lonely; it became unbearable +to remain there and, like a boy, Conning ran up to the small room +next the roof.</p> +<p>He took the old play out—he had not unpacked it since he +came from Pine Cone! He laid it before him and presently became +absorbed in reading it from the beginning. It was after eleven when +he raised his tired eyes from the pages and leaned back in his +chair.</p> +<p>“I’m like—all men!” he muttered. +“All men—and I thought things had gone deeper with +me.”</p> +<p>What he was recognizing was that the play and the subtle +influence that Nella-Rose had had upon him had both lost their +terrific hold. He could contemplate the past without the sickening +sense of wrong and shock that had once overpowered him. Realizing +the full meaning of all that had gone into his past experience, he +found himself thinking of Lynda as she had looked a few hours +before. He resented the lesser hold the past still had upon +him—he wanted to shake it free. Not bitterly—not with +contempt—but, he argued, why should his life be shadowed +always by a mistake, cruel and unpardonable as it was, when she, +that little ignorant partner in the wrong, had gone her way and had +doubtless by now put him forever from her mind?</p> +<p>How small a part it had played with her, poor child. She had +been betrayed by her strange imagination and suddenly awakened +passion; she had followed blindly where he had led, but when +catastrophe had threatened one who had been part of her former +life—familiar with all that was real to her—how readily +the untamed instinct had reverted to its own!</p> +<p>And he—Truedale comforted himself—he had come back +to <i>his</i> own, and his own had made its claim upon him. Why +should he not have his second chance? He wanted love—not +friendship; he wanted—Lynda! All else faded and Lynda, the +new Lynda—Lynda with the hair that had learned to curl, the +girl with the pretty white shoulders and sweet, kind +eyes—stood pleadingly close in the shabby old room and +demanded recognition. “She thinks,” and here Truedale +covered his eyes, “that I am—as I was when I began my +life—here! What would she say—if she knew? She, God +bless her, is not like others. Faithful, pure, she could not +forgive the <i>truth</i>!”</p> +<p>Truedale, thinking so of Lynda Kendall, owned to his best self +that because the woman who now filled his life held to her high +ideals—would never lower them—he could honour and +reverence her. If she, like him, could change, and accept selfishly +that which she would scorn in another, she would not be the +splendid creature she was. And yet—without conceit or +vanity—Truedale believed that Lynda felt for him what he felt +for her.</p> +<p>Never doubting that he could bring to her an unsullied past, she +was, delicately, in finest woman-fashion, laying her heart open to +him. She knew that he had little to offer and yet—and +yet—she was—willing! Truedale knew this to be true. And +then he decided he must, even at this late day, tell Lynda of the +past. For her sake he dare not venture any further concealment. +Once she understood—once she recovered from her surprise and +shock—she would be his friend, he felt confident of that; but +she would be spared any deeper personal interest. It was +Lynda’s magnificent steadfastness that now appealed to +Truedale. With the passing of his own season of madness, he looked +upon this calm serenity of her character with deepest +admiration.</p> +<p>“The best any man should hope for,” he +admitted—turning, as he thought, his back upon his +yearning—“any man who has played the fool as I have, is +the sympathetic friendship of a good woman. What right has a man to +fall from what he knows a woman holds highest, and then look to her +to change her ideals to fit his pattern?”</p> +<p>Arriving at this conclusion, Truedale wrapped the tattered +shreds of his self-respect about him and accepted, as best he +could, the prospect of Lynda’s adjustment to the future.</p> +<p>Brace and Lynda did not return in time to see Truedale that +night. At twelve, with a resigned sigh, he put away his play and +went to his lonely rooms in the tall apartment farther uptown. His +dog was waiting for him with the reproachful look in his faithful +eyes that reminded Truedale that the poor beast had not had an +outing for twenty-four hours.</p> +<p>“Come on, old fellow,” he said, “better late +than never,” and the two descended to the street. They walked +sedately for an hour. The dog longed to gambol; he was young enough +to associate outdoors with license; but being a friend as well as a +dog, he felt that this was rather a time for close comradeship, so +he pattered along at his master’s heels and once in a while +pushed his cold nose into the limp hand swinging by +Truedale’s side. “Thank God!” Conning thought, +reaching down to pat the sleek head, “I can keep you +without—confession!”</p> +<p>For three days and nights Truedale stayed away from the old +home. Business was his excuse—he offered it in the form of a +note and a bunch of violets. Lynda telephoned on the second day and +asked him if he were quite well. The tone of her voice made him +decide to see her at once.</p> +<p>“May I come to dinner to-night, Lyn?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Sorry, Con, but I must dine with some people who have +bought a hideous house and want me to get them out of the scrape by +remodelling the inside. They’re awfully rich and +impossible—it’s a sort of duty to the public, you +know.”</p> +<p>“To-morrow then, Lyn?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed. Only Brace will be dining with the Morrells; +by the way, she’s a dear, Con.”</p> +<p>The next night was terrifically stormy—one of those spring +storms that sweep everything before them. The bubbles danced on the +pavements, the gutters ran floods, and fragments of umbrellas and +garments floated incongruously on the tide.</p> +<p>Battling against the wind, Conning made his way to +Lynda’s. As he drew near the house the glow from the windows +seemed to meet and touch him with welcome.</p> +<p>“I’ll economize somewhere,” Lynda often said, +“but when darkness comes I’m always going to do my best +to get the better of it.”</p> +<p>Just for one blank moment Truedale had a sickening thought: +“Suppose that welcome was never again for him, after this +night?” Then he laughed derisively. Lynda might have her +ideals, her eternal reservations, but she also had her superb +faithfulness. After she knew <i>all</i>, she would still be his +friend.</p> +<p>When he went into the library Lynda sat before the fire knitting +a long strip of vivid wools. Conning had never seen her so employed +and it had the effect of puzzling him; it was like seeing +her—well, smoking, as some of her friends did! Nothing wrong +in it—but, inharmonious.</p> +<p>“What are you making, Lyn?” he asked, taking the +ottoman and drawing close to her.</p> +<p>“It—it isn’t anything, Con. No one wants trash +like this. It fulfils its mission when it is ravelled and knitted, +then unravelled. You know what Stevenson says: ‘I travel for +travel’s sake; the great affair is to move.’ I knit for +knitting’s sake; it keeps my hands busy while my—my +soul basks.”</p> +<p>She looked up with a smile and Truedale saw that she was ill at +ease. It was the one thing that unnerved him. Had she been her old, +self-contained self he could have depended upon her to bear her +part while he eased his soul by burdening hers; but now he caught +in her the appealing tenderness that had always awakened in old +William Truedale the effort to save her from herself—from the +cares others laid upon her.</p> +<p>Conning, instead of plunging into his confession, looked at her +in such a protecting, yearning way that Lynda’s eyes fell, +and the soft colour slowly crept in her cheeks.</p> +<p>In the stillness, that neither knew how to break, Truedale +noticed the gown Lynda wore. It was blue and clinging. The +whiteness of her slim arms showed through the loose sleeves; the +round throat was bare and girlish in its drooping curve.</p> +<p>For one mad moment Truedale tried to stifle his conscience. Why +should he not have this love and happiness that lay close to him? +In what was he different from the majority of men? Then he +thought—as others before him had thought—that, since +the race must be preserved, the primal impulses should not be +denied. They outlived everything; they rallied from +shock—even death; they persisted until extinction; and here +was this sweet woman with all her gracious loveliness near him. He +loved her! Yes, strange as it seemed even then to him, Truedale +acknowledged that he loved her with the love, unlike yet like the +love that had been too rudely awakened in the lonely woods when he +had been still incapable of understanding it.</p> +<p>Then the storm outside reached his consciousness and awakened +memories that hurt and stung him.</p> +<p>No. He was not as many men who could take and take and find +excuse. The very sincerity of the past and future must prove +itself, now, in this throbbing, vital present. Only so could he +justify himself and his belief in goodness. He must open his heart +and soul to the woman beside him. There was no other +alternative.</p> +<p>But first they dined together across the hall. Truedale noted +every special dish—the meal was composed of his favourite +viands. The intimacy of sitting opposite Lynda, the smiling +pleasure of old Thomas who served them, combined to lure him again +from his stern sense of duty.</p> +<p>Why? Why? his yearning pleaded. Why should he destroy his own +future happiness and that of this sweet, innocent woman for a +whim—that was what he tried to term it—of conscience? +Why, there were men, thousands of them, who would call him by a +harsher name than he cared to own, if he followed such a course; +and yet—then Truedale looked across at Lynda.</p> +<p>“A woman should have clear vision and choice,” his +reason commanded, and to this his love agreed.</p> +<p>But alone with Lynda, in the library later, the conflict was +renewed. Never had she been so sweet, so kind. The storm beat +against the house and instead of interfering, seemed to hold them +close and—together. It no longer aroused in Truedale +recollections that smarted. It was like an old familiar guide +leading his thought into ways sacred and happy. Then suddenly, out +of a consciousness that knew neither doubt nor fear, he said:</p> +<p>“You and I, Lyn, were never afraid of truth, were +we?”</p> +<p>“Never.”</p> +<p>She was knitting again—knitting feverishly and +desperately.</p> +<p>“Lyn—I want to tell you—all about it! About +something you must know.”</p> +<p>Very quietly now, Lynda rolled her work together and tossed it, +needles and all, upon the glowing logs. She was done, forever, with +subterfuge and she knew it. The wool curled, blackened, and gave +forth a scorched smell before the red coals subdued it. Then, with +a straight, uplifted look:</p> +<p>“I’m ready, Con.”</p> +<p>“Just before I broke down and went away, Brace once told +me that my life had no background, no colour. Lynda, it is of that +background about which you do not know, that I want to +speak.” He waited a moment, then went on:</p> +<p>“I went away—to the loneliest, the most beautiful +place I had ever seen. For a time there seemed to be nobody in the +world but the man with whom I lived and me. He liked and trusted +me—I betrayed his trust!”</p> +<p>Lynda caught her breath and gave a little exclamation of +dissent, wonder.</p> +<p>“You—betrayed him, Con! I cannot believe that. Go +on.”</p> +<p>“Yes. I betrayed his trust. He left me and went into the +deep woods to hunt. He put everything in my care—everything. +He was gone nearly three weeks. No one knew of my existence. They +are like that down there. If you are an outsider you do not matter. +I had arrived at dark; I was sent for a certain purpose; that was +all that mattered. I began and ended with the man who was my host +and who had been told to—to keep me secret.” Truedale +was gripping the arms of his chair and his words came punctuated by +sharp pauses.</p> +<p>“And then, into that solitude, came a young girl. +Remember, she did not know of my existence. We—discovered +each other like creatures in a new world. There are no words to +describe her—I cannot even attempt it, Lynda. I ruined her +life. That’s all!”</p> +<p>The bald, crushing truth was out. For a moment the man Lynda +Kendall knew and loved seemed hiding behind this monster the +confession had called forth. A lesser woman would have shrunk in +affright, but not Lynda.</p> +<p>“No. That is not all,” she whispered hoarsely, +putting her hands out as though pushing something tangible aside +until she could reach Conning. “I demand the rest.”</p> +<p>“What matters it?” Truedale spoke bitterly. +“If I tell how and why, can that alter the—fact? Oh! I +have had my hours of explaining and justifying and glossing over; +but I’ve come at last to the point where I see myself as I am +and I shall never argue the thing again.”</p> +<p>“Con, you have shown me the man as man might see him; I +must—I must have him as a woman—as his God—must +see him!”</p> +<p>“And you think it possible for me to grant this? +You—you, Lynda, would you have me put up a defense for what I +did?”</p> +<p>“No. But I would have you throw all the light upon it that +you can. I want to see—for myself. I will not accept the +hideous skeleton you have hung before me. Con, I have never really +known but five men in my life; but women—women have lain +heart deep along my way ever since—I learned to know my +mother! Not only for yourself, but for that girl who drifted into +your solitude, I demand light—all that you can give +me!”</p> +<p>And now Truedale breathed hard and the muscles of his face +twitched. He was about to lay bare the inscrutable, the holy thing +of his life, fearing that even the woman near him could not be +just. He had accepted his own fate, so he thought; he meant not to +whine or complain, but how was he to live his life if Lynda failed +to agree with him—where Nella-Rose was concerned?</p> +<p>“Will you—can you—do what I ask, +Con?”</p> +<p>“Yes—in a minute.”</p> +<p>“You—loved her? She loved you—Con?” +Lynda strove to smooth the way, not so much for Truedale as for +herself.</p> +<p>“Yes! I found her in my cabin one day when I returned from +a long tramp. She had decked herself out in my bathrobe and the old +fez. Not knowing anything about me, she was horribly frightened +when I came upon her. At first she seemed nothing but a +child—she took me by storm. We met in the woods later. I read +to her, taught her, played with her—I, who had never played +in my life before. Then suddenly she became a woman! She knew no +law but her own; she was full of courage and daring and a splendid +disregard for conventions as—as we all know them. For her, +they simply did not exist. I—I was willing and eager to cast +my future hopes of happiness with hers—God knows I was +sincere in that!</p> +<p>“Then came a night of storm—such as this. Can you +imagine it in the black forests where small streams become rivers +in a moment, carrying all before them as they plunge and roar down +the mountain sides? Dangers of all sorts threatened and, in the +midst of that storm, something occurred that involved me! I had +sent Nella-Rose—that was her name—away earlier in the +day. I could not trust myself. But she came back to warn me. It +meant risking everything, for her people were abroad that night +bent on ugly business; she had to betray them in order to save me. +To have turned her adrift would have meant death, or worse. She +remained with me nearly a week—she and I alone in that cabin +and cut off from the world—she and I! There was only myself +to depend upon—and, Lynda, I failed again!”</p> +<p>“But, Con—you meant to—to marry her; you meant +that—from the first?” Lynda had forgotten herself, her +suffering. She was struggling to save something more precious than +her love; she was holding to her faith in Truedale.</p> +<p>“Good God! yes. It was the one thing I wanted—the +one thing I planned. In my madness it did not seem to matter much +except as a safeguard for her—but I had no other thought or +intention. We meant to go to a minister as soon as the storm +released us. Then came the telegram about Uncle William, and the +minister was killed during the storm. Lynda, I wanted to bring +Nella-Rose to you just as she was, but she would not come. I left +my address and told her to send for me if she needed me—I +meant to return as soon as I could, anyway. I would have left +anything for her. She never sent for me—and the very day I +left—she—”</p> +<p>“What, Con? I must know all.”</p> +<p>“Lynda, before God I believe something drove the child to +it; you must not—you shall not judge her. But she went, the +very night I left, to a man—a man of the hills—who had +loved her all his life. He was in danger; he escaped, taking her +with him!”</p> +<p>“I—I do <i>not</i> believe it!” The words rang +out sharply, defiantly. Woman was in arms for woman. The loyalty +that few men admit confronted Truedale now. It seemed to glorify +the darkness about him. He had no further fear for Nella-Rose and +he bowed his head before Lynda’s blazing eyes.</p> +<p>“God bless you!” he whispered, “but oh! Lyn, I +went back to make sure. I had the truth from her own father. And +with all—she stands to this day, in my memory, guiltless of +the monstrous wrong she seemed to commit; and so she will always +stand.</p> +<p>“Since then, Lynda, I have lived a new piece of life; the +past lies back there and it is dead, dead. I would not have told +you this but for one great and tremendous thing. You will not +understand this; no woman could. A man could, but not a woman.</p> +<p>“As I once loved—in another way—that child of +the hills, I love you, the one woman of my manhood’s clearer +vision. Because of that love—I had to speak.”</p> +<p>Truedale looked up and met the eyes that searched his soul.</p> +<p>“I believe you,” Lynda faltered. “I do not +understand, but I believe you. Go away now, Con, I want to +think.”</p> +<p>He rose at once and bent over her. “God bless you, +Lyn,” was all he said.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<p>Two days, then three passed. Lynda tried to send for +Truedale—tried to believe that she saw clearly at last, but +having decided that she was ready she was again lost in doubt and +plunged into a new struggle.</p> +<p>She neglected her work and grew pale and listless. Brace was +worried and bewildered. He had never seen his sister in like mood +and, missing Conning from the house, he drew, finally, his own +conclusions.</p> +<p>One day, it was nearly a week after Truedale’s call, Brace +came upon his sister in the workshop over the extension. She was +sitting on the window-ledge looking out into the old garden where a +magnolia tree was in full bloom.</p> +<p>“Heigho, boy!” she said, welcoming him with her +eyes. “I’ve just discovered that spring is here. +I’ve always been ready for it before. This year it has taken +me by surprise.”</p> +<p>Brace came close to her and put his hands on her shoulders.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, girl?” he asked in his +quick, blunt way.</p> +<p>The tears came to Lynda’s eyes, but she did not +shrink.</p> +<p>“Brother,” she said slowly, “I—I want to +marry Con and—I do not dare.”</p> +<p>Kendall dropped in the nearest chair, and stared blankly at his +sister.</p> +<p>“Would you mind being a bit more—well, more +explicit?” he faltered.</p> +<p>“I’m going to ask you—some questions, dear. +Will you—tell me true?”</p> +<p>“I’ll do my best.” Kendall passed his hand +through his hair; it seemed to relieve the tension.</p> +<p>“Brace, can a man truly love many times? Perhaps not +many—but twice—truly?”</p> +<p>“Yes—he can!” Brace asserted boldly. +“I’ve been in love a dozen times myself. I always put +it to the coffee-urn test—that settles it.”</p> +<p>“Brace, I am in earnest. Do not joke.”</p> +<p>“Joke? Good Lord! I tell you, Lyn, I am in <i>deadly</i> +earnest—deadlier than you know. When a man puts his love +three hundred and sixty-five times a year, in fancy, behind his +coffee-urn, he gets his bearings.”</p> +<p>“You’ve never grown up, Brace, and I feel as +old—as old as both your grandmothers. I do not +mean—puppy-love; I mean the love that cuts deep in a +man’s soul. Can it cut twice?”</p> +<p>“If it couldn’t, it would be good-bye to the future +of the race!” And now Kendall had the world’s weary +knowledge in his eyes.</p> +<p>“A woman—cannot understand that, Lyn. She must trust +if she loves.”</p> +<p>“Yes.” The universal language of men struck Lynda +like a strange tongue. Had she been living all her life, she +wondered, like a foreigner—understanding merely by signs? And +now that she was close—was confronting a situation that +vitally affected her future—must she, like other women, +trust, trust?</p> +<p>“But what has all this to do with Con?” +Kendall’s voice roused Lynda sharply.</p> +<p>“Why—everything,” she said in her simple, +frank way, “he—he is offering me a second love, +Brace.”</p> +<p>For a moment Kendall thought his sister was resorting to sarcasm +or frivolity. But one look at her unsmiling face and shadow-touched +eyes convinced him.</p> +<p>“You hardly are the woman to whom dregs should be +offered,” he said slowly, and then, “But Con! Good +Lord!”</p> +<p>“Brace, now I am speaking the woman’s language, +perhaps you may not be able to understand me, but I know Con is not +offering me dregs—I do not think he has any dregs in his +nature; he is offering me the best, the truest love of his life. I +know it! I know it! The love that would bring my greatest joy and +his best good and—yet I am afraid!”</p> +<p>Kendall went over and stood close beside his sister again.</p> +<p>“You know that?” he asked, “and still are +afraid? Why?”</p> +<p>The clear eyes looked up pathetically. “Because Con may +not know, and I may not be able to make him know—make +him—forget!”</p> +<p>There was a moment’s silence. Kendall was never to forget +the magnolia tree in its gorgeous, pink bloom; the droop of his +strong, fine sister! Sharply he recalled the night long ago when +Truedale groaned and threw his letters on the fire.</p> +<p>“Lyn, I hardly dare ask this, knowing you as I +do—you are not the sort to compromise with honour selfishly +or idiotically—but, Lyn, the—the other love, it was +not—an evil thing?”</p> +<p>The tears sprang to Lynda’s eyes and she flung her arms +around her brother’s neck and holding him so whispered:</p> +<p>“No! no! At least I can understand that. It was +the—the most beautiful and tender tragedy. That is the +trouble. It was so—wonderful, that I fear no man can ever +quite forget and take the new love without a backward look. And oh! +Brace, I must have—my own! Men cannot always understand women +when they say this. They think, when we say we want our own lives, +that it means lives running counter to theirs. This is not so. We +want, we must choose—but the best of us want the common life +that draws close to the heart of things; we want to go with our men +and along their way. Our way and theirs are the <i>same</i> way, +when love is big enough.”</p> +<p>“Lyn—there isn’t a man on God’s earth +worthy of—you!”</p> +<p>“Brace, look at me—answer true. Am I such that a man +could really want me?”</p> +<p>He looked long at her. Bravely he strove to forget the blood tie +that held them. He regarded her from the viewpoint that another man +might have. Then he said:</p> +<p>“Yes. As God hears me, Lyn—yes!”</p> +<p>She dropped her head upon his shoulder and wept as if grief +instead of joy were sweeping over her. Presently she raised her +tear-wet face and said:</p> +<p>“I’m going to marry Con, dear, as soon as he wants +me. I hate to say this, Brace, but it is a little as if Conning had +come home to me from an honourable war—a bit mutilated. I +must try to get used to him and I will! I will!”</p> +<p>Kendall held her to him close. “Lyn, I never knew until +this moment how much I have to humbly thank God for. Oh! if men +only could see ahead, young fellows I mean, they would not come to +a woman—mutilated. I haven’t much to offer, heaven +knows, but—well, Lyn, I can offer a clear record to some +woman—some day!”</p> +<p>All that day Lynda thought of the future. Sitting in her +workshop with the toy-like emblems of her craft at hand she thought +and thought. It seemed to her, struggling alone, that men and +women, after all, walked through life—largely apart. They had +built bridges with love and necessity and over them they crossed to +touch each other for a space, but oh! how she longed for a common +highway where she and Con could walk always together! She wanted +this so much, so much!</p> +<p>At five o’clock she telephoned to Truedale. She knew he +generally went to his apartment at that hour.</p> +<p>“I—I want to see you, Con,” she said.</p> +<p>“Yes, Lyn. Where?”</p> +<p>She felt the answer meant much, so she paused.</p> +<p>“After dinner, Con, and come right up to—to my +workshop.”</p> +<p>“I will be there—early.”</p> +<p>Lynda was never more her merry old self than she was at dinner; +but she was genuinely relieved when Brace told her he was going +out.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do, Lyn?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Why—go up to my workshop. I’ve neglected +things horribly, lately.”</p> +<p>“I thought that night work was taboo?”</p> +<p>“I rarely work at night, Brace. And you—where are +you going?”</p> +<p>“Up to Morrell’s.”</p> +<p>Lynda raised her eyebrows.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Morrell’s sister has come from the West, Lyn. +She’s very interesting. She’s <i>voted</i>, and it +hasn’t hurt her.”</p> +<p>“Why should it? And”—Lynda came around the +table and paused as she was about to go out of the room “I +wonder if she could pass the coffee-urn test, on a +pinch?”</p> +<p>Kendall coloured vividly. “I’ve been thinking more +of my end of the table since I saw her than I ever have before in +my life. It isn’t all coffee-urn, Lyn.”</p> +<p>“Indeed it isn’t! I must see this little womanly +Lochinvar at once. Is she pretty—pretty as Mrs. +John?”</p> +<p>“Why—I don’t know. I haven’t thought. +She’s so different from—every one. She’s little +but makes you think big. She’s always saying things you +remember afterward, but she doesn’t talk much. +She’s—she’s got light hair and blue eyes!” +This triumphantly.</p> +<p>“And I hope she—dresses well?” This with a +twinkle, for Kendall was keen about the details of a woman’s +dress.</p> +<p>“She must, or I would have noticed.” Then, upon +reflection, “or perhaps I wouldn’t.”</p> +<p>“Well, good-night, Brace, and—give Mrs. John my +love. Poor dear! she came up to ask me yesterday if I could make a +small room <i>look</i> spacious! You see, John likes to have +everything cluttered—close to his touch. She wants him to +have his way and at the same time she wants to breathe, too. Her +West is in her blood.”</p> +<p>“What are you going to do about it, Lyn?” Kendall +lighted a cigar and laughed.</p> +<p>“Oh, I managed to give a prairie-like suggestion of +openness to her living-room plan and I told her to make John reach +for a few things. It would do him good and save her soul +alive.”</p> +<p>“And she—what did she say to that?”</p> +<p>“Oh, she laughed. She has such a pretty laugh. Good-night, +brother.”</p> +<p>And then Lynda went upstairs to her quiet, dim room. It was a +warmish night, with a moon that shone through the open space in the +rear. The lot had not been built upon and the white path that had +seemed to lure old William Truedale away from life now stretched +before Lynda Kendall, leading into life. Whatever doubts and fears +she had known were put away. In her soft thin dress, standing by +the open window, she was the gladdest creature one could wish to +see. And so Truedale found her. He knew that only one reason had +caused Lynda to meet him as she was now doing. It +was—surrender! Across the moon-lighted room he went to her +with opened arms, and when she came to meet him and lifted her face +he kissed her reverently.</p> +<p>“I wonder if you have thought?” he whispered.</p> +<p>“I have done nothing else in the ages since I last saw +you, Con.”</p> +<p>“And you are not—afraid? You, who should have the +best the world has to offer?”</p> +<p>“I am not afraid; and I—have the best—the very +best.”</p> +<p>Again Truedale kissed her.</p> +<p>“And when—may I come home—to stay?” he +asked presently, knowing full well that the old home must be +theirs.</p> +<p>Lynda looked up and smiled radiantly. “I had hoped,” +she said, “that I might have the honour of declining the +little apartment. I’m so glad, Con, dear, that you want to +come home to stay and will not have to be—forced here!” +And at that moment Lynda had no thought of the money. Bigger, +deeper things held her.</p> +<p>“And—our wedding day, Lyn? Surely it may be +soon.”</p> +<p>“Let me see. Of course I’m a woman, Con, and +therefore I must think of clothes. And I would like—oh! very +much—to be married in a certain little church across the +river. I found it once on a tramp. There are vines running wild +over it—pink roses. And roses come in early June, +Con.”</p> +<p>“But, dearest, this is only—March.”</p> +<p>“I must have—the roses, Con.”</p> +<p>And so it was decided.</p> +<p>Late that night, in the stillness of the five little rooms of +the big apartment, Truedale thought of his past and his future.</p> +<p>How splendid Lynda had been. Not a word of all that he had told +her, and yet full well he realized how she had battled with it! She +had accepted it and him! And for such love and faith his life would +be only too short to prove his learning of his hard lesson. The man +he now was sternly confronted the man he had once been, and then +Truedale renounced the former forever—renounced him with +pity, not with scorn. His only chance of being worthy of the love +that had come into his life now, was to look upon the past as a +stepping stone. Unless it could be that, it would be a bottomless +pit.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<p>The roses came early that June. Truedale and Lynda went often on +their walks to the little church nestling deep among the trees in +the Jersey town. They got acquainted with the old minister and +finally they set their wedding day. They, with Brace, went over +early on the morning. Lynda was in her travelling gown for, after a +luncheon, she and Truedale were going to the New Hampshire +mountains. It was such a day as revived the reputation of June, and +somehow the minister, steeped in the conventions of his office, +could not let things rest entirely in the hands of the very +eccentric young people who had won his consent to marry them. An +organist, practising, stayed on, and always Lynda was to recall, +when she thought of her wedding day, those tender notes that rose +and fell like a stream upon which the sacred words of the simple +service floated.</p> +<p>“The Voice That Breathed O’er Eden” was what +the unseen musician played. He seemed detached, impersonal, and +only the repeated strains gave evidence of his sympathy. An old +woman had wandered into the church and sat near the door with a +rapt, wistful look on her wrinkled face. Near the altar was a +little child, a tiny girl with a bunch of wayside flowers in her +fat, moist hand.</p> +<p>Lynda paused and whispered something to the little maid and +then, as she went forward, Truedale noticed that the child was +beside Lynda, a shabby, wee maid of honour!</p> +<p>It was very quaint, very touchingly pretty, but the scene +overawed the baby and when the last words were said and Truedale +had kissed his wife they noticed that the little one was in tears. +Lynda bent over her full of tenderness.</p> +<p>“What is it, dear?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“I—I want—my mother!”</p> +<p>“So do I, sweetheart; so do I!”</p> +<p>The wet eyes were raised in wonder.</p> +<p>“And where is your mother, baby?”</p> +<p>“Up—up—the hill!”</p> +<p>“Why, so is mine, but you will find yours—first. +Don’t cry, sweetheart. See, here is a little ring. It is too +large for you now, but let your mother keep it, and when you are +big enough, wear it—and remember—me.”</p> +<p>Dazzled by the gift, the child smiled up radiantly. +“Good-bye,” she whispered, “I’ll tell +mother—and I won’t forget.”</p> +<p>Later that same golden day, when Kendall bade his sister and +Truedale good-bye at the station he had the look on his face that +he used to have when, as a child, he was wont to wonder why he had +to be brave because he was a boy.</p> +<p>It made Lynda laugh, even while a lump came in her throat. Then, +as in the old days, she sought to recompense him, without relenting +as to the code.</p> +<p>“Of course you’ll miss us, dear old fellow, but +we’ll soon be back and”—she put her lips to his +ear and whispered—“there’s the little sister of +the Morrells; play with her until we come home.”</p> +<p>There are times in life that stand forth as if specially +designed, and cause one to wonder, if after all, a personal God +isn’t directing affairs for the individual. They surely could +not have just happened, those weeks in the mountains. So warm and +still and cloudless they were for early June. And then there was a +moon for a little while—a calm, wonderful moon that sent its +fair light through the tall trees like a benediction. After that +there were stars—millions of them—each in its place +surrounded by that blue-blackness that is luminous and unearthly. +Securing a guide, Truedale and Lynda sought their own way and +slept, at night, in wayside shelters by their own campfires. They +had no definite destination; they simply wandered like pilgrims, +taking the day’s dole with joyous hearts and going to their +sleep at night with healthy weariness.</p> +<p>Only once during those weeks did they speak of that past of +Truedale’s that Lynda had accepted in silence.</p> +<p>“My wife,” Truedale said—she was sitting +beside him by the outdoor fire—“I want you always to +remember that I am more grateful than words can express for +your—bigness, your wonderful understanding. I did not expect +that even you, Lyn, could be—so!”</p> +<p>She trembled a little—he remembered that +afterward—he felt her against his shoulder.</p> +<p>“I think—I know,” she whispered, “that +women consider the <i>effect</i> of such—things, Con. Had the +experience been low, it would have left its mark; as it is I am +sure—well, it has not darkened your vision.”</p> +<p>“No, Lyn, no!”</p> +<p>“And lately, I have been thinking of her, Con—that +little Nella-Rose.”</p> +<p>“You—have? You <i>could</i>, Lyn?”</p> +<p>“Yes. At first I couldn’t possibly +comprehend—I do not now, really, but I find myself believing, +in spite of my inability to understand, that the experience has +cast such a light upon her way, poor child, that—off in some +rude mountain home—she has a little fairer space than some. +Con, knowing you, I believe you could not have—lowered her. +She went back to her natural love—it must have been a strong +call—but I shall never believe her depraved.”</p> +<p>“Lyn,” Truedale’s voice was husky, “once +you made me reconciled to my uncle’s death—it was the +way you put it—and now you have made me dare to +be—happy.”</p> +<p>“Men never grow up!” Lynda pressed her face to his +shoulder, “they make a bluff at caring for us and defending +us and all the rest—but we understand, we understand! I think +women mother men always even when they rely upon them most, as I do +upon you! It’s so splendid to think, when we go home, of the +great things we are going to do—together.”</p> +<p>A letter from Brace, eventually, made them turn their faces +homeward. It was late July then.</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>LYN, DEAR:</p> +<p>When you can conveniently give me a thought, do. And when are +you coming back? I hope I shall not shock you unduly—but +it’s that little sister of the Morrells that is the matter, +Elizabeth Arnold—Betty we call her. I’ve got to marry +her as soon as I can. I’ll never be able to do any serious +business again until I get her behind the coffee-urn. She haunts me +day and night and then when I see her—she laughs at me! +We’ve been over to look at that church where you and Con were +married. Betty likes it, but prefers her own folk to stray old +women and lost kids. We think September would be a jolly month to +be married in, but Betty refuses to set a day until she finds out +if she approves of my people! That’s the way <i>she</i> puts +it. She says she wants to find out if you believe in women’s +voting, for if you don’t, she knows she never could get on +with you. She believes that the thing that makes women opposed, +does other things to them—rather unpleasant, unfriendly +things.</p> +<p>I told her your sentiments and then she asked about Con. She +says she wouldn’t trust the freest woman in the East if she +were married to a slave-believing man.</p> +<p>By all this you will judge what a comical little cuss Betty is, +but all the same I am quite serious in urging you to come home +before I grow desperate.</p> +<p>BRACE.</p> +</div> +<p>Truedale looked at Lynda in blank amazement. “I’d +forgotten about the sister,” he said, inanely.</p> +<p>“I think, dear, we’ll <i>have</i> to go home. I +remember once when we were quite little, Brace and I, mother had +taken me for a visit and left him at home. He sent a letter to +mother—it was in printing—‘You better come +back,’ he said; ‘You better come in three days or +I’ll do something.’ We got there on the fourth day and +we found that he had broken the rocking chair in which mother used +to put him to sleep when he was good!”</p> +<p>“The little rowdy!” Truedale laughed. “I hope +he got a walloping.”</p> +<p>“No. Mother cried a little, had the chair mended, and +always said she was sorry that she had not got home on the third +day.”</p> +<p>“I see. Well, Lyn, let’s go home to him. I +don’t know what he might break, but perhaps we couldn’t +mend it, so we’ll take no chances.”</p> +<p>Truedale and Lynda had walked rather giddily upon the heights; +the splendour of stars and the warm touch of the sun had been very +near them; but once they descended to the paths of plain duty they +were not surprised to find that they lay along a pleasant valley +and were warmed by the brightness of the hills.</p> +<p>“It’s—home, now!” whispered Truedale as +he let himself and Lynda in at the front door, “I wish Uncle +William were here to welcome us. How he loved you, Lyn.”</p> +<p>Like a flood of joy memory overcame Lynda. This was how William +Truedale had loved her—this luxury of home—and then she +looked at Truedale and almost told him of the money, the complete +assurance of the old man’s love and trust. But of a sudden it +became impossible, though why, Lynda could not have said. She +shrank from what she had once believed would be her crowning joy; +she decided to leave the matter entirely with Dr. McPherson.</p> +<p>After all, she concluded, it should be Con’s right to +bring to her this last touching proof of his uncle’s love and +desire. How proud he would be! How they would laugh over it all +when they both knew the secret!</p> +<p>So the subject was not referred to and a day or so later Betty +Arnold entered their lives, and so intense was their interest in +her and her affairs that personal matters were, for the moment, +overlooked.</p> +<p>Lynda went first to call upon Betty alone. If she were to be +disappointed, she wanted time to readjust herself before she +encountered other eyes. Betty Arnold, too, was alone in her +sister’s drawing room when Lynda was announced. The two girls +looked long and searchingly at each other, then Lynda put her hands +out impulsively:</p> +<p>“It’s really too good to be true!” was all she +could manage as she looked at the fair, slight girl and cast doubt +off forever.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it?” echoed Betty. “Whew! but +this is the sort of thing that ages one.”</p> +<p>“Would it have mattered, Betty, whether I was pleased or +not?”</p> +<p>“Lynda, it would—awfully! You see, all my life +I’ve been independent until I met Brace and now I want +everything that belongs to him. His love and mine collided but it +didn’t shock us to blindness, it awakened us—body and +soul. When that happens, everything matters—everything that +belongs to him and me. I knew you liked Mollie, and John is an old +friend; they’re all I’ve got, and so you see if you and +I hadn’t—liked each other, it would have +been—tragic. Now let’s sit down and have tea. +Isn’t it great that we won’t have to choke over +it?”</p> +<p>Betty presided at the small table so daintily and graciously +that her occasional lapses into slang were like the dartings of a +particularly frisky little animal from the beaten track of +conventions. She and Lynda grew confidential in a half hour and +felt as if they had known each other for years at the close of the +call. Just as Lynda was reluctantly leaving, Mrs. Morrell came in. +She was darker, more dignified than her sister, but like her in +voice and laugh.</p> +<p>“Mollie, I wish I had told you to stay another +hour,” Betty exclaimed, going to her sister and kissing her. +“And oh! Mollie, Lynda likes me! I’ll confess to you +both now that I have lain awake nights dreading this +ordeal.”</p> +<p>When Lynda met Brace that evening she was amused at his drawn +face and tense voice.</p> +<p>“How did you like her?” he asked feebly and at that +moment Lynda realized how futile a subterfuge would have been.</p> +<p>“Brace, I love her!”</p> +<p>“Thank God!”</p> +<p>“Why, Brace!”</p> +<p>“I mean it. It would have gone hard with me if you +hadn’t.”</p> +<p>To Truedale, Betty presented another aspect.</p> +<p>“You can trust women with your emotions about men,” +she confided to Lynda, “but not men! I wouldn’t let +Brace know for anything how my love for him hobbles me; and if your +Con—by the way, he’s a great deal nicer than I +expected—should guess my abject state, he’d go to Brace +and—put him wise! That’s why men have got where they +are to-day—standing together. And then Brace might begin at +once to bully me. You see, Lynda, when a husband gets the upper +hand it’s often because he’s reinforced by all the +knowledge his male friends hand out to him.”</p> +<p>Truedale met Betty first at the dinner—the little family +dinner Lynda gave for her. Morrell and his wife. Brace and Betty, +himself and Lynda.</p> +<p>In a trailing blue gown Betty looked quite stately and she +carried her blond head high. She sparkled away through dinner and +proved her happy faculty of fitting in, perfectly. It was a very +merry meal, and later, by the library fire, Conning found himself +tête-à-tête with his future sister-in-law. She +amused him hugely.</p> +<p>“I declare,” he said teasingly, “I can hardly +believe that you believe in the equality of the sexes.” They +were attacking that problem at the moment.</p> +<p>“I—don’t!” Betty looked quaintly demure. +“I believe in the superiority of men!”</p> +<p>“Good Lord!”</p> +<p>“I do. That’s why I want all women to have the same +chance that men have had to get superior. I—I want my sisters +to get there, too!”</p> +<p>“There? Just where?” Truedale began to think the +girl frivolous; but her charm held.</p> +<p>“Why, where their qualifications best fit them to be. +I’m going to tell you a secret—I’m tremendously +religious! I believe God knows, better than men, about women; I +want—well, I don’t want to seem flippant—but +truly I’d like to hear God speak for himself!”</p> +<p>Truedale smiled. “That’s a common-sense argument, +anyway,” he said. “But I suppose we men are afraid to +trust any one else; we don’t want to—lose +you.”</p> +<p>“As if you could!” Betty held her small, white hand +out to the dog lying at her feet. “As if we didn’t +know, that whatever we don’t want, we do want you. Why, you +are our—job.”</p> +<p>Truedale threw his head back and laughed. “You’re +like a whiff of your big mountain air,” he said.</p> +<p>“I hope I always will be,” Betty replied softly and +earnestly, “I must keep—free, no matter what happens. I +must keep what I am, or how can I expect to keep—Brace? He +loved <i>this</i> me. Marriage doesn’t perform a miracle, +does it—Conning? please let me call you that. Lynda has told +me how she and you believe in two lives, not one narrow little +life. It’s splendid. And now I am going to tell you another +secret. I’ll have to let Lynda in on this, too, she must help +me. I have a little money of my very own—I earned every cent +of it. I am going to buy a tiny bit of ground, I’ve picked it +out—it’s across the river in the woods. I’m going +to build a house, not much of a one, a very small one, and +I’m going to call it—The Refuge. When I cannot find +myself, when I get lost, after I’m married, and am trying to +be everything to Brace, I’m going to run away to—The +Refuge!” The blue eyes were shining “And nobody can +come there, not even Brace, except by invitation. I +think”—very softly—“I think all women +should have a—a Refuge.”</p> +<p>Truedale found himself impressed. “You’re a very +wise little woman,” he said.</p> +<p>“One has to be, sometimes,” came the slow words. And +at that moment all doubt of Betty’s serious-mindedness +departed.</p> +<p>Brace joined them presently. He looked as if he had been +straining at a leash since dinner time.</p> +<p>“Con,” he said, laying his hand on the light head +bending over the dog, “now that you have talked and laughed +with Betty, what have you got to say?”</p> +<p>“Congratulations, Ken, with all my heart.”</p> +<p>“And now, Betty”—there was a new tone in +Kendall’s voice—“Mollie has said you may walk +back with me. The taxi would stifle us. There’s a moon, dear, +and a star or two—”</p> +<p>“As if that mattered!” Betty broke in. +“I’m very, very happy. Brace, you’ve got a nice, +sensible family. They agree with me in everything.”</p> +<p>The weeks passed rapidly. Betty’s affairs absorbed them +all, though she laughingly urged them to leave her alone.</p> +<p>“It’s quite awful enough to feel yourself being +carried along by a deluge,” she jokingly said, “without +hearing the cheers from the banks.”</p> +<p>But Mollie Morrell flung herself heart and soul into the +arranging of the wardrobe—playing big sister for the first +and only time in her life. She was older than Betty, but the +younger girl had always swayed the elder.</p> +<p>And Lynda became fascinated with the little bungalow across the +river, known as The Refuge.</p> +<p>The original fancy touched her imagination and she put other +work aside while she vied with Betty for expression.</p> +<p>“I’ve found an old man and woman, near by,” +Betty said one day, “they were afraid they would have to go +to the poor-house, although both are able to do a little. I’m +going to put them in my bungalow—the two little upstair rooms +shall be theirs. When I run down to find myself it will be homey to +see the two shining, old faces there to greet me. They are not a +bit cringing; I think they know how much they will mean to me. They +consider me rather immoral, I know, but that doesn’t +matter.”</p> +<p>And then in early October Brace and Betty were married in the +church across the river. Red and gold autumn leaves were falling +where earlier the roses had clambered; it was a brisk, cool day +full of sun and shade and the wedding was more to the old +clergyman’s taste. The organist was in his place, his music +discriminately chosen, there were guests and flowers and discreet +costumes.</p> +<p>“More as it should be,” thought the serene pastor; +but Lynda missed the kindly old woman who had drifted in on her +wedding day, and the small, tearful girl who had wanted her +mother.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<p>There are spaces in all lives that seem so surrounded by safety +and established conditions that one cannot conceive of change. +Those particular spots may know light and shade of passing events +but it seems that they cannot, of themselves, be affected. So +Truedale and Lynda had considered their lives at that period. They +were supremely happy, they were gloriously busy—and that +meant that they both recognized limitations. They took each day as +it came and let it go at the end with a half-conscious knowledge +that it had been too short.</p> +<p>Then one late October afternoon Truedale tapped on the door of +Lynda’s workshop and to her cheery “come,” +entered, closed the door after him, and sat down. He was very white +and sternly serious. Lynda looked at him questioningly but did not +speak.</p> +<p>“I’ve seen Dr. McPherson,” Conning said +presently, “he sent for me. He’s been away, you +know.”</p> +<p>“I had not known—but—” Then Lynda +remembered!</p> +<p>“Lynda, did you know—of my uncle’s—will +before his death?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes, Con.”</p> +<p>Something cold and death-like clutched Lynda’s heart. It +was as if an icy wave had swept warmth and safety before it, +leaving her aghast and afraid.</p> +<p>“Yes, I knew.”</p> +<p>“Will you tell me—I could not go into this with +McPherson, somehow; he didn’t see it my way, +naturally—will you tell me what would have become of +the—the fortune had I not married you?”</p> +<p>The deathly whiteness of Lynda’s face did not stay +Truedale’s hard words; he was not thinking of her—even +of himself; he was thinking of the irony of fate in the broad +sense.</p> +<p>“The money would have—come to me.” Then, as if +to divert any further misunderstanding. “And when I refused +it—it would have reverted to charities.”</p> +<p>“I see. And you did this for me, Lyn! How little even you +understood. Now that I have the cursed money I do not know what to +do with it—how to get rid of it. Still it was like you, +Lynda, to sacrifice yourself in order that I might have what you +thought was my due. You always did that, from girlhood. I might +have known no other woman could have done what you have done, no +such woman as you, Lyn, without a mighty motive; but you did not +know me, really!”</p> +<p>And now, looking at Lynda, it was like looking at a dead +face—a face from which warmth and light had been +stricken.</p> +<p>“I—do not know what you—mean, Con,” she +said, vaguely.</p> +<p>“Being you, Lyn, you couldn’t have taken the money, +yourself, particularly if you had declined to marry me. A lesser +woman would have done it without a qualm, feeling justified in +outwitting so cruel a thing as the bequest; but not you! You saw no +other way, so you—you with your high ideals and clear +beliefs—you married the man I am—in order to—to +give me—my own. Oh, Lyn, what a sacrifice!”</p> +<p>“Stop!” Lynda rose from her chair and, by a wide +gesture, swept the marks of her trade far from her. In so doing she +seemed to make space to breathe and think.</p> +<p>“Do you think I am the sort of girl who would sell herself +for anything—even for the justice I might think was +yours?”</p> +<p>“Sell yourself? Thank God, between us, Lynda, that does +not enter in.”</p> +<p>“It would have, were I the woman your words imply. I had +nothing to gain by marrying you, nothing! Nothing—that +is—but—but—what you are unable to see.” And +then, so suddenly that Truedale could not stop her, Lynda almost +ran from the room.</p> +<p>For an hour Truedale sat in her empty shop and waited. He dared +not seek her and he realized, at last, that she was not coming back +to him. His frame of mind was so abject and personal that he could +not get Lynda’s point of view. He could not, as yet, see the +insult he had offered, because he had set her so high and himself +so low. He saw her only as the girl and woman who, her life +through, had put herself aside and considered others. He saw +himself in the light such a woman as he believed Lynda to be would +regard him. He might have known, he bitterly acknowledged, that +Lynda could not have overlooked in her pure woman soul the lapse of +his earlier life. He remembered how, that night of his confession, +she had begged to be alone—to think! Later, her +silence—oh! he understood it now. It was her only safeguard. +And that once, in the woods, when he had blindly believed in his +great joy—how she had solemnly made the best of the +experience that was too deep in both hearts to be resurrected. What +a fool he had been to dream that so wrong a step as he had once +taken could lead him to perfect peace. Thinking these thoughts, how +could he, as yet, comprehend the wrong he was doing Lynda? Why, he +was grieving over her, almost breaking his heart in his desire to +do something—anything—to free her from the results of +her useless sacrifice.</p> +<p>At six o’clock Truedale went downstairs, but the house was +empty. Lynda had gone, taking all sense of home with her. He did +not wait to see what the dinner hour might bring about; he could +not trust himself just then. Indeed—having blasted every +familiar landmark—he was utterly and hopelessly lost. He +couldn’t imagine how he was ever to find his way back to +Lynda, and yet they would have to meet—have to consider.</p> +<p>Lynda, after leaving her workshop, had only one desire—she +wanted Betty more than she wanted anything else. She put on her hat +and coat and started headlong for her brother’s apartment +farther uptown. She felt she must get there before Brace arrived +and lay her trouble before the astoundingly clear, unfaltering mind +and heart of the little woman who, so short a time ago, had come +into their lives. But after a few blocks, Lynda’s steps +halted. If this were just her own trouble—but what trouble is +just one’s own?—she need not hesitate; but how could +she reveal what was deepest and most unfailing in her soul to any +living person—even to Betty of the unhesitating vision?</p> +<p>Presently Lynda retraced her steps. The calm autumn night +soothed and protected her. She looked up at the stars and thought +of the old words: “Why so hot, little man, why so hot?” +Why, indeed? And then in the still dimness—for she had turned +into the side streets—she let Truedale come into her thoughts +to the exclusion, for the moment, of her own bitter wrong. She +looked back at his strange, lonely boyhood with so little in it +that could cause him to view justly his uncle’s last deed. +She remembered his pride and struggle—his reserve and almost +abnormal sensitiveness. Then—the experience in the mountain! +How terribly deep that had sunk into Truedale’s life; how +unable he had been to see in it any wrong but his own. Lynda had +always honoured him for that. It had made it possible for her to +trust him absolutely. She had respected his fine position and had +never blurred it by showing him how she, as a woman, could see the +erring on the woman’s part. No, she had left Nella-Rose to +him as his high-minded chivalry had preserved her—she had +dared do all that because she felt so secure in the love and +sincerity of the present.</p> +<p>“And now—what?”</p> +<p>The bitterness was past. The shock had left her a bit weak and +helpless but she no longer thought of the human need of Betty. She +went home and sat down before the fire in the library and waited +for light. At ten o’clock she came to a conclusion. Truedale +must decide this thing for himself! It was, after all, his great +opportunity. She could not, with honour and self-respect, throw +herself upon him and so complicate the misunderstanding. If her +life with him since June had not convinced him of her simple love +and faith—her words, now, could not. He must seek +her—must realize everything. And in this decision Lynda left +herself so stranded and desolate that she looked up with wet eyes +and saw—William Truedale’s empty chair! A great longing +for her old friend rose in her breast—a longing that not even +death had taken from her. The clock struck the half-hour and Lynda +got up and with no faltering went toward the bedroom door behind +which the old man had started forth on his journey to find +peace.</p> +<p>And just as she went, with blinded eyes and aching heart, to +shut herself away from the dreariness of the present, Truedale +entered the house and, from the hall, watched her. He believed that +she had heard him enter, he hoped she was going to turn toward +him—but no! she went straight to the never-used room, shut +the door, and—locked it!</p> +<p>Truedale stood rooted to the spot. What he had hoped—what +trusted—he could hardly have told. But manlike he was the +true conservative and with the turning of that key his traditions +and established position crumbled around him.</p> +<p>Lynda and he were married and, unless they decided upon an open +break, they must live their lives. But the turning of the key +seemed to proclaim to the whole city a new dispensation. A +declaration of independence that spurned—tradition.</p> +<p>For a moment Truedale was angry, unsettled, and outraged. He +strode into the room with stern eyes; he walked half way to the +closed—and locked—door; he gazed upon it as if it were +a tangible foe which he might overcome and, by so doing, +reëstablish the old ideals. Then—and it was the saving +grace—Truedale smiled grimly. “To be sure,” he +muttered. “Of course!” and turned to his room under the +eaves.</p> +<p>But the following day had to be faced. There were several things +that had to be dealt with besides the condition arising from the +locking of the door of William Truedale’s room.</p> +<p>Conning battled with this fact nearly all night, little +realizing that Lynda was feeling her way to the same conclusion in +the quiet room below.</p> +<p>“I’m not beaten, Uncle William,” she +whispered, kneeling beside the bed. “If I could only see how +to meet to-morrow I would be all right.”</p> +<p>And then a queer sort of comfort came to her. The humour with +which her old friend would have viewed the situation pervaded the +room, bringing strength with it.</p> +<p>“I know,” she confided to the darkness in which the +old man seemed present, in a marvellously real way, “I know I +love Conning. A make-believe love couldn’t stand +this—but the true thing can. And he loves <i>me!</i> I know +it through and through. The other love of his +wasn’t—what this is. But he must find this out for +himself. I’ve always been close when he needed me; he must +come to me now—for his sake even more than for mine. I am +deserving of that, am I not, Uncle William?”</p> +<p>The understanding friendship did not fail the girl kneeling by +the empty bed. It seemed to come through the rays of moonlight and +rest like a helpful touch upon her.</p> +<p>“Little mother!”—and in her soul Lynda +believed William Truedale and her mother had come +together—“little mother, you did your best without +love; I will do mine—with it! And now I am going to bed and I +am going to sleep.”</p> +<p>The next morning Truedale and Lynda were both so precipitate +about attacking the situation that they nearly ran into each other +at the dining-room door. They both had the grace to laugh. Then +they talked of the work at hand for the morning.</p> +<p>“I have a studio to evolve,” Lynda said, passing a +slice of toast to Truedale from the electric contrivance before +her, “a woman wants a studio, she feels it will be an +inspiration. She’s a nice little society woman who is bored +to death. She’s written an article or two for a fashion paper +and she believes she has discovered herself. I wish I knew what to +put in the place. She’d scorn the real thing and I hate to +compromise when it comes to such things. And you, Con, what have +you that must be done?”</p> +<p>Truedale looked at her earnestly. “I must meet the lawyer +and McPherson,” he said, “but may I come—for a +talk, Lyn, afterward?”</p> +<p>“I shall be in my workshop all day, Con, until dinner time +to-night.”</p> +<p>The day was a hard one for them both, but womanlike Lynda +accepted it and came to its close with less show of wear and tear +than did Truedale. She was restless and nervous. She worked +conscientiously until three and accomplished something in the +difficult task the society woman had entrusted her with; then she +went to her bedroom and, removing every sign of her craft, donned a +pretty house dress and went back to her shop. She meant to give +Truedale every legitimate assistance, but she was never prouder or +firmer in her life. She called the dogs and the cats in; she set +the small tea table by the hearth and lighted just fire enough to +take the chill from the room and yet leave it sweet and fresh.</p> +<p>At five there was a tap on the door.</p> +<p>“Just in time, Con, for the tea,” she called and +welcomed him in.</p> +<p>To find her so calm, cheerful, and lovely, was something of a +shock to Truedale. Had she been in tears, or, had she shown any +trace of the suffering he had endured, he would have taken her in +his arms and relegated the unfortunate money to the scrap-heap of +non-essentials. But the scene upon which he entered had the effect +of chilling him and bringing back the displeasing thought of +Lynda’s sacrifice.</p> +<p>“Have you had a hard day, Con?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Drink the tea, and—let me see, you like bread and +butter, don’t you, instead of cakes?”</p> +<p>They were silent for a moment while they sipped the hot tea. +Then, raising their eyes, they looked suddenly at each other.</p> +<p>“Lyn, I cannot do without you!”</p> +<p>She coloured deeply. She knew he did not mean to be +selfish—but he was.</p> +<p>“You would be willing even to—accept my +sacrifice?” she asked so softly that he did not note the +yearning in the tones—the beseeching of him to abdicate the +position that, for her, was untenable.</p> +<p>“Anything—anything, Lynda. The day without you has +been—hell. We’ll get rid of the money somehow. Now that +we both know how little it means, we’ll begin again +and—free from Uncle William’s wrong +conceptions—Lyn—” He put his cup down and rose +quickly.</p> +<p>“Wait!” she whispered, shrinking back into her low +armchair and holding him off by her smile of detachment more than +by her word of command.</p> +<p>“I—I cannot face life without you,” Truedale +spoke hoarsely, “I never really had to contemplate it before. +I need you—must have you.”</p> +<p>He came a step nearer, but Lynda shook her head.</p> +<p>“Something has happened to us, Con. Something rather +tremendous. We must not bungle.”</p> +<p>“One thing looms high. Only one, Lyn.”</p> +<p>“Many things do, Con. They have been crowding thick around +me all day. There are worse things than losing each +other!”</p> +<p>“No!” Truedale denied, vehemently.</p> +<p>“Yes. We could lose ourselves! This thing that makes you +fling aside what went before, this thing that makes me +long—oh! how I long, Con—to come to you and forget, +this thing—what is it? It is the holiest thing we know, and +unless we guard it sacredly we shall hurt and kill it and then, by +and by, Con, we shall look at each other with frightened +eyes—over a dead, dead love.”</p> +<p>“Lynda, how—can you? How dare you say these things +when you confess—Oh! my—wife!”</p> +<p>“Because”—and she seemed withdrawing from +Truedale as he advanced—“because I have confessed! You +and I, Con, have reached to-day, by different routes, the most +important and vital problem. All my life I have been pushing doors +open as I came along. Sometimes I have only peered in and hurried +on; sometimes I have stayed and learned a lesson. It will always be +so with me. I must know. I think you are willing not to know unless +you are forced.”</p> +<p>Truedale winced and went back slowly to his chair.</p> +<p>“Con, dear, unless you wish it otherwise, I want, as far +as possible, to begin from to-day and find out just how much we do +mean to each other. Let us push open the doors ahead until we make +sure we both want the same abiding place. Should you find a spot +better, safer for you than this that we thought we knew, I will +never hold you by a look or word, dear.”</p> +<p>“And you—Lyn?” Truedale’s voice +shook.</p> +<p>“For myself I ask the same privilege.”</p> +<p>“You mean that we—live together, yet +apart?”</p> +<p>“Unless you will it otherwise, dear. In that case, we will +close this door and say—good-bye, now.”</p> +<p>Her strength, her tenderness, unmanned Truedale. Again he felt +that call upon him which she had inspired the night of his +confession. Again he rallied to defend her—from her own +pitiless sense of honour.</p> +<p>“By heaven!” he cried. “It shall not be +good-bye. I will accept your terms, live up to them, and dare the +future.”</p> +<p>“Good, old Con! And now, please, dear, go. I think—I +think I am going to cry—a little and”—she looked +up quiveringly—“I mustn’t have red eyes at dinner +time. Brace and Betty are coming. Thank heaven, Con, Betty will +make us laugh.”</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<p>Having agreed upon this period of probation both Lynda and +Truedale entered upon it with characteristic determination. There +were times when Conning dejectedly believed that no woman could act +as Lynda was doing, if she loved a man. No, it was not in +woman’s power to forego all Lynda was foregoing if she loved +deeply. Not that Lynda could be said to be cold or indifferent; she +had never been sweeter, truer; but she was so amazingly serene!</p> +<p>Perhaps she was content, having secured his rights for him, to +go on and be thankful that so little was actually exacted from +her.</p> +<p>But such reasoning eventually shamed Truedale, and he +acknowledged that there was something superb in a woman who, while +still loving a man, was able to withhold herself from him until +both he and she had sounded the depths of their natures.</p> +<p>In this state of mind Truedale devoted himself to business, and +Lynda, with a fresh power that surprised even herself, resumed her +own tasks.</p> +<p>“And this is <i>love</i>,” she often thought to +herself, “it is the real thing. Some women think they have +love when <i>love has them</i>. This beautiful, tangible something +that is making even these days sacred has proved itself. I can rely +upon it—lean heavily upon it.”</p> +<p>Sometimes she wondered what she was waiting for. Often she +feared, in her sad moments, that it might last forever—be +accepted this poor counterfeit for the real—and the full +glory escape her and Truedale.</p> +<p>But at her best she knew what she was waiting for—what was +coming. It was something that, driving all else away, would carry +her and Conning together without reservations or doubts. They would +<i>know!</i> He would know the master passion of his life; she, +that she could count all lost unless she made his life complete and +so crown her own.</p> +<p>The money was never mentioned. In good and safe investments it +lay, awaiting a day, so Truedale told McPherson, when it could be +got rid of without dishonour or disgrace.</p> +<p>“But, good heavens! haven’t you any personal +ambitions—you and Lynda?” McPherson had learned to +admire Conning, and Lynda had always been one of his private +inspirations.</p> +<p>“None that Lynda and I cannot supply ourselves,” +Truedale replied. “To have our work, and the necessity for +our work, taken from us would be no advantage.”</p> +<p>“But haven’t you a duty to the money?”</p> +<p>“Yes, we have, and I’m trying to find out just what +it is.”</p> +<p>And living this strange, abnormal life—often wondering +why, and fearing much—three, then four years, passed them +by.</p> +<p>It is one thing for two proud, sensitive natures to enter upon a +deliberate course, and quite another for them to abandon it when +the supposed need is past. There was now no doubt in +Truedale’s heart concerning Lynda’s motive for marrying +him; nor did Lynda for one moment question Truedale’s deep +affection for her. Yet they waited—quite subconsciously at +first, then with tragic stubbornness—for something to sweep +obstacles aside without either surrendering his position.</p> +<p>“He must want me so that nothing can sway him +again,” thought Lynda.</p> +<p>“She must know that my love for her can endure +anything—even this!” argued Conning, and his stand was +better taken than hers as she was to find out one day.</p> +<p>It seemed enough, in the beginning, to live their lives close +and confidentially—to feel the tie of dependence that held +them; but the knot cut in deep at times and they suffered in +foolish but proud silence.</p> +<p>Many things occurred during those years that widened the horizon +for them all. Betty’s first child came and went, almost +taking the life of the young mother with it. Before the possible +calamity Brace stood appalled, and both Conning and Lynda realized +how true a note the girl was in their lives. She seemed to belong +to them in a sense stronger than blood could have made her. They +could not imagine life without her sunny companionship. Never were +they to forget the grim dreariness of the once cheerful apartment +during those days and nights when Death hovered near, weighing the +chances. But Betty recovered and came back with a yearning look in +her eyes that had never been there before.</p> +<p>“You see,” she confided to Lynda, “there will +always be moments when I must listen to hear if my baby is calling. +At times, Lyn, it seems as if he were just on ahead—keeping +me from forgetting. It doesn’t make me sad, dear, it’s +really beautiful that he didn’t quite escape me.”</p> +<p>“And do you go to The Refuge to think and look and +listen?” Lynda asked. For they all worried now when Betty +betook herself to the little house.</p> +<p>“Not much!” And here Betty twinkled. “I go +there to meet Betty Arnold face to face, and ask her if she would +rather trade back. And then I come trotting home, almost out of +breath, to precious old Brace; I’m so afraid he won’t +know he’s still the one big thing in the world for +me.”</p> +<p>This little child of Betty’s and Brace’s had made a +deep impression upon them all. It had lived only three days and +while it stayed the black shadow hanging over the mother had made +the baby seem of less account; but later, they all recalled the +pretty, soft mite with the strange, old look in its wide eyes. He +had been beautiful as babies who are not going to stay often are. +There were to be no years for him to change and grow and so +loveliness came with him.</p> +<p>“I reckon the little chap thought we didn’t want +him,” Brace choked as he spoke over the small, cold body of +his first-born, “so he turned back home before he forgot the +way.”</p> +<p>“Don’t, brother!” Lynda pleaded as she stood +with Truedale beside him. “You know the way home might have +been longer and harder, by and by.”</p> +<p>“I wish Betty and I might have helped to make it easier; +for a time, anyway.” The eternal revolt against seemingly +useless suffering rang in the words.</p> +<p>And that night Truedale had kissed Lynda lingeringly.</p> +<p>“Such things,” he said, referring to the day’s +sad duties, “such things do drag people together.”</p> +<p>After that something new throbbed in their lives—something +that had not held sway before. If Betty looked and listened for the +little creature who had gone on ahead, Lynda listened and looked +into what had been a void in her life before.</p> +<p>She had always loved children in a kindly, detached way, but she +had never appropriated them. But now she could not forget the +feeling of that small, downy head that for a day or so nestled on +her breast while the young mother’s feet all but slipped over +the brink. She remembered the strange look in the child’s +deep eyes the night it died. The lonely, aged look that, in +passing, seemed trying to fix one familiar object. And when the dim +light went out in the little face and only a dead baby lay in her +arms, maternity had been called forth from its slumber and in +following Betty’s child, became vitalized and definite.</p> +<p>“I—I think I shall adopt a child.” So she had +thought while the cold little head yet lay in the hollow of her +arm. She never let go this thought and only hesitated before +voicing it to Truedale because she feared he could not understand +and might cruelly misunderstand. Life was hard enough and difficult +enough for them both just then, and often, coming into the quiet +home at the day’s end, Lynda would say, to cheer her faint +heart:</p> +<p>“Oh, well, it’s really like coming to a hearth upon +which the fire is not yet kindled. But, thank heaven! it is a clean +hearth, not cluttered with ashes—it is ready for the +fire.”</p> +<p>But was it? More and more as the time went on and Truedale kept +his faith and walked his way near hers—oh! they were thankful +for that—but still apart, Lynda wondered. It was all so +futile, so utterly selfish and childish—yet neither spoke. +Then suddenly came the big thing that drove them together and swept +aside all the barrier of rubbish they had erected. Like many great +and portentous things it seemed very like the still, small voice in +the burning bush—the tiny star in the black night.</p> +<p>Truedale had had an enlightening conversation with McPherson in +the afternoon. The old doctor was really a soft-hearted +sentimentalist and occasionally he laid himself bare to the eye of +some trustworthy friend. This time it was Truedale.</p> +<p>Up and down the plain, businesslike office McPherson was +tramping when Conning was announced.</p> +<p>“Oh! come in, come in!” called McPherson. “You +can better understand this than some. I’ve had a devil of a +day. One confounded thing after another to take the soul out of me. +And now this letter from old Jim White!”</p> +<p>Conning started. It had now been years since Pine Cone had +touched his thought sharply.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with White?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Look out of the window!”</p> +<p>Truedale did so, and into the wall-like snow which had been +falling all day.</p> +<p>“They’ve been having that in the mountains for +weeks. Trails blotted out, folk hiding like beasts, and that good +old chap, White, took this time to break his leg. There he lay for +a whole week, damn it all! Two of his dogs died—he, himself, +almost starved. Managed to crawl to the food while there was any, +and then some one ploughed through to get Jim to organize a hanging +or some other trifling thing, and found him! Good Lord, Truedale, +what they need down there is roads! roads! Roads over which folk +can travel to one another and become human. That’s all the +world needs anyway!” Here McPherson stopped in front of +Truedale and glared as if about to put the blame of impeded traffic +up to him. “Roads over which folk can travel to one another. +See here, you’re looking for some excuse to get rid of your +damned money. Why don’t you build roads?”</p> +<p>“Roads?” Truedale did not know whether to laugh or +take his man seriously.</p> +<p>“Yes, roads. I’m going down to Jim. I haven’t +much money; I’ve made a good deal, but somehow I never seem +able to be caught with the goods on me. But what little I’ve +got now goes to Jim for the purpose of forging a connecting link +between him and the Centre. But here’s a job for you. You can +grasp this need. I’ve got a boy in the hospital; he caved in +from over-study. Trying to get an education while starving himself +to death and doing without underclothes. You ought to know how to +hew a short cut to him, Truedale; you did some hacking through +underbrush yourself. If I didn’t believe folk would travel to +one another over roads, if there <i>were</i> roads, I’d go +out and cut my throat.”</p> +<p>The big man, troubled and as full of sympathy as a tender woman, +paused in his strides and ejaculated:</p> +<p>“Damn it all, Truedale!” Had he been a woman he +would have dissolved in tears.</p> +<p>Truedale at last caught his meaning. Here was a possible chance +to set the accumulating money free. For two hours, while the sun +travelled down to the west, the men talked over plans and +projects.</p> +<p>“Of course I’ll look after the boy in the hospital, +Dr. McPherson. I know the short cut to him and he probably can lead +me to others, but I want”—and here Truedale’s +eyes grew gloomy—“I want you to take with you down to +Pine Cone some checks signed in blank. I know the need of roads +down there,” did he not? and for an instant his brows grew +furrowed as he reflected how different his own life might have +been, had travelling been easy, back in the time when he was at the +mercy of the storm.</p> +<p>“I’d like to do something for Pine Cone. Make the +roads, of course, but back up those men and women who are doing +God’s work down there with little help or money. They know +the people—Jim has explained them to me. They’re not +‘extry polite,’ Jim says, but they understand the +needs. I don’t care to have my name known—I’m +rather poor stuff for a philanthropist—but I want to do +something as a starter, and this seems an inspiration.”</p> +<p>McPherson had been listening, and gradually his long strides +became less nervous.</p> +<p>“Until to-day, I haven’t wished your uncle back, +Truedale, since he went. He was a poor, inarticulate fellow, but +I’ve learned to realize that he had a wide vision.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Dr. McPherson, but I have often wished him +back.”</p> +<p>Once outside McPherson’s house, Truedale raised his head +and sniffed the clear, winter air with keen enjoyment. A sense of +achievement possessed him; the joy of feeling he had solved a +knotty problem. He found he could think of Pine Cone—and, +yes, of Nella-Rose—without a hurting smart. He was going to +do something for her—for her people! He was going to make +life easier—happier—for them, so he prayed in his +silent, wordless way. He had a new and strange impulse to go to +Lynda and tell her that at last he was released from any hold of +the past. He was going to do what he could and there was no longer +any dragging of the anchors. He wanted her to help him—to +work out some questions from the woman’s point of view. So he +hurried on and entered the house with a light, boyish step.</p> +<p>Thomas, bent but stately, was laying the table in the cheerful +dining room. There were flowers in a deep green bowl, pale golden +asters.</p> +<p>Long afterward Truedale recalled everything as if it had been +burned in his mind.</p> +<p>“Is Miss Lynda in?” he asked, for they all clung to +the titles of the old days.</p> +<p>“Not yet, Mister Con. She went out in a deal of a hurry +long about three o’clock. She didn’t say a +word—and that’s agin her pleasant fashion—so I +took it that she had business that fretted her. She’s been in +the workshop all day.” Thomas put the plates in place. They +were white china, with delicate gold edges. “Hum! hum! Mister +Con, your uncle used to say, when he felt talkative, that Miss +Lynda ought to have some one to hold her back when she took to +running.”</p> +<p>“I’ll look her up, Thomas!”</p> +<p>Conning went up to the workshop and turned on the electricity. A +desolate sensation overcame the exhilaration of the afternoon. +Lynda seemed strangely, ominously distant—as if she had gone +upon a long, long journey.</p> +<p>There was a dying fire on the hearth and the room was in order +except for the wide table upon which still lay the work Lynda had +been engaged with before she left the house.</p> +<p>Truedale sat down before it and gradually became absorbed, while +not really taking in the meaning of what he saw. He had often +studied and appreciated Lynda’s original way of solving her +problems. It was not enough for her to place upon paper the designs +her trained talent evolved; she always, as she put it, lived in the +rooms she conceived. Here were real furniture—diminutive, but +perfect, and real hangings—colour and form ideal, and +arranged so that they could be shifted in order that light effects +might be tested.</p> +<p>It was no wonder Truedale had often remarked that Lynda’s +work was so individual and personal—she breathed the breath +of life in it before she let it go from her. Truedale had always +been thankful that marriage had not taken from Lynda her joy in her +profession. He would have hated to know that he interfered with so +real and vital a gift.</p> +<p>But this room upon which he was now looking was different from +anything he had ever before seen in the workshop. It interested and +puzzled him.</p> +<p>Lynda’s specialties were libraries and living rooms; there +were two or three things she never attempted—and this? +Truedale looked closer. How pretty it was—like a +child’s playroom—and how fanciful! There was a +fireplace off in a corner, before which stood a screen with a most +benign goblin warning away, with spread claws, any heedless, +toddling feet. The broad window-seats might serve as boxes for +childish treasure. There were delectable, wee chairs and +conveniently low stools; there was a tiny bed set in a dim corner +over which, on a protecting shield, angels with folded wings and +rapt faces were outlined.</p> +<p>“Why, this must be a—nursery!” Truedale +exclaimed half aloud; “and she said she would never design +one.”</p> +<p>Clearly he recalled Lynda’s reason. “If a father and +a mother cannot conceive and carry out the needs of a nursery, they +do not deserve one. I could never bring myself to intrude +there.”</p> +<p>“What does this mean?” Truedale bent closer. The +table had been painted white to serve as a floor for the dainty +setting, and now, as he looked he saw stains—dark, tell-tale +stains on the shining surface.</p> +<p>They were tear-stains; Lynda, who so joyously put her heart and +soul in the ideals for other homes, had wept over the nursery of +another woman’s child!</p> +<p>For some reason Truedale was that day particularly open to +impression. As he sat with the toy-like emblems before him, the +holiest and strongest things of life seized upon him with terrific +meaning. He drew out his watch and saw that it was the dinner hour +and the still house proved that the mistress was yet absent.</p> +<p>“There is only one person to whom she would go,” he +murmured. “I’ll go to Betty’s and bring Lynda +home.”</p> +<p>He made an explanation to Thomas that covered the situation.</p> +<p>“I found what the trouble was, Thomas,” he said. +“It will be all right when we get back. But don’t keep +dinner.”</p> +<p>He took a cab to Brace’s. He was too distraught to put +himself on exhibition in a public conveyance. Brace sat in lonely +but apparently contented state at the head of his table.</p> +<p>“Bully for you, old man,” he greeted. “You +were never more welcome. I’ll have a plate put on for you at +once. What’s the matter? You look—”</p> +<p>“Ken, where’s Betty?”</p> +<p>“Run away to herself, Con. Went yesterday. Goes less and +less often, but she cut yesterday.”</p> +<p>“Has—has Lynda been here to-day?”</p> +<p>“Yes. About three. When she found Betty gone, she +wouldn’t stay. Sit down, old man. You’ll learn, as I +have, to appreciate Lyn more if she isn’t always where we men +have thought women ought to be.”</p> +<p>Truedale sat down opposite Kendall but said he would take only a +cup of coffee. When it was finished he rose, more steadily, and +said quietly:</p> +<p>“I know it’s unwritten law, Ken, that we +shouldn’t follow Betty up without an invitation; but +I’ve got to go over there to-night.”</p> +<p>“It’s dangerous, old man. I advise against it. +What’s up?”</p> +<p>“I must see Lyn. I believe she is there.”</p> +<p>“Rather a large-sized misunderstanding?”</p> +<p>“I hope, Ken, God helping me, it’s going to be the +biggest <i>understanding</i> Lynda and I have ever had.”</p> +<p>Kendall was impressed—and, consequently, silent.</p> +<p>“I’m sure Betty will forgive me. +Good-night.”</p> +<p>“Good-night, old chap, and—and whatever it is, I +fancy it will come out all right.”</p> +<p>And then, into the night Truedale plunged—determined to +master the absurd situation that both he and Lynda had permitted to +exist. He felt like a man who had been suffering in a nightmare and +had just awakened and shaken off the effect of the unholy +dream.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<p>Lynda, that winter day, had undertaken her task with unwonted +energy. She had never done a similar piece of work before. In her +early beginning she had rather despised the inadequacy of women +who, no matter what might be said in defense of their ignorance +regarding the rest of their homes, did not know how to design and +plan their own nurseries. Later she had eliminated designing of +this kind because so few asked for it, and it did not pay to put +much time on study in preparation for the rare occasions when +nurseries were included in the orders. But this was an exception. A +woman who had lost three children was expecting the fourth, and she +had come to Lynda with a touching appeal.</p> +<p>“You helped make a home of my house, Mrs. Truedale, but I +always managed the nursery—myself before; now I cannot. I +want you to put joy and welcome in it for me. If I were to +undertake it I should fail miserably, and evolve only gloom and +fear. It will be different—afterward. But you understand +and—you will?”</p> +<p>Lynda had understood and had set herself to her work with the +new, happy insight that Betty’s little baby had made +possible. It had all gone well until the “sleeping +corner” was reached, and then—something happened. A +memory of one of Betty’s confessions started it. +“Lyn,” she had said, just before her baby came, +“I kneel by this small, waiting crib and pray—as only +mothers know how to pray—and God teaches them afresh every +time! I do so want to be worthy of the confidence +of—God.”</p> +<p>“And I—am never to know!” Lynda bowed her +head. “I with my love—with my desire to hear God +speak—am never to hear. Why?”</p> +<p>Then it was that Lynda wept. Wept first from a desolate sense of +defeat; then—and God sometimes speaks to women kneeling +beside the beds of children not their own—she raised her head +and trembled at the flood of joy that overcame her. It was like a +mirage, seen in another woman’s world, of her own blessed +heritage.</p> +<p>Filled with this vision she had fled to Betty’s, only to +find that Betty had fled on her own account!</p> +<p>There was no moment of indecision; welcome or not, Lynda had to +reach Betty—and at once!</p> +<p>She had tarried, after setting her face to the river. She even +stopped at a quiet little tea room and ate a light meal. Then she +waited until the throng of business men had crossed the ferry to +their homes. It was quite dark when she reached the wooded spot +where, hidden deep among the trees, was Betty’s retreat.</p> +<p>There was a light in the house—the living room faced the +path—and through the uncurtained window Lynda saw Betty +sitting before the fire with her little dog upon her lap.</p> +<p>“Oh, Betty,” she whispered, stretching her arms out +to the lonely little figure in the low, deep chair. “Betty! +Betty!” She waited a moment, then she tapped lightly upon the +glass. The dog sprang to the floor, its sharp ears twitching, but +he did not bark. Betty came to the door and stood in the warm, +lighted space with arms extended. She knew no fear, there was only +doubt upon her face.</p> +<p>“Lyn, is it you?”</p> +<p>“Yes! How did you guess?”</p> +<p>“All day I’ve been thinking about you—wanting +you. Sometimes I can bring people that way.”</p> +<p>“And I have wanted you! Betty, may I +stay—to-night?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes, dear. Stay until you want to go home. +I’ve been pulling myself together; I’m almost ready to +go back to Brace. Come in! Why—what is it, dear? Come, let me +take off your things! There! Now lie back in the chair and tell +Betty all about it.”</p> +<p>“No, no! Betty, I want to sit so—at your feet. I +want to learn all that you can teach me. You have never had your +eyes blinded—or you would know how the light +hurts.”</p> +<p>“Well, then. Put your blessed, tired head on my knee. +You’re my little girl to-night, Lyn, and I am +your—mother.”</p> +<p>For a moment Lynda cried as a child might who had reached safety +at last. Betty did not check or soothe the heavy sobs—she +waited. She knew Lynda was saved from whatever had troubled her. It +was only the telling of it now. And presently the dark head was +lifted.</p> +<p>“Betty, it is Con and I!”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> +<p>“I’ve loved him all my life; and I believe—I +<i>know</i>—he loved me! Women do not make mistakes about the +real thing.”</p> +<p>“Never, Lyn, never.”</p> +<p>“Betty, once when I thought Con had wronged me, I wanted +to come to you—I almost did—but I couldn’t then! +Now that I am sure I have wronged him, it is easy to come to +you—you are so understanding!” The radiance of +Lynda’s face rather startled Betty. Abandon, relief, +glorified it until it seemed a new—a far more beautiful +face.</p> +<p>“All my life, Betty, I’ve been controlling +myself—conquering myself. I got started that way +and—and I’ve kept on. I’ve never done anything +without considering and weighing; but now I’m going to fling +myself into love and life and—pay whatever there is to +pay.”</p> +<p>“Why, Lyn, dear, please go slower.” Betty pressed +her face to the head at her knee.</p> +<p>“Betty, there was another love in Con’s +life—one that should never have been there.”</p> +<p>This almost took Betty’s breath. She was thankful +Lynda’s eyes were turned away; but by some strange magic the +words raised Truedale in Betty’s very human imagination.</p> +<p>“I sometimes think the—the thing that +happened—was the working out of an old inheritance; Con has +overcome much, but that caught him in its snare. He was ready to +let it ruin his whole future. He would never have +flinched—never have known, or admitted if he had +known—what he had foregone. But the thing was taken out of +his control altogether—the girl married another man!</p> +<p>“When Con came to himself again, he told me, +Betty—told me so simply, so tragically, that I saw what a +deep cut the experience had made in his life—how it had +humbled him. Never once did he blame any one else. I loved him for +the way he looked upon it; so many men could not have done so. That +made the difference with me. It was what the thing had done to Con +that made it possible for me to love him the more!</p> +<p>“He wanted the best things in life but didn’t think +he was worthy! And I? Well, I thought I saw enough for us both, and +so I married him! Then something happened—it doesn’t +matter what it was—it was a foolish, ugly thing, but it had +to be something. And Con thought I had never forgiven the—the +first love—that I had sacrificed myself for him—in +marriage! And no woman could bear that.”</p> +<p>“My poor, dear Lyn.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you see, Betty, it all comes from the idiotic +idea that men—some men—have about women. They put us on +a toppling pedestal; when we fall they are surprised, and when we +don’t they—are afraid of us! And all the time—you +know this, Betty—we ought not to be on pedestals at all; we +don’t—we <i>don’t</i> belong on them! We want to +be close and go along together.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Lyn; we do! we do!”</p> +<p>“Well—after Con misunderstood, I just let him go +along thinking I was—well, the kind of woman who could +sacrifice herself. I thought he would want me so that he +would—find out. And so we’ve been eating our hearts +out—for ages!”</p> +<p>“Why, Lyn! you cruel, foolish girl.”</p> +<p>“Yes—and because I knew you would say that—I +could come to you. You—do not blame Con?”</p> +<p>“Blame <i>him</i>! Why, Lyn, a gentleman doesn’t +take a woman off her beastly pedestal; she comes down +herself—if she isn’t a fool.”</p> +<p>“Well, Betty, I’m down! I’m down, and +I’m going to crawl to Con, if necessary, and then—I +think he’ll lift me up.”</p> +<p>“He’ll never pull you down, that’s one sure +thing!”</p> +<p>“Oh! thank you, Betty. Thank you.”</p> +<p>“But, Lyn—what has so suddenly brought you to your +senses?”</p> +<p>“Your little baby, Betty!”</p> +<p>“My—baby!” The words came in a hard, gasping +breath.</p> +<p>“I held him when he died, Betty. I had never been close to +a baby before—never! A strange thing happened to me as I +looked at him. It was like knowing what a flower would be while +holding only the bud. The baby’s eyes had the same expression +I have seen in Con’s eyes—in Brace’s; I know now +it is the whole world’s look. It was full of +wonder—full of questions as to what it all meant. I am sure +that it comes and goes but never really is answered—here, +Betty.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Lyn. And I have been +bitter—miserable—because I felt that it wasn’t +fair to take my baby until he had done some little work in the +world! And now—why, he did a great thing. My little, little +baby!” Betty was clinging to Lynda, crying as if all the +agony were swept away forever.</p> +<p>“Sometimes”—Lynda pressed against +Betty—“sometimes, lately, in Con’s eyes I have +seen the look! It was as if he were asking me whether he had yet +been punished enough! And I’ve been thinking of +myself—thinking what Con owed <i>me;</i> what <i>I</i> +wanted; <i>when</i> I should have it! I hate and despise myself for +my littleness and prudery; why, he’s a thousand times finer +than I! That’s what pedestals have done for women. But now, +Betty, I’m down; and I’m down to stay. +I’m—”</p> +<p>“Wait, Lyn, dear.” Betty mopped her wet face and +started up. She had seen a tall form pass the window, and she felt +as if something tremendous were at stake. “Just a minute, +Lyn. I must speak to Mrs. Waters if you are to stay over night. +She’s old, you know, and goes early to bed.”</p> +<p>Lynda still sat on the floor—her face turned to the red +glow of the fire that was growing duller and duller. Presently the +door opened, and her words flowed on as if there had been no +interruption.</p> +<p>“I’m going to Con to-morrow. I had to make +sure—first; but I know now, I know! I’m going to tell +him all about it—and ask him to let me walk beside him. +I’m going to tell him how lonely I’ve been in the place +he put me—how I’ve hated it! And some time—I feel +as sure as sure can be—there will be something I can do that +will prove it.”</p> +<p>“My—darling!”</p> +<p>Arms stronger than Betty’s held her close—held her +with a very human, understanding strength.</p> +<p>“You’ve done the one big thing, Lyn!”</p> +<p>“Not yet, not yet, Con, dear.”</p> +<p>“You have made me realize what a wrong—a bitter +wrong—I did you, when I thought you could be less than a +loving woman.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Con! And have you been lonely, too?”</p> +<p>“Sweet, I should have died of loneliness had something not +told me I was still travelling up toward you. That has made it +possible.”</p> +<p>“Instead”—Lynda drew his face down to +hers—“instead, I’ve been struggling up toward +<i>you!</i>! Dear, dear Con, it isn’t men and women; +it’s <i>the</i> man—<i>the</i> woman. Can’t you +see? It’s the sort of thing life makes of us that counts; not +the steps we take on the way. You—you know this, +Con?”</p> +<p>“I know it, now, from the bottom of my soul.”</p> +<hr style="width: 45%" /> +<p>It was one of Betty’s quaint sayings that some lives were +guided by flashlights, others by a steady gleam. Hers had always +been by the former method. She made her passage from one +illumination to another with great faith, high courage, and much +joyousness. After the night when Lynda made her see what her dear, +dead baby had accomplished in his brief stay, she rose triumphant +from her sorrow. She was her old, bright self again; she sang in +her home, transfigured Brace by her happiness, and undertook her +old interests and duties with genuine delight.</p> +<p>But for Lynda and Truedale the steady gleam was necessary. They +never questioned—never doubted—after the night when +they came home from the little house in the woods. To them both +happiness was no new thing; it was a precious old thing given back +after a dark period of testing. The days were all too short, and +when night brought Conning running and whistling to the door, Lynda +smiled and realized that at last the fire was burning briskly on +her nice, clean hearth. They had so much in common—so much +that demanded them both in the doing of it.</p> +<p>“No bridges for us, here and there, over which to reach +each other,” thought Lynda; “it’s the one path +for us both.” Then her eyes grew tenderly brooding as she +remembered how ’twas a little child that had led +them—not theirs, but another’s.</p> +<p>The business involved in setting old William Truedale’s +money in circulation was absorbing Conning at this time. Once he +set his feet upon the way, he did not intend to turn back; but he +sometimes wondered if the day would ever come when he could, with a +clear conscience, feel poor enough to enjoy himself, selfishly, +once more.</p> +<p>From McPherson he heard constantly of the work in the southern +hills. Truedale was, indeed, a strong if silent and unsuspected +force there. As once he had been an unknown quantity, so he +remained; but the work went on, supervised by Jim White, who used +with sagacity and cleverness the power placed in his hands.</p> +<p>Truedale’s own particular interests were nearly all +educational. Even here, he held himself in reserve—placed in +more competent hands the power they could wield better than he. +Still, he was personally known and gratefully regarded by many +young men and women who were struggling—as he once had +struggled—for what to them was dearer than all else. He +always contrived to leave them their independence and self-respect. +Naturally all this was gratifying and vital to Lynda. Achievement +was dear to her temperament, and the successes of others, +especially those nearest to her, were more precious to her than her +own. She saw Truedale drop his old hesitating, bewildered manner +like a discarded mantle. She grew to rely upon his calm strength +that developed with the demands made upon it. She approved of him +so! And that realization brought out the best in her.</p> +<p>One November evening she and Con were sitting in the library, +Truedale at his desk, Lynda idly and luxuriously rocking to and +fro, her hands clasped over her head. She had learned, at last, the +joy of absolute relaxation.</p> +<p>“There’s a big snow-storm setting in,” she +said, smiling softly. Then, apropos of nothing: “Con, +we’ve been married four years and over!”</p> +<p>“Only that, Lyn? It seems to me like my whole +life.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Con—so long as that?”</p> +<p>“Blessedly long.”</p> +<p>After another pause Lynda spoke merrily: “Con, I want some +of Uncle William’s money. A lot of it.”</p> +<p>Truedale tossed her a new check book. “Now that you see +there is no string tied to it,” he said, “may I ask +what for? Just sympathetic interest, you know.”</p> +<p>“Of course. Well, it’s this way. Betty and I are +broke. It’s fine for you to make roads and build schools and +equip the youth of America for getting all the learning they can +carry, but Betty and I are after the babies. We’ve been +agonizing over the Saxe Home—Betty’s on the +Board—and before Christmas we are going to undress all those +poor standardized infants and start their cropped hair to +growing.”</p> +<p>Truedale laughed heartily. “Intimacy with Betty,” he +said, “has coloured your descriptive powers, Lyn, +dear.”</p> +<p>“Oh, all happy women talk one tongue.”</p> +<p>“And you <i>are</i> happy, Lyn?”</p> +<p>“Happy? Yes—happy, Con!”</p> +<p>They smiled at each other across the broad table.</p> +<p>“Betty has told the superintendent that if there is a blue +stripe or a cropped head on December twenty-fourth, she’s +going to recommend the dismissal of the present staff.”</p> +<p>“Good Lord! Does any one ever take Betty seriously? I +should think one of those board meetings would bear a strong family +resemblance to an afternoon tea—rather a frivolous +one.”</p> +<p>“They don’t. And, honestly, people are tremendously +afraid of Betty. She makes them laugh, but they know she gets what +she wants—and with a joke she drives her truths +home.”</p> +<p>“There’s something in that.” Truedale looked +earnest. “She’s a great Betty.”</p> +<p>“So it’s up to Betty and me, now,” Lynda went +on. “We can take off the shabby, faded little duds, but +we’ve got to have something to put on at once, or the kiddies +will take cold.”</p> +<p>“Surely.”</p> +<p>“We think that to start a child out in stripes is almost +as bad as finishing him in them. To make a child +feel—different—is sure to damn him.”</p> +<p>“And so you are going to make the Saxe Home an example and +set the ball rolling.”</p> +<p>“Exactly, Con. And we’re going to slam the door in +the faces of the dramatic rich this Christmas. The lambies at the +Saxe are going to have a nice, old-fashioned tree. They are going +to dress it themselves the night before, and whisper up the chimney +what they want—and there is not going to be a speech on +Christmas Day within a mile of that Home!”</p> +<p>“That’s great. I’d like to come in on that +myself.”</p> +<p>“You can, Con, we’ll need you.”</p> +<p>“Christmas always does set the children in one’s +thoughts, doesn’t it? I suppose Betty is particularly +keen—having had her baby for a day or so.” +Truedale’s eyes were tender. Betty’s baby and its +fulfilled mission were sacred to him and Lynda.</p> +<p>“Betty is going to adopt a child, Con.”</p> +<p>“Really?”</p> +<p>“Yes. She says she cannot stand Christmas without one. +It’s a rebuke to—to her boy.”</p> +<p>“Poor little Bet!”</p> +<p>“Oh! it makes me so—so humble when I see her +courage. She says if she has a dozen children of her own it will +make no difference; she must have her first child’s +representative. She’s about decided upon the +one—he’s the most awful of them all. She’s only +hesitating to see if anything awfuller will turn up. She says +she’s going to take a baby no one else will +have—she’s going to do the biggest thing she can for +her own dead boy. As if her baby ever could be dead! Sometimes I +think he is more alive than if he had stayed here and got all +snarled up in earthly things—as so many do!”</p> +<p>Conning came close to Lynda and drew her head back against his +breast.</p> +<p>“You are—crying, darling!” he said.</p> +<p>“It’s—it’s Betty. Con, what is it about +her that sort of brightens the way for us all, yet dims our +eyes?”</p> +<p>“She’s very illuminating. It’s a big +thing—this of adopting a child. What does Brace think of +it?”</p> +<p>“He adores everything Betty does. He +says”—Lynda smiled up into the face above +her—“he says he wishes Betty had chosen one with hair a +little less crimson, but that doubtless he’ll grow to like +that tint better than any other.”</p> +<p>“Lyn, have you ever thought of adopting a +child?”</p> +<p>“Oh!—sometimes. Yes, Con.”</p> +<p>“Well, if you ever feel that you ought—that you want +to—I will be glad to—to help you. I see the +risk—the chance, and I think I would like a handsome one. But +it is Christmas time, and a man and woman, if they have their +hearts in the right places, do think of children and trees and all +the rest at this season. Still”—and with that Truedale +pressed his lips to Lynda’s hair—“I’m +selfish, you seem already to fill every chink of my +life.”</p> +<p>“Con, that’s a blessed thing to say to a +woman—even though the woman knows you ought not to say it. +And now, I’m going to tell you something else, Con. +It’s foolish and trifling, perhaps, but I’ve set my +heart upon it ever since the Saxe Home got me to +thinking.”</p> +<p>“Anything in the world, Lyn! Can I help?”</p> +<p>“I should say you could. You’ll have to be about the +whole of it. Starting this Christmas, I’m going to have a +tree—right here in this room—close to Uncle +William’s chair!”</p> +<p>“By Jove! and for—for whom?”</p> +<p>“Why, Con, how unimaginative you are! For you, for me, for +Uncle William, for any one—any really right person, young or +old—who needs a Christmas tree. Somehow, I have a rigid +belief that some one will always be waiting. It may not be an +empty-handed baby. Perhaps you and I may have to care for some dear +<i>old</i> soul that others have forgotten. We could do this for +Uncle William, couldn’t we, Con?”</p> +<p>“Yes, my darling.”</p> +<p>“The children cannot always know what they are missing, +but the old can, and my heart aches for them often—aches +until it really hurts.”</p> +<p>“My dear girl!”</p> +<p>“They are so alike, Con, the babies and the very aged. +They need the same things—the coddling, the play, the pretty +toys to amuse them—until they fall asleep.”</p> +<p>“Lynda, you are all nerves and fancies. Pretty +ones—but dangerous. We’ll have our +tree—we’ll call it Uncle William’s. We’ll +take any one—every one who is sent to us—and be +grateful. And that makes me think, we must have a particularly +giddy celebration up at the Sanatorium. McPherson and I were +speaking of it to-day.”</p> +<p>“Con, I wonder how many secret interests you have of which +I do not know?”</p> +<p>“Not many.”</p> +<p>“I wonder!”</p> +<p>Truedale laughed, a bit embarrassed. “Well,” he +said, suddenly changing the subject, “talking about nerves +reminds me that when the holidays are over you and I are going away +on a honeymoon. After this we are to have one a year. We’ll +drop everything and indulge in the heaven-given luxury of loafing. +You need it. Your eyes are too big and your face too pale. I +don’t see what has ailed me not to notice before. But right +after Christmas, dear, I’m going to run away with you.... +What are you thinking about, Lyn?”</p> +<p>“Oh, only the blessedness of being taken care of! +It’s strange, but I know now that all my life—before +this—I was gazing at things through closed windows. Alone in +my cell I looked out—sometimes through beautiful stained +glass, to be sure—at trees waving and people passing. Now and +then some one paused and spoke to me, but always with the barrier +between. Now—I touch people—there is nothing to keep us +apart. I’m just like everybody else; and your love and care, +Con, have set the windows wide!”</p> +<p>“This will never do, Lyn. Such fancies! I may have to take +you away <i>before</i> Christmas.” Truedale spoke lightly but +his look was anxious.</p> +<p>“In the meantime, let us go out for a walk in the snow. +There’s enough wind to make it a tussle. Come, +dear!”</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<p>Two days later Lynda came down from her workshop by the back +stairs, and passed through William Truedale’s bedchamber on +the way to the library. It was only ten o’clock in the +morning but Truedale had a habit, if he happened to be in the +neighbourhood, of dropping in for a moment at this hour. If he +should to-day Lynda wanted to confer with him about some details +concerning the disrobing of the Saxe infants. She was particularly +light hearted and merry. A telephone call from Betty had put her in +the sunniest humour.</p> +<p>To her surprise, as she entered the library, she saw a small, +most peculiar-looking woman sitting quite straight on the edge of a +chair in the middle of the room.</p> +<p>It was a cast-iron rule that Lynda must not be disturbed at her +morning work. Thomas generally disposed of visitors without +mercy.</p> +<p>“Good morning!” Lynda said kindly. “Can I do +anything for you? I am sorry you had to wait.”</p> +<p>She concluded it was some one connected with the Saxe Home. That +was largely in her mind at the moment.</p> +<p>“I want to see”—and here the strange little +figure came to Lynda and held out a very dirty, crumpled piece of +paper on which was written Truedale’s name and address.</p> +<p>“Mr. Truedale may not be home until evening,” Lynda +said. And now she thought that this must be one of the private and +pet dependents of Con’s with whom she would deal very gently +and tactfully. “I wonder if you won’t tell me all about +it and I will either tell Mr. Truedale or set a time for you to see +him.”</p> +<p>Glad of any help in this hour of extremity, the stranger +said:</p> +<p>“I’m—I’m Nella-Rose. Do you know about +me?”</p> +<p>Know about her? Why, after the first stunning shock, she seemed +to be the <i>only</i> thing Lynda did know about—ever had +known! She stared at the little figure before her for what seemed +an hour. She noted the worried, pitiful child face that, screened +behind the worn and care-lined features, looked forth like a pretty +flower. Then Lynda said, weakly:</p> +<p>“Yes, I know about you—all about you, +Nella-Rose.”</p> +<p>The pitiful eyes brightened. What Nella-Rose had been through +since leaving her hills only God understood.</p> +<p>“I’m right glad! And you—you +are—”</p> +<p>“I’m Conning Truedale’s—wife.”</p> +<p>Somehow Lynda expected this to be a devastating shock, but it +was not. Nella-Rose was past reservations or new impressions.</p> +<p>“I—I reckoned so,” was all she said.</p> +<p>“You must sit down. You look very tired.” Lynda had +forgotten Truedale’s possible appearance.</p> +<p>“I <i>am</i> right tired. It’s a mighty long way +from Pine Cone. And I was so—so frightened, but folks was +certainly good and just helped me—to here! One old lady came +to the door with me.”</p> +<p>“Why—have you come, Nella-Rose?” Lynda drew +her own chair close to the stranger’s and as she did so, she +could but wonder, now that she was herself again, how exactly +Nella-Rose seemed to fit into the scene. She was like a +recurrence—like some one who had played her part +before—or were the scene and Nella-Rose but the +materialization of something Lynda had always expected, always +dreaded, but which she had always known must come some day? She was +prepared now—terribly prepared! Everything depended upon her +management of the crucial moments. Her kindness did not desert her, +nor her merciful justice, but she meant to shield Truedale with her +life—hers and Nella-Rose’s, if necessary. +“Why—have you—come?” she asked again, and +Nella-Rose, taking for granted that this pale, strange woman did +know all about her—knew everything and every one pertaining +to her—fixed her sweet eyes, tear-filled but not overflowing, +upon her face.</p> +<p>“I want—to tell him that I’m right sorry I +hated him. I—I didn’t know until Bill Trim died. I want +to ask him to—to forgive me, and—then I can go +back.”</p> +<p>“What—did—Bill Trim tell you?” Lynda +tried with all her strength to keep her mind cool, her thoughts +steady. She wanted to lead Nella-Rose on and on, without losing the +way herself.</p> +<p>“That he burned—he didn’t mean to—he +burned the letter I sent—asking—”</p> +<p>“I see! You wrote—a letter, then?”</p> +<p>“Yes. He told me, if I wanted him—and I +did—Godda’mighty! how I wanted him then!” +Nella-Rose clasped her poor little work-hardened hands close, and +her small white teeth showed through the parted lips while she +struggled to regain her calm.</p> +<p>“You see—when I gave the letter to Bill Trim, +I—I told him—I had to—that it was Miss Lois +Ann’s, so he didn’t think it mattered to me; but when +he was dying—he was hurt on the big road they are making in +the hills—he was brought to us-all, and Miss Lois Ann and I +took care of him, and he grew right sorry for hating her and not +telling about the letter—and then—he spoke it +out!”</p> +<p>“I see. I see. And that was—how long ago—that +you wrote the letter?”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose looked back over the weary way she had travelled, to +this moment in the warm, sun-filled room.</p> +<p>“It was befo’ lil’ Ann came that I sent the +letter,” she faltered.</p> +<p>“Little Ann?” Lynda repeated the name and something +terrible rose within her—something that would kill her unless +she conquered it. So she asked quickly, desperately:</p> +<p>“Your—your child? I see. Go +on—Nella-Rose.”</p> +<p>“I wrote the letter and—sent it. I was hid in Miss +Lois Ann’s cabin—it was winter—and no one found +out! Miss Lois Ann wouldn’t believe what I told; she said +when him and me was married under the trees and God understood, it +didn’t make me—right! She—helped me, but she +hated—him! And then when he—didn’t come, she +taught me to—to hate, and it was right <i>black</i> hate +until lil’ Ann came. When God let her down to me—He +took the hate away.”</p> +<p>Lynda was blinded by her tears. She could hardly see the small +figure crouching in the low chair by the fire.</p> +<p>“And then—Miss Lois Ann went and told my +folks—told Marg, my sister. Marg was married to Jed and she +was mighty scornful of me and lil’ Ann. She wouldn’t +tell Jed and my father—she came alone to me. She told me what +folks thought. They-all thought I’d gone away with Burke +Lawson and Marg felt sorry to see me alive—with lil’ +Ann. But Miss Lois Ann wouldn’t let her sting me with her +tongue—she drove her away. Then—Burke came! He’d +been a right long way off—he’d broken his leg; he came +as soon as he could, and Marg told him and—and laid +lil’ Ann to him!”</p> +<p>“And you—never spoke? You never told?” Lynda +had drawn very close—her words were barely above a +whisper.</p> +<p>“No. It was this-er-way. First, love for him held my +tongue mighty still; then hate; and afterwards I +couldn’t!”</p> +<p>“But now, Nella-Rose, <i>now</i>—why have you +spoken—now?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t yet. Not to them-all. I had to come +here—to him first. I reckon you don’t know about Burke +and me?”</p> +<p>Lynda shook her head. She had thought she knew—but she had +wandered sadly.</p> +<p>“When Marg laid my trouble to Burke he just took it! First +I couldn’t understand. But he took my trouble—and me! +He took lil’ Ann and me out of Miss Lois Ann’s cabin +into—peace and safety. He tied every one’s +tongue—it seemed like he drove all the—the wrong away +by his big, strong love—and set me free, like he was God! He +didn’t ask nothing for a right long time, not ’til I +grew to—believe him and trust him. Then we went—when no +one knew—and was married. Now he’s my man and +he’s always been lil’ Ann’s father +till—till—”</p> +<p>A log fell upon the hearth and both women started guiltily and +affrightedly.</p> +<p>“Go on! go on!” breathed Lynda. “Go +on!”</p> +<p>“Till the twins came—Burke’s and mine! Then he +knew the difference—even his love for me couldn’t help +him—it hindered; and while I—I feared, I +understood!”</p> +<p>“Oh! oh! oh!” Lynda covered her aching eyes with her +cold hands. She dared not look at Nella-Rose. That childish yet old +face was crowding everything but pity from the world. Truedale, +herself—what did they matter?</p> +<p>“He—he couldn’t bear to have lil’ Ann +touch—the babies. I could see him—shiver! And +lil’ Ann—she’s like a flower—she fades if +you don’t love her. She grew afraid and—and hid, and it +seemed like the soul of me would die; for, don’t you see, +Burke thinks that Marg’s man is—is the father, and Marg +and Jed lays the trouble to Burke and they think her—his! +And—and it has grown more since the big road brought us-all +closer. The big road brought trouble as well as good. +Once”—and here the haggard face +whitened—“once Burke and Jed fought—and a fight +in the hills means more fights! Just then Bill Trim was hurt and +told me before he died; it was like opening a grave! I ’most +died ’long with Bill Trim—’til I studied about +lil’ Ann! And then—I saw wide, and right far, like I +hadn’t since—since before I hated. I saw how I must +come and—tell you-all, and how maybe you’d take +lil’ Ann, and then I could go back to—to my man +and—there’ll be peace when he knows—at last! Will +you—oh! will you be with me, kind lady, when I—tell +your—your—man?” Nella-Rose dropped at +Lynda’s feet and was pleading like a distraught child. +“I’ve been so afraid. I did not know his world was so +full of noise and—and right many things. And he will +be—different—and I may not be able to make him +understand. But you will—<i>you</i> will! I must get back to +the hills. I done told Burke I—I was going to prove myself to +his goodness—by putting lil’ Ann with them as would be +mighty kind to her. I seemed to know how it would turn +out—and I dared to say it; but now—now I am +mighty—’fraid!”</p> +<p>The tears were falling from the pain-racked eyes—falling +upon Lynda’s cold, rigid hands—and they seemed to warm +her heart and clear her vision.</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose,” she said, “where is little +Ann?”</p> +<p>“Lil’ Ann? Why, there’s lil’ Ann +sleeping her tire off under your pillows. She was cold and mighty +wore out.” Nella-Rose turned toward the deep couch under the +broad window across the room.</p> +<p>Silently, like haunted creatures, both women stole toward the +couch and the mother drew away the sheltering screen of cushions. +As she did so, the little child opened her eyes, and for a moment +endeavoured to find her place in the strangeness. She looked at her +mother and smiled a slow, peculiar smile. Then she fixed her gaze +upon Lynda. It was an old, old look—but young, +too—pleading, wonder-filled. The child was so like +Truedale—so unmercifully, cruelly like him—that, for a +moment, reason deserted Lynda and she covered her face with both +hands and swayed with silent laughter.</p> +<p>Nella-Rose bent over her child as if to protect her. +“Lil’ Ann,” she whispered, “the lady is a +right kind lady—right kind!” She felt she must explain +and justify.</p> +<p>After a moment or two Lynda gained control of her shaken nerves. +She suddenly found herself calm, and ready to undertake the +hardest, the most perilous thing that had ever come into her life. +“Bring little Ann to the fire;” she said, +“I’m going to order some lunch, and then—we can +decide, Nella-Rose.”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose obeyed, dumbly. She was completely under the control +of the only person, who, in this perplexed and care-filled hour, +seemed able to guide and guard her.</p> +<p>Lynda watched the two eat of the food Thomas brought in. There +was no fear of Truedale coming now. There was safety ahead for some +hours. Lynda herself made a pretext of eating, but she hardly took +her eyes from little Ann’s face. She wanted familiarity to +take the place of shock. She must grow accustomed to that terrible +resemblance, for she knew, beyond all doubt, that it was to hold a +place in all her future life.</p> +<p>When the last drop of milk went gurgling down the little +girl’s throat, when Nella-Rose pushed her plate aside, when +Thomas had taken away the tray, Lynda spoke:</p> +<p>“And now, Nella-Rose, what are you going to—to do +with us all?”</p> +<p>The tired head of little Ann was pressed against her +mother’s breast. The food, the heat, were lulling her weary +senses into oblivion again. Lynda gave a swift thought of gratitude +for the momentary respite as she watched the small, dark face sink +from her direct view.</p> +<p>“We are all in your hands,” she continued.</p> +<p>“In <i>my</i> hands—<i>mine</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Yours.”</p> +<p>“I—I must—tell him—and then go +home.”</p> +<p>“Must you, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“What else is there for me?”</p> +<p>“You must decide. You, alone.”</p> +<p>“You”—the lips quivered—“you will +not go with me?”</p> +<p>“I—cannot, Nella-Rose.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because”—and with all her might Lynda sought +words that would lay low the difference between her and the simple, +primitive woman close to her—felt she <i>must</i> use ideas +and terms that would convey her meaning and not drive her and +Nella-Rose apart—“because, while he is my man now, he +was first yours. Because you were first, you must go alone—if +go you must. Then he shall decide.”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose grasped the deep meaning after a moment and sank back +shivering. The courage and endurance that had borne her to this +hour deserted her. The help, that for a time had seemed to rise up +in Lynda, crumbled. Alone, drifting she knew not where, Nella-Rose +waited.</p> +<p>“I’m—afraid!” she repeated over and +over. “I’m right afraid. He’s not the same; +it’s all, all gone—that other life—and yet I +cannot let him think—!”</p> +<p>The two women looked at each other over all that separated +them—and each comprehended! The soul of Nella-Rose demanded +justification—vindication—and Lynda knew that it should +have it, if the future were to be lived purely. There was just one +thing Lynda had to make clear in this vital moment, one truth that +must be understood without trespassing on the sacred rights of +others. Surely Nella-Rose should know all that there was to know +before coming to her final decision. So Lynda spoke:</p> +<p>“You think he”—she could not bring herself, +for all her bravery and sense of justice, to speak her +husband’s name—“you think he remembers you as +something less than you were, than you are? Nella-Rose, he never +has! He did not understand, but always he has held you sacred. +Whatever blame there may have been—he took it all. It was +because he could; because it was possible for him to do so, that I +loved him—honoured him. Had it been otherwise, as truly as +God hears me, I could not have trusted him with my life. +That—that marriage of yours and his was as holy to him as, I +now see, it was to you; and he, in his heart, has always remembered +you as he might a dear, dead—wife!”</p> +<p>Having spoken the words that wrung her heart, Lynda sank back +exhausted. Then she made her first—her only claim for +herself.</p> +<p>“It was when everything was past and his new life +began—his man’s life—that I entered in. +He—he told me everything.”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose bent over her sleeping child, and a wave of +compassion overflooded her thought.</p> +<p>“I—I must think!” she whispered, and closed +her lovely eyes. What she saw in the black space behind the burning +lids no one could know, but her tangled little life must have been +part of it. She must have seen it all—the bright, sunlit +dream fading first into shadow, then into the dun colour of the +deserted hills. Burke Lawson must have stood boldly forth, in his +supreme unselfishness and Godlike power, as her redeemer—her +man! The gray eyes suddenly opened and they were calm and +still.</p> +<p>“I—I only wanted him—to remember me—like +he once did,” she faltered. She was taking her last look at +Truedale. “So long as he—he didn’t think +me—less; I reckon I don’t want him—to think of me +as I am—now.”</p> +<p>“Suppose”—the desperate demand for full +justice to Nella-Rose drove Lynda on—“suppose it were +in your power and mine to sweep everything aside; suppose I—I +went away. What would you do, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>Again the eyes closed. After a moment:</p> +<p>“I—would go back to—my man!”</p> +<p>“You mean that—as truly as God hears you?—you +mean that, Nella-Rose?”</p> +<p>“Yes. But lil’ Ann?”</p> +<p>Now that she had made the great decision about Truedale, there +was still “lil’ Ann.”</p> +<p>Lynda fought for mastery over the dread thing that was forcing +its way into her consciousness. Then something Nella-Rose was +saying caught her fevered thought.</p> +<p>“When I was a lil’ child I used to dream that some +day I would do a mighty big thing—maybe this is it. I +don’t want to hurt his life and—yours; I couldn’t +hurt my man and—and—the babies waiting back there for +me. But—lil’ Ann!”</p> +<p>The name came like a sob. And somehow Lynda thought of Burke +Lawson! Burke, who had done his strong best, and still could not +keep himself in control because of—lil’ Ann! The +helpless baby was—oh! yes, yes—it was Truedale’s +responsibility. If she, Lynda, were to keep her life—her +sacred love—she, too, must do a “big +thing”—perhaps the biggest a woman is ever called upon +to do—to prove her faith.</p> +<p>For another moment she struggled; then, like a blind woman, she +stretched out her hands and laid them upon the child.</p> +<p>“Nella-Rose, will you give—<i>me</i> little +Ann?”</p> +<p>“Give her—to—you?” There was anguish, +doubt, but hope, in the words.</p> +<p>“I want—the child! She shall have her +father—her father’s home—his love, God willing! +And I, Nella-Rose, as I hope for God’s mercy, I will do my +duty by little Ann.”</p> +<p>And now Lynda was on the floor beside the shabby pair, shielding +them as best she could from the last wrench and renunciation.</p> +<p>“Are you doing this for—for your man?” +whispered Nella-Rose.</p> +<p>“Yes. For my—man!” They looked long into each +other’s eyes. Then solemnly, slowly, Nella-Rose relinquished +her hold of the child.</p> +<p>“I—give you—lil’ Ann.” So might +she have spoken if, in religious fervour, she had been resigning +her child to death. “I—I—give you lil’ +Ann.” Gently she kissed the sleeping face and laid her burden +in the aching, strained arms that had still to learn their tender +lesson of bearing. Ann opened her eyes, her lips quivered, and she +turned to her mother.</p> +<p>“Take—lil’ Ann!” she pleaded. Then +Nella-Rose drank deep of the bitter cup, but she smiled—and +spoke one of the lies over which angels have wept forgivingly since +the world began.</p> +<p>“Lil’ Ann, the kind lady is going to keep yo’ +right safe and happy ’til mother makes things straight back +there with—with yo’—father, in the hills. +Jes’ yo’ show the lady how sweet and pretty yo’ +can be ’til mother comes fo’ yo’! Will +yo’—lil’ Ann?”</p> +<p>“How long?”</p> +<p>“A mighty lil’ while.”</p> +<p>All her life the child had given up—shrunk from that which +she feared but did not understand; and now she accepted it all in +the dull, hopeless way in which timid children do. She received her +mother’s kiss—gave a kiss in return; then she looked +gloomily, distrustingly, at Lynda. After that she seemed complacent +and obeyed, almost stupidly, whatever she was told to do.</p> +<p>Lynda took Nella-Rose to the station, saw to her every comfort, +put a sum of money in her hand with the words:</p> +<p>“You must take it, Nella-Rose—to prove your trust in +me; and it will buy some—some things for—the other +babies. But”—and here she went close to Nella-Rose, +realizing for the first time that the most difficult part, for her, +was yet to come—“how will it be with—with your +man—when he knows?”</p> +<p>Nella-Rose looked up bravely and something crept into her +eyes—the look of power that only a woman who recognizes her +hold on a man ever shows.</p> +<p>“He’ll bear it—right grateful—and +it’ll wipe away the hate for Jed Martin. He’ll do the +forgiving—since I’ve given up lil’ Ann; and if he +doubts—there’s Miss Lois Ann. She’s mighty +powerful with men—when it’s women that +matters.”</p> +<p>“It’s very wonderful!” murmured Lynda. +“More wonderful than I can understand.” And yet as she +spoke she knew that she <i>did</i> understand. Between her and +Burke Lawson, a man she was never to know, there was a common +tie—a deep comprehension.</p> +<p>Late that afternoon Lynda drove to Betty’s with little Ann +sitting rigidly on the seat beside her. The child had not spoken +since she had seen the train move out of the station bearing her +mother away. She had not cried or murmured. She had gone afterward, +holding Lynda’s hand, through amazing experiences. She had +seen her shabby garments discarded in dazzling shops, and fine +apparel replace them. Once she had caught a glimpse of her small, +transformed self in a long mirror and her dark eyes had widened. +That was all. Lynda had watched her feverishly. She had hoped that +with the change of clothing the startling likeness would lessen, +but it did not. Robed in the trappings of her father’s world, +little Ann seemed to become more wholly his.</p> +<p>“Do you like yourself, little Ann?” Lynda had asked +when, at last, a charming hat was placed upon the dark curls.</p> +<p>There was no word of reply—only the wide, helpless +stare—and, to cover her confusion, Lynda hurried away to +Betty.</p> +<p>The maid who admitted her said that “Mrs. Kendall was +upstairs in the nursery with the baby.”</p> +<p>Lynda paused on the stairs and asked blankly: “The baby? +What baby?”</p> +<p>The maid was a trusted one and close to Betty.</p> +<p>“The little boy from the Home, Mrs. Truedale,” she +replied, “and already the house is cheerfuller.”</p> +<p>Lynda felt a distinct disappointment. She had hoped that Betty +would care for little Ann for a few days, but how could she ask it +of her now?</p> +<p>In the sunny room upstairs Betty sat in a low rocker, crooning +away to a restless bundle in her arms.</p> +<p>“You, Lyn?” Lynda stood in the doorway; +Betty’s back was to her.</p> +<p>“Yes, Betty.”</p> +<p>“Come and see my red-headed boy—my Bobilink! +He’s going to be Robert Kendall.”</p> +<p>Then Lynda drew near with Ann. Betty stopped rocking and +confronted the two with her far-reaching, strangely penetrating +gaze.</p> +<p>“What a beautiful little girl,” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Is she beautiful, Betty?”</p> +<p>“She’s—lovely. Come here, dear, and see my +baby.” Betty put forth a welcoming hand to the child, but Ann +shrank away and her long silence was broken.</p> +<p>“I jes’ naturally hate babies!” she whispered, +in the soft drawl that betrayed her.</p> +<p>“Lyn, who is she? Why—what is the matter?”</p> +<p>Lynda came close and her words did not reach past Betty’s +strained hearing. “I—I’m going to—adopt +her. I—I must prepare, Con. I hoped you’d keep her for +a few days.”</p> +<p>“Of course I will, Lyn. I’m ready—but Lyn, +tell me!”</p> +<p>“Betty, look at her! She has come out of—of +Con’s past. He doesn’t know, he mustn’t +know—not now! She belongs to—to the future. Can +you—can you understand? I never suspected until to-day. +I’ve got to get used to it!” Then, fiercely: “But +I’m going to do it, Betty! Con’s road is my road; his +duty my duty; it’s all right—only just at +first—I’ve got to—steady my nerves!”</p> +<p>Without a word Betty rose and laid the now-sleeping baby in a +crib; then she came back to the low chair and opened her arms to +little Ann with the heaven-given gesture that no child +resists—especially a suffering, lonely child.</p> +<p>“Come here, little girl, to—to Aunt Betty,” +she said.</p> +<p>Fascinated, Ann walked to the shelter offered.</p> +<p>“Will you kiss me?” Betty asked. The kiss was given +mutely.</p> +<p>“Will you tell Aunt Betty your name?”</p> +<p>“Ann.”</p> +<p>“Ann what?”</p> +<p>“Jes’ lil’ Ann.”</p> +<p>Then Betty raised her eyes to Lynda’s face and smiled at +its tragic suffering.</p> +<p>“Poor, old Lyn!” she said, “run home to Con. +You need him and God knows he needs you. It will take the big love, +Lyn, dear, the big love; but you have it—you have +it!”</p> +<p>Without a word Lynda turned and left Betty with the +children.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<p>Potential motherhood can endure throes of travail other than +physical; and for the next week Lynda passed through all the phases +of spiritual readjustment that enabled her, with blessed certainty +of success, to accept what she had undertaken.</p> +<p>She did not speak to Truedale at once, but she went daily to +Betty’s and with amazement watched the miracle Betty was +performing. She never forgot the hour, when, going softly up the +stairs, she heard little Ann laugh gleefully and clap her +hands.</p> +<p>Betty was playing with the baby and telling Ann a story at the +same time. Lynda paused to listen.</p> +<p>“And now come here, little Ann, and kiss Bobilink. +Isn’t he smelly-sweet and wonderful?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“That’s right. Kiss him again. And you once said you +just naturally didn’t like babies! Little Ann, you are a +humbug. And now tell me how much you like Bobilink.”</p> +<p>“Heaps and lickwigs.”</p> +<p>“Now kiss me, you darling, and come close—so we will +not waken Bobbie. Let me see, this is going to be the story of the +little girl who adopted a—mother! Yesterday it was +Bobbie’s story of how a mother adopted a little boy. You +remember, the mother had to have a baby to fill a big empty space, +so she went to a house where some lost kiddies were and found just +the one that fitted in and—and—but this is Ann’s +story to-day!</p> +<p>“Once there was a little girl—a very dear and good +little girl—who knew all about a mother, and how dear a +mother was; because she had one who was obliged to go +away—”</p> +<p>“For a right lil’ time?” Ann broke in.</p> +<p>“Of course,” Betty agreed, “a right little +time; but the small girl thought, while she waited, that she would +adopt a mother and not tell her about the other one, for fear she +might not understand, and she’d teach the adopted mother how +to be a real mother. And now one must remember all the things +little girls do to—to adopted mothers. +First—”</p> +<p>At this point Lynda entered the room, but Betty went on +calmly:</p> +<p>“First, what do little girls do, Ann?”</p> +<p>“Teach them how to hold lil’ girls.”</p> +<p>“Splendid! What next?”</p> +<p>“Kiss them and cuddle them right close.”</p> +<p>“Exactly! Next?”</p> +<p>“They make mothers glad and they make them laugh—by +being mighty good.”</p> +<p>Then both Betty and Ann looked at Lynda. The sharp, outer air +had brought colour to her cheeks, life to her eyes. She was very +handsome in her rich furs and dark, feathered hat.</p> +<p>“Now, little Ann, trot along and do the lesson, +don’t forget!” Betty pushed the child gently toward +Lynda.</p> +<p>With a laugh, lately learned and a bit doubtful, Ann ran to the +opened arms.</p> +<p>“Snuggle!” commanded Betty.</p> +<p>“I’m learning, little Ann,” Lynda whispered, +“you’re a dear teacher. And now I have something to +tell you.”</p> +<p>Ann leaned back and looked with suspicion at Lynda. Her recent +past had been so crowded with events that she was wary and +overburdened.</p> +<p>“What?” she asked, with more dread than +interest.</p> +<p>“Ann, I’m going to take you to a big house that is +waiting for a—little girl.”</p> +<p>The child turned to Betty.</p> +<p>“I don’t want to go,” she said, and her pretty +mouth quivered. Was she always to be sent away?—always to +have to go when she did not want to go?</p> +<p>Betty smiled into the worried little face. “Oh! +we’ll see each other every day,” she comforted; +“and besides, this is the only way you can truly adopt a +mother and play fair. It will be another dear place for Bobilink to +go for a visit, and best of all—there’s a perfectly +splendid man in the big house—for a—for—a +father!”</p> +<p>Real fear came into Ann’s eyes at this—fear that lay +at the root of all her trouble.</p> +<p>“No!” she cried. “I can’t play +father!”</p> +<p>Lynda drew her to her closely. “Ann, little Ann, +don’t say that!” she pleaded passionately: +“I’ll help you, and together we’ll make it come +true. We must, we must!”</p> +<p>Her vehemence stilled the child. She put her hands on either +side of Lynda’s face and timidly faltered: +“I’ll—I’ll try.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, dear. And now I want to tell you something +else—we’re going to have a Christmas tree.”</p> +<p>This meant nothing to the little hill-child, so she only +stared.</p> +<p>“And you must come and help.”</p> +<p>“You have something to teach her, Lyn,” Betty broke +in. There were tears in her eyes. “Just think of a baby-thing +like that not knowing the thrills of Christmas.”</p> +<p>Then she turned to Ann: “Go, sweetheart,” she said, +“and make a nest for Bobbie on the bed across the +hall.” And then when Ann trotted off to do the bidding, Betty +asked: “What did he say, Lyn, when you told him?”</p> +<p>“He said he was glad, very glad. He has been willing, for +a long time, that I should take a child—when I saw one I +wanted. He naturally connects Ann with the Saxe Home; her being +with you has strengthened this belief. I shall let it go at +that—for a time, Betty.”</p> +<p>“Yes. It is better so. After he learns to know and love +the child,” Betty mused, “the way will be opened. And +oh! Lyn, Ann is so wonderful. She has the most remarkable +character—so deep and tenderly true for such a +mite.”</p> +<p>“Suppose, Betty—suppose Con notices the +likeness!”</p> +<p>At this Betty smiled reassuringly.</p> +<p>“He won’t. Men are so stupidly humble. A pretty +little girl would escape them every time.”</p> +<p>“But her Southern accent, Betty. It is so +pronounced.”</p> +<p>“My dear Lyn, it is! She sometimes talks like a little +darkey; but to my certain knowledge there are ten small Southerners +at the Saxe, of assorted ages and sexes, waiting for +adoption.”</p> +<p>“And she may speak out, Betty. Her silence as to the past +will disappear when she has got over her fear and +longing.”</p> +<p>Betty looked more serious. “I doubt it. Not a word has +passed her lips here—of her mother or home. It has amazed me. +She’s the most unusual, the most fascinating creature I ever +saw, for her age. Brace is wild about her—he wants me to keep +her. But, Lyn, if she does break her strange silence, it will be +your big hour! Whatever Con is or isn’t—and sometimes I +feel like hugging him, and again, like shaking him—he’s +the tenderest man with women—not even excepting +Brace—that I have ever seen. It never has occurred to him to +reason out how much you love him—he’s too busy loving +you. But when he finds this out! Well, Lyn, it makes me bow my head +and speak low.”</p> +<p>“Don’t, Betty! Don’t suggest pedestals +again,” Lynda pleaded.</p> +<p>“No pedestal, Lyn; no pedestal—but the real, +splendid <i>you</i> revealed at last! And now—forget it, +dear. Here comes lil’ Ann.”</p> +<p>The child tiptoed in with outstretched arms.</p> +<p>“The nest is made right soft,” she whispered, +“and now let me carry Bobilink to—to the sleepy +dreams.”</p> +<p>“Where did you learn to carry babies?” Betty +hazarded, testing the silence. The small, dark face clouded; the +fear-look crept to the large eyes.</p> +<p>“I—I don’t know,” was the only reply, +and Ann turned away—this time toward Lynda!</p> +<p>“And suppose he never knows?” Lynda spoke with her +lips pressed to Ann’s soft hair—the child was in her +arms.</p> +<p>“Then you and Con will have something to begin heaven +with.” Betty’s eyes were wet. “We all have +something we don’t talk about much on earth—we do not +dare. Brace and I have our—baby!”</p> +<p>Two days later Lynda took Ann home. They went shopping first and +the child was dazzlingly excited. She forgot her restraint and +shyness in the fascinating delirium of telling what she wanted with +a pretty sure belief that she would get it. No wonder that she was +taken out of herself and broke upon Truedale’s astonished +gaze as quite a different child from the one Lynda had +described.</p> +<p>The brilliant little thing came into the hall with Lynda, her +arms filled with packages too precious to be consigned to other +hands; her eyes were dancing and her voice thrilling with +happiness.</p> +<p>“And now I’ll call you muvver-Lyn ’cause +you’re mighty kind and this is your house! It’s a right +fine house.”</p> +<p>Truedale had well timed his return home. He was ready to greet +the two in the library. The prattling voice charmed him with its +delightful mellowness and he went forward gladly to meet Lynda and +the new little child. Ann was ahead; Lynda fell back and, with +fast-throbbing heart waited by the doorway.</p> +<p>Ann had had a week and more of Brace Kendall to wipe away the +impression Burke Lawson had imprinted upon her mind. But she was +shy of men and weighed them carefully before showing favours. She +stood still when she saw Truedale; she dropped, unheeded, a +package; she stared at him, while he waited with extended hands. +Then slowly—as if drawn against her will—Ann advanced +and laid her hands in his.</p> +<p>“So this is the little girl who has come to help us make +Christmas?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” Still that fixed look. It seemed to Lynda the +most unnatural thing she had ever seen. And oh! how alike the two +were, now that they were together!</p> +<p>“You are little Ann and you are going to play +with”—Truedale looked toward Lynda and drew her to him +by the love in his eyes—“You are going to play with us, +and you will call us mother and father, won’t you, little +Ann?” He meant to do his part in full. He would withhold +nothing, now that Lynda had decided to take this step.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And do you suppose you could kiss me—to begin +with?”</p> +<p>Quaintly the child lifted herself on her toes—Truedale was +half kneeling before her—and gave him a lingering kiss.</p> +<p>“We’re going to be great friends, eh, little +Ann?” Truedale was pleased, Lynda saw that. The little girl +was making a deep impression.</p> +<p>“Yes.” Then—deliberately: “Shall I have +to teach you to be a father?”</p> +<p>“What does she mean?” Truedale looked at Lynda who +explained Betty’s charming foolery.</p> +<p>“I see. Well, yes, Ann, you must teach me to be a +father.”</p> +<p>And so they began their lives together. And after a few days +Lynda saw that during the child’s stay with Betty the crust +of sullen reserve had departed—the little creature was the +merriest, sweetest thing imaginable, once she could forget herself. +Protected, cared for, and considered, she developed marvellously +and soon seemed to have been with them years instead of days. The +impression was almost startling and both Lynda and Truedale +remarked upon it.</p> +<p>“There are certain things she does that appear always to +have been waiting for her to do,” Conning said, “it +makes her very charming. She brushes the dogs and cats regularly, +and she’s begun to pick up books and papers in my den in a +most alarming way—but she always manages to know where they +belong.”</p> +<p>“That’s uncanny,” Lynda ventured; “but +she certainly has fitted in, bless her heart!”</p> +<p>There had been moments at first when Lynda feared that Thomas +would remember the child, but the old eyes could hardly be expected +to recognize, in the dainty little girl, the small, patched, and +soiled stranger of the annoying visit. Many times had Thomas +explained and apologized for the admittance of the two +“forlornities,” as he called them.</p> +<p>No, everything seemed mercifully blurred; and Ann, in her new +home, apparently forgot everything that lay behind her. She never +even asked to go back to Betty’s though she welcomed Betty, +Brace, and Bobbie with flattering joy whenever they came to visit. +She learned to be very fond of Lynda—was often sweetly +affectionate with her; but in the wonderful home, her very own, +waited upon and cared for, it was Conning who most appealed to her. +For him she watched and waited at the close of day, and if she were +out with Lynda she became nervous and worried if they were delayed +as darkness crept on.</p> +<p>“I want father to see me waiting,” she would urge; +“I like to see his gladness.”</p> +<p>“And so do I!” Lynda would say, struggling to +overcome the unworthy resentment that occasionally got the better +of her when the child too fervently appropriated Conning.</p> +<p>But this trait of Ann’s flattered and delighted Truedale; +often he was amused, but he knew that it was the one thing above +all else in the little girl that endeared her to him.</p> +<p>“What a darling she is!” he often said to Lynda when +they were alone together. “Is she ever naughty?”</p> +<p>“Yes, often—the monkey!”</p> +<p>“I’m glad to hear it. I hate a flabby youngster. +Does she ever speak of her little past, Lyn?”</p> +<p>“Never.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t that strange?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but I’m glad she doesn’t. I want her to +forget. She’s very happy with us—but she’s far +from perfect.” “To what form of cussedness does she +tend, Lyn? With me she’s as lamblike as can be.”</p> +<p>“Oh! she has a fiery temper and, now that I think of it, +she generally shows it in reference to you.”</p> +<p>“To me?” Truedale smiled.</p> +<p>“Yes. Thomas found her blacking your shoes the other day. +She was making an awful mess of it and he tried to take them from +her. She gave him a real vicious whack with the brush. What she +said was actually comical: ’He’s mine; if I want to +take the dirt from his shoes, I can. He <i>shan’t</i> walk on +dirt—and he’s mine!’”</p> +<p>“The little rascal. And what did Thomas do?”</p> +<p>“Oh! he let her. People always let her. I do +myself.”</p> +<p>“She’s a fascinating kid,” Truedale said with +a laugh. Then, very earnestly: “I’m rather glad we do +not know her antecedents, Lyn; it’s safer to take her as we +find her and build on that. But I’d be willing to risk a good +deal that much love and goodness are back of little Ann, no matter +how much else got twisted in. And the love and goodness must be her +passport through life.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Con, and they are all that are worth +while.”</p> +<p>But every change was a period of struggle to Ann and those who +dealt with her. She had a passionate power of attachment to places +and people, and readjustment caused her pain and unrest.</p> +<p>When school was considered, it almost made her ill. She clung to +Truedale and implored him not to make her go away.</p> +<p>“But it’s only for the day time, Ann,” he +explained, “and you will have children to play +with—little girls like yourself.”</p> +<p>“No; no! I don’t want children—only Bobbie! I +only want my folks!”</p> +<p>Lynda came to her defense.</p> +<p>“Con, we’ll have a governess for a year or +so.”</p> +<p>“Is it wise, Lyn, to give way to her?”</p> +<p>“Yes, it is!” Ann burst in; “it is wise, +I’d die if I had to go.”</p> +<p>So she had a governess and made gratifying strides in learning. +The trait that was noticeable in the child was that she developed +and thrived most when not opposed. She wilted mentally and +physically when forced. She had a most unusual power of winning and +holding love, and under a shy and gentle exterior there were +passion and strength that at times were pathetic. While not a +robust child she was generally well and as time passed she gained +in vigour. Once, and once only, was she seriously ill, and that was +when she had been with Truedale and Lynda about two years. During +all that time, as far as they knew, she had never referred to the +past and both believed that, for her, it was dead; but when +weakness and fever loosened the unchildlike control, something +occurred that alarmed Lynda, but broke down forever the thin +barrier that, for all her effort, had existed between her and Ann. +She was sitting alone with the child during a spell of delirium, +when suddenly the little hot hands reached up passionately, and the +name “mother” quivered on the dry lips in a tone +unfamiliar to Lynda’s ears. She bent close.</p> +<p>“What, little Ann?” she whispered.</p> +<p>The big, burning eyes looked puzzled. Then: “Take me +to—to the Hollow—to Miss Lois Ann!”</p> +<p>“Sh!” panted Lynda, every nerve tingling. +“See, little Ann—don’t you know me?”</p> +<p>The child seemed to half understand and moaned plaintively:</p> +<p>“I’m lost! I’m lost!”</p> +<p>Lynda took her in her arms and the sick fancy passed, but from +that hour there was a new tie between the two—a deeper +dependence.</p> +<p>There was one day when they all felt little Ann was slipping +from them. Dr. McPherson had come as near giving up hope as he +ever, outwardly, permitted himself to do.</p> +<p>“You had better stay at home,” he said to Conning; +“children are skittish little craft. The best of them haul up +anchor sometimes when you least expect it.”</p> +<p>So Truedale remained at home and, wandering through the quiet +house, wondered at the intensity of his suffering as he +contemplated the time on ahead without the child who had so +recently come into his life from he knew not where. He attributed +it all to Ann’s remarkable characteristics.</p> +<p>Late in the afternoon of the anxious day he went into the sick +room and leaned over the bed. Ann opened her eyes and smiled up at +him, weakly.</p> +<p>“Make a light, father,” she whispered, and with a +fear-filled heart Truedale touched the electric button. The room +was already filled with sunlight, for it faced the west; but for +Ann it was cold and dark.</p> +<p>Then, as if setting the last pitiful scene for her own +departure, she turned to Lynda: “Make a mother-lap for +Ann,” she said. Lynda tenderly lifted the thin form from the +bed and held it close.</p> +<p>“I—I taught you how to be a mother, didn’t I, +mommy-Lyn?” she had never called Lynda simply +“mother,” while “father” had fallen +naturally from her lips.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, little Ann.” Lynda’s eyes were +filled with tears and in that moment she realized how much the +child meant to her. She had done her duty, had exceeded it at +times, in her determination not to fall short. She had humoured +Ann, often taking sides against Conning in her fear of being +unjust. But oh! there had always been something lacking; and now, +too late, she felt that, for all her struggle, she had not been +true to the vow she had made to Nella-Rose!</p> +<p>But Ann was gazing up at her with a strange, penetrating +look.</p> +<p>“It’s the comfiest lap in the world,” she +faltered, “for little, tired girls.”</p> +<p>“I—I love her!” Lynda gazed up at Truedale as +if confessing and, at the end, seeking forgiveness.</p> +<p>“Of course you do!” he comforted, +“but—be brave, Lyn!” He feared to excite Ann. +Then the weary eyes of the child turned to him.</p> +<p>“Mommy-Lyn does love me!” the weak voice was barely +audible; “she does, father, she does!”</p> +<p>It was like a confirmation—a recognition of something +beautiful and sacred.</p> +<p>“I felt,” Lynda said afterward to Betty, “as +if she were not only telling Con, but God, too. I had not deserved +it—but it made up for all the hard struggle, and swept +everything before it.”</p> +<p>But Ann did not die. Slowly, almost hesitatingly, she turned +back to them and brought a new power with her. She, apparently, +left her baby looks and nature in the shadowy place from which she +had escaped. Once health came to her, she was the merriest of merry +children—almost noisy at times—in the rollicking +fashion of Betty’s irrepressible Bobilink. And the haunting +likeness to Truedale was gone. For a year or two the lean, thready +little girl looked like no one but her own elfish self; and +then—it was like a revealment—she grew to be like +Nella-Rose!</p> +<p>Lynda, at times, was breathless as she looked and remembered. +She had seen the mother only once; but that hour had burned the +image of face, form, and action into her soul. She recalled, too, +Conning’s graphic description of his first meeting with +Nella-Rose. The quaint, dramatic power that had marked Ann’s +mother, now developed in the little daughter. She had almost +entirely lost the lingering manner of speech—the Southern +expressions and words—but she was as different from the +children with whom she mingled as she had ever been.</p> +<p>When she was strong enough she resumed her studies with the +governess and also began music. This she enjoyed with the passion +that marked her attitude toward any person or thing she loved.</p> +<p>“Oh, it lets something in me, free!” she confided to +Truedale. “I shall never be naughty or unkind again—I +wouldn’t dare!”</p> +<p>“Why?” Conning was no devotee of music and was +puzzled by Ann’s intensity.</p> +<p>“Why,” she replied, puckering her brows in the +effort to make herself clear, “I—I wouldn’t be +worthy of—of the beautiful music, if I were +horrid.”</p> +<p>Truedale laughed and patted her pretty cropped head, over which +the new little curls were clustering.</p> +<p>Life in the old house was full and rich at that time. Conning +was, as he often said, respectably busy and important enough in the +affairs of men to be content; he would never be one who enjoyed +personal power.</p> +<p>Lynda, during Ann’s first years, had taken a partner who +attended to interviews, conferences, and contracts; but in the room +over the extension the creative work went on with unabated +interest. Little Ann soon learned to love the place and had her +tiny chair beside the hearth or table. There she learned the +lessons of consideration for others, and self-control.</p> +<p>“If the day comes,” Lynda told Betty, “when my +work interferes with my duty to Con and Ann, it will go! But more +and more I am inclined to think that the interference is a matter +of choice. I prefer my profession to—well, other +things.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” Betty agreed; “women should not +be forever coddling their offspring, and when they learn to call +things by their right names and develop some initiative, they +won’t whine so much.”</p> +<p>Lynda and Truedale had sadly abandoned the hope of children of +their own. It was harder for Lynda than for Con, but she accepted +what seemed her fate and thanked heaven anew for little Ann and the +sure sense that she could love her without reserve.</p> +<p>And then, after the years of change and readjustment, +Lynda’s boy was born! He seemed to crown everything with a +sacred meaning. Not without great fear and doubt did Lynda go down +into the shadow; not without an agony of apprehension did Truedale +go with her to the boundary over which she must pass alone to +accept what God had in store for her. They remembered with sudden +and sharp anxiety the peril that Betty had endured, though neither +spoke of it; and always they smiled courageously when most their +hearts failed.</p> +<p>Then came the black hours of suffering and doubt. A wild storm +was beating outside and Truedale, hearing it, wondered whether all +the great events of his life were to be attended by those outbursts +of nature. He walked the floor of his room or hung over +Lynda’s bed, and at midnight, when she no longer knew him or +could soothe him by her brave smile, he went wretchedly away and +upon the dim landing of the stairs came upon Ann, crouching white +and haggard.</p> +<p>His nerves were at the breaking point and he spoke sharply.</p> +<p>“Why are you not in bed?” he asked.</p> +<p>“While—mommy-Lyn is—in—there?” +gasped the girl, turning reproachful eyes up to him. +“How—could I?”</p> +<p>“How long have you been here?”</p> +<p>“Always; always!”</p> +<p>“Ann, you must go to your room at once! Come, I will go +with you.” She rose and took his hand. There was fear in her +eyes.</p> +<p>“Is—is mommy-Lyn—” she faltered, and +Truedale understood.</p> +<p>“Good God!—no!” he replied; “not +that!”</p> +<p>“I was to—to stay close to you.” Ann was +trembling as she walked beside him. “She gave you—to +me! She gave you to me—to keep for her!”</p> +<p>Truedale stopped short and looked at Ann. Confusedly he grasped +the meaning of the tie that held this child to Lynda—that +held them all to the strong, loving woman who was making her fight +with death, for a life.</p> +<p>“Little Ann,” was all he could say, but he bent and +kissed the child solemnly.</p> +<p>When morning dawned, Lynda came back—bringing her little +son with her. God had spoken!</p> +<p>Truedale, sitting beside her, one hand upon the downy head that +had nearly cost so much, saw the mother-lips move.</p> +<p>“You—want—the baby?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I—I want little Ann.” Then the white lids +fell, shutting away the weak tears.</p> +<p>“Lyn, the darling has been waiting outside your door all +night—I imagine she is there now.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know. I want her.”</p> +<p>“Are you able—just now, dear?”</p> +<p>“I—must have little Ann.”</p> +<p>So Ann came. She was white—very much awed; but she smiled. +Lynda did not open her eyes at once; she was trying to get back +some of the old self-control that had been so mercilessly shattered +during the hours of her struggle, but presently she looked up.</p> +<p>“You—kept your word, Ann,” she said. Then: +“You—you made a place for my baby. Little +Ann—kiss your—brother.”</p> +<p>They named the baby for William Truedale and they called him +Billy, in deference to his pretty baby ways.</p> +<p>“He must be Uncle William’s representative,” +said Lynda, “as Bobbie is the representative of Betty’s +little dead boy.”</p> +<p>“I often think of—the money, Lyn.” Truedale +spoke slowly and seriously. “How I hated it; how I tried to +get rid of it! But when it is used rightly it seems to secure +dignity for itself. I’ve learned to respect it, and I want +our boy to respect it also. I want to put it on a firm foundation +and make it part of Billy’s equipment—a big trust for +which he must be trained.”</p> +<p>“I think I would like his training to precede his +knowledge of the money as far as possible,” Lynda replied. +“I’d like him to put up a bit of a fight—as his +father did before him.”</p> +<p>“As his father did <i>not</i>!” Truedale’s +eyes grew gloomy. “I’m afraid, Lyn, I’m +constructed on the modelling plan—added to, built up. Some +fellows are chiselled out. I wonder—about little +Billy.”</p> +<p>“Somehow”—Lynda gave a little contented +smile—“I am not afraid for Billy. But I would not take +the glory of conflict from him—no! not for all Uncle +William’s money! He must do his part in the world and find +his place—not the place others may choose for him.”</p> +<p>“You’re going to be sterner with him than you are +with Ann, aren’t you, Lyn?” Truedale meant this +lightly, but Lynda looked serious.</p> +<p>“I shall be able to, Con, for Billy brought something with +him that Ann had to find.”</p> +<p>“I see—I see! That’s where a mother comes in +strong, my dear.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Con, it’s where she comes in with fear and +trembling—but with an awful comprehension.”</p> +<p>This “comprehension” of the responsibilities of +maternity worked forward and backward with Lynda much to +Truedale’s secret amusement. Confident of her duty to her +son, she interpreted her duty to Ann. While Billy, red-faced and +roving-eyed, gurgled or howled in his extreme youth, Lynda retraced +her steps and commandingly repaired some damages in her treatment +of Ann.</p> +<p>“Ann,” she said one day, “you must go to +school.”</p> +<p>“Why?” Ann naturally asked. She was a conscientious +little student and extremely happy with the governess who came +daily to instruct her.</p> +<p>“You study and learn splendidly, Ann, but you must +have—have children in your life. You’ll be +queer.”</p> +<p>“I’ve got Bobbie, and now Billy.”</p> +<p>“Ann, do not argue. When Billy is old enough to go to +school he is going, without a word! I’ve been too weak with +you, Ann—you’ll understand by and by.”</p> +<p>The new tone quelled any desire on Ann’s part to insist +further; she was rather awed by this attitude. So, with a lofty, +detached air Miss Ann went to school. At first she imbibed +knowledge under protest, much as she might have eaten food she +disliked but which she believed was good for her. Then certain +aspects of the new experience attracted and awakened her. From the +mass of things she ought to know, she clutched at things she wanted +to know. From the girls who shared her school hours, she selected +congenial spirits and worshipped them, while the others, for her, +did not exist.</p> +<p>“She’s so intense,” sighed Lynda; +“she’s just courting suffering. She lavishes everything +on them she loves and grieves like one without hope when things go +against her.”</p> +<p>“She’s the most dramatic little imp.” Truedale +laughed reminiscently as he spoke—he had seen Ann in two or +three school performances. “I shouldn’t wonder if she +had genius.”</p> +<p>Betty looked serious when she heard this. “I hope +not!” was all she said, and from then on she watched Ann with +brooding eyes; she urged Lynda to keep her much out of doors in the +companionship of Bobbie and Billy who were normal to a relieving +extent. Ann played and enjoyed the babies—she adored Billy +and permitted him to rule over her with no light hand—but +when she could, she read poetry and talked of strange, imaginative +things with the few girls in whose presence she became rapt and +reverent.</p> +<p>Brace was the only one who took Ann as a joke.</p> +<p>“She’s working out her fool ideas, young,” he +comforted; “let her alone. A boy would go behind some barn +and smoke and revel in the idea that he was a devil of a fellow. +Annie”—he, alone, called her that—“Annie is +smoking her tobacco behind her little barns. She’ll get good +and sick of it. Let her learn her lesson.”</p> +<p>“That’s right,” Betty admitted, “girls +ought to learn, just as boys do—but if I ever find +<i>Bobbie</i> smoking—”</p> +<p>“What will you do to him, Betty?”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m not sure, but I <i>do</i> know I’d +insist upon his coming from behind barns.”</p> +<p>And that led them all to consider Ann from the barn standpoint. +If she wanted the tragic and sombre she should have it—in the +sunlight and surrounded with love. So she no longer was obliged to +depend on the queer little girls who fluttered like blind bats in +the crude of their adolescent years. Lynda, Betty, Truedale, and +Brace read bloodcurdling horrors to her and took her to +plays—the best. And they wedged in a deal of wholesome, +commonplace fun that presently awoke a response and developed a +sense of humour that gave them all a belief that the worst was +past.</p> +<p>“She has forgotten everything that lies back of her +sickness,” Lynda once said to Betty; “it’s +strange, but she appears to have begun from that.”</p> +<p>Then Betty made a remark that Lynda recalled afterward:</p> +<p>“I don’t believe she has, Lyn. I’m not worried +about Ann as you and Con are. Her Lady Macbeth pose is just plain +girl; but she has depths we have never sounded. Sometimes I think +she hides them to prove her gratitude and affection, and because +she is so helpless. She was nearly five when she came to you, Lyn, +and I believe she does remember the hills and her +mother!”</p> +<p>“Why, Betty, what makes you think this?” Lynda was +appalled.</p> +<p>“It is her eyes. There are moments when she is looking +back—far back. She is trying to hold to something that is +escaping her. Love her, Lyn, love her as you never have +before.”</p> +<p>“If I thought that, Betty!” Lynda was aghast. +“Oh! Betty—the poor darling! I cannot believe she could +be so strong—so—terrible.”</p> +<p>“It’s more or less subconscious—such things +always are—but I think Ann will some day prove what I say. In +a way, it’s like the feeling I have for—for my own +baby, Lyn. I see him in Bobbie; I feel him in Bobbie’s +dearness and naughtiness. Ann holds what went before in what is +around her now. Sometimes it puzzles her as Bobbie puzzles +me.”</p> +<p>About this time—probably because he was happier than he +had ever been before, possibly because he had more time that he +could conscientiously call his own than he had had for many a +well-spent year—Truedale repaired to his room under the +eaves, sneaking away, with a half-guilty longing, to his old play! +So many times had he resurrected it, then cast it aside; so many +hopes and fears had been born and killed by the interruption to his +work, that he feared whatever strength it might once have had must +be gone now forever.</p> +<p>Still he retreated to his attic room once more—and Lynda +asked no questions. With strange understanding Ann guarded that +door like a veritable dragon. When Billy’s toddling steps +followed his father Ann waylaid him; and many were the swift, +silent struggles near the portal before the rampant Billy was +carried away kicking with Ann’s firm hand stifling his +outraged cries.</p> +<p>“What Daddy doing there?” Billy would demand when +once conquered.</p> +<p>“That’s nobody’s business but +Daddy’s,” Ann unrelentingly insisted.</p> +<p>“I—I want to know!” Billy pleaded.</p> +<p>“Wait until Daddy wants you to know.”</p> +<p>Under the eaves, hope grew in Truedale’s heart. The old +play had certainly the subtle human interest that is always vital. +He was sure of that. Once, he almost decided to take Ann into his +confidence. The child had such a dramatic sense. Then he laughed. +It was absurd, of course!</p> +<p>No! if the thing ever amounted to anything—if, by putting +flesh upon the dry bones and blood into the veins, he could get it +over—it was to be his gift to Lynda! And the only thing that +encouraged him as he worked, rather stiffly after all the years, +was the certainty that at times he heard the heart beat in the +shrunken and shrivelled thing! And so—he reverently worked +on.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<p>Among the notes and suggestions sprinkled through the old +manuscript were lines that once had aroused the sick and bitter +resentment of Truedale in the past:</p> +<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Thy story hath been +written long since.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy part is to read and +interpret.”</span></p> +<p>Over and over again he read the words and pondered upon his own +change of mind. Youth, no matter how lean and beggared it may be, +craves and insists upon conflict—upon the personal loss and +gain. But as time takes one into its secrets, the soul gets the +wider—Truedale now was sure it was the wider—outlook. +Having fought—because the fight was part of the written +story—the craving for victory, of the lesser sort, dwindled, +while the higher call made its appeal. To be part of the universal; +to look back upon the steps that led up, or even down, and hold the +firm belief that here, or elsewhere—what mattered in the +mighty chain of many links—the “interpretation” +told!</p> +<p>Truedale came to the conclusion that fatalism was no weak and +spineless philosophy, but one for the making of strong souls.</p> +<p>Failure, even wrong, might they not, if unfettered by the narrow +limitations of here and now, prove miracle-working elements?</p> +<p>Then the effect upon others entered into Truedale’s +musings as it had in the beginning. The “stories” of +others! He leaned his head at this juncture upon his clasped hands +and thought of Nella-Rose! Thought of her as he always +did—tenderly, gently, but as holding no actual part in his +real life. She was like something that had gained power over an +errant and unbridled phase of his past existence. He could not make +her real in the sense of the reality of the men, women, and affairs +that now sternly moulded and commanded him. She was—she +always would be to him—a memory of something lovely, dear, +but elusive. He could no longer place and fix her. She belonged to +that strange period of his life when, in the process of finding +himself, he had blindly plunged forward without stopping to count +the cost or waiting for clear-sightedness.</p> +<p>“What has she become?” he thought, sitting apart +with his secret work. And then most fervently he hoped that what +Lynda had once suggested might indeed be true. He prayed, as such +men do pray, that the experience which had enabled him to +understand himself and life better might also have given Nella-Rose +a wider, freer space in which to play her chosen part.</p> +<p>He recalled his knowledge of the hill-women as Jim White had +described them—women to whom love, in its brightest aspect, +is denied. Surely Nella-Rose had caught a glimpse more radiant than +they. Had it pointed her to the heaven of good +women—or—?</p> +<p>And eventually this theme held and swayed the play—this +effect of a deep love upon such a nature as Nella-Rose’s, the +propelling power—the redeeming and strengthening influence. +In the end Truedale called his work “The +Interpretation.”</p> +<p>And while this was going on behind the attic door, a seemingly +slight incident had the effect of reinforcing Truedale’s +growing belief in his philosophy.</p> +<p>He and Lynda went one day to the studio of a sculptor who had +suddenly come into fame because of a wonderful figure, half human, +half divine, that had startled the sophisticated critics out of +their usual calm.</p> +<p>The man had done much good work before, but nothing remarkable; +he had taken his years of labour with patient courage, insisting +that they were but preparation. He had half starved in the +beginning—had gradually made his way to what every one +believed was a mediocre standstill; but he kept his faith and his +cheerful outlook, and then—he quietly presented the +remarkable figure that demanded recognition and appreciation.</p> +<p>The artist had sold his masterpiece for a sum that might +reasonably have caused some excitement in his life—but it had +not!</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I let the thing go,” he confided to +a chosen few; “come and help me bid it good-bye.”</p> +<p>Lynda and Conning were among the chosen, and upon the afternoon +of their call they happened to be alone with him in the studio.</p> +<p>All other pieces of work had been put away; the figure, in the +best possible light, stood alone; and the master, in the most +impersonal way, stood guard over it with reverent touch and hushed +voice.</p> +<p>Had his attitude been a pose it would have been ridiculous; but +it was so detached, so sincere, so absolutely humble, that it rose +to the height of dignified simplicity.</p> +<p>“Thornton, where did you get your inspiration—your +model?” Truedale asked, after the beauty of the thing had +sunk into his heart.</p> +<p>“In the clay. Such things are always in the clay,” +was the quiet reply.</p> +<p>Lynda was deeply moved, not only by the statue, but by its +creator. “Tell us, please,” she said earnestly, +“just what you mean. I think it will help us to +understand.”</p> +<p>Thornton gave a nervous laugh. He was a shy, retiring man but he +thought now only of this thing he had been permitted to +portray.</p> +<p>“I always”—he began +hesitatingly—“take my plaster in big lumps, squeeze it +haphazard, and then sit and look at it. After that, it is a mere +matter of choice and labour and—determination. When +this”—he raised his calm eyes to the +figure—“came to me—in the clay—I saw it as +plainly as I see it now. I couldn’t forget, or, if I did, I +began again. Sometimes, I confess, I got weird results as I worked; +once, after three days of toil, a—a devil was evolved. It +wasn’t bad, either, I almost decided to—to keep it; but +soon again I caught a glimpse of the vision, always lurking close. +So I pinched and smoothed off and added to, and, in the end, the +vision stayed. It was in the clay—everything is, with me. If +I cannot see it there, I might as well give up.”</p> +<p>“Thornton, that’s why you never lost courage!” +Truedale exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s the reason, old man.”</p> +<p>Lynda came close. “Thank you,” she said with deep +feeling in her voice, “I do understand; I thought I would if +you explained, and—I think your method +is—Godlike!”</p> +<p>Thornton flushed and laughed. “Hardly that,” he +returned, “it’s merely my way and I have to take +it.”</p> +<p>It was late summer when Truedale completed the play. Lynda and +the children were away; the city was hot and comparatively empty. +It was a time when no manager wanted to look at manuscripts, but if +one was forced upon him, he would have more leisure to examine it +than he would have later on.</p> +<p>Taking advantage of this, Truedale—anxious but strangely +insistent—fought his way past the men hired to defeat such a +course, and got into the presence of a manager whose opinion he +could trust.</p> +<p>After much argument—and the heat was terrific—the +great man promised, in order to rid himself of Truedale’s +presence, to read the stuff. He hadn’t the slightest +intention of doing so, and meant to start it on its downward way +back to the author as soon as the proper person—in short his +private secretary—came home from his vacation.</p> +<p>But that evening an actress who was fine enough and charmingly +temperamental enough to compel attention, bore down through the +heat upon the manager, with the appalling declaration that she was +tired to death of the part selected for her in her play, and would +have none of it!</p> +<p>“But good Lord!” cried the manager, fanning himself +with his panama—they were at a roof garden +restaurant—“this is August—and you go on in +October.”</p> +<p>“Not as a depraved and sensual woman, Mr. Camden; I want +to be for once in my life a character that women can remember +without blushing.”</p> +<p>“But, my poor child, that’s your splendid art. You +are a—an angel-woman, but you can play a she-devil like an +inspired creature. You don’t mean that you seriously +contemplate ruining <i>my</i> reputation and your +own—by—”</p> +<p>“I mean,” said the angel-woman, sipping her +sauterne, “that I don’t care a flip for your reputation +or mine—the weather’s too hot—but I’m not +going to trail through another slimy play! No; I’ll go into +the movies first!”</p> +<p>Camden twisted his collar; he felt as if he were choking. +“Heaven forbid!” was all he could manage.</p> +<p>“I want woods and the open! I want a character with a +little, twisted, unawakened soul to be unsnarled and made to behave +itself. I don’t mind being a bit naughty—if I can be +spanked into decorum. But when the curtain goes down on my next +play, Camden, the women are going out of the theatre with a kind +thought of me, not throbbing with disapproval—good women, I +mean!”</p> +<p>And then, because Camden was a bit of a sentimentalist with a +good deal of superstition tangled in his make-up, he took +Truedale’s play out of his pocket—it had been spoiling +the set of his coat all the evening—and spread it out on the +table that was cleared now of all but the coffee and the cigarettes +which the angel-woman—Camden did not smoke—was puffing +luxuriously.</p> +<p>“Here’s some rot that a fellow managed to drop on me +to-day. I didn’t mean to undo it, but if it has an +out-of-door setting, I’ll give it a glance!”</p> +<p>“Has it?” asked the angel, watching the perspiring +face of Camden.</p> +<p>“It has! Big open. Hills—expensive open.”</p> +<p>“Is it rot?”</p> +<p>“Umph—listen to this!” Camden’s sharp +eye lighted on a vivid sentence or two. “Not the usual type +of villain—and the girl is rather unique. Up to tricks with +her eyes shut. I wonder how she’ll pan out?” Camden +turned the pages rapidly, overlooking some of Con’s best +work, but getting what he, himself, was after.</p> +<p>“By Jove! she doesn’t do it!”</p> +<p>“What—push those matches this way—what +doesn’t she do?” asked the angel.</p> +<p>“Eternally damn the man and claim her sex privilege of +unwarranted righteousness!”</p> +<p>“Does she damn herself—like an idiot?” The +angel was interested.</p> +<p>“She does not! She plays her own little rôle by the +music of the experience she lived through. It’s not bad, by +the lord Harry! It’s got to be tinkered—and painted +up—but it’s original. Just look it over.”</p> +<p>Truedale’s play was pushed across the table and the +angel-woman seized upon it. The taste Camden had given +her—like caviar—sharpened her appetite. She read on in +the swift, skipping fashion that would have crushed an +author’s hopes, but which grasped the high lights and caught +the deep tones. Then the woman looked up and there were genuine +tears in her eyes.</p> +<p>“The little brick!” said the voice of loveliness and +thrills, “the splendid little trump! Why, Camden, she had her +ideals—real, fresh, woman-ideals—not the ideals +plastered on us women by men, who would loathe them for themselves! +She just picked up the scraps of her damaged little affairs and +went, without a whimper, to the doing of the only job she could +ever hope to succeed in. And she let the man-who-learned go! Gee! +but that was a big decision. She might so easily have muddled the +whole scheme of things, but she didn’t! The dear, little, +scrimpy, patched darling.</p> +<p>“Oh! Camden, I want to be that girl for as long a run as +you can force. After the first few weeks you won’t have to +bribe folks to come—it’ll take hold, after they have +got rid of bad tastes in their mouths and have found out what +we’re up to! Don’t count the cost, Camden. This is a +chance for civic virtue.”</p> +<p>“Do you want more cigarettes, my dear?”</p> +<p>“No. I’ve smoked enough.”</p> +<p>Camden drew the manuscript toward him. “It’s a +damned rough diamond,” he murmured.</p> +<p>“But you and I know it is a diamond, don’t we, +Camby?”</p> +<p>“Well, it sparkles—here and there.”</p> +<p>“And it mustn’t be ruined in the cutting and +setting, must it?” The angel was wearing her most devout and +flattering expression. She was handling her man with inspired +touch.</p> +<p>“Umph! Well, no. The thing needs a master hand; no doubt +of that. But good Lord! think of the cost. This out-of-door stuff +costs like all creation. Your gowns will let you out easy—you +can economize on <i>this</i> engagement—but have a heart and +think of me!”</p> +<p>“I—I do think of you, Camby. You know as well as I +that New York is at your beck and call. What you say—goes! +Call them now to see something that will make them sure the world +isn’t going to the devil, Camden. In this +scene”—and here the woman pulled the manuscript +back—“when that little queen totes her heavy but +sanctified heart up the trail, men and women will shed tears that +will do them good—tears that will make them see plain duty +clearer. Men and—yes, women, too, Camby—<i>want</i> to +be decent, only they’ve lost the way. This will help them to +find it!”</p> +<p>“We’ve got to have two strong men.” Camden +dared not look at the pleading face opposite. But something was +already making him agree with it.</p> +<p>“And, by heavens, I don’t know of but one who +isn’t taken.”</p> +<p>“There’s a boy—he’s only had minor parts +so far—but I want him for the man-who-learned-his-lesson. You +can give the big wood-giant to John Harrington—I heard to-day +that he was drifting, up to date—but I want Timmy Nichols for +the other part.”</p> +<p>“Nichols? Thunder! He’s only done—what in the +dickens has he done? I remember him, but I can’t recall his +parts.”</p> +<p>“That’s it! That’s it! Now I want him to drive +his part home—with himself!”</p> +<p>Camden looked across at the vivid young face that a brief but +brilliant career had not ruined.</p> +<p>“I begin to understand,” he muttered.</p> +<p>“Do you, Camden? Well, I’m only beginning to +understand myself!”</p> +<p>“Together, you’ll be corking!” Camden suddenly +grew enthusiastic.</p> +<p>“Won’t we? And he did so hate to have me slimy. No +one but Timmy and my mother ever cared!”</p> +<p>“We’ll have this—this fellow who wrote the +play—what’s his name?”</p> +<p>“Truedale.” The woman referred to the +manuscript.</p> +<p>“Yes. Truedale. We’ll have him to dinner to-morrow. +I’ll get Harrington and Nichols. Where shall we +go?”</p> +<p>“There’s a love of a place over on the East Side. +They give you such good things to eat—and leave you +alone.”</p> +<p>“We’ll go there!”</p> +<p>It was November before the rush and hurry of preparation were +over and Truedale’s play announced. His name did not appear +on it so his people were not nerve-torn and desperate. Truedale +often was, but he managed to hide the worst and suffer in silence. +He had outlived the anguish of seeing his offspring amputated, +ripped open, and stuffed. He had come to the point where he could +hear his sacredest expressions denounced as rot and supplanted by +others that made him mentally ill. But in the end he acknowledged, +nerve-racked as he was, that the thing of which he had +dreamed—the thing he had tried to do—remained intact. +His eyes were moist when the curtain fell upon his +“Interpretation” at the final rehearsal.</p> +<p>Then he turned his attention to his personal drama. He chose his +box; there were to be Lynda and Ann, Brace and Betty, McPherson and +himself in it. Betty, Brace, and the doctor were to have the three +front chairs—not because of undue humility on the +author’s part, but because there would, of course, be a big +moment of revelation—a moment when Lynda would know! When +that came it would be better to be where curious eyes could not +behold them. Perhaps—Truedale was a bit anxious over +this—perhaps he might have to take Lynda away after the first +act, and before the second began, in order to give her time and +opportunity to rally her splendid serenity.</p> +<p>And after the play was over—after he knew how the audience +had taken it—there was to be a small supper—just the +six of them—and during that he would confess, for better or +worse. He would revel in their joy, if success were his, or lean +upon their sympathy if Fate proved unkind.</p> +<p>Truedale selected the restaurant, arranged for the flowers, and +then grew so rigidly quiet and pale that Lynda declared that the +summer in town had all but killed him and insisted that he take a +vacation.</p> +<p>“We haven’t had our annual honeymoon trip, +Con,” she pleaded; “let’s take it now.”</p> +<p>“We’ll—we’ll go, Lyn, just before +Christmas.”</p> +<p>“Not much!” Lynda tossed her head. “It will +take our united efforts from December first until after Christmas +to meet the demands of Billy and Ann.”</p> +<p>“But, Lyn, the theatre season has just +opened—and—”</p> +<p>“Don’t be a silly, Con. What do we care for that? +Besides, we can go to some place where there are theatres. +It’s too cold to go into the wilds.”</p> +<p>“But New York is <i>the</i> place, Lyn.”</p> +<p>“Con, I never saw you so obstinate and frivolous. Why, +you’re thin and pale, and you worry me. I will never leave +you again during the summer. Ann was edgy about it this year. She +told me once that she felt all the hotness you were suffering. I +believe she did! <i>Now</i> will you come away for a +month?”</p> +<p>“I—I cannot, Lyn.”</p> +<p>“For two weeks, then? One?”</p> +<p>“Darling, after next week, yes! For a week or ten +days.”</p> +<p>“Good old Con! Always so reasonable and—kind,” +Lynda lifted her happy face to his....</p> +<p>But things did not happen as Truedale arranged—not all of +them. There was a brief tussle, the opening night of the play, with +McPherson. He didn’t see why he should be obliged to sit in +the front row.</p> +<p>“I’m too tall and fat!” he protested; +“it’s like putting me on exhibition. Besides, my dress +suit is too small for me and my shirt-front bulges and—and +I’m not pretty. Put the women in front, Truedale. What ails +you, anyway?”</p> +<p>Conning was desperate. For a moment it looked as if the burly +doctor were going to defeat everything.</p> +<p>“I hate plays, you know!” McPherson was mumbling; +“why didn’t you bring us to a musical comedy or +vaudeville? Lord! but it’s hot here.”</p> +<p>Betty, watching Truedale’s exasperated face, came to his +assistance.</p> +<p>“When at a party you’re asked whether you will have +tea or coffee, Dr. McPherson,” she said, tugging at his huge +arm, “you mustn’t say ’chocolate,’ it +isn’t polite. If Con wants to mix up the sexes he has a +perfect right to, after he’s ruined himself buying this box. +Do sit down beside me, doctor. When the audience looks at my +perfectly beautiful new gown they’ll forget your reputation +and shirt-front.”</p> +<p>So, muttering and frowning, McPherson sat down beside Betty, and +Brace in lamblike mood dropped beside him.</p> +<p>“It’s wicked,” McPherson turned once more; +“I don’t believe Ann can see a thing.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I can, Dr. McPherson—if you keep put! I want +to sit between father and mommy-Lyn. When I thrill, I have to have +near me some one particular, to hold on to.”</p> +<p>“You ought to be in bed!”</p> +<p>Little Ann leaned against his shoulder. “Don’t be +grumpy,” she whispered, “I like you best of +all—when you’re not the doctor.”</p> +<p>“Umph!” grunted McPherson, but he stayed +“put” after that, until the curtain went down on the +first act. Then he turned to Truedale. He had been laughing until +the tears stood in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Did that big woodsman make you think of any one?” +he asked.</p> +<p>“Did he remind <i>you</i> of any one?” Truedale +returned. He was weak with excitement. Lynda, sitting beside him, +was almost as white as the gown she wore—for she had +remembered the old play!</p> +<p>“He’s enough like old Jim White to be his twin! I +haven’t laughed so much in a month. I feel as if I’d +had a vacation in the hills.”</p> +<p>Then the curtain went up on the big scene! Camden had spared no +expense. That was his way. The audience broke into appreciative +applause as it gazed at the realistic reproduction of deep woods, +dim trails, and a sky of gold. It was an empty stage—a +waiting moment!</p> +<p>In the first act the characters had been more or less +subservient to the big honest sheriff, with his knowledge of the +people and his amazing interpretation of justice. He had been so +wise—so deliciously anarchistic—that the real motive of +the play had only begun to appear. But now into the beautiful, +lonely woods the woman came! The shabby, radiant little creature +with her tremendous problem yet to solve. Through the act she rose +higher, clearer; she won sympathy, she revealed herself; and, at +the end, she faced her audience with an appeal that was successful +to the last degree.</p> +<p>In short, she had got Truedale’s play over the footlights! +He knew it; every one knew it. And when the climax came and the +decision was made—leaving the man-who-had-learned-his-lesson +unaware of the divine renunciation but strong enough to take up his +life clear-sightedly; when the little heroine lifted her eyes and +her empty arms to the trail leading up and into the mysterious +woods—and to all that she knew they held—something +happened to Truedale! He felt the clutch of a small cold hand on +his. He looked around, and into the wide eyes of Ann! The child +seemed hypnotized and, as if touched by a magic power, her +resemblance to her mother fairly radiated from her face. She was +struggling for expression. Seeking to find words that would convey +what she was experiencing. It was like remembering indistinctly +another country and scene, whose language had been forgotten. +Then—and only Lynda and Truedale heard—little Ann +said:</p> +<p>“It’s Nella-Rose! Father, it’s +Nella-Rose!”</p> +<p>Betty had been right. The shock had, for a moment, drawn the +veil aside, the child was looking back—back; she heard what +others had called the one she now remembered—the sacreder +name had escaped her!</p> +<p>“Father, it’s Nella-Rose!”</p> +<p>Truedale continued to look at Ann. Like a dying man—or one +suddenly born into full life—he gradually understood! As Ann +looked at that moment, so had Nella-Rose looked when, in +Truedale’s cabin, she turned her eyes to the window and saw +his face!</p> +<p>This was Nella-Rose’s child, but why had Lynda—? And +with this thought such a wave of emotion swept over Truedale that +he feared, strong as he was, that he was going to lose +consciousness. For a moment he struggled with sheer physical +sensation, but he kept his eyes upon the small, dark face turned +trustingly to his. Then he realized that people were moving about; +the body of the house was nearly empty; McPherson, while helping +Betty on with her cloak, was commenting upon the play.</p> +<p>“Good stuff!” he admitted. “Some muscle in +that. Not the usual appeal to the uglier side of life. But come, +come, Mrs. Kendall, stop crying. It’s only a play, after +all.”</p> +<p>“Oh! I know,” Betty quiveringly replied, “but +it’s so human, Dr. McPherson. That dear little woman has +almost broken my heart; but she’d have broken it utterly if +she had acted differently. I don’t believe the author ever +<i>guessed</i> her! Somewhere she <i>lived</i> and played her part. +I just know it!”</p> +<p>Truedale heard all this while he watched the strained look +fading from Ann’s face. The past was releasing her, giving +her back to the safe, normal present. Presently she laughed and +said: “Father, I feel so queer. Just as if I’d +been—dreaming.”</p> +<p>Then she turned with a deep, relieving sigh to Lynda. +“Thank you for bringing me, mommy-Lyn,” she said, +“it was the best play I’ve ever seen in all my life. +Only I wish that nice actress-lady had gone with the man who +didn’t know. I—I feel real sorry for him. And why +didn’t she go?—I’d have gone as quick as +anything.”</p> +<p>The door had closed between Ann’s past and her future! +Truedale got upon his feet, but he was still dazed and uncertain as +to what he should do next. Then he heard Lynda say, and it almost +seemed as if she spoke from a distance she could not cross, +“Little Ann, bring father.”</p> +<p>He looked at Lynda and her white face startled him, but she +smiled the kind, true smile that called upon him to play his +part.</p> +<p>Somehow the rest of the plan ran as if no cruel jar had preceded +it. The supper was perfect—the guests merry—and, when +he could command himself, Truedale—keeping his eyes on +Lynda’s face—confessed.</p> +<p>For a moment every one was quiet. Surprise, delight, stayed +speech. Then Ann asked: “And did you do it behind the locked +door, father?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Ann.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m glad I kept Billy out!”</p> +<p>“And Lyn—did you know?” Betty said, her pretty +face aglow.</p> +<p>“I—I guessed.”</p> +<p>But the men kept still after the cordial handshakes. McPherson +was recalling something Jim White had said to him recently while he +was with the sheriff in the hills.</p> +<p>“Doc, that thar chap yo’ once sent down +here—thar war a lot to him us-all didn’t catch +onter.”</p> +<p>And Brace was thinking of the night, long, long ago, when +Conning threw some letters upon the glowing coals and groaned!</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<p>They were home at last in old William Truedale’s quiet +house. Conning went upstairs with Ann. Generally Lynda went with +him to kiss Ann good-night before they bent over Billy’s crib +beside their own bed. But now, Lynda did not join them and Ann, +starry-eyed, prattled on about the play and her joy in her +father’s achievement. She was very quaint and droll. She ran +behind a screen and dropped her pretty dress, and issued forth, +like a white-robed angel, in her long gown, her short brown curls +falling like a beautiful frame around her gravely sweet face.</p> +<p>Truedale, sitting by the shaded lamp, looked at her as if, in +her true character, she stood revealed.</p> +<p>“Little Ann,” he said huskily, “come, let me +hold you while we wait for mommy-Lyn.”</p> +<p>Ann came gladly and nestled against his breast.</p> +<p>“To think it’s my daddy that made the splendid +play!” she whispered, cuddling closer. “I can tell the +girls and be so proud.” Then she yawned softly.</p> +<p>“Mommy-Lyn, I suppose, had to go and whisper the secret to +Billy,” she went on, finding as usual an excuse instead of a +rebuke. “Billy’s missed the glory of his life because +he’s so young!”</p> +<p>Another—a longer yawn. Then the head lay very still and +Truedale saw that she was asleep. Reverently he kissed her. Then he +bore her to the little bed behind the white screen, with its tall +angels with brooding eyes. As he laid her down she looked up +dreamily:</p> +<p>“I’m a pretty big girl to be carried,” she +whispered, “but my daddy is strong and—and +great!”</p> +<p>Again Truedale kissed her, then went noiselessly to find +Lynda.</p> +<p>He went to their bedchamber, but Lynda was not there. Billy, +rosy and with fat arms raised above his pretty blond head, was +sleeping—unconscious of what was passing near. Truedale went +and looked yearningly down at him.</p> +<p>“My boy!” he murmured over and over again; “my +boy.” But he did not kiss Billy just then.</p> +<p>There was no doubt in Truedale’s mind, now, as to where he +would find Lynda. Quietly he went downstairs and into the dim +library. The fire was out upon the hearth. The gray ashes gave no +sign of life. The ticking of the clock was cruelly loud; and there, +beside the low, empty chair, knelt Lynda—her white dress +falling about her in motionless folds.</p> +<p>Truedale, without premeditation, crossed the room and, sitting +in his uncle’s chair—the long-empty chair, lifted +Lynda’s face and held it in his hand.</p> +<p>“Lyn,” he said, fixing his dark, troubled eyes upon +hers, “Lyn, who is Ann’s father?”</p> +<p>Lynda had not been crying; her eyes were dry +and—faithful!</p> +<p>“You, Con,” she said, quietly.</p> +<p>During the past years had Lynda ever permitted herself to +imagine how Conning would meet this hour she could not have asked +more than now he gave. He was ready, she saw that, to assume +whatever was his to bear. His face whitened; his mouth twitched as +the truth of what he heard sunk into his soul; but his gaze never +fell from that which was raised to his.</p> +<p>“Can you—tell me all about it, Lyn?” he +asked.</p> +<p>For an instant Lynda hesitated. Misunderstanding, Truedale +added:</p> +<p>“Perhaps you’d rather not to-night! I can wait. I +trust you absolutely. I am sure you acted wisely.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Con, it was not I—not I. It was Nella-Rose who +acted wisely. I left it all to her! It was she who decided. I have +always wanted, at least for years, to have you know; but it was +Nella-Rose’s wish that you should not. And now, little Ann +has made it possible.”</p> +<p>And then Lynda told him. He had relinquished his hold upon her +and sat with tightly clenched hands gazing at the ashes on the +hearth. Lynda pressed against him, watching—watching the +effect of every word.</p> +<p>“And, Con, at first, when I knew, every fibre of my being +claimed you! I wanted to push her and—and Ann away, but I +could not! Then I tried to act for you. I saw that since Nella-Rose +had been first in your life she should have whatever belonged to +her; I knew that you would have it so. When I could bring myself +to—to stand aside, I put us all into her keeping. She was +very frightened, very pitiable, but she closed her eyes and I knew +that she saw truth—the big truth that stood guard over all +our lives and had to be dealt with honestly—or it would crush +everything. I could see, as I watched her quiet face, that she was +feeling her way back, back. Then she realized what it all meant. +Out of the struggle—the doubt—that big, splendid +husband of hers rose supreme—her man! He had saved her when +she had been most hopelessly lost. Whatever now threatened him had +to go! Her girlhood dream faded and the safe reality of what he +stood for remained. Then she opened her eyes and made her great +decision. Since you had never dishonoured her in your thought, she +would not have you know her as she then was! But—there +remained little Ann! Oh! Con, I never knew, until Billy came, what +Nella-Rose’s sacrifice meant! I thought I did—but +afterward, I knew! One has to go down into the Valley to find the +meaning of motherhood. I had done, or tried to do, my duty before, +but Billy taught me to love Ann and understand—the +rest!”</p> +<p>There was silence for a moment. Among the white ashes a tiny red +spark was showing. It glowed and throbbed; it was trying hard to +find something upon which to live.</p> +<p>“And, Lyn, after she went back to the hills—how was +it with her?”</p> +<p>“She laid everything but your name upon the soul of her +man. He never exacted more. His love was big enough—divine +enough—to accept. Oh! Con, through all the years when I have +tried to—to do my part, the husband of Nella-Rose has helped +me to do it! Nella-Rose never looked back—to Ann and me. +Having laid the child upon the altar, she—trusted.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that would be her way.” Truedale’s voice +broke a bit.</p> +<p>“But, Con, I kept in touch with her through that wonderful +old woman—Lois Ann. I—oh! Con, I made life easier, +brighter for them all; just as—as you would have done. Lois +Ann has told me of the happiness of the little cabin home, of the +children—there are three—”</p> +<p>A sharp pause caused Truedale to turn and look at Lynda.</p> +<p>“And—now?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Con, Nella-Rose died last year!”</p> +<p>The stillness in the room pressed close; even the clock’s +ticking was unnoticed. The spark upon the hearth had become a +flame; it had found something upon which to feed. Like a radiant +hope it rose, faded, then leaped higher among the white ashes.</p> +<p>“She went, Con, like a child tired of its play. She was +with Lois Ann; it was the hill-fever, and she was mercifully spared +the knowledge of suffering or—renunciation. She kept +repeating that she saw beautiful things; she was glad—glad to +the last minute. Her children and husband have gone to +Nella-Rose’s old home. Lois Ann says they are saving +everybody! That’s all, Con—all.”</p> +<p>Then Truedale, his eyes dim but undaunted, leaned and drew Lynda +up until, kneeling before him, her hands upon his shoulders, they +faced each other.</p> +<p>“And this is the way women—save men!” he +said.</p> +<p>“It is the way they try to save—themselves,” +Lynda replied.</p> +<p>“Oh, Con, Con, when will our men learn that it is the one +life, the one great love that we women want?—the full +knowledge and—responsibility?”</p> +<p>“My darling!” Truedale kissed the tender mouth. Then +drawing her close, he asked:</p> +<p>“Do you remember that day in Thornton’s +studio—and his words? Looking back at my life, I cannot +understand—I may never understand—what the Creator +meant, but I do know that it was all in the clay!”</p> +<p>Lynda drew away—her hands still holding him. Her brave +smile was softening her pale face.</p> +<p>“Oh! the dear, dear clay!” she whispered. “The +clay that has been pressed and moulded—how I love it. I also +do not understand, Con, but this I know: the Master never lost the +vision in the clay.”</p> +<p>THE END</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Man Thou Gavest, by Harriet T. Comstock + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN THOU GAVEST *** + +***** This file should be named 14858-h.htm or 14858-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/8/5/14858/ + +Produced by David Garcia, Robert Ledger and the PG Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Man Thou Gavest + +Author: Harriet T. Comstock + +Release Date: February 1, 2005 [EBook #14858] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN THOU GAVEST *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Robert Ledger and the PG Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "Do you think I am the sort of girl who would sell +herself for anything--even for the justice I might think was yours?"] + +THE MAN THOU GAVEST + +BY + +HARRIET T. COMSTOCK + +AUTHOR OF JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS, A SON OF THE HILLS, ETC. + +FRONTISPIECE BY E.F. WARD + + + +DEDICATION + +_I dedicate this book of mine to the lovely spot where most of it was +written_ + +THE MACDOWELL COLONY PETERBOROUGH NEW HAMPSHIRE + +AND + +"TO HER WHO UNDERSTANDS" + +Deep in the pine woods is the little Studio where work is made supremely +possible. Around the house the birds and trees sing together and no +disturbing thing is permitted to trespass. + +Within, like a tangible Presence, an atmosphere of loved labour; good +will and high hopes greet the coming guests and speed the parting. + +Little Studio in the pine woods, my appreciation and affection are +yours! + +HARRIET T. COMSTOCK + + + + +THE MAN THOU GAVEST + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The passengers, one by one, left the train but Truedale took no heed. He +was the only one left at last, but he was not aware of it, and then, +just as the darkness outside caught his attention, the train stopped so +suddenly that it nearly threw him from his seat. + +"Accident?" he asked the conductor. "No, sah! Pine Cone station. I +reckon the engineer come mighty nigh forgetting--he generally does at +the end. The tracks stop here. You look mighty peaked; some one +expecting yo'?" + +"I've been ill. My doctor ordered me to the hills. Yes: some one will +meet me." Truedale did not resent the interest the man showed; he was +grateful. + +"Well, sah, if yo' man doesn't show up--an' sometimes they don't, owing +to bad roads--you can come back with us after we load up with the wood. +I live down the track five miles; we lie thar fur the night. Yo' don't +look equal to taking to yo' two standing feet." + +The entire train force of three men went to gather fuel for the return +trip and, dejectedly, Truedale sat down in the gloom and silence to +await events. + +No human being materialized and Truedale gave himself up to gloomy +thoughts. Evidently he must return on the train and to-morrow morning +take to--just then a spark like a falling star attracted his attention +and to his surprise he saw, not a dozen feet away, a tall lank man +leaning against a tree in an attitude so adhesive that he might have +been a fungus growth or sprig of destroying mistletoe. It never occurred +to Truedale that this indifferent onlooker could be interested in him, +but he might be utilized in the emergency, so he saluted cordially. + +"Hello, friend!" + +By the upward and downward curve of the glowing pipe bowl, Truedale +concluded the man was nodding. + +"I'm waiting for Jim White." + +"So?" The one word came through the darkness without interest. + +"Do you happen to know him?" + +"Sorter." + +"Could you--get me to his place?" + +"I reckon. That's what I come ter do." + +"I--I had a trunk sent on ahead; perhaps it is in that shed?" + +"It's up to--to Jim's place. Can you ride behind me on the mare? +Travelling is tarnation bad." + +Once they were on the mare's back, conversation dragged, then died a +natural death. Truedale felt as if he were living a bit of anti-war +romance as he jogged along behind his guide, his grip knocking +unpleasantly against his leg as the way got rougher. + +It was nine o'clock when, in a little clearing close by the trail, the +lights of a cabin shone cheerily and the mare stopped short and +definitely. + +"I hope White is at home!" Truedale was worn to the verge of exhaustion. + +"I be Jim White!" The man dismounted and stood ready to assist his +guest. + +"Welcome, stranger. Any one old Doc McPherson sends here brings his +welcome with him." + +About a fortnight later, Conning Truedale stretched his long legs out +toward Jim White's roaring fire of pine knots and cones. It was a fierce +and furious fire but the night was sharp and cold. There was no other +light in the room than that of the fire--nor was any needed. + +Jim sat by the table cleaning a gun. Truedale was taking account of +himself. He held his long, brown hand up to the blaze; it was as steady +as that of a statue! He had walked ten miles that day and felt +exhilarated. Night brought sleep, meal time--and often in between +times--brought appetite. He had made an immense gain in health. + +"How long have I been here, Jim?" he asked in a slow, calm voice. + +"Come Thursday, three weeks!" When Jim was most laconic he was often +inwardly bursting with desire for conversation. After a silence Conning +spoke again: + +"Say, Jim, are there any other people in this mountain range, except you +and me?" + +"Ugh! just bristlin' with folks! Getting too darned thick. That's why +I've got ter get into the deep woods. I just naturally hate folks except +in small doses. Why"--here Jim put the gun down upon the table--"five +mile back, up on Lone Dome, is the Greyson's, and it ain't nine miles to +Jed Martin's place. Miss Lois Ann's is a matter o' sixteen miles; what +do you call population if them figures don't prove it?" + +Something had evidently disturbed White's ideas of isolation and +independence--it would all come out later. Truedale knew his man fairly +well by that time; at least he thought he did. Again Jim took up his gun +and Con thought lazily that he must get over to his shack. He occupied a +small cabin--Dr. McPherson's property for sleeping purposes. + +"Do yo' know," Jim broke in suddenly; "yo' mind me of a burr runnin' +wild in a flock of sheep--gatherin' as yo' go. Yo' sho are a miracle! +Now old Doc McPherson was like a shadder when he headed this way--but he +took longer gatherin', owin' to age an' natural defects o' build. Your +frame was picked right close, but a kind o' flabby layer of gristle and +fat hung ter him an' wasn't a good foundation to build on." + +Conning gave a delighted laugh. Once Jim White began to talk of his own +volition his discourse flowed on until hunger or weariness overtook him. +His silences had the same quality--it was the way Jim began that +mattered. + +"When I first took ter handlin' yo' for ole Doc McPherson, I kinder +hated ter take my eyes off yo' fearin' yo' might slip out, but Gawd! yo' +can grapple fo' yo' self now and--I plain hanker fur the sticks." + +"The sticks?" This was a new expression. + +"Woods!" Jim vouchsafed (he despised the stupidity that required +interpretation of perfectly plain English), "deep woods! What with Burke +Lawson suspected of bein' nigh, an' my duty as sheriff consarnin' him +hittin' me in the face, I've studied it out that it will be a mighty +reasonable trick fur this here officer of the law to be somewhere else +till Burke settles with his friends an' foes, or takes himself off, +'fore he's strung up or shot up." + +Truedale turned his chair about and faced Jim. + +"Do you know," he said, "you've mentioned more names in the last ten +minutes than you've mentioned in all the weeks I've been here? You give +me a mental cramp. Why, I thought you and I had these hills to +ourselves; instead we're threatened on every side, and yet I haven't +seen a soul on my tramps. Where do they keep themselves? What has this +Burke Lawson done, to stir the people?" + +"You don't call your santers real tramps, do you? Why folks is as thick +as ticks up here, though they don't knock elbows like what they do where +you cum from. They don't holler out ter 'tract yer attention, neither. +But they're here." + +"Let's hear more of Burke Lawson." Truedale gripped _him_ from the +seething mass of humanity portrayed by White, as the one promising most +colour and interest. "Just where does Burke live?" + +"Burke? Gawd! Burke don't live anywhere. He is a born floater. He +scrooges around a place and raises the devil, then he just naturally +floats off. But he nearly always comes back. Since the trap-settin' a +time back, he has been mighty scarce in these parts; but any day he may +turn up." + +"The trap, eh? What about that?" With this Truedale turned about again, +for Jim, having finished his work on the gun, had placed the weapon on +its pegs on the wall and had drawn near the fire. He ran his hand +through his crisp, gray hair until it stood on end and gave him a +peculiarly bristling appearance. He was about to enjoy himself. He was +as keen for gossip as any cabin woman of the hills, but Jim was an +artist about sharing his knowledge. However, once he decided to share, +he shared royally. + +"I've been kinder waitin' fur yo' to show some interest in us-all," he +began, "it's a plain sign of yo' gettin' on. I writ the same to old Doc +McPherson yesterday! 'When he takes to noticin',' I writ, 'he's on the +mend.'" + +Conning laughed good naturedly. "Oh! I'm on the mend, all right," he +said. + +"Now as to that trap business," Jim took up the story, "I'll have to go +back some and tell yo' about the Greysons and Jed Martin--they all be +linked like sassages. Pete Greyson lives up to Lone Dome. Pete came from +stock; he ain't trash by a long come, but he can act like it! Pete's +forbears drank wine and talked like lords; Pete has ter rely on mountain +dew and that accounts fur the difference in his goin's-on; but once he's +sober, he's quality--is Pete. Pete's got two darters--Marg an' +Nella-Rose. Old Doc McPherson use' ter call 'em types, whatever that +means. Marg is a type, sure and sartin, but Nella-Rose is a little +no-count--that's what I say. But blame it all, it's Nella-Rose as has +set the mountains goin', so far as I can see. Fellers come courtin' Marg +and they just slip through her fingers an' Nella-Rose gets 'em. She +don't want 'em 'cept to play with and torment Marg. Gawd! how them two +gals do get each other edgy. Round about Lone Dome they call Nella-Rose +the doney-gal--that meaning 'sweetheart'; she's responsible for more +trouble than a b'ar with a sore head, or Burke Lawson on a tear." + +Conning was becoming vitally interested and showed it, to Jim's +delight; this was a dangerous state for White, he was likely, once +started and flattered, to tell more than was prudent. + +"Jed Martin"--Jim gave a chuckle--"has been tossed between them two gals +like a hot corn pone. He'd take Nella-Rose quick enough if she'd have +him, but barrin' her, he hangs to Marg so as ter be nigh Nella-Rose in +any case. And right here Burke Lawson figgers. Burke's got two naturs, +same as old Satan. Marg can play on one and get him plumb riled up to +anythin'; Nella-Rose can twist him around her finger and make him act +like the Second Coming." + +Conning called a halt. "What's the Second Coming?" he asked, his eyes +twinkling. + +"Meaning?--good as a Bible character," Jim explained huffily. "Gawd, +man! do your own thinkin'. I can't talk an' splanify ter onct." + +"Oh! I see. Well, go on, Jim." + +"There be times of the moon when I declare that no-count Nella-Rose just +plain seems possessed; has ter do somethin' and does it! Three months +ago, come Saturday, or thereabouts, she took it into her head to worst +Marg at every turn and let it out that she was goin' to round up all the +fellers and take her pick! She had the blazin' face ter come down here +and tell _me_ that! Course Marg knew it, but the two most consarned +didn't--meaning Jed and Burke. Least they suspected--but warn't sure. +Jed meant to get Burke out o' the way so he could have a clear space to +co't Nella-Rose, so he aimed to shoot one o' Burke's feet just enough to +lay him up--Jed is the slow, calculatin' kind and an almighty sure shot. +He reckoned Burke couldn't walk up Lone Dome with a sore foot, so he +laid for him, meanin' afterward to say he was huntin' an' took Burke for +a 'possum. Well, Burke got wind of the plot; I'm thinkin' Marg put a +flea in his ear, anyway he set a trap just by the path leading from the +trail to Lone Dome. Gawd! Jed planted his foot inter it same as if he +meant ter, and what does that Burke do but take a walk with Nella-Rose +right past the place where Jed was caught! 'Corse he was yellin' +somethin' terrible. They helped Jed out and I reckon Nella-Rose was +innocent enough, but Jed writ up the account 'gainst Burke and Burke +floated off for a spell. He ain't floated back yet--not _yet!_ But so +long as Nella-Rose is above ground he'll naturally cum back." + +"And Nella-Rose, the little no-count; did she repay Jed, the poor cuss?" + +"Nella-Rose don't repay no one--she ain't more'n half real, whatever way +you put it. But just see how this fixes a sheriff, will yo'? Knowing +what I do, I can't jail either o' them chaps with a cl'ar conscience. +Gawd! I'd like to pass a law to cage all females and only let 'em out +with a string to their legs!" Then White laughed reminiscently. + +"What now, Jim?" + +"Gals!" White fairly spit out the word. "Gals!" There was an eloquent +pause, then more quietly: "Jest when yo' place 'em and hate 'em proper, +they up and do somethin' to melt yo' like snow on Lone Dome in May. I +was harkin' back to the little white hen and Nella-Rose. There ain't +much chance to have a livin' pet up to Greyson's place. Anything fit to +eat is et. Pete drinks the rest. But once Nella-Rose came totin' up here +on a cl'ar, moonlight evenin' with somethin' under her little, old +shawl. 'Jim' she says--wheedlin' and coaxin'--'I want yo' to keep this +here hen fo' me. I'll bring its keep, but I love it, and I can't see +it--killed!' That gal don't never let tears fall--they jest wet her eyes +and make 'em shine. With that she let loose the most owdacious white +bantam and scattered some corn on the floor; then she sat down and +laughed like an imp when the foolish thing hopped up to her and flopped +onter her lap. Well, I kept the sassy little hen--there wasn't anything +else ter do--but one day Marg, she followed Nella-Rose up and when she +saw what was going on, she stamped in and cried out: 'So! yo' can have +playthings while us-all go starved! Yo' can steal what's our'n,--an' +with that she took the bantam and fo' I could say a cuss, she wrung that +chicken's neck right fo' Nella-Rose's eyes!" + +"Good Lord!" exclaimed Conning; "the young brute! And the other +one--what did she do?" + +"She jest looked at me--her eyes swimmin'. Nella-Rose don't talk much +when she's hurt, but she don't forget. I tell yo', young feller, bein' a +sheriff in this settlement ain't no joke. Yo' know folks too well and +see the rights and wrongs more'n is good for plain justice." + +"Well?" Jim rose and stretched himself, "yo' won't go on the b'ar hunt +ter-morrer?" + +"No, Jim, but I'll walk part of the way with you. When do you start?" + +"'Bout two o' the mornin'." + +"Then I'll turn in. Good-night, old man! You've given me a great +evening. I feel as if I were suddenly projected into a crowd with human +problems smashing into each other for all they're worth. You cannot +escape, old man; that's the truth. You cannot escape. Life is life no +matter where you find it." + +"Now don't git ter talkin' perlite to me," Jim warned. "Old Doc +McPherson's orders was agin perlite conversation. Get a scrabble on yer! +I'll knock yer up 'bout two or thereabouts." + +Outside, Truedale stood still and looked at the beauty of the night. The +moon was full and flooded the open space with a radiance which +contrasted sharply with the black shadows and the outlines of the near +and distant peaks. + +The silence was so intense that the ear, straining for sound, ached from +the effort. And just then a bewitched hen in White's shed gave a weird +cry and Truedale started. He smiled grimly and thought of the little +no-count and the tragedy of the white bantam. In the shining light +around him he seemed to see her pitiful face as White had described +it--the eyes full of tears but never overflowing, the misery and hate, +the loneliness and impotency. + +At two the next morning Jim tapped on Truedale's window with his gun. + +"Comin' fur a walk?" + +"You bet!" Con was awake at once and alert. Ten minutes later, closing +the doors and windows of his cabin after him, he joined White on the +leaf-strewn path to the woods. He went five miles and then bade his host +good-bye. + +"Don't overwork!" grinned Jim sociably. "I'll write to old Doc McPherson +when I git back." + +"And when will that be, Jim?" + +"I ain't goin' ter predict." White set his lips. "When I stay, I stay, +but once I take ter the woods there ain't no sayin'. I'll fetch fodder +when I cum, and mail, too--but I ain't goin' ter hobble myself when I +take ter the sticks." + +Tramping back alone over the wet autumn leaves, Truedale had his first +sense of loneliness since he came. White, he suddenly realized, had +meant to him everything that he needed, but with White unhobbled in the +deep woods, how was he to fill the time? He determined to force himself +to study. He had wedged one solid volume in his trunk, unknown to his +friends. He would brush up his capacity for work--it could not hurt him +now. He was as strong as he had ever been in his life and the prospect +ahead promised greater gains. + +Yes, he would study. He would write letters, too--real letters. He had +neglected every one, especially Lynda Kendall. The others did not +matter, but Lynda mattered more than anything. She always would! And +thinking of Lynda reminded him that he had also, in his trunk, the play +upon which he had worked for several years during hours that should have +been devoted to rest. He would get out the play and try to breathe life +into it, now that he himself was living. Lynda had said, when last they +had discussed his work, "It's beautiful, Con; you shall not belittle it. +It is beautiful like a cold, stone thing with rough edges. Sometime you +must smooth it and polish it, and then you must pray over it and believe +in it, and I really think it will repay you. It may not mean anything +but a sure guide to your goal, but you'd be grateful for that, wouldn't +you?" Of course he would be grateful for that! It would mean life to +him--life, not mere existence. He began to hope that Jim White would +stay away a month; what with study, and the play, and the doing for +himself, the time ahead was provided for already! + +Stalking noiselessly forward, Truedale came into the clearing, passed +White's shack, and approached his own with a fixed determination. Then +he stopped short. He was positive that he had closed windows and +doors--the caution of the city still clung to him--but now both doors +and windows were set wide to the brilliant autumn day and a curl of +smoke from a lately replenished fire cheerfully rose in the clear, dry +air. + +"Well, I'll be--!" and then Truedale quietly slipped to the rear of +the cabin and to a low, sliding window through which he could peer, +unobserved. One glance transfixed him. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The furnishing of the room was bare and plain--a deal table, a couple of +wooden chairs, a broad comfortable couch, a cupboard with some +nondescript crockery, and a good-sized mirror in the space between the +front door and the window. Before this glass a strange figure was +walking to and fro, enjoying hugely its own remarkable reflection. +Truedale's bedraggled bath robe hung like a mantle from the shoulders of +the intruder--they were very straight, slim young shoulders; an old +ridiculous fez--an abomination of his freshman year, kept for +sentimental reasons--adorned the head of the small stranger and only +partly held in check the mass of shadowy hair that rippled from it and +around a mischievous face. + +Surprise, then wonder, swayed Truedale. When he reached the wonder +stage, thought deserted him. He simply looked and kept on wondering. +Through this confusion, words presently reached him. The masquerader +within was bowing and scraping comically, and in a low, musical voice +said: + +"How-de, Mister Outlander, sir! How-de? I saw your smoke a-curling way +back from home, sir, and I've come a-visiting 'long o' you, Mister +Outlander." + +Another sweeping curtsey reduced Truedale to helpless mirth and he +fairly shouted, doubling up as he did so. + +The effect of his outburst upon the young person within was tremendous. +She seemed turned to stone. She stared at the face in the window; she +turned red and white--the absurd fez dangling over her left ear. Then +she emitted what seemed to be one word, so lingeringly sweet was the +drawl. + +"Godda'mighty!" + +Seeing that there was going to be no other concession, Truedale pulled +himself together, went around to the front door and knocked, +ceremoniously. The girl turned, as if on a pivot, but spoke no word. + +She had the most wonderful eyes--innocent and pleading; she was a mere +child and, although she looked awed now, was evidently a forward young +native who deserved a good lesson. Truedale determined to give her one! + +"If you don't mind," he said, "I'll come in and sit down." + +This he did while the big, solemn eyes followed him alertly. + +"And now will you be kind enough to tell me what you mean by--wearing my +clothes?" + +Still the silence and the blank stare. + +"You must answer my questions!" Truedale's voice sounded stern. "I +suppose you didn't expect me back so soon?" + +The deep eyes confirmed this by the drooping of the lids. + +"And you broke in--what for?" + +No answer. + +"Who are you?" + +Really the situation was becoming unbearable, so Truedale changed his +tactics. He would play with the poor little thing and reassure her. + +"Now that I look at you I see what you are. You're not a human at all. +You're a spirit of something or other--probably of one of those perky +mountains over yonder. The White Maid, I bet! You had to don my clothes +in order to materialize before my eyes and you had to use that word of +the hills--so that I could understand you. It's quite plain now and you +are welcome to my--my bath robe; I dare say that, underneath it, you are +decked out in filmy clouds and vapours and mists. Oh! come now--" The +strange eyes were filling--but not overflowing! + +"I was only joking. Forgive me. Why--" + +The wretched fez fell from the soft hair--the bedraggled robe from the +rigid shoulders--and there, garbed in a rough home-spun gown, a little +plaid shawl and a checked apron, stood-- + +"It's the no-count," thought Truedale. Aloud he said, "Nella-Rose!" + +With the dropping of the disguise years and dignity were added to the +girl and Truedale, who was always at his worst in the presence of +strange young women, gazed dazedly at the one before him now. + +"Perhaps"--he began awkwardly--"you'll sit down. Please do!" He drew a +chair toward her. Nella-Rose sank into it and leaned her bowed head upon +her arms, which she folded on the table. Her shoulders rose and fell +convulsively, and Truedale, looking at her, became hopelessly wretched. + +"I'm a beast and nothing less!" he admitted by way of apology and +excuse. "I--I wish you _could_ forgive me." + +Then slowly the head was raised and to Truedale's further consternation +he saw that mirth, not anguish, had caused the shaking of those +deceiving little shoulders. + +"Oh! I see--you are laughing!" He tried to be indignant. + +"Yes." + +"At what?" + +"Everything--you!" + +"Thank you!" Then, like a response, something heretofore unknown and +unsuspected in Truedale rose and overpowered him. His shyness and +awkwardness melted before the warmth and glow of the conquering emotion. +He got up and sat on the corner of the table nearest his shabby little +guest, and looking straight into her bewitching eyes he joined her in a +long, resounding laugh. + +It was surrender, pure and simple. + +"And now," he said at last, "you must stay and have a bite. I am about +starved. And you?" + +The girl grew sober. + +"I'm--I'm always hungry," she admitted softly. + +They drew the table close to the roaring fire, leaving doors and windows +open to the crisp, sweet; morning air. + +"We'll have a party!" Truedale announced. "I'll step over to Jim's cabin +and bring the best he's got." + +When he returned Nella-Rose had placed cups, saucers, and plates on the +table. + +"Do you--often have parties?" she asked. + +"I never had one before. I'll have them, though, from now on if--if you +will come!" + +Truedale paused with his arms full of pitchers and platters of food, and +held the girl with his admiring eyes. + +"And you will let me come and see you--you and your sister and your +father? I know all about you. White has explained--everything. He--" + +Nella-Rose braced herself against the table and quietly and definitely +outlined their future relations. + +"No, you cannot come to see us-all. You don't know Marg. If she doesn't +find things out, there won't be trouble; when she does find things out +there's goin' t' be a right smart lot of trouble brewing!" + +This was said with such comical seriousness that Truedale laughed +again, but sobered instantly when he recalled the incident of the white +bantam which Jim had so vividly portrayed. + +"But you see," he replied, "I don't want to let you go after this first +party, and never see you again!" + +The girl shrugged her shoulders and apparently dismissed the matter. She +sat down and, with charming abandon, began to eat. Presently Truedale, +amused and interested, spoke again: + +"It would be very unkind of you not to let me see you." + +"I'm--thinking!" Nella-Rose drew her brows together and nibbled a bit of +corn bread meditatively. Then--quite suddenly: + +"I'm coming here!" + +"You--you mean that?" Truedale flushed. + +"Yes. And the big woods--you walk in them?" + +"I certainly do." + +"Sometimes--I am in the big woods." + +"Where--specially?" Truedale was playing this new game with the foolish +skill of the novice. + +"There's a Hollow--where--" (Nella-Rose paused) "where the laurel tangle +is like a jungle--" + +Truedale broke in: "I know it! There's a little stream running through +it, and--trails." + +"Yes!" Nella-Rose leaned back and showed her white teeth alluringly. + +"I--I should not--permit this!" For a moment Truedale broke through the +thin ice of delight that was luring him to unknown danger and fell upon +the solid rock of conservatism. + +"Why?" The eyes, so tenderly innocent, confronted him appealingly. +"There are nuts there and--and other things! You are just teasing; +you'll let me--show you the way about?" + +The girl was all child now and made Truedale ashamed to hold her to any +absurd course that his standards acknowledged but that hers had never +conceived. + +"Of course. I'll be glad to have you for a guide. Jim White has no ideas +about nuts and things--he goes to the woods to kill something; he's +there now. I dare say mere are other things in the mountains +besides--prey?" + +Nella-Rose nodded. + +"Let's sit by the fire!" she suddenly said. "I--I want to tell +you--something, and then I must go." + +The lack of shyness and reserve might so easily have become +boldness--but they did not! The girl was like a creature of the wilds +which, knowing no reason for fear, was revelling in heretofore +unsuspected enjoyment. Truedale pulled the couch to the hearth for +Nella-Rose, piled the pillows on one end and then seated himself on the +stump of a tree which served as a settee. + +"Now, then!" he said, keeping his eyes on his breezy little guest. +"What have you got to tell me--before you go?" + +"It's something that happened--long ago. You will not laugh if I tell +you? You laugh right much." + +"I? You think I laugh a good deal? Good Lord! Some folk think I don't +laugh enough." He had his friends back home in mind, and somehow the +memory steadied him for an instant. + +"P'r'aps they-all don't know you as well as I do." This with amusing +conviction. + +"Perhaps they don't." Truedale was deadly solemn. "But go on, +Nella-Rose. I promise not to laugh now." + +"It was the beginning of--you!" The girl turned her eyes to the +fire--she was quaintly demure. "At first when I saw you looking in that +window, yonder, I was right scared." + +Jim White's statement that Nella-Rose wasn't more than half real seemed, +in the light of present happenings, little less than bald fact. + +"It was the way _you_ looked--way back there when I was ten years old. I +had run away--" + +"Are you always running away?" asked Truedale from the hollow depths of +unreality. + +"I run away a smart lot. You have to if you want to--see things and be +different." + +"And you--you want to be different, Nella-Rose?" + +"I--why, can't you see?--I _am_ different." + +"Of course. I only meant--do you like to be different." + +"I have to like it. I was born with a cawl." + +"In heaven's name, what's that?" + +"Something over your eyes, and when they take it off you see more, and +farther, than any one else. You're part ha'nt." + +Truedale wiped his forehead--the room was getting hot, but the heat +alone was not responsible for his emotions; he was being carried beyond +his depth--beyond himself--by the wild fascination of the little +creature before him. He would hardly have been surprised had a draught +of air wafted her out of the window like a bit of mountain mist. + +"But you mustn't interrupt so much!" She turned a stern face upon him. +"I ran away that time to see a--railroad train! One of the niggers told +me about it--he said it was the Bogy Man. I wanted to know, so I went to +the station. It's a right smart way down and I had to sleep one night +under the trees. Don't the stars look starry sometimes?" + +The interruption made Truedale jump. + +"They certainly do," he said, looking at the soft, dark eyes with their +long lashes. + +"I wasn't afraid--and I didn't hurry. It was evening, and the sun just +a-going down, when I got to the station. There wasn't any one about so +I--I ran down the big road the train comes on--to meet it. And then" +(here Nella-Rose clasped her hands excitedly and her breath came short), +"and then I saw it a-coming and a-coming. The big fire-eye a-glaring and +the mighty noise a-snorting and I reckoned it was old Master Satan and I +just--couldn't move!" + +"Go on! go on!" Truedale bent close to her--she had caught him in the +mesh of her dramatic charm. + +"I saw it a-coming, and set on--on devouring o' me, and still I couldn't +stir. Everything was growing black and black except a big square with +that monster eye a-glaring into the soul o' me!" + +The girl's face was set--her eyes vacant and wild; suddenly they +softened, and her little white teeth showed through the childish, parted +lips. + +"Then the eye went away, there was a blackness in the square place, and +then a face came--a kind face it was--all a-laughing and it--it kept +going farther and farther off to one side and I kept a-following and +a-following and then--the big noise went rushing by me, and there I was +right safe and plump up against a tree!" + +"Good Lord!" Again Truedale wiped his brow. + +"Since then," Nella-Rose relaxed, "I can shut my eyes and always there +is the black square and sometimes--not always, but sometimes--things +come!" + +"The face, Nella-Rose?" + +"No, I can't make that come. But things I want to, do and have. I +always think, when I see things, that I'm going to do a big, fine thing +some day. I feel upperty and then--poof! off go the pictures and I am +just--lil' Nella-Rose again!" + +A comically heavy sigh brought Truedale back to earth. + +"But the face you saw long ago," Truedale whispered, "was it my face, do +you think?" + +Nella-Rose paused--then quietly: + +"I--reckon it was. Yes, I'm mighty sure it was your face. When I saw it +at that window"--she pointed across the room--"I certainly thought my +eyes were closed and that--it had come--the kind, good face that saved +me!" A sweet, friendly smile wreathed the girl's lips and she rose with +rare dignity and held out her thin, delicate hand: + +"Mister Outlander, we're going to be neighbours, aren't we?" + +"Yes--neighbours!" Truedale took the hand with a distinct sense of +suffocation, "but why do you call me an outlander?" + +"Because--you are! You're not _of_ our mountains." + +"No, I wish I were!" + +"Wishing can't make you. You are--or you aren't." + +Truedale noted the girl's language. Distorted and crude as it often was, +it was never positively illiterate. This surprised him. + +"You--oh! you're not going yet!" He put his hand out, for the definite +way in which Nella-Rose turned was ominous. Already she seemed to belong +to the cabin room--to Truedale himself. Not a suggestion of strangeness +clung to her. It was as if she had always been there but that his eyes +had been holden. + +"I must go!" + +"Wait--oh! Nella-Rose. Let me walk part of the way with you. I--I have a +thousand things to say." + +But she was gone out of the door, down the path. + +Truedale stood and looked after her until the long shadows reached up to +Lone Dome's sharpest edge. White's dogs began nosing about, suggesting +attention to affairs nearer at hand. Then Truedale sighed as if waking +from a dream. He performed the duties Jim had left to his tender +mercy--the feeding of the animals, the piling up of wood. Then he forced +himself to take a long walk. He ate his evening meal late, and finally +sat down to his task of writing letters. He wrote six to Brace Kendall +and tore them up; he wrote one to his uncle and put it aside for +consideration when the effect of his day dreams left him sane enough to +judge it. Finally he managed a note to Dr. McPherson and one to Lynda +Kendall. + +"I think"--so the letter to Lynda ran--"that I will work regularly, now, +on the play. With more blood in my own body I can hope to put more into +that. I'm going to get it out to-morrow and begin the infusion. I wish +you were here to-night--to see the wonderful effect of the moon on the +mists--but there! if I said more you might guess where I am. When I come +back I shall try to describe it and some day you must see it. Several +times lately I have imagined an existence here with one's work and +enough to subsist on. No worry, no nerve-racking, and always the +tremendous beauty to inspire one! Nothing seems wholly real here." + +Then Truedale put down his pen. Nella-Rose crowded Lynda Kendall from +the field of vision; later, he simply signed his name and let the note +go with that. + +As for Nella-Rose, as soon as she left Truedale, her mind turned to +sterner matters close at hand. She became aware before long of some one +near by. The person, whoever it was, seemed determined to remain hidden +but for that very reason it called out all the girl's cunning and +cleverness. It might be--Burke Lawson! With this thought Nella-Rose +gasped a little. Then, it might be Marg; and here the dark eyes grew +hard--the lips almost cruel! She got down upon her knees and crawled +like a veritable little animal of the wilds. Keeping close to the +ground, she advanced to where the trail from Lone Dome met the broader +one, and there, standing undecided and bewildered, was a tall, fair +girl. + +Nella-Rose sprang to her feet, her eyes ablaze. + +"Marg! What you--hounding me for?" + +"Nella-Rose, where you been?" + +"What's that to you?" + +"You've been up to Devil-may-come Hollow!" + +"Have I? Let me pass, Marg. Have your mully-grubs, if you please; I'm +going home." + +As Nella-Rose tried to pass, Marg caught her by the arm. + +"Burke's back!" she whispered, "he's hiding up to Devil-may-come! He's +been seen and you know it!" + +"What if I do?" Nella-Rose never ignored a possible escape for the +future. + +"You've been up there--to meet him. You ought to be licked. If you don't +let him alone--let him and me alone--I'll turn Jed on him, I will; I +swear it!" + +"What is he--to you!" Nella-Rose confronted her sister squarely. Blue +eyes--bold, cold blue they were--looked into dark ones even now so soft +and winning that it was difficult to resist them. + +"If you let him alone, he'll be everything to me!" Marg blurted out. +"What do you want of him, Nella-Rose?--of him or any other man? But if +you must have a sweetheart, pick and choose and let me have my day." + +The rough appeal struck almost brutally on Nella-Rose's ears. She was as +un-moral, perhaps, as Marg, but she was more discriminating. + +"I'm mighty tired of cleaning and cooking for--for father and you!" +Marg tossed her head toward Lone Dome. "Father's mostly always drunk +these days and you--what do you care what becomes of me? Leave me to get +a man of my own and then I'll be human. I've been--killing the hog +to-day!" Marg suddenly and irrelevantly burst out; "I--I shall never do +it again. We'll starve first!" + +"Why didn't father?" Nella-Rose said, softly. + +"Father? Huh! he couldn't have held the knife. He went for the jug--and +got it full! No, I had to do it, but it's the last time. Nella-Rose, +tell me where Burke is hidden--tell me! Leave me free to--to win him; +let me have my chance!" + +"And then who'll kill the pig?" Nella-Rose shuddered. + +"Who cares?" Marg flung back. + +"No! Find him if you can. Fair play--no favours; what I find is open to +you!" Nella-Rose laughed impishly and, darting past her sister, ran down +the path. + +Marg stood and watched her with baffled rage and hate. For a moment she +almost decided to take her chances and seek Burke Lawson in the distant +Hollow. But night was coming--the black, drear night of the low places. +Marg was desperate, but a primitive conservatism held her. Not for all +she hoped to gain would she brave Burke Lawson alone in the secret +places of Devil-may-come Hollow! So she followed after Nella-Rose and +reached home while her sister was preparing the evening meal. + +Peter Greyson, the father, sat huddled in a big chair by the fire. He +had arrived at that stage of returning consciousness when he felt that +it was incumbent upon him to explain himself. He had been a handsome +man, of the dashing cavalry type and he still bore traces of past glory. +In his worst moments he never swore before ladies, and in his best he +remembered what was due them and upheld their honour and position with +fervour. + +"Lil' Nella-Rose," he was saying as Marg paused outside the door in the +dark, "why don't you marry Burke Lawson and settle down here with me?" + +"He hasn't asked me, father." + +"He isn't in any position now to pick and choose"--this between +hiccoughs and yawns--"I saw him early this morning; I know his back +anywhere. I'd just met old Jim White. I reckon Burke was calculating to +shoot Jim, but my coming upset his plans. Shooting a sheriff ain't safe +business." What Greyson really had seen was Truedale's retreat after +parting company with Jim, but not knowing of Truedale's existence he +jumped to the conclusion which to his fuddled wits seemed probable, and +had so informed Marg upon his return. + +"I tell yo', Nella-Rose," he ran on, "yo' better marry Burke and tame +him. There ain't nothing as tames a man like layin' responsibilities on +him." + +"Come, father, let me help you to the table. I don't want to talk about +Burke. I don't believe he's back." She steadied the rolling form to the +head of the table. + +"I tell yo', chile, I saw Burke's back; don't yo' reckon I know Lawson +when I see him, back or front? Don't yo' want ter marry Lawson, +Nella-Rose?" + +"No, I wouldn't have him if he asked me. It would be like marrying a +tree that the freshet was rolling about. I'm not going to seek and hide +with any man." + +"Why don't yo' let Marg have 'im then? She'd be a right smart +responsibility." + +"She can have him and welcome, if she can find him!" Then, hearing her +sister outside, she called: + +"Come in, Marg. Shut out the cold and the dark. What's the use of acting +like a little old hateful?" + +Marg slouched in; there was no other word to describe her indifferent +and contemptuous air. + +"He's coming around?" she asked, nodding at her father. + +"Yes--he's come," Nella-Rose admitted. + +"All right, then, I'm going to tell him something!" She walked over to +her father and stood before him, looking him steadily in the eyes. + +"I--I killed the hog to-day;" she spoke sharply, slowly, as to a dense +child. Peter Greyson started. + +"You--you--did that?" + +"Yes. While you were off--getting drunk, and while Nella-Rose was +traipsing back there in the Hollow I killed the hog; but I'll never do +it again. It sickened the soul of me. I'm as good as Nella-Rose--just as +good. If you can't do your part, father, and she _won't_ do hers, that's +no reason for me being benastied with such work as I did to-day. You +hear me?" + +"Sure I hear you, Marg, and I'm plumb humiliated that--that I let you. +It--it sha'n't happen again. I'll keep a smart watch next year. A +gentleman can't say more to his daughter than that--can he?" + +"Saying is all very well--it's the doing." Marg was adamant. "I'm going +to look out for myself from now on. You and Nella-Rose will find out." + +"What's come to you, Marg?" Peter looked concerned. + +"Something that hasn't ever come before," Marg replied, keeping her eyes +on Nella-Rose. "There be times when you have to take your life by the +throat and strangle it until it falls into shape. I'm gripping mine +now." + +"It's the killing of that hog!" groaned Peter. "It's stirred you, and I +can't blame you. Killing ain't for a lady; but Lord! what a man you'd +ha' made, Marg!" + +"But I ain't!" Marg broke in a bit wildly, "and other things are not +for--for women to do and bear. I'm through. It's Nella-Rose and me to +share and share alike, or--" + +But there was nothing more to say--the pause was eloquent. The three ate +in silence for some moments and then talked of trivial things. Peter +Greyson went early to bed and the sisters washed the dishes, sharing +equally. They did the out-of-door duties of caring for the scanty live +stock, and at last Nella-Rose went to her tiny room under the eaves, +while Marg lay down upon the living-room couch. + +When everything was at rest once more Nella-Rose stole to the low window +of her chamber and, kneeling, looked forth at the peaceful moonlit +scene. How still and white it was and how safe and strong the high hills +looked! What had happened? Why, nothing _could_ happen and yet--and +yet--Then Nella-Rose closed her eyes and waited. With all her might she +tried to force the "good, kind face" to materialize, but to no purpose. +Suddenly an owl hooted hideously and, like a guilty thing, the girl by +the window crept back to bed. + +Owls were very wise and they could see things in the dark places with +their wide-open eyes! Just then Nella-Rose could not have borne any +investigation of her throbbing heart. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Lynda Kendall closed her desk and wheeled about in her chair with a +perplexed expression on her strong, handsome face. Generally speaking, +she went her way with courage and conviction, but since Conning +Truedale's breakdown, an element in her had arisen that demanded +recognition and she had yet to learn how to control it and insist upon +its subjection. + +Her life had been a simple one on the whole, but one requiring from +early girlhood the constant use of her faculties. Whatever help she had +had was gained from the dependence of others upon her, not hers upon +them. She was so strong and sweet-souled that to give was a joy, it was +a joy too, for them that received. That she was ever tired and longed +for strong arms to uphold her rarely occurred to any one except, +perhaps, William Truedale, the invalid uncle of Conning. + +At this juncture of Lynda's career, she shrank from William Truedale as +she never had before. Had Conning died, she knew she would never have +seen the old man again. She believed that his incapacity for +understanding Conning--his rigid, unfeeling dealing with him--had been +the prime factor in the physical breakdown of the younger man. All +along she had hoped and believed that her hold upon old William Truedale +would, in the final reckoning, bring good results; for that reason, and +a secret one that no one suspected, she kept to her course. She paid +regular visits to the old man--made him dependent upon her, though he +never permitted her to suspect this. Always her purpose had centred upon +Con, who had, at first, appealed to her loyalty and justice, but of late +to something much more personal and tender. + +The day's work was done and the workshop, in which the girl sat, was +beginning to look shadowy in the far corners where evidences of her +profession cluttered the dim spaces. She was an interior decorator, but +of such an original and unique kind that her brother explained her as a +"Spiritual and Physical Interpreter." She had learned her trade, but she +had embellished it and permitted it to develop as she herself had grown +and expanded. + +Lynda looked now at her wrist-watch; it was four-thirty. The last mail +delivery had brought a short but inspiring note from Con--per Dr. +McPherson. + +"I've got my grip again, Lynda! The day brings appetite and strength; +the night, sleep! I wonder whether you know what that means? I begin to +believe I am reverting to type, as McPherson would say, and I'm +intensely interested in finding out--what type? Whenever I think of +study, I have an attack of mental indigestion. There is only one fellow +creature to share my desolation but I am never lonely--never lacking +employment. I'm busy to the verge of exhaustion in doing nothing and +getting well!" + +Lynda smiled. "So he's not going to die!" she murmured; "there's no use +in punishing Uncle William any longer. I'll go up and have dinner with +him!" + +The decision made, and Conning for the moment relegated to second place, +Lynda rose and smiled relievedly. Then her eyes fell upon her mother's +photograph which stood upon her desk. + +"I'm going, dear," she confided--they were very close, that dead mother +and the live, vital daughter--"I haven't forgotten." + +The past, like the atmosphere of the room, closed in about the girl. She +was strangely cheerful and uplifted; a consciousness of approval soothed +and comforted her and she recalled, as she had not for many a day, the +night of her mother's death--the night when she, a girl of seventeen, +had had the burden of a mother's confession laid upon her young +heart.... + +"Lynda--are you there, dear?" + +It had been a frequent, pathetic question during the month of illness. +Lynda had been summoned from school. Brace was still at his studies. + +"Yes, mother, right here!" + +"You are always--right here! Lyn, once I thought I could not stand it, +and I was going to run away--going in the night. As I passed your door +you awoke and asked for a drink of water. I gave it, trembling lest you +might notice my hat and coat; but you did not--you only said: 'What +would I do if I woke up some night and didn't have a mother?' Lyn, dear, +I went back and--stayed!" + +Lynda had thought her mother's mind wandering so she patted the seeking +hands and murmured gently to her. Then, suddenly: + +"Lyn, when I married your father I thought I loved him--but I loved +another! I've done the best I could for you all; I never let any one +know; I dared not give a sign, but I want you--by and by--to go +to--William Truedale! You need not explain--just go; you will be my gift +to him--my last and only gift." + +Startled and horrified, Lynda had listened, understood, and grown old +while her mother spoke.... + +Then came the night when she awoke--and found no mother! She was never +the same. She returned to school but gave up the idea of going to +college. After her graduation she made a home for the father who now--in +the light of her secret knowledge--she comprehended for the first time. +All her life she had wondered about him. Wondered why she and Brace had +not loved and honoured him as they had their mother. His weakness, his +superficiality, had been dominated by the wife who, having accepted her +lot, carried her burden proudly to the end! + +Brace went to college and, during his last year there, his father died; +then, confronting a future rich in debts but little else, he and Lynda +consequently turned their education to account and were soon +self-supporting, full of hope and the young joy of life. + +Lynda--her mother's secret buried deep in her loyal, tender heart--began +soon after her return from school to cultivate old William Truedale, +much to that crabbed gentleman's surprise and apparent confusion. There +was some excuse for the sudden friendship, for Brace during preparatory +school and college had formed a deep and sincere attachment for Conning +Truedale and at vacation time the two boys and Lynda were much together. +To be sure the visiting was largely one-sided, as the gloomy house of +the elder Truedale offered small inducement for sociability; but Lynda +managed to wedge her way into the loneliness and dreariness and +eventually for reasons best known to herself became the one bright thing +in the old man's existence. + +And so the years had drifted on. Besides Lynda's determination to prove +herself as her mother had directed, she soon decided to set matters +straight between the uncle and the nephew. To her ardent young soul, +fired with ambition and desire for justice, it was little less than +criminal that William Truedale, crippled and confined to his chair--for +he had become an invalid soon after Lynda's mother's marriage--should +misunderstand and cruelly misjudge the nephew who, brilliantly, but +under tremendous strain, was winning his way through college on a +pittance that made outside labour necessary in order to get through. She +could not understand everything, but her mother's secret, her growing +fondness for the old man, her intense interest in Conning, all held her +to her purpose. She, single-handed, would right the wrong and save them +all alive! + +Then came Conning's breakdown and the possibility of his death or +permanent disability. The shock to all the golden hopes was severe and +it brought bitterness and resentment with it. + +Something deep and passionate had entered into Lynda's relations with +Conning Truedale. For him, though no one suspected it, she had broken +her engagement to John Morrell--an engagement into which she had drifted +as so many girls do, at the age when thought has small part in primal +instinct. But Conning had not died; he was getting well, off in his +hidden place, and so, standing in the dim workshop, Lynda kissed her +mother's picture and began humming a glad little tune. + +"I'll go and have dinner with Uncle William!" she said--the words +fitting into the tune--"we'll make it up! It will be all right." And so +she set forth. + +William Truedale lived on a shabby-genteel side street of a +neighbourhood that had started out to be fashionable but had been +defeated in its ambitions. It had never lost character, but it certainly +had lost lustre. The houses themselves were well built and sternly +correct. William Truedale's was the best in the block and it stood with +a vacant lot on either side of it. The detachment gave it dignity and +seclusion. + +There had been a time when Truedale hoped that the woman he loved would +choose and place furniture and hangings to her taste and his, but when +that hope failed and sickness fell upon him, he ordered only such rooms +put in order as were necessary for his restricted life. The library on +the first floor was a storehouse of splendid books and austere luxury; +beyond it were bath and bedroom, both fitted out perfectly. The long, +wide hall leading to these apartments was as empty and bare as when +carpenter and painter left it. Two servants--husband and wife--served +William Truedale, and rarely commented upon anything concerning him or +their relations to him. They probably had rooms for themselves +comfortably furnished, but in all the years Lynda Kendall had never been +anywhere in the house except in the rooms devoted to her old friend's +use. Sometimes she had wondered how Con fared, but nothing was ever +said on the subject and she and Brace had been, in their visiting, +limited to the downstair rooms. + +When Lynda was ushered now into the library from the cold, outer hall it +was like finding comfort and luxury in the midst of desolation. The +opening door had not roused the man by the great open fire. He seemed +lost in a gloomy revery and Lynda had time to note, unobserved, the +tragic, pain-racked face and the pitifully thin outlines of the figure +stretched on the invalid chair and covered by a rug of rare silver fox. + +There were birds in gilded cages by the large south window--mute little +mites they were; they rarely if ever sang but they were alive! There +were plants, too, luxuriously growing in pots and boxes--but not a +flower on one! They existed, not joyously, but persistently. A Russian +hound, white as snow, lay before the fire; his soft, mournful eyes were +fixed upon Lynda, but he did not stir or announce the intrusion. A cat +and two kittens, also white, were rolled like snowballs on a crimson +cushion near the hearth; Lynda wondered whether they ever played. Alone, +like a dead thing amid the still life, William Truedale, helpless--death +ever creeping nearer and nearer to his bitter heart--passed his weary +days. + +As she stood, watching and waiting, Lynda Kendall's eyes filled with +quick tears. The weeks of her absence had emphasized every tragic +detail of the room and the man. He had probably missed her terribly from +his bare life, but he had made no sign, given no call. + +"Uncle William!" + +Truedale turned his head and fixed his deep-sunk, brilliant eyes upon +her. + +"Oh! So you've thought better of it?" was all that he said. + +"Yes, I've thought better of it. Will you let me stay to dinner?" + +"Take off your wraps. There now! draw up the ottoman; so long as you +have a spine, rely upon it. Never lounge if you can help it." + +Lynda drew the low, velvet-covered stool near the couch-chair; the hound +raised his sharp, beautiful head and nestled against her knee. Truedale +watched it--animals never came to him unless commanded--why did they go +to Lynda? Probably for the same reason that he clung to her, watched for +her and feared, with sickening fear, that she might never come again! + +"I suppose, since Con's death isn't on my head, you felt that you could +forgive me, eh?" + +"Well, something like that, Uncle William." + +"What business is it of yours what I do with my money--or my nephew?" + +These two never approached each other by conventional lines. Their +absences were periods in which to store vital topics and +questions--their meetings were a series of explosive outbursts. + +"None of my business, Uncle William, but if I could not approve, why--" + +"Approve! Huh! Who are you that you should judge, approve, or disapprove +your elders?" + +There was no answer to this. Lynda wanted to laugh, but feared she might +cry. The hard, indignant words belied the quivering gladness of the +voice that greeted her in every tone with its relief and surrender. + +"I've got a good deal to say to you, girl. It is well you came +to-day--you might otherwise have been too late. I'm planning a long +journey." + +Lynda started. + +"A--long journey?" she said. Through the past years, since the dread +disease had attacked Truedale, his travelling had been confined to +passing to and from bedchamber and library in the wheelchair. + +"You--you think I jest?" There was a grim humour in the burning eyes. + +"I do not know." + +"Well, then, I'll tell you. I am quite serious. While I have been exiled +from your attentions--chained to this rock" (he struck the arms of the +chair like a passionate child), "I have reached a conclusion I have +always contemplated, more or less. Now that I have recognized that the +time will undoubtedly come when you, Con--the lot of you--will clear +out, I have decided to prove to you all that I am not quite the +dependant you think me." + +"Why--what can you mean, Uncle William?" + +This was a new phase and Lynda bent across the dog at her knee and put +her hand on the arm of the chair. She was frightened, aroused. Truedale +saw this and laughed a dry, mirthless laugh. + +"Oh! a chair that can roll the length of this house can roll the +distance I desire to go. Money can pay for anything--anything! Thank +God, I have money, plenty of it. It means power--even to such a thing as +I am. Power, Lynda, power! It can snarl and unsnarl lives; it can buy +favour and cause terror. Think what I would have been without it all +these years. Think! Why, I have bargained with it; crushed with it; +threatened and beckoned with it--now I am going to play with it! I'm +going to surprise every one and have a gala time myself. I'm going to +set things spinning and then I'm going on a journey. It's queer" (the +sneering voice fell to a murmur), "all my prison-years I've thought of +this and planned it; the doing of it seems quite the simplest part. I +wonder now why I have kept behind the bars when, by a little exertion--a +little indifference to opinion--I might have broadened my horizon. But +good Lord! I haven't wasted time. I've studied every detail; nothing has +escaped me. This" (he touched his head--a fine, almost noble head, +covered by a wealth of white hair), "this has been doing double duty +while these" (he pointed to his useless legs) "have refused to play +their part. While I felt conscientiously responsible, I stuck to my job; +but a man has a right to a little freedom of his own!" + +Lynda drew so close that her stool touched the chair. She bent her cheek +upon the shrivelled hand resting upon the arm. The excitement and +feverish banter of Truedale affected her painfully. She reproached +herself bitterly for having left him to the mercy of his loneliness and +imagination. Her interest in, her resentment for, Conning faded before +the pitiful display of feeling expressed in every tone and word of +Truedale. + +The touch of the warm cheek against his hand stirred the man. His eyes +softened, his face twitched and, because the young eyes were hidden, he +permitted his gaze to rest reverently upon the bowed head. She was the +only thing on earth he loved--the only thing that cut through his crust +of hardness and despair and made him human. Then, from out the +unexpected, he asked: + +"Lynda, when did you break your engagement to John Morrell?" + +The girl started, but she did not change her position. She never lied or +prevaricated to Truedale--she might keep her own counsel, but when she +spoke it was simple truth. + +"About six months ago." + +"Why didn't you tell me?" + +"There was nothing to tell, Uncle William." + +"There was the fact, wasn't there?" + +"Oh! yes, the fact." + +"Why did you do it?" + +"That--is--a long story." Lynda looked up, now, and smiled the rare +smile that only the stricken man understood. Appeal, confusion, and +detachment marked it. She longed, helplessly, for sympathy and +understanding. + +"Well, long stories are welcome enough here, child; especially after the +dearth of them. Ring the bell; let's have dinner. Pull down the shades +and" (Truedale gave a wide gesture) "put the live stock out! An early +meal, a long evening--what better could we add than a couple of long +stories?" + +In the doing of what Truedale commanded, Lynda found a certain relief. +These visits were like grim plays, to be sure, but they were also sacred +duties. This one, after the lapse of time filled with new and strange +emotions, was a bit grimmer than usual, but it had the effect of a tonic +upon the ragged nerves of the two actors. + +The round table was set by the fire--it was the manservant who attended +now; silver and glass and linen were perfect, and the simple fare +carefully chosen and prepared. + +Truedale was never so much at his ease as when he presided at these +small dinners. He ate little; he chose the rarest bits for his guest; he +talked lightly--sometimes delightfully. At such moments Lynda realized +what he must have been before love and health failed him. + +To-night--shut away from all else, the strain of the past weeks ignored, +the long stories deliberately pushed aside--Truedale spoke of the books +he had been reading; Lynda, of her work. + +"I have two wonderful houses to do," she said, poising a morsel of food +gracefully. "One is for a couple recently made rich; they do not dare to +move for fear of going wrong. I have that place from garret to cellar. +It's an awful responsibility--but lots of fun!" + +"It must be. Spending other people's money and making them as good as +new at the same time, must be rare sport. And the other contract?" + +"Oh! that is another matter." Lynda leaned back and laughed. "I'm toning +up an old house. Putting false fronts on, a bit of rouge, filling in +wrinkles; in short, giving a side-tracked old lady something to interest +her. She doesn't know it, but I'm letting her do the work, and she's +very happy. She has a kind of rusty good taste. I'm polishing it without +hurting her. The living room! Why, Uncle William, it is a picture. It is +a tender dream come true." + +"And you are charging for that, you pirate?" + +"I do not have to. The dear soul is so grateful that I'm forced to +refuse favours." + +"Lynda, ring for Thomas." Truedale drew his brows close. "I think +I'll--I'll smoke. It may help me to sleep after the long stories +and--when I am alone." He rarely indulged in this way--tobacco excited +instead of soothed him--but the evening must have all the clear thought +possible! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Lynda sat again upon her ottoman--her capacity for sitting hours without +a support to her back had always been one of her charms for William +Truedale. The old man looked at her now; how strong and fine she was! +How reliant and yet--how appealing! How she would always give and +give--be used to the breaking point--and rarely understood. Truedale +understood her through her mother! + +"I want to ask you, Lynda, why do you come here--you of all the world? I +have often wondered." + +"I--I like to come, generally, Uncle William." + +"But--other times, out of the general? You come oftener then. Why?" + +And now Lynda turned her clear, dark eyes upon him. A sudden resolve had +been taken. She was going to comfort him as she never had before, going +to recompense him for the weeks just past when she had failed him while +espousing Con's cause. She was going to share her secret with him! + +"Just before mother went, Uncle William, she told me--" + +The hand holding the cigar swayed--it was a very frail, thin hand. + +"Told you--what?" + +"That you once--loved her." + +The old wound ached as it was bared. Lynda meant to comfort, but she was +causing excruciating pain. + +"She--told you that? And you so young! Why should she so burden you--she +of all women?" + +"And--my mother loved you, Uncle William! She found it out too late +and--and after that she did her best for--for Brace and me and--father!" + +The room seemed swaying, as all else in the universe was, at that +moment, for William Truedale. Everything that had gone to his +undoing--to the causing of his bitter loneliness and despair--was beaten +down by the words that flooded the former darkness with almost +terrifying light. For a moment or two he dared not speak--dared not +trust his voice. The shock had been great. Then, very quietly: + +"And--and why did she--speak at the last?" + +Lynda's eyes filled with tears. + +"Because," she faltered, "since she could not have come to you without +dishonour--she sent me! Her confidence has been the sacredest thing in +my life and I have tried to do as she desired. I--I have failed +sadly--lately, but try to forgive me for--my mother's sake!" + +"And you--have"--the voice trembled pitifully in spite of the effort +Truedale made to steady it--"kept silence--since she went; why? Oh! +youth is so ignorant, so cruel!" This was said more to himself than to +the girl by his knee upon whose bowed head his shrivelled hand +unconsciously rested. + +"First it was for father that I kept the secret. He seemed so stricken +after--after he was alone. And then--since I was trying to be to you +what mother wanted me to be--it did not seem greatly to matter. I wanted +to win my way. I always meant to tell you, and now, after these weeks of +misunderstanding, I felt you should know that there will always be a +reason for me, of all the world, to share your life." + +"I see! I see!" A great wave of emotion rose and rose, carrying the past +years of misery with it. The knowledge, once, might have saved him, but +now it had come too late. By and by he would be able to deal with this +staggering truth that had been so suddenly hurled upon him, but not now +while Katherine Kendall's daughter knelt at his side! + +"Lynda, I cannot talk to you about this. When you are older--when life +has done its best or its worst for you--you will understand better than +you do to-day; but remember this: what you have told me has cut deep, +but it has cut, by one stroke, the hardness and bitterness from my +heart. Remember this!" + +Then with a sudden reversion to his customary manner he said: + +"And now tell me about Morrell." + +Lynda started; the situation puzzled her. She had meant to +comfort--instead she seemed to have hurt and confused her old friend. + +"About John Morrell?" she murmured with a rising perplexity; "there +isn't much to tell." + +"I thought it was a long story, Lynda." + +"Somehow it doesn't seem long when you get close to it. But surely you +must see, Uncle William, that after--after father and mother--I would +naturally be a bit keener than most girls. It would never do for me to +marry the wrong man and, of course, a girl never really knows until--she +faces the situation at close quarters. I should never have engaged +myself to John Morrell--that was the real mistake; and it was only when +he felt sure of me--that I knew! Uncle William, I must have my own life, +and John--well, he meant to have his own and mine, too. I couldn't stand +it! I have struggled up and conquered little heights just as he +has--just as Con and Brace have; we've all scrambled up together. It +didn't seem quite fair that they should--well, fly their colours from +their peaks and that I should" (here Lynda laughed) "cuddle under John's +standard. I don't always believe in his standard; I don't approve of it. +Much as I like men, I don't think they are qualified to arrange, sort, +fix, and command the lives of women. If a woman thinks the abdication +justifies the gains, that's all right. If I had sold myself, +honourably, to John Morrell I would have kept to the agreement; I hate +and loathe women who don't! I'm not belittling the romance and +sentiment, Uncle William, but when all's told the usual marriage is a +bargain and half the women whine about holding to it--the others play up +and, if there is love enough, it pans out pretty well--but I couldn't! +You see I had lived with father and mother--felt the lack between +them--and I saw mother's eyes when she--let go and died! No! I mean to +have my own life!" + +"And you are going to forego a woman's heritage--home and children--for +such a whim? Your mother had recompenses; are you not afraid of +the--future?" + +"Not if I respect it and do not dishonour the present." + +"A lonely man or woman--an outcast from the ordinary--is a creature of +hell!" + +Lynda shook her head. + +"Go on!" Truedale commanded sternly. "Morrell is a good fellow. From my +prison I took care to find that out. Brace did me practical service when +he acted as sleuth before your engagement!" + +Lynda coloured and frowned. + +"I did not know about that," was all she said. + +"It doesn't matter--only I'm glad I can feel sorry for him and angry at +you. I never knew you could be a fool, Lynda." + +"I dare say we all can, if we put our minds to it--sometimes without. +Well! that's the whole story, Uncle William." + +"It's only the preface. See here, Lynda, did it ever strike you that a +woman like you doesn't come to such a conclusion as you have without an +experience--a contrast to go by?" + +"I--I do not know what you mean, Uncle William." + +"I think you do. I have no right to probe, but I have a right to--to +help you if I can. You've done much for your mother; can you deny me +the--the honour of doing something for her?" + +"There's nothing--to do." + +"Let us see! You're just a plain girl when all's said and done. You've +got a little more backbone and wit than some, but your heart's in the +same place as other women's and you're no different in the main. You +want the sane, right things just as they do--home, children, and +security from the things women dread. A man can give a woman a chance +for her best development; she ought to recognize that and--yes--appreciate +it." + +"Surely!" this came very softly from the lips screened now by two cold +shivering hands. "A woman does recognize it; she appreciates it, but +that does not exclude her from--choice." + +"One man--of course within limits and reason--is as good as another when +he loves a woman and makes her love him. You certainly thought you +loved Morrell. You had nothing to gain unless you did. You probably +earned as much as he." + +"That's true. All quite true." + +"Then something happened!" Truedale flung his half-smoked cigar in the +fire. "What was it, Lynda?" + +"There--was nothing--really--" + +"There was something. There was--Con!" + +"Oh! how--how can you?" Lynda started back. She meant to say "How dare +you?"--but the drawn and tortured face restrained her. + +"Because I must, Lynda. Because I must. You know I told you I had a +story? You must bear with me and listen. Sit down again and try to +remember--I am doing this for your mother! I repeat--there was Con. At +first you took up arms for him as Brace did; your sex instincts were not +awakened. You were all good fellows together until you drifted, +blindfolded, into the trap poor Morrell set for you. You thought I was +ill-treating Con--disregarding his best interests--starving his soul! +Oh! you poor little ignoramus; the boy never had a soul worth mentioning +until it got awakened, in self-defense, and grew its own limit. What did +you and Brace know of the past--the past that went into Con's making? +You were free enough with your young condemnation and misplaced +loyalty--but how about justice?" + +Lynda's eyes were fixed upon Truedale's face. She had never seen him in +this mood and, while he fascinated, he overawed her. + +"Why, girl, Con's father, my younger brother, was as talented as Con, +but he was a scamp. He had money enough to pave the way to his own +destruction. Until it was gone he spurned me--spurned even his own +genius. He married a woman as mad as himself and then--without a +qualm--tossed her aside to die. He had no sense of responsibility--no +shame. He had temperament--a damnable one--and he drifted on it to the +end. When it was all over, I brought Conning here. Just at that +time--well, it was soon after your mother married your father--this +creeping disease fell upon me. If it hadn't been for the boy I'd have +ended the whole thing then and there, but with the burden laid upon me I +couldn't slip out. It has been a kind of race ever since--this menace +mounting higher and higher and the making of Con keeping pace. I swore +that if he had talent it must prove itself against hardship, not in +luxury. I made life difficult in order to toughen and inspire. I never +meant to kill--you must do me that justice. Only you see, chained here, +I couldn't follow close enough, and Con had pride, thank God! and he +thought he had hate--but he hasn't or he'd have starved rather than +accept what I offered. In his heart he--well, let us say--respects me to +a certain extent. I saw him widening the space between himself and his +inheritance--and it has helped me live; you saw him making a man of +himself and it became more absorbing than the opportunity of annexing +yourself to a man already made. Oh, I have seen it all and it has helped +me in my plan." + +"Your--plan?" The question was a feeble attempt to grapple with a +situation growing too big and strong. "Your plan--what is your plan?" + +"Lynda, I have made my will! Sitting apart and looking on, the doing of +this has been the one great excitement of my life. Through the years I +have believed I was doing it alone; now I see your mother's guiding hand +has led me on; I want you to believe this as--I do!" + +"I--I will try, Uncle William." Lynda no longer struggled against that +which she could not understand. She felt it must have its way with her. + +"This house," Truedale was saying, "was meant for your mother. I left it +bare and ready for her taste and choice. After--I go, I want you to fit +it out for her--and me! You must do it at once." + +"No! No!" Lynda put up a protesting hand, but Truedale smiled her into +silence and went on: "I may let you begin to-morrow and not wait! You +must fill the bare corners--spare no expense. You and I will be quite +reckless; I want this place to be a--home at last." + +And now Lynda's eyes were shining--her rare tears blinded her. + +"You have always tried indirectly, Lynda, to secure Con's greatest good; +you have done it! I mean to leave him a legacy of three thousand a year. +That will enable him to let up on himself and develop the talent you +think he has. I have seen to it that the two faithful souls who have +served me here shall never know want. There will be money, and plenty of +it, for you to carry out my wishes regarding this house, +should--well--should anything happen to me! After these details are +attended to, my fortune, rather a cumbersome one, goes to--Dr. +McPherson, my old and valued friend!" + +Lynda started violently. + +"To--to Dr. McPherson?" she gasped, every desire for Conning up in arms. + +"There! there! do not get so excited, Lynda. It is only for--three +years. McPherson and I understand." + +"And then?" + +"It will go to Conning--if--" + +"If what?" Lynda was afraid now. + +"If he--marries you!" + +"Oh! this is beyond endurance! How could you be so cruel, Uncle +William?" The hot, passionate tears were burning the indignant face. + +"He will not know. The years will test and prove him." + +"But I shall know! If you thought best to do this thing, why have you +told me?" + +"There have been hours when I myself did not know why; I understand +to-night. Your mother led me!" + +"My mother could never have hurt me so. Never!" + +"You must trust--her and me, Lynda." + +"Suppose--oh! suppose--Con does not ... Oh! this is degrading!" + +"Then the fortune will--be yours. McPherson and I have worked this +out--most carefully." + +"Mine! Mine! Why"--and here Lynda flung her head back and laughed +relievedly--"I refuse absolutely to accept it!" + +"In that case it goes--to charities." + +A hush fell in the room. Baffled and angry, Lynda dared not trust +herself to speak and Truedale sank back wearily. Then came a rattle of +wheels in the quiet street--a toot of a taxi horn. + +"Thomas has not forgotten to provide for your home trip; but the man can +wait. The night is mild"--Truedale spoke gently--"and you and I are +rich." + +Lynda did not seem to hear. Her thoughts were rushing wildly over the +path set for her by her old friend's words. + +"Conning would not know!" she grasped and held to that; "he would be +able to act independently. At first it had seemed impossible. Her +knowledge could affect no one but herself! If"--and here Lynda breathed +faster--"if Conning should want her enough to ask her to share his life +that the three thousand dollars made possible, why then the happiness +of bringing his own to him would be hers!--hers!" + +Again the opposite side of the picture held her. "But suppose he did +_not_ want her--in that way? Then she, his friend--the one who, in all +the world, loved him the best--would profit by it; she would be a +wealthy woman, for her mother's sake or"--the alternative staggered +her--"she could let everything slip, everything and bear the +consequences!" + +At this point she turned to Truedale and asked pitifully again: + +"Oh! why, why did you do this?" + +There was no anger or rebellion in the words, but a pathos that caused +the old man to close his eyes against the pleading in the uplifted face. +It was the one thing he could not stand. + +"Time will prove, child; time will prove. I could not make you +understand; your mother might have--I could not. But time will show. +Time is a strange revealer. All my life I have been working in darkness +until--now! I should have trusted more--you must learn from me. + +"There, do not keep the man waiting longer. I wonder--do not do it +unless you want to, or think it right--but I wonder if you could kiss me +good-bye?" + +Lynda rose and, tear-blinded, bent over and kissed him--kissed him +twice, once for her mother!--and she felt that he understood. She had +never touched her lips to his before, and it seemed a strange ceremony. + +An hour later Truedale called for Thomas and was wheeled to his bedroom +and helped to bed. + +"Perhaps," he said to the man, "you had better put those drops on the +stand. If I cannot sleep--" Thomas smiled and obeyed. There had been a +time when he feared that small, dark bottle, but not now! He believed +too sincerely in his master's strength of character. Having the medicine +near might, by suggestion, help calm the restlessness, but it had never +been resorted to, so Thomas smiled as he turned away with a cheery: + +"Very well, sir; but there will be no need, I hope." + +"Good-night, Thomas. Raise the shade, please. It's a splendid night, +isn't it? If they should build on that rear lot I could not see the moon +so well. I may decide to buy that property." + +When Thomas had gone and he was alone at last, Truedale heaved a heavy +sigh. It seemed to relieve the restraint under which he had been +labouring for weeks. + +All his life the possibility of escape from his bondage had made the +bondage less unendurable. It was like knowing of a secret passage from +his prison house--an exit dark and attended by doubts and fears, but +nevertheless a sure passage to freedom. It had seemed, in the past, a +cowardly thing to avail himself of his knowledge--it was like going +with his debts unpaid. But now, in the bright, moonlit room it no +longer appeared so. He had finished his task, had ended the bungling, +and had heard a clear call ringing with commendation and approval. There +was nothing to hold him back! + +Over in the cabinet by the window were a photograph and a few letters; +Truedale turned toward them and wondered if Lynda, instead of his old +friend McPherson, would find them? He wished he had spoken--but after +all, he could not wait. He had definitely decided to take the journey! +But he spoke softly as if to a Presence: + +"And so--you played a part? Poor girl! how well--you played it! And +you--suffered--oh! my God--and I never did you the justice of +understanding. And you left your girl--to me--I have tried not to fail +you there, Katherine!" + +Then Truedale reached for the bottle. He took a swallow of the contents +and waited! Presently he took another and a thrill of exhilaration +stirred his sluggish blood. Weakly, gropingly, he stretched his benumbed +hand out again; he was well on his way now. The long journey was begun +in the moonlight and, strange to say, it did not grow dark, nor did he +seem to be alone. This surprised him vaguely, he had always expected it +would be so different! + +And by and by one face alone confronted him--it was brighter than the +moonlit way. It smiled understandingly--it, too, had faced the broad +highway--it could afford to smile. + +Once more the heavy, dead-cold hand moved toward the stand beside the +bed, but it fell nerveless ere it reached what it sought. + +The escape had been achieved! + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The days passed and, unfettered, Jim White remained in the deep woods. +After Nella-Rose's disturbing but thrilling advent, Truedale rebounded +sharply and, alone in his cabin, brought himself to terms. By a rigid +arraignment he relegated, or thought he had relegated, the whole matter +to the realm of things he should not have permitted, but which had done +no real harm. He brought out the heavy book on philosophy and +endeavoured to study. After a few hours he even resorted to the wet +towel, thinking that suggestion might assist him, but Nella-Rose +persistently and impishly got between his eyes and the pages and flouted +philosophy by the magic of her superstition and bewitching charm. + +Then Truedale attacked his play, viciously, commandingly. This was more +successful. He reconstructed his plot somewhat--he let Nella-Rose in! +Curbed and somewhat re-modelled, she materialized and, while he dealt +strictly with her, writing was possible. + +So the first day and night passed. On the second day Truedale's new +strength demanded exercise and recreation. He couldn't be expected to +lock himself in until White returned to chaperone him. After all, there +was no need of being a fool. So he packed a gunny sack with food and a +book or two, and sallied forth, after providing generously for the live +stock and calling the dogs after him. + +But Truedale was unaware of what was going on about him. Pine Cone +Settlement had, since the trap episode, been tense and waiting. Not many +things occurred in the mountains and when they did they were made the +most of. With significant silence the friends and foes of Burke Lawson +were holding themselves in check until he returned to his old haunts; +then there would be considerable shooting--not necessarily fatal, a +midnight raid or two, a general rumpus, and eventually, a truce. + +All this Jim White knew, and it was the propelling factor that had sent +him to the deep woods. His sentiments conflicted with duty. Guilty as +Lawson was, the sheriff liked him better than he did Martin and he +meant, should he come across Burke in "the sticks," to take him off for +a bear hunt and some good advice. Thus he would justify his conscience +and legal duties. But White, strange to say, was as ignorant as Truedale +was of an element that had entered into conditions. It had never +occurred to Jim to announce or explain his visitor's arrival. To Pine +Cone a "furriner" aroused at best but a superficial interest and, since +Truedale had arrived, unseen, at night, why mention him to a community +that could not possibly have anything in common with him? So it was +that Greyson and a few others, noting Truedale at a distance and losing +sight of him at once, concluded that he was Burke, back and in hiding; +and a growing but stealthy excitement was in the air. He was supposed by +both factions to be with the sheriff, and feeling ran high. In the final +estimate, could White have known it, he himself held no small part! + +Beloved and hated, Lawson divided the community for and against himself +about equally. There were those who defended and swore they would kill +any who harmed the young outlaw--he was of the jovial, dare-devil type +and as loyal to his friends as he was unyielding to his foes. Others +declared that the desperado must be "finished"; the trap disagreement +was but the last of a long list of crimes; it was time to put a quietus +on one who refused to fall into line--who called the sheriff his friend +and had been known to hobnob with revenue men! That, perhaps, was the +blackest deed to be attributed to any native. + +So all Pine Cone was on the war path and Truedale, heedless and unaware, +took his air and exercise at his peril. + +The men of the hills had a clear case now, since Peter Greyson had given +his evidence, which, by the way, became more conclusive hour by hour as +imagination, intoxication, and the delight of finding himself important, +grew upon Greyson. + +"Jim told me," Peter had confided to Jed Martin, "that he was going to +get a posse from way-back and round Lawson up." + +This was wholly false. White never took any one into his business +secrets, least of all Greyson for whom he had deep contempt. "But I +don't call that clean to us-all, Jed. We don't want strangers to catch +Burke; we don't want them to--to string him up or shoot him full of +holes; what we-all want is to force White to hand him over to justice, +give him a fair trial, and then send him to one of them prison traps to +eat his soul out behind bars. Jed--just you shut your eyes and _see_ +Burke Lawson behind bars--eating sop from a pan, drinking prison +water--just you call that picture up." + +Jed endeavoured to do so and it grew upon his imagination. + +"We-all wants to trail him," Greyson continued, "we don't want to give +him a free passage to Kingdom-Come by rope or shot--we-all want prison +for Lawson, prison!" + +As Jed was the one most concerned, this edict went abroad by mountain +wireless. + +"Catch him alive!" Friend and foe were alert. + +"And when all's fixed and done--when Burke's trapped," Greyson said, +"what you going to do--for me, Jed?" + +This was a startling, new development. + +"I didn't reckon yo' war doin' this--fur pay!" Jed faltered. Then +Greyson came forth: + +"No pay, Jed. Gawd knows I do my duty as I see it. But being keen about +duty, I see more than one duty. When you catch and cage Lawson, Jed, I +want to be something closer to you than a friend." + +"Closer than--" Jed gasped. + +"And duty drives me to confess to you, Jed, that the happiness of a lady +is at stake." + +Jed merely gaped now. Visions of Nella-Rose made him giddy and +speechless. + +"The day you put Lawson in jail, Jed, that day I'll give you the hand of +my daughter. She loves you; she has confessed! You shall come here and +share--everything! The hour that Burke is convicted--Marg is yours!" + +"Marg!" The word came on a gasp. + +"Not a word!" Greyson waved his hand in a princely way--this gesture was +an heirloom from his ancestry. "I understand your feelings--I've seen +what has been going on--but naturally I want my daughter to marry one +worthy of her. You shall have my Marg when you have proven yourself! +I've misjudged you, Jed, but this will wipe away old scores." + +With a sickening sense of being absorbed, Jed sank into black silence. +If Marg wanted him and old Greyson was helping her, there was no hope! +Blood and desire would conquer every time; every mountaineer recognized +that! + +And so things were seething under a surface of deadly calm, when +Truedale, believing that he had himself well in control, packed his +gunny sack and started forth for a long tramp. He had no particular +destination in mind--in fact, the soft, dreamy autumn day lulled him to +mental inertia--he simply went along, but he went as directly toward the +rhododendron slick as though he had long planned his actions. However, +it was late afternoon before he came upon Nella-Rose. + +On the instant he realized that he had been searching for her all day. +His stern standards crumbled and became dry dust. One might as well +apply standards to flickering sunlight or to swirling trifles of +mountain mist as to Nella-Rose. She came upon him gaily; the dogs had +discovered her on one of their ventures and were now quietly +accompanying her. + +"I--I've been looking for you--all day!" Truedale admitted, with truth +but indiscretion. And then he noted, as he had before, the strange +impression the girl gave of having been blown upon the scene. The +pretty, soft hair resting on the cheek in a bewildering curve; the +large, dreamy eyes and black lashes; the close clinging of her shabby +costume, as if wrapped about her slim body by the playful gale that had +wafted her along; all held part in the illusion. + +"I had to--to lead Marg to Devil-may-come Hollow. She's hunting there +now!" Nella-Rose's white teeth showed in a mischievous smile. "We're +right safe with Marg down there, scurrying around. Come, I know a sunny +place--I want to tell you about Marg." + +Her childish appropriation of him completed Truedale's surrender. The +absolute lack of self-consciousness drove the last remnant of caution +away. They found the sunny spot--it was like a dimple in a hill that had +caught the warmth and brightness and held them always to the exclusion +of shadows. It almost seemed that night could never conquer the nook. + +And while they rested there, Nella-Rose told him of the belief of the +natives that he was the refugee Lawson. + +"And Marg would give you up like--er--this" (Nella-Rose puffed an +imaginary trifle away with her pretty pursed lips). "She trailed after +me all day--she lost me in a place where hiding's good--and there I left +her! She'll tell Jed Martin this evening when she gets back. Marg is +scenting Burke for Jed and his kind to catch--that's her way and Jed's!" +Stinging contempt rang in the girl's voice. + +"But not your way I bet, Nella-Rose." The fun, not the danger, of the +situation struck Truedale. + +"No!--I'd do it all myself! I'd either warn him and have done with it, +or I'd stand by him." + +"I'm not sure that I like the misunderstanding about me," Truedale half +playfully remarked, "they may shoot me in the back before they find +out." + +"Do you" (and here Nella-Rose's face fell into serious, dangerously +sweet, lines), "do you reckon I would leave you to them-all if there was +that danger? They don't aim to shoot or string Burke up; they reckon +they'll take him alive and--get him locked up in jail to--to--" + +"What, Nella-Rose?" + +"Die of longing!" + +"Is that what would happen to Burke Lawson?" + +The girl nodded. Then the entrancing mischief returned to her eyes and +she became a child once more--a creature so infinitely young that +Truedale seemed grandfatherly by comparison. + +"Can't you see how mighty funny it will be to lead them and let them +follow on and then some day--they'll plump right up on you and find out! +Godda'mighty!" + +Irresponsible mirth swayed the girl to and fro. She laughed, silently, +until the tears stood in the clear eyes. Truedale caught the spirit of +her mood and laughed with her. The picture she portrayed of setting +jealousy, malice, and stupidity upon the wrong trail was very funny, but +suddenly he paused and said seriously: + +"But in the meantime this Burke Lawson may return; you may be the death +of him with your pranks." + +Nella-Rose shook her head. "I would know!" she declared confidently. "I +know everything that's going on in the hills. Burke would let me +know--first!" + +"It's like melodrama," Truedale murmured half to himself. By some trick +of fancy he seemed to be looking on as Brace Kendall might have. The +thought brought him to bay. What would good old Brace do in the present +situation? + +"What is melodrama?" Nella-Rose never let a new word or suggestion +escape her. She was as keen as she was dramatic and mischievous. + +"It would be hard to make you understand--but see here"--Truedale drew +the gunny sack to him--"I bet you're hungry!" He deliberately put Brace +from his thoughts. + +"I reckon I am." The lovely eyes were fixed upon the hand that was +bringing forth the choicest morsels of the food prepared early that +morning. As he laid the little feast before her, Truedale acknowledged +that, in a vague way, he had been saving the morsels for Nella-Rose even +while he had fed, earlier, upon coarser fare. + +"I don't know about giving you a chicken wing!" he said playfully. "You +look as if you were about to fly away as it is--but unfortunately I've +eaten both legs!" + +"Oh! please"--Nella-Rose reached across the narrow space separating +them, she was pleading prettily--"I just naturally admire wings!" + +"I bet you do! Well, eat plenty of bread with them. And see here, +Nella-Rose, while you are eating I'm going to read a story to you. It is +the sort of thing that we call melodrama." + +"Oh!" This through the dainty nibbling of the coveted wing. "I'm right +fond of stories." + +"Keep quiet now!" commanded Truedale and he began the spirited tale of +love and high adventure that, like the tidbits, he knew he had brought +for Nella-Rose! + +The warm autumn sun fell upon them for a full hour, then it shifted and +the chill of the approaching evening warned the reader of the flight of +time. He stopped suddenly to find that his companion had long since +forgotten her hunger and food. Across the debris she bent, absorbed and +tense. Her hands were clasped close--cold, little hands they were--and +her big eyes were strained and wonder-filled. + +"Is that--all?" she asked, hoarsely. + +"Why, no, child, there's more." + +"Go on!" + +"It's too late! We must get back." + +"I--I must know the rest! Why, don't you see, you know how it turns out; +I don't!" + +"Shall I tell you?" + +"No, no. I want it here with the warm sun and the pines and +your--yourself making it real." + +"I do not understand, Nella-Rose!" But as he spoke Truedale began to +understand and it gave him an uneasy moment. He knew what he ought to +do, but knew that he was not going to do it! "We'll have to come again +and hear the rest," was what he said. + +"Yes? Why"--and here the shadowy eyes took on the woman-look, the look +that warned and lured the man near her--"I did not know it ever came +like that--really." + +"What, Nella-Rose?" + +"Why--love. They-all knew it--and took it. It was just like it was +something all by itself. That's not the sort us-all have. Does it only +come that--er--way in mel--melerdrammer?" + +"No, little girl. It comes that way in real life when hearts are big +enough and strong enough to bear it." Truedale watched the effect of his +words upon the strange, young face before him. They forced their way +through her ignorance and untrained yearning for love and admiration. It +was a perilous moment, for conscience, on Truedale's part, seemed +drugged and sleeping and Nella-Rose was awakening to that which she had +never known before. Gone, for her, were caprice and mischief; she seemed +about to see and hear some wonderful thing that eluded but called her +on. + +And after that first day they met often. "Happened upon each other" was +the way Truedale put it. It seemed very natural. The picturesque spots +appealed to them both. There was reading, too--carefully selected bits. +It was intensely interesting to lead the untrained mind into bewildering +mazes--to watch surprise, wonder, and perplexity merge into +understanding and enjoyment. Truedale experienced the satisfaction of +seeing that, for the first time in his life, he was a great power. The +thought set his brain whirling a bit, but it made him seriously humble +as well. + +Gradually his doubts and introspections became more definite; he lived +day by day, hour by hour; while Jim White tarried, Nella-Rose remained; +and the past--Truedale's past--faded almost from sight. He could hardly +realize, when thinking of it afterward, where and how he decided to cut +loose from his past, and all it meant, and accept a future almost +ludicrously different from anything he had contemplated. + +One day a reference to Burke Lawson was made and, instead of letting it +pass as heretofore, he asked suddenly of Nella-Rose: + +"What is he to you?" + +The girl flushed and turned away. + +"Burke?--oh, Burke isn't--anything--now!" + +"Was he ever--anything?" + +"I reckon he wasn't; I _know_ he wasn't!" + +Then, like a flash, Truedale believed he understood what had happened. +This simple girl meant more to him than anything else--more than the +past and what it held! A baser man would not have been greatly disturbed +by this knowledge; a man with more experience and background would have +understood it and known that it was a phase that must be dealt with +sternly and uncompromisingly, but that it was merely a phase and as such +bound to pass. Not so Truedale. He was stirred to the roots of his +being; every experience was to him a concrete fact and, consequently, +momentous. In order to keep pure the emotions that overpowered him at +times, he must renounce all that separated him from Nella-Rose and +reconstruct his life; or--he must let _her_ go! + +Once Truedale began to reason this out, once he saw Nella-Rose's +dependence upon him--her trust and happiness--he capitulated and +permitted his imagination to picture and colour the time on ahead. He +refused to turn a backward glance. + +Of course all this was not achieved without struggle and foreboding; but +he saw no way to hold what once was dear, without dishonour to that +which now was dearer; and he--let go! + +This determined, he strenuously began to prepare himself for the change. +Day by day he watched Nella-Rose with new and far-seeing interest--not +always with love and passion-blinded eyes. He felt that she could, with +his devotion and training, develop into a rarely sweet and fine woman. +He was not always a fool in his madness; at times he was wonderfully +clear-sighted. He meant to return home, when once his health was +restored, and take the Kendalls into his confidence; but the thought of +Lynda gave him a bad moment now and then. He could not easily depose her +from the most sacred memories of his life, but gradually he grew to +believe that her relations to him were--had always been--platonic; and +that she, in the new scheme, would play no small part in his life and +Nella-Rose's. + +There would be years of self-denial and labour and then, by and by, +success would be achieved. He would take his finished work, and in this +he included Nella-Rose, back to his old haunts and prove his wisdom and +good fortune. In short, Truedale was love-mad--ready to fling everything +to the ruthless winds of passion. He blindly called things by wrong +names and steered straight for the rocks. + +He meant well, as God knew; indeed all the religious elements, hitherto +unsuspected in him, came to the fore now. Conventions were absurd when +applied to present conditions, but, once having accepted the inevitable, +the way was divinely radiant. He meant to pay the price for what he +yearned after. He had no other intention. + +Now that he was resigned to letting the past go, he could afford to +revel in the joys of the present with a glad sense of responsibility for +the future. + +Presently his course seemed so natural that he wondered he had ever +questioned it. More and more men with a vision--and Truedale devoutly +believed he had the vision--were recognizing the absurdity of old +ideals. + +Back to the soil meant more than the physical; it meant back to the +primitive, the simple, the real. The artificial exactions of society +must be spurned if a new and higher morality were to be established. + +If Truedale in this state of mind had once seen the actual danger, all +might have been well; but he had swung out of his orbit. + +At this juncture Nella-Rose was puzzling her family to the extent of +keeping her father phenomenally sober and driving Marg to the verge of +nerve exhaustion. + +The girl had, to put it in Greyson's words, "grown up over night." She +was dazzling and recalled a past that struck deep in the father's heart. + +There had been a time when Peter Greyson, a mere boy, to be sure--and +before the cruel war had wrecked the fortunes of his family--had been +surrounded by such women as Nella-Rose now suggested. Women with dancing +eyes and soft, white hands. Women born and bred for love and homage, who +demanded their privileges with charm and beauty. There had been one +fascinating woman, a great-aunt of Nella-Rose's, who had imperilled the +family honour by taking her heritage of worship with a high hand. +Disregarding the rights of another, she boldly rode off with the man of +her choice and left the reconstruction of her reputation to her kith and +kin who roused instantly to action and lied, like ladies and gentlemen, +when truth was impossible. Eventually they so toned down and polished +the deed of the little social highwaywoman as to pass her on in the +family history with an escutcheon shadowed only, rather than smirched. + +Nella-Rose, now that her father considered, was dangerously like her +picturesque ancestress! The thought kept Peter from the still, back in +the woods, for many a day. He, poor down-at-heel fellow, was as ready as +any man of his line to protect women, especially his own, but he was +sorely perplexed now. + +Was it Burke Lawson who, from his hiding place, was throwing a glamour +over Nella-Rose? + +Then Peter grew ugly. The protection of women was one thing; ridding the +community of an outlaw was another. Men knew how to deal with such +matters and Greyson believed himself to be very much of a man. + +"Nella-Rose," he said one day as he smoked reflectively and listened to +his younger daughter singing a camp meeting hymn in a peculiarly sweet +little voice, "when my ship comes in, honey, I'm going to buy you a +harp. A gold one." + +"I'd rather have a pink frock, father, and a real hat; I just naturally +hate sunbonnets! I'd favour a feather on my hat--flowers fade right +easy." + +"But harps is mighty elegant, Nella-Rose. Time was when your--aunts +and--and grandmothers took to harps like they was their daily +nourishment. Don't you ever forget that, Nella-Rose. Harps in families +mean _blood_, and blood don't run out if you're careful of it." + +Nella-Rose laughed, but Marg, in the wash-house beyond, listened +and--hated! + +No one connected _her_ with harps or blood, but she held, in her sullen +heart and soul, the true elements of all that had gone into the making +of the best Greysons. And as the winter advanced, Marg, worn in mind and +body, was brought face to face with stern reality. Autumn was +gone--though the languorous hours belied it. She must prepare. So she +gathered her forces--her garden products that could be exchanged for +necessities; the pork; the wool; all, all that could be spared, she must +set in circulation. So she counted three dozen eggs and weighed ten +pounds of pork and called Nella-Rose, who was driving her mad by singing +and romping outside the kitchen door. + +"You--Nella-Rose!" she called, "are you plumb crazy?" + +Nella-Rose became demure at once and presented herself at the door. + +"Do I look it?" she said, turning her wonderful little face up for +inspection. Something in the words and in the appealing beauty made Marg +quiver. Had happiness and justice been meted out to Marg Greyson she +would have been the tenderest of sisters to Nella-Rose. Several years +lay between them; the younger girl was encroaching upon the diminishing +rights of the older. The struggle between them was as old as life +itself, but it could not kill utterly what should have existed ardently. + +"You got to tote these things"--Marg held forth the basket--"down to the +Centre for trade, and you can fetch back the lil' things like pepper, +salt, and sugar. Tell Cal Merrivale to fetch the rest and bargain for +what I've got ready here, when he drives by. If you start now you can be +back by sundown." + +To Marg's surprise, Nella-Rose offered no protest to the seven-mile +walk, nor to the heavy load. She promptly pulled her sunbonnet to the +proper angle on her head and gripped the basket. + +"Ain't you goin' to eat first?" asked Marg. + +"No. Put in a bite; I'll eat it by the way." + +As the Centre was in the opposite direction from the Hollow, as seven +miles going and seven miles coming would subdue the spirits and energy +even of Nella-Rose, Marg was perplexed. However, she prepared food, +tucked it in the basket, and even went so far as to pin her sister's +shawl closely under her chin. Then she watched the slim, straight figure +depart--still puzzled but at peace for the day, at least. + +Nella-Rose, however, was plotting an attack upon Truedale quite out of +the common. By unspoken consent he and she had agreed that their +meetings should be in the open. Jim White might return at anytime and +neither of them wanted at first to include him in the bewildering drama +of their lives. For different reasons they knew that Jim's cold +understanding of duty would shatter the sacred security that was all +theirs. Truedale meant to confide everything to White upon his +return--meant to rely upon him in the reconstruction of his life; but he +knew nothing could be so fatal to the future as any conflict at the +present with the sheriff's strict ideas of conduct. As for Nella-Rose, +she had reason to fear White's power as woman-hater and upholder of law +and order. She simply eliminated Jim and, in order to do this, she must +keep him in the dark. + +Early that morning she had looked, as she did every day, from the hill +behind the house and she had seen but one thin curl of smoke from the +clearing! If White had not returned the night before the chances were +that he would make another day of it! Nella-Rose often wondered why +others did not note the tell-tale smoke--a clue which often played a +vital part in the news of the hills. Only because thoughts were focussed +on the Hollow and on White's absence, was Truedale secure in his +privacy. + +"I'll hurry mighty fast to the Centre," Nella-Rose concluded, after +escaping from Marg's disturbed gaze, "then I'll hide the things by the +big road and I'll--go to his cabin. I'll--I'll surprise him!" + +Truedale had told her the day before, in a moment of caution, that he +would have to work hard for a time in order to make ready for White's +return. The fact was he had now got to that point in his story when he +longed for Jim as he might have longed for safety on a troubled sea. +With Jim back and fully informed--everything on ahead would be safe. + +"I'll surprise him!" murmured Nella-Rose, with the dimples in full play +at the corners of her mouth; "old Jim White can't keep me away. I'll +watch out--it's just for a minute; I'll be back by sundown; it will be +only to say 'how-de?'" + +Something argued with the girl as she ran on--something quite new and +uncontrolled. Heretofore no law but that of the wilds had entered into +her calculations. To get what she could of happiness and life--to make +as little fuss as possible--that had been her code; but now, the same +restraint that had held Marg from going to the Hollow awhile back, when +she thought that, with night, Burke Lawson might disclose his +whereabouts, held Nella-Rose! So insistent was the rising argument that +it angered the girl. "Why? Why?" her longings and desires cried. +"Because! Because!" was the stern response, and the _woman_ in +Nella-Rose thrilled and throbbed and trembled, while the girlish spirit +pleaded for the excitement of joy and sweetness that was making the +grim stretches of her narrow existence radiant and full of meaning. + +On she went doggedly. The dimples disappeared; the mouth fell into the +pathetic, drooping lines that by and by, unless something saved +Nella-Rose, would become permanent and mark her as a hill-woman--one to +whom soul visions were denied. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Wisdom had all but conquered Nella-Rose's folly when she came in sight +of Calvin Merrivale's store. But--who knows?--perhaps the girl's story +had been written long since, and she was not entirely free. Be that as +it may, she paused, for no reason whatever as far as she could tell, and +carefully took one dozen eggs from the basket and hid them under some +bushes by the road! Having done this she went forward so blithely and +lightly that one might have thought her load had been considerably +eased. She appeared before Calvin Merrivale, presently, like a +refreshing apparition from vacancy. It was high noon and Merrivale was +dozing in a chair by the rusty stove, in which a fire, prepared against +the evening chill, was already burning. + +"How-de, Mister Merrivale?" Calvin sprang to his feet. + +"If it ain't lil' Nella-Rose. How'se you-all?" + +"Right smart. I've brought you three dozen eggs and ten pounds of pork." +Nella-Rose almost said po'k--not quite! "And you must be mighty generous +with me when you weigh out--let me see!--oh, yes, pepper, salt, and +sugar." + +"I'll lay a siftin' more in the scale, Nella-Rose, on 'count o' yo' +enjoyin' ways. But I can't make this out"--he was counting the +eggs--"yo' said three dozen aigs?" + +"Three dozen, and ten pounds of pork!" This very firmly. + +Merrivale counted again and as he did so Nella-Rose remembered! The red +came to her face--the tears to her ashamed eyes. + +"Stop!" she said softly, going close to the old man. "I forgot. I took +one dozen out!" + +Merrivale stood and looked at her and then, what he thought was +understanding, came to his assistance. + +"Who fo', Nella-Rose, who fo'?" + +There was no reply to this. + +"Yo' needn't be afraid to open yo' mind ter me, Nella-Rose. Keeping sto' +is a mighty help in gettin' an all-around knowin' o' things. Folks jest +naterally come here an' talk an' jest naterally I listen, an' 'twixt Jim +White, the sheriff, an' old Merrivale, there ain't much choosin', +jedgmatically speakin'. I know White's off an' plannin' ter round up +Burke Lawson from behind, as it war. T'warnt so in my day, lil' +Nella-Rose. When we-uns had a reckonin comin', we naterally went out an' +shot our man; but these torn-down scoundrels like Jed Martin an' his +kind they trap 'em an' send 'em to worse'n hell. Las' night"--and here +Merrivale bent close to Nella-Rose--"my hen coop was 'tarnally gone +through, an' a bag o' taters lifted. I ain't makin' no cry-out. I ain't +forgot the year o' the fever an'--an'--well, yo' know who--took care o' +me day an' night till I saw faces an' knew 'em! What's a matter o' a hen +o' two an' a sack o' taters when lined up agin that fever spell? I tell +yo', Nella-Rose, if _yo'_ say thar war three dozen aigs, thar _war_ +three dozen aigs, an' we'll bargain accordin'!" + +And now the dimples came slowly to the relieved face. + +"I'll--I'll bring you an extra dozen right soon, Mister Merrivale." + +"I ain't a-goin' ter flex my soul 'bout that, Nella-Rose. Aigs is aigs, +but human nater is human nater; an' keepin' a store widens yo' stretch +o' vision. Now, watch out, lil' girl, an' don't take too much fo' +granted. When a gun goes off yo' hear it; but when skunks trail, yo' +don't get no sign, 'less it's a smell!" + +Nella-Rose took her packages, smiled her thanks, and ran on. She ate her +lunch by the bushes where the eggs lay hidden, then depositing in the +safe shelter the home bundles Merrivale had so generously weighed, she +put the eggs in the basket, packed with autumn leaves, and turned into +the trail leading away from the big road. + +Through the bare trees the clear sky shone like a shield of blue-gray +metal. It was a sky open for storm to come and pass unchecked. The very +stillness and calm were warnings of approaching disturbance. Nature was +listening and waiting for the breaking up of autumn and the clutch of +frost. + +It was only two miles from the Centre to White's clearing and the +afternoon was young when Nella-Rose paused at the foot of the last climb +and took breath and courage. There was a tangled mass of rhododendrons +by the edge of the wood and suddenly the girl's eyes became fixed upon +it and her heart beat wildly. Something alive was crouching there, +though none but a trained sense could have detected it! They waited--the +hidden creature and the quivering girl! Then a pair of eager, suspicious +eyes shone between the dead leaves of the bushes; next a dark, thin face +peered forth--it was Burke Lawson's! Nella-Rose clutched her basket +closer--that was all. After a moment she spoke softly, but clearly: + +"I'm alone. You're safe. How long have you been back?" + +"Mor'n two weeks!" + +Nella-Rose started. So they had known all along, and while she had +played with Marg the hunt might at any moment have become deadly +earnest. + +"More'n two weeks," Lawson repeated. + +"Where?" The girl's voice was hard and cold. + +"In the Holler. Miss Lois Ann helped--but Lord! you can't eat a helpless +old woman out of house and home. Last night--" + +"Yes, yes; I know. And oh, Burke, Mister Merrivale hasn't forgot--the +fever and your goodness. He won't give you up." + +"He won't need to. I'm right safe, 'cept for food. There's an old hole, +back of a deserted still--I can even have a bit of fire. The devil +himself couldn't find me. After a time I'm going--" + +"Where? Where, Burke?" + +"Nella-Rose, would you come with me? 'Twas you as brought me back--I had +to come. If you will--oh! my doney-gal--" + +"Stop! stop, Burke. Some one might be near. No, no; I couldn't leave the +hills--I'd die from the longing, you know that!" + +"If I--dared them all--could you take me, Nella-Rose? I'd run my chances +with you! Night and day you tug and pull at the heart o' me, +Nella-Rose." + +Fear, and a deeper understanding, drove Nella-Rose to the wrong course. + +"When you dare to come out--when they-all let you stay out--then ask me +again, Burke Lawson. I'm not going to sweetheart with one who dare not +show his head." + +Her one desire was to get Lawson away; she must be free! + +"Nella-Rose, I'll come out o' this." + +"No! no!" the girl gasped, "they're not after you to shoot you, Burke; +Jed Martin is for putting you in jail!" + +"Good God--the sneaking coward." + +"And Jim White is off raising a posse, he means to--to see fair play. +Wait until Jim comes back; then give yourself up." + +"And then--then, Nella-Rose?" + +The young, keen face among the dead leaves glowed with a light that sent +the blood from Nella-Rose's heart. + +"See"--she said inconsequently--"I have" (she counted them out), "I have +a dozen eggs; give them to Miss Lois Ann!" + +"Let me touch you, Nella-Rose! Just let me touch your lil' hand." + +"Wait until Jim White comes back!" + +Then, because a rabbit scurried from its shelter, Burke Lawson sank into +his, and Nella-Rose in mad haste took to the trail and was gone! A +moment later Lawson peered out again and tried to decide which way she +went, but his wits were confused--so he laughed that easy, fearless +laugh of his and put in his hat the eggs Nella-Rose had left. Then, +crawling and edging along, he retraced his steps to that hole in the +Hollow where he knew he was as safe as if he were in his grave. + +With distance and reassurance on her side, Nella-Rose paused to take +breath. She had been thoroughly frightened. Her beautiful plans, +unsuspected by all the world, had been threatened by an unlooked-for +danger. She had never contemplated Burke Lawson as a complication. She +was living day by day, hour by hour. Jim White she had accepted as a +menace--but Burke never! She was no longer the girl Lawson had known, +but how could she hope to make him understand that? Her tender, +love-seeking nature had, in the past, accepted the best the mountains +offered--and Burke had been the best. She had played with him--teased +Marg with him--revelled in the excitement, but _now_? Well, the +blindness had been torn from her eyes--the shackles from her feet. No +one, nothing, could hold her from her own! She must not be defrauded and +imprisoned again! + +Yes, that was it--imprisoned just when she had learned to use her wings! + +Standing in the tangle of undergrowth, Nella-Rose clenched her small +hands and raised wide eyes to the skies. + +"I seem," she panted--and at that moment all her untamed mysticism +swayed her--"like I was going along the tracks in the dark and something +is coming--something like that train long ago!" + +Then she closed her eyes and her uplifted face softened and quivered. +Behind the drooping lids she saw--Truedale! Quite vividly he +materialized to her excited fancy. It was the first time she had ever +been able to command him in this fashion. + +"I'm going to him!" The words were like a passionate prayer rather than +an affirmation. "I'm going to follow like I followed long ago!" She +clutched the basket and fled along. + +And while this was happening, Truedale, in his cabin, was working as he +had not worked in years. He had burned all his bridges and outlying +outposts; he was waiting for White, and his plans were completed. He +meant to confide everything to his only friend--for such Jim seemed in +the hazy and desolated present--then he would marry Nella-Rose off-hand; +there must be a minister somewhere! After that? Well, after that +Truedale grasped his manuscript and fell to work like one inspired. + +Lynda Kendall would never have known the play in its present form. +Truedale's ideal had always been to portray a free woman--a super-woman; +one who had evolved into the freedom from shattered chains. He now had a +heroine free, in that she had never been enslaved. If one greater than +he had put a soul in a statue, Truedale believed that he could awaken a +child of nature and show her her own beautiful soul. He had outlined, a +time back, a sylvan Galatea; and now, as he sat in the still room, the +framework assumed form and substance; it breathed and moved him +divinely. It and he were alone in the universe; they were to begin the +world--he and-- + +Just then the advance messenger of the coming change of weather entered +by way of a lowered window. It was a smart little breeze and it +flippantly sent the ashes flying on the hearth and several sheets of +paper broadcast in the room. Truedale sprang to recover his treasures; +he caught four or five, but one escaped his notice and floated toward +the door, which was ajar. + +"Whew!" he ejaculated, "that was a narrow escape," and he began to sort +and arrange the sheets on the table. + +"Sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two. Now where in thunder is that sixty-three?" + +A light touch on his arm made him spring to his feet, every nerve +a-tingle. + +"Here it is! It seemed like it came to meet me." + +"Nella-Rose!" + +The girl nodded, holding out the paper. + +"So you have come? Why--did you?" + +The dimples came into play and Truedale stood watching them while many +emotions flayed him; but gradually his weakness passed and he was able +to assume an extremely stern though kindly manner. He meant to set the +child right; he meant to see _only_ the _child_ in her until White +returned; he would ignore the perilously sweet woman-appeal to his +senses until such time as he could, with safety, let them once more hold +part in their relations with each other. + +But even as he arrived at this wise conclusion, he was noting, as often +before he had noted, the fascinating colour and quality of Nella-Rose's +hair. It was both dark and light. If smoke were filled with sunlight it +would be something like the mass of more or less loosened tendrils that +crowned the girl's pretty head. Stern resolve began to melt before the +girlish sweetness and audacity, but Truedale made one last struggle; he +thought of staunch and true Brace Kendall! And, be it to Brace Kendall's +credit, the course Conning endeavoured to take was a wise one. + +"See here, Nella-Rose, you ought not to come here--alone!" + +"Why? Aren't you glad to see me?" + +"Of course. But why did you come?" This was risky. Truedale recognized +it at once. + +"Just to say--'how-de'! You certainly do look scroogy." + +At this Truedale laughed. Nella-Rose's capacity for bringing forth his +happier, merrier nature was one of her endearing charms. + +"You didn't come just for that, Nella-Rose!" This with stern +disapproval. + +"Take off the scroogy face--then I'll tell you why I came." + +"Very well!" Truedale smiled weakly. "Why?" + +"I'm right hungry. I--I want a party." + +Of course this would never do. White, or one of the blood-and-thunder +raiders, might appear. + +"You must go, Nella-Rose." + +"Not"--here she sat down firmly and undid her ridiculous plaid +shawl--"not till you give me a bite. Just a mighty little bite--I'm +starving!" + +At this Truedale roared with laughter and went hurriedly to his closet. +The girl must eat and--_go_. Mechanically he set about placing food upon +the table. Then he sat opposite Nella-Rose while she ate with frank +enjoyment the remains of his own noon-day meal. He could not but note, +as he often did, the daintiness with which she accomplished the task. +Other women, as Truedale remembered, were not prepossessing when +attacking food; but this girl made a gracious little ceremony of the +affair. She placed the small dishes in orderly array before her; she +poised herself lightly on the edge of the chair and nibbled--there was +no other word for it--as a perky little chipmunk might, the morsels she +raised gracefully to her mouth. She was genuinely hungry and for a few +minutes devoted her attention to the matter in hand. + +Then, suddenly, Nella-Rose did something that shattered the last scrap +of self-control that was associated with the trusty Kendall and his good +example. She raised a bit of food on her fork and held it out to +Truedale, her lovely eyes looking wistfully into his. + +"Please! I feel so ornery eating alone. I want to--share! Please play +party with me!" + +Truedale tried to say "I had my dinner an hour ago"; instead, he leaned +across his folded arms and murmured, as if quite outside his own +volition: + +"I--I love you!" + +Nella-Rose dropped the fork and leaned back. Her lids fell over the wide +eyes--the smile faded from her lips. + +"Do you belong to any one--else, Nella-Rose?" + +"No--oh! no." This like a frightened cry. + +"But others--some one must have told you--of love. Do you know what love +means?" + +"Yes." + +"How?" + +And now she looked at him. Her eyes were dark, her face deadly pale; her +lips were so red that in the whiteness they seemed the only trace of +colour. + +"How do I know? Why because--nothing else matters. It seems like I've +been coming all my life to it--and now it just says: 'Here I am, +Nella-Rose--here'!" + +"I, too, have been coming to it all my life, little girl. I did not +know--I was driven. I rebelled, because I did not know; but nothing else +_does_ matter, when--love gets you!" + +"No. Nothing matters." The girl's voice was rapt and dreamy. Truedale +put his hands across the space dividing them and took hold of hers. + +"You will be--mine, Nella-Rose?" + +"Seems like I must be!" + +"Yes. Doesn't it? Do you--you must understand, dear? I mean to live the +rest of my life here in the hills--your hills. You once said one was of +the hills or one wasn't; will they let me stay?" + +"Yes"--almost fiercely--"but--but your folks--off there--will they let +you stay?" + +"I have no folks, Nella-Rose. I'm lonely and poor--at least I was until +I found you! The hills have given me--everything; I mean to serve them +well in return. I want you for my wife, Nella-Rose; we'll make a +home--somewhere--it doesn't matter; it will be a shelter for our love +and--" He stopped short. Reality and conventions made a last vain +appeal. "I don't want you ever again to go out of my sight. You're mine +and nothing could make that different--but" (and this came quickly, +desperately) "there must be a minister somewhere--let's go to him! Do +not let us waste another precious day. When he makes you mine by +his"--Truedale was going to say "ridiculous jargon" but he modified it +to--"his authority, no one in all God's world can take you from me. +Come, come _now_, sweetheart!" + +In another moment he would have had her in his arms, but she held him +off. + +"I'm mighty afraid of old Jim White!" she said. + +Truedale laughed, but the words brought him to his senses. + +"Then you must go, darling, until White returns. After I have explained +to him I will come for you, but first let me hold you--so! and kiss +you--so! This is why--you must go, my love!" + +She was in his arms, her lifted face pressed to his. She shivered, but +clung to him for a moment and two tears rolled down her cheeks--the +first he had ever seen escape her control. He kissed them away. + +"Of what are you thinking, Nella-Rose?" + +"Thinking? I'm not thinking; I'm--happy!" + +"My--sweetheart!" Again Truedale pressed his lips to hers. + +"Us-all calls sweetheart--'doney-gal'!" + +"My--my doney-gal, then!" + +"And"--the words came muffled, for Truedale was holding her still--"and +always I shall see your face, now. It came to-day like it came long ago. +It will always come and make me glad." + +Truedale lifted her from his breast and held her at arms' length. He +looked deep into her eyes, trying to pierce through her ignorance and +childishness to find the elusive woman that could meet and bear its part +in what lay before. Long they gazed at each other--then the light in +Nella-Rose's face quivered--her mouth drooped. + +"I'm going now," she said, "going till Jim White comes back." + +"Wait--my--" + +But the girl had slipped from his grasp; she was gone into the misty, +threatening grayness that had closed in about them while love had +carried them beyond their depths. Then the rain began to fall--heavy, +warning drops. The wind, too, was rising sullenly like a monster roused +from its sleep and slowly gathering power to vent its rage. + +Into this darkening storm Nella-Rose fled unheedingly. She was not +herself--not the girl of the woods, wise in mountain lore; she was +bewitched and half mad with the bewildering emotions that, at one moment +frightened her--the next, carried her closer to the spiritual than she +had ever been. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Alone in his cabin, Truedale was conscious of a sort of groundless +terror that angered him. The storm could not account for it--he had the +advantage of ignorance there! Certainly his last half-hour could not be +responsible for his sensations. He justified every minute of it by terms +as old as man's desires and his resentment of restrictions. "Our lives +are our own!" he muttered, setting to work to build a fire and to light +the lamp. "They will all come around to my way of seeing things when I +have made good and taken her back to them!" + +Still this arguing brought no peace, and more and more Truedale found +himself relying upon Jim White's opinions. In that troubled hour the +sheriff stood like a rugged sign post in the path. One unflinching +finger pointed to the past; the other--to the future. + +"Well! I've chosen," thought Truedale; "it's the new way and--thank +God!" But he felt that the future could be made possible or miserable by +Jim's favour or disapproval. + +Having decided to follow upon White's counsel, Truedale mentally prayed +for his return, and at once. The fact was, Truedale was drugged and he +had just sense enough left to know it! He vaguely realized that the +half-hour with Nella-Rose had been a dangerous epoch in his life. He was +safe, thank heaven! but he dared not trust himself just now without a +stronger will to guide him! + +While he busied himself at feeding the animals, preparing and clearing +away his own evening meal, he grew calmer. The storm was gaining in +fury--and he was thankful for it! He was shut away from possible +temptation; he even found it easy to think of Kendall and of Lynda, but +he utterly eliminated his uncle from his mind. Between him and old +William Truedale the gulf seemed to have become impassable! + +And while Truedale sank into an unsafe mental calm, Nella-Rose pushed +her way into the teeth of the storm and laughed and chattered like a mad +and lost little nymph. Wind and rain always exhilarated her and the fury +of the elements, gaining force every minute, did not alarm her while the +memory of her great experience held sway over her. She shook her hair +back from her wide, vague eyes. She was undecided where to go for the +night--it did not matter greatly; to-morrow she would go again to +Truedale, or he would come to her. At last she settled upon seeking the +shelter of old Lois Ann, in Devil-may-come Hollow, and turned in that +direction. + +It was eight o'clock then and Truedale, with his books and papers on +the table before him, declared: "I am quite all right now," and fell to +work upon the manuscript that earlier had engrossed him. + +As the time sped by he was able to visualize the play; _he_ was sitting +in the audience--he beheld the changing scenes and the tense climax. He +even began to speculate upon the particular star that would be fitted +for the leading part. His one extravagance, in the past, had been +cut-rate seats in the best theatres. + +Suddenly the mood passed and all at once Truedale realized that he was +tired--deadly tired. The perspiration stood on his forehead--he ached +from the strain of cramped muscles. Then he looked at his watch; it was +eleven o'clock! The stillness out of doors bespoke a sullen break in the +storm. A determined drip-drip from roof and trees was like the ticking +of a huge clock running down, but good for some time. The fire had died +out, not a bit of red showed in the ashes, but the room was hot, still. +Truedale decided to go to bed without it, and, having come to that +conclusion, he bent his head upon his folded arms and sank into a deep +sleep. + +Suddenly he awoke. The room was cold and dark! The lamp had burned +itself out and the storm was again howling in its second attack. Chilled +and obsessed by an unnerving sense of danger, Truedale waited for--he +knew not what! Just then something pressed against his leg and he put +his hand down thinking one of the dogs was crouching close, but a +whispered "sh!" set every muscle tense. + +"Nella-Rose?" + +"Yes--but, oh! be mighty still. They may be here any minute." + +"They? Who?" + +"All of them. Jed Martin, my father, and the others--the ones who are +friends of--of--" + +"Whom, Nella-Rose?" + +"Burke Lawson! He's back--and they think--oh! they think they are on his +trail--here! I--I was trying to get away but the streams were swollen +and the big trees were bending and--and I hid behind a rock and--I +heard! + +"First it was Jed and father; they said they were going to shoot--they'd +given up catching Burke alive! Then they went up-stream and the--the +others came--the friends, and they 'lowed that Burke was here and they +meant to get here before Jed and--and da some killing on their side. +I--I thought it was fun when they-all meant to take Burke alive, but +now--oh! now can't you see?--they'll shoot and find out afterward! They +may come any minute! I put the light out. Come, we must leave the cabin +empty-looking--like you had gone--and hide!" + +The breathless whispering stopped and Truedale collected his senses in +the face of this real danger. + +"But you--you must not be here, Nella-Rose!" + +Every nerve was alert now. "This is pure madness. Great heavens! what +am I going to do with you?" + +The seriousness of the situation overpowered him. + +"Sh!" The warning was caused by the restlessness of the dogs outside. +Their quick ears were sensing danger or--the coming of their master! +Either possibility was equally alarming. + +"Oh! you do not understand," Nella-Rose was pleading by his knee. "If +they-all see you, they will have you killed that minute. Burke is the +only one in their minds--they don't even know that you live; they're too +full of Burke, and if they see me--why--they'd kill you anyway." + +"But what can I do with you?" That thought alone swayed Truedale. + +Then Nella-Rose got upon her feet and stood close to him. + +"I'm yours! I gave myself to you. You--you wanted me. Are you sorry?" + +The simple pride and dignity went straight to Truedale's heart. + +"It's because I want you so, little girl, that I must save you." + +Somehow Nella-Rose seemed to have lost her fear of the oncoming raiders; +she spoke deliberately, and above a whisper: + +"Save me?--from what?" + +There were no words to convey to her his meaning. Truedale felt almost +ashamed to hold it in his own mind. They so inevitably belonged to each +other; why should they question? + +"I--I shall not go away--again!" + +"My darling, you must." + +"Where?" + +The word brought him to his senses--where, indeed? With the dark woods +full of armed men ready to fire at any moving thing in human shape, he +could not let her go! That conclusion reached, and all anchors cut, the +danger and need of the hour claimed him. + +"Yes; you are mine!" he whispered, gathering her to him. "What does +anything matter but our safety to-night? To-morrow; well, to-morrow--" + +"Sh!" + +No ear but one trained to the secrets of the still places could have +detected a sound. + +"They are coming! Yes, not the many--it is Jed! Come! While you slept I +carried a right many things to the rhododendron slick back of the house! +See, push over the chair--leave the door open like you'd gone away +before the storm." + +Quickly and silently Nella-Rose suited action to word. Truedale watched +her like one bewitched. "Now!" She took him by the hand and the next +minute they were out on the wet, sodden leaves; the next they were +crouching close under the bushes where even the heavy rain had not +penetrated. Half-consciously Truedale recognized some of his property +near by--his clothing, two or three books, and--yes--it was his +manuscript! The white roll was safe! How she must have worked while he +slept. + +Once only did she speak until danger was past. Nestling close in his +arms, her head upon his shoulder, she breathed: + +"If they-all shoot, we'll die together!" + +The unreality of the thing gradually wore upon Truedale's tense nerves. +If anything was going to happen he wanted it to happen! In another +half-hour he meant to put an end to the farce and move his belongings +back to the cabin and take Nella-Rose home. It was a nightmare--nothing +less! + +"Sh!" and then the waiting was over. Two dark figures, guns ready, stole +from the woods behind White's cabin. Where were the dogs? Why did they +not speak out?--but the dogs were trained to be as silent as the men. +They were all part and parcel of the secret lawlessness of the hills. In +the dim light Truedale watched the shadowy forms enter Jim's unlocked +cabin and presently issue forth, evidently convinced that the prey was +not there--had not been there! Then as stealthy as Indians they made +their way to the other cabin--Truedale's late shelter. They kept to the +bushes and the edge of the woods--they were like creeping animals until +they reached the shack; then, standing erect and close, they went in the +doorway. So near was the hiding place of Truedale and his companion +that they could hear the oaths of the hunters as they became aware that +their quarry had escaped. + +"He's been here, all right!" It was Jed Martin who spoke. + +"I reckon he's caught on," Peter Greyson drawled, "he's makin' for Jim +White. White ain't more'n fifteen miles back; we can cut him off, Jed, +'fore he reaches safety--the skunk!" + +Then the two emerged from the cabin and strode boldly away. + +"The others!" whispered Truedale--"will they come?" + +"Wait!" + +There was a stir--a trampling--but apparently the newcomers did not see +Martin and Greyson. There was a crackling of underbrush by feet no +longer feeling need of caution, then another space of silence before +safety was made sure for the two in the bushes. + +At last Truedale dared to speak. + +"Nella-Rose!" He looked down at the face upon his breast. She was +asleep--deeply, exhaustedly asleep! + +Truedale shifted his position. He was cramped and aching; still the even +breathing did not break. He laid her down gently and put a heavy coat +about her--one that earlier she had carried from the cabin in her effort +to save him. He went to the house and grimly set to work. First he +lighted a fire; then he righted the chairs and brought about some order +from the chaos. He was no longer afraid of any man on God's earth; even +Jim White was relegated to the non-essentials. Truedale was merely a +primitive creature caring for his own! There was no turning back now--no +waiting upon conventions. When he had made ready he was going out to +bring his own to her home! + +The sullen, soggy night, with its bursts of fury and periods of calm, +had settled down, apparently, to a drenching, businesslike rain. The +natives knew how to estimate such weather. By daylight the streams would +be raging rivers on whose currents trees and animals would be carried +ruthlessly to the lowlands. Roads would be obliterated and human beings +would seek shelter wherever they could find it. + +But Truedale was spared the worry this knowledge might have brought him. +He concentrated now upon the present and grimly accepted conditions as +they were. All power or inclination for struggle was past; the +inheritance of weakness which old William Truedale had feared and with +which Conning himself had so contended in his barren youth, asserted +itself and prepared to take unquestioningly what the present offered. + +At that moment Truedale believed himself arbiter of his own fate and +Nella-Rose's. Conditions had forced him to this position and he was +ready to assume responsibility. There was no alternative; he must +accept things as they were and make them secure later on. For himself +the details of convention did not matter. He had always despised them. +In his youthful spiritual anarchy he had flouted them openly; they made +no claim upon his attention now, except where Nella-Rose was concerned. +Appearances were against him and her, but none but fools would allow +that to daunt them. He, Truedale, felt that no law of man was needed to +hold him to the course he had chosen, back on the day when he determined +to forsake the past and fling his fortunes in with the new. Never in his +life was Conning Truedale more sincere or, he believed, more wise, than +he was at that moment. And just then Nella-Rose appeared coming down the +rain-drenched path like a little ghost in the grim, gray dawn. She still +wore the heavy coat he had put about her, and her eyes were dreamy and +vague. + +Truedale strode toward her and took her in his arms. + +"My darling," he whispered, "are you able to come with me now--at +once--to the minister? It must be now, sweetheart--now!" + +She looked at him like a child trying to understand his mood. + +"Oh!" she said presently, "I 'most forgot. The minister has gone to a +burying back in the hills; he'll be gone a right long time. Bill Trim, +who carries all the news, told me to-day." + +"Where is he, Nella-Rose?" Something seemed tightening around +Truedale's heart. + +"Us-all don't know; he left it written on his door." + +"Where is there another minister, Nella-Rose?" + +"There is no other." + +"This is absurd--of course there is another. We must start at once and +find him." + +"Listen!" The face upon Truedale's breast was lifted. "You hear that?" + +"Yes. What is it?" Truedale was alarmed. + +"It means that the little streams are rivers; it means that the trails +are full of rocks and trees; it means"--the words sank to an awed +whisper--"it means that we must _fight_ for what we-all want to keep." + +"Good God! Nella-Rose, but where can I take you?" + +"There is no place--but here." + +It seemed an hour that the silence lasted while Truedale faced this new +phase and came to his desperate conclusion. + +Had any one suggested to him then that his decision was the decision of +weakness, or immemorial evil, he would have resented the thought with +bitterest scorn. Unknowingly he was being tempted by the devil in him, +and he fell; he had only himself to look to for salvation from his +mistaken impulses, and his best self, unprepared, was drugged by the +overpowering appeal that Nella-Rose made to his senses. + +Standing with the girl in his arms; listening to the oncoming danger +which, he realized at last, might destroy him and her at any moment; +bereft of every one--everything that could have held them to the old +ideals; Truedale saw but one course--and took it. + +"There is no place but here--no one but you and me!" + +The soft tones penetrated to the troubled place where Truedale seemed to +stand alone making his last, losing fight. + +"Then, by heaven!" he said, "let us accept it--you and I!" + +He had crossed his Rubicon. + +They ate, almost solemnly; they listened to that awful roar growing more +and more distinct and menacing. Nella-Rose was still and watchful, but +Truedale had never been more cruelly alive than he was then when, with +his wider knowledge, he realized the step he had taken. Whether it were +for life or death, he had blotted out effectually all that had gone to +the making of the man he once was. Whatever hope he might have had of +making Lynda Kendall and Brace understand, had things gone as he once +had planned, there was no hope now. No--he and Nella-Rose were alone and +helpless in the danger-haunted hills. He and she! + +The sun made an effort to come forth later but the rush and roar of the +oncoming torrent seemed to daunt it. For an hour it struggled, then gave +up. But during that hour Truedale led Nella-Rose from the house. +Silently they made their way to a little hilltop from which they could +see an open space of dull, leaden sky. There Truedale took the girl's +hands in his and lifted his eyes while his benumbed soul sought whatever +God there might be. + +"In Thy sight," he said slowly, deeply, "I take this woman for my wife. +Bless us; keep us; and"--after a pause--"deal Thou with me as I deal +with her." + +Then the earnest eyes dropped to the frightened ones searching his face. + +"You are mine!" Truedale spoke commandingly, with a force that never +before had marked him. + +"Yes." The word was a faint, frightened whisper. + +"My darling, kiss me!" + +She kissed him with trembling lips. + +"You love me?" + +"I--I love you." + +"You--you trust me?" + +"I--oh! yes; yes." + +"Then come, my doney-gal! For life or death, it is you and I, little +woman, from now on!" + +Like a flash his gloom departed. He was gay, desperate, and free of all +hampering doubts. In such a mood Nella-Rose lost all fear of him and +walked by his side as complacently as if the one minister in her sordid +little world had with all his strange authority said his sacred "Amen" +over her. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +There were five days of terrific storm. Truedale and Nella-Rose had +fought to save White's live stock--even his cabin itself; for the deluge +had attacked that while leaving safe the smaller cabin near by. All one +morning they had worked gathering debris and placing it so that it +turned the course of a rapid stream that threatened the larger house. It +had been almost a lost hope, but as the day wore on the torrent +lessened, the rough barrier held--they were successful! The gate and +snake-fence were carried away, but the rest was saved! + +In the strenuous labour, in the dangerous isolation, the ordinary things +of life lost their importance. With death facing them their love and +companionship were all that were left to them and neither counted the +cost. But on the sixth day the sun shone, the flood was past, and with +safety and the sure coming of Jim White at hand, they sat confronting +each other in a silence new and potent. + +"Sweetheart, you must go--for a few hours!" + +Truedale bent across the table that separated them and took her clasped +hands in his. He had burned all his social bridges, but poor +Nella-Rose's progress through life had not been made over anything so +substantial as bridges. She had proceeded by scrambling down and up +primitive obstacles; she felt that at last she had come to her Land of +Promise. + +"You are going to send me--away? Where?" + +"Only until White returns, little girl. See here, dear, you and I are +quite gloriously mad, but others are stupidly sane and we've got to +think of them." + +Truedale was talking over her head, but already Nella-Rose accepted this +as a phase of their new relations. A mountain man might still love his +woman even if he beat her and, while Nella-Rose would have scorned the +suggestion that she was a mountain woman, she did seriously believe that +men were different from women and that was the end of the matter! + +"You run along, small girl of mine--the skies are clear, the sun +warm--but I want you to meet me at three o'clock at the spot where the +trail joins the road. I will be there and I will wait for you." + +"But why?--why?" The blue-gray eyes were troubled. + +"Sweetheart, we're going to find that minister of yours if we have to +travel from one end of the hills to the other!" + +"But we-all are married!" This with a little gasp. "Back on the hill, +when you told God and said He understood; then we-all were married." + +"And so we were, my sweet, no minister could make you more mine than +you already are, but the others--your people. Should they try to +separate us they might cause trouble and the minister can make it +impossible for any one to take you away from my love and care." + +And at that moment Truedale actually believed what he said. In his heart +he had always been a rebel--defiant and impotent. He had, in this +instance, proved his theories; but he did not intend to leave loose ends +that might endanger the safety of others--of this young girl, most of +all. He was only going to carry out his original plans for her +safety--not his own. After the days just past--days of anxiety, relief, +and the proving of his love and hers--no doubt remained in Truedale's +heart; he was of the hills, now and forever! + +"No one can--_now_!" This came passionately from Nella-Rose as she +watched him. + +"They might make trouble until they found that out. They're too free +with their guns. There's a lot to explain, little doney-gal." Conning +smiled down her doubts. + +"Until three o'clock!" Nella-Rose pouted, "that's a right long time. But +I'll--just run along. Always and always I'm going to do what you say!" +Already his power over her was absolute. She put her arms out with a +happy, wilful gesture and Truedale held her closer. + +"Only until three, sweetheart." + +Nella-Rose drew herself away and turned to pick up her little shawl and +hat from the couch by the fire; she was just reaching for her basket, +when a shadow fell across the floor. Truedale and the girl turned and +confronted--Jim White! What he had seen and heard--who could tell from +his expressionless face and steady voice? The door had been on the latch +and he had come in! + +"Mail, and truck, and rabbits!" he explained, tossing his load upon the +table. Then he turned toward Truedale as if noticing him for the first +time. + +"How-de?" he said. Finally his gaze shifted to Nella-Rose and seemed to +burn into her soul. + +"Goin', p'r'aps, or--comin'?" he questioned. + +"I--I am--going!" Fright and dismay marked the girl's voice. Truedale +went toward her. The covert brutality in White's words shocked and +angered him. He gave no thought to the cause, but he resented the +insult. + +"Wait!" he commanded, for Nella-Rose was gone through the open door. +"Wait!" + +Seeing that she had for the moment escaped him, Truedale turned to White +and confronted him with clear, angry eyes. + +"What have you got to say for yourself?" he demanded fiercely. + +The shock had been tremendous for Jim. Three weeks previously he had +left his charge safe and alone; he had come back and found--But shock +always stiffened Jim White; that was one reason for his success in life. +He was never so inflexible and deadly self-possessed as he was when he +could not see the next step ahead. + +"Gawd, but I'm tired!" he said, when he had stared at Truedale as long +as he cared to, "I'm going over to my place to turn in. Seems like I'll +sleep for a month once I get started." + +"You don't go, White, until you explain what you meant by--" + +But Truedale mistook his man. Jim, having drawn his own conclusion, +laughed and strode toward the door. + +"I go when I'm damned pleased ter go!" he flung out derisively, "and I +come the same way, young feller. There's mail for yo' in the sack and--a +telegram." White paused by the door a moment while Truedale picked the +yellow envelope from the bag and tore it open. + + "Your uncle died suddenly on the 16th. Come at once. Vitally + important. McPHERSON." + +For a moment both men forgot the thing that had driven them wide apart. + +"Bad news?" asked the sheriff. + +Something was happening to Truedale--he felt as if the effect of some +narcotic were losing its power; the fevered unreality was giving place +to sensation but the brain was recording it dully. + +"What date is this?" he asked, dazed. + +"Twenty-fifth," Jim replied as he moved out of the door. + +"When can I get a train from the station?" + +"There's one as leaves anywhere 'twixt nine and ten ter-night." + +"That gives me time to pack. See here, White, while it isn't any of your +business, I want to explain a thing or two--before I go. I'll be back as +soon as I can--in a week or ten days at furthest. When I return I intend +to stay on, probably for the rest of my life." + +White still held Truedale by the cold, steely gleam of his eyes which +was driving lucidity home to the dulled brain. By a power as unyielding +as death Jim was destroying the screen Truedale had managed to raise +against the homely codes of life and was leaving his guest naked and +exposed. + +The shock of the telegram--the pause it evolved--had given Truedale time +to catch the meaning of White's attitude; now that he realized it, he +knew he must lay certain facts open--he could not wait until his return. + +Presently Jim spoke from outside the door. + +"I ain't settin' up for no critic. I ain't by nater a weigher or trimmer +and I don't care a durn for what ain't my business. When I _see_ my +business I settle it in my own way!"--there was almost a warning in +this. "I'm dead tired, root and branch. I'm goin' ter take a bite an' +turn in. I may sleep a couple o' days; put off yo' 'splainifyin' 'til +yo' come back ter end yo' days. Take the mare an' leave her by the +trail; she'll come home. Tell old Doc McPherson I was askin' arter him." + +By that time Jim had ceased scorching his way to Truedale's soul and was +on the path to his own cabin. + +"Looks like yo' had a tussle with the storm," he remarked. "Any livin' +thing killed?" + +"No." + +"Thank yo'!" Then, as if determined not to share any further confidence, +White strode on. + +For a moment Truedale stood and stared after his host in impotent rage. +Was Jim White such a lily of purity that he presumed to take that +attitude? Was the code of the hills that of the Romany gypsies? How dare +any man judge and sentence another without trial? + +The effect of the narcotic still worked sluggishly, now that White's +irritating presence was removed. Truedale shrugged his shoulders and +turned to his packing. He was feverishly eager to get to Nella-Rose. +Before nightfall she would be his before the world; in two weeks he +would be back; the future would shame White and bring him to his senses. +Jim had a soft heart; he was just, in his brutal fashion. When he +understood how matters were, he would feel like the fool he was--a fool +willing to cast a man off, unheard! But Truedale blamed himself for the +hesitation that meant so much. The telegram--his fear of making a wrong +step--had caused the grave mistake that could not be righted now. + +At two o'clock Truedale started--on Jim's mare! White's cabin had all +the appearance of being barred against intrusion. Truedale did not mean +to test this, but it hurt him like a blow. However, there was nothing to +do but remedy, as soon as possible, the error he had permitted to arise. +No man on earth could make Nella-Rose more his than his love and good +faith had made her, still he was eager now to resort to all the +time-honoured safeguards before he left. Once married he would go with a +heart almost light. He would confide everything to Kendall and Lynda--at +least he would his marriage--and urge them to return with him to the +hills, and after that White and all the others would have an awakening. +The possibility thus conceived was like a flood of light and sweet air +in a place dark and bewildering but not evil--no, not that! + +As he turned from the clearing Truedale looked back at his cabin. +Nella-Rose seemed still there. She would always be part of it just as +she was now part of his life. He would try and buy the cabin--it would +be sacrilege for others to enter! + +So he hurried the mare on, hoping to be at the crossing before +Nella-Rose. + +The crisp autumn air was redolent of pines and the significance of +summer long past. It had a physical and spiritual power. + +Then turning suddenly from the trail, Truedale saw Nella-Rose sitting on +a rock--waiting! She had on a rough, mannish-looking coat, and a coarse, +red hood covered her bright head. Nella-Rose was garbed in winter +attire. She had worn this outfit for five years and it looked it. + +Never again was Truedale to see a face of such radiant joy and trust as +the girl turned upon him. Her eyes were wide and filled with a light +that startled him. He jumped from the horse and took her in his arms. + +"What is it?" he asked, fearing some intangible danger. + +"The minister was killed by the flood!" Nella-Rose's tones were +thrilling. "He was going through Devil-may-come Hollow and a mighty big +rock struck him and--he's dead!" + +"Then you must come with me, Nella-Rose." Truedale set his lips grimly; +there was no time to lose. Between three and nine o'clock surely they +could locate a minister or a justice of the peace. "Come!" + +"But why, Mister Man?" She laughed up at him. "Where?" + +"It doesn't matter. To New York if necessary. Jump up!" He turned to the +horse, holding the girl close. + +"Me go away--in this? Me shame you before--them-all?" + +Nella-Rose stood her ground and throwing the rough coat back displayed +her shabby, shrunken dress. + +"I went home--they-all were away. I got my warm things, but I have a +white dress and a pink ribbon--I'll get them to-morrow. Then--But why +must we go--away?" + +For the first time this thought caught her--she had been whirled along +too rapidly before to note it. + +"I have had word that my uncle is dead. I must go at once, my dear, and +you--you must come with me. Would you let a little thing like a--a dress +weigh against our love, and honour?" + +Above the native's horror of being dragged from her moorings was that +subtle understanding of honour that had come to Nella-Rose by devious +ways from a source that held it sacred. + +"Honour?" she repeated softly; "honour? If I thought I had to go in rags +to make you sure; if I thought I needed to--I'd--" + +Truedale saw his mistake. Realizing that if in the little time yet his +he made her comprehend, he might lose more than he could hope to gain, +he let her free while he took a card and pen from his pocket. He wrote +clearly and exactly his address, giving his uncle's home as his. + +"Nella-Rose," he said calmly, "I shall be back in two or three weeks at +the latest, but if at any moment you want me, send word here--telegraph +from the station--_you_ come first, always! You are wiser than I, my +sweet; our honour and love are our own. Wait for me, my doney-gal +and--trust me." + +She was all joy again--all sweetness. He kissed her, turned, then came +back. + +"Where will you go, my darling?" he asked. + +"Since they-all do not know"--she was lying against his breast, her eyes +heavy now with grief at the parting--"I reckon I will go home--to wait." + +Solemnly Truedale kissed her and turned dejectedly away. Once again he +paused and looked back. She stood against the tree, small and shabby, +but the late afternoon sun transfigured her. In the gloomy setting of +the woods, that fair, little face shone like a gleaming star and so +Truedale remembered her and took her image with him on his lonely way. + +Nella-Rose watched him out of sight and then she turned and did +something that well might make one wonder if a wise God or a cruel demon +controls our fates--she ran away from the home path and took the trail +leading far back to the cabin of old Lois Ann! + +There was safety; there were compassion and comprehension. The old woman +could tell marvellous tales and so could beguile the waiting days. +Nella-Rose meant to confide in her and ask her to hide her until +Truedale came for her. It was a sudden inspiration and it brought +relief. + +And that night--it was past midnight and cold as the north land--Burke +Lawson came face to face with Jed Martin! Lawson was issuing from his +cranny behind the old still and Martin was nosing about alone. He, like +a hungry thing of the wilds, had found his foe's trail and meant to bag +him unaided and have full vengeance and glory. But so unexpectedly, and +alarmingly unconcerned, did Burke materialize in the emptiness that +Jed's gun was a minute too late in getting into position. Lawson had the +drop on him! They were both very quiet for a moment, then Lawson laughed +and did it so boldly that Jed shrank back. + +"Coming to make a friendly call, Martin?" + +"Something like that!" + +"Well, come in, come right in!" + +"I reckon you an' me can settle what we've got ter settle in the open!" +Jed stuttered. It seemed a hideous, one-sided settlement. + +"As yo' please, Jed, as yo' please. I have a leanin' to the open myself. +I'd just decided ter come out; I was going up ter Jim White's and help +him mete out justice, but maybe you and me can save him the trouble." + +"You--goin' ter shoot me, Burke--like a--like a--hedgehog?" + +"No. I'm goin' ter do unto yo' as yo' would have--" Here Burke +laughed--he was enjoying himself hugely. + +"What yo' mean?" + +"Well, I'm goin' ter put yer in my quarters and tie yer to a chair. +Yo'll be able to wiggle out in time, but it will take yer long enough +fur me to do what I'm set about doin'. Yo' torn down traitor!--yo' were +'lowing to put me behind bars, wasn't yer? Yo' meant to let outsiders +take the life out o' me--yo' skunk! Well, instead, Jed--I'm goin' on my +weddin' trip--me and lil' Nella-Rose. I've seen her; she done promised +to have me, when I come out o' hidin'. I'm coming out now! Nella-Rose +an' me are goin' to find a bigger place than Pine Cone Settlement. Yo'll +wiggle yer blasted hide loose by mornin' maybe; but then her an' me'll +be where you-all can't ketch us! Go in there, now, you green lizard; +turn about an' get on yer belly like the crawlin' thing yo' are! That's +it--go! the way opens up." + +Jed was crawling through the bushes, Lawson after him with levelled gun. +"Now, then, take a seat an' make yerself ter home!" Jed got to the chair +and turned a green-white face upon his tormentor. + +"Yer goin' ter let me starve here?" he asked with shaking voice. + +"That depends on yo' power to wiggle. See, I tie you so!" Lawson had +pounced upon Jed and had him pinioned. "I ain't goin' ter turn a key on +yer like yo' was aimin' ter do on me! It's up to yo' an' yer wigglin' +powers, when yo' get free. The emptier yer belly is, the more room +ye'll have fer wiggling. God bless yer! yer dog-gone hound! Bless yer +an'--curse yer! I'm off--with the doney-gal!" + +And off he was--he and his cruel but gay laugh. + +There was no fire in the cave-like place; no light but the indirect +moonlight which slanted through the opening. It was death or wiggle for +Jed Martin--so he wiggled! + +In the meantime, Burke headed for Jim White's. He meant to play a high +game there--to fling himself on White's mercy--appeal to the liking he +knew the sheriff had for him--confess his love for Nella-Rose--make his +promise for future redemption and then go, scot-free, to claim the girl +who had declared he might speak when once again he dared walk upright +among his fellows. So Lawson planned and went bravely to the doing of +it. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +At Washington, Truedale telegraphed to Brace Kendall. He felt, as he +drew nearer and nearer to the old haunts, like a stranger, and a blind, +groping one at that. The noises of the city disturbed and confused him; +the crowds irritated him. When he remembered the few weeks that lay +between the present and the days when he was part and parcel of this +so-called life, he experienced a sensation of having died and been +compelled to return to earth to finish some business carelessly +overlooked. He meant to rectify the omission as soon as possible and get +back to the safety and peace of the hills. How different it all would be +with settled ideas, definite work, and Nella-Rose! + +While waiting for his train in the Washington station he was startled to +find that, of a sudden, he was adrift between the Old and the New. If he +repudiated the past, the future as sternly repudiated him. He could not +reconcile his love and desire with his identity. Somehow the man he had +left, when he went South, appeared now to have been waiting for him on +his return, and while his plans, nicely arranged, seemed feasible the +actual readjustment struck him as lurid and impossible. The fact was +that his experience of life in Pine Cone made him now shrink from +contact with the outside world as one of its loyal natives might have +done. It could no more survive in the garish light of a city day than +little Nella-Rose could have. That conclusion reached, Truedale was +comforted. He could not lure his recent past to this environment, but so +long as it lay safe and ready to welcome him when he should return, he +could be content. So he relegated it with a resigned sigh, as he might +have done the memory of a dear, absent friend, to the time when he could +call it forth to some purpose. + +It was well he could do this, for with the coming of Brace Kendall upon +the scene all romantic sensation was excluded as though by an icy-clear, +north wind. Brace was at the New York station--Brace with the armour of +familiarity and unbounded friendliness. "Old Top!" he called Truedale, +and shook hands with him so vigorously that the last remnant of thought +that clung to the distant mountains was freed from the present. + +"Well, of all the miracles! Why, Con, I bet you tip the scales at a +hundred and sixty. And look at your paw! Why, it's callous and actually +horny! And the colour you've got! Lord, man! you're made over. + +"You're to come to your uncle's house, Con. It's rather a shock, but we +got you as soon as we could. In the meantime, we've followed directions. +The will has not been read, of course, but there was a letter found in +your uncle's desk that commanded--that's the only word to express it, +really--Lynda and you and me to come to the old house right after the +funeral. We waited to hear from you, Con, but since you could not get +here we had to do the best we could. Dr. McPherson took charge." + +"I was buried pretty deep in the woods, Ken, and there was a bad hitch +in the delivery of the telegram. Such things do not count down where I +was. But I'm glad about the old house--glad you and Lynda are there." + +"Con!"--and at this Brace became serious--"I think we rather overdid our +estimate of your uncle. Since his--his going, we've seen him, Lyn and I, +in a new light. He was quite--well, quite a sentimentalist! But +see--here we are!" + +"The house looks different already!" Conning said, leaning from the cab +window. + +"Yes, Lyn's had a lot to do, but she's managed to make a home of the +place in the short time." + +Lynda Kendall had heard the sound of wheels in the quiet street--had set +the door of welcome open herself, and now stood in the panel of light +with outstretched hands. Like a revelation Truedale seemed to take in +the whole picture at once. Behind the girl lay the warm, bright hall +that had always been so empty and drear in his boyhood. It was furnished +now. Already it had the look of having been lived in for years. There +were flowers in a tall jar on the table and a fire on the broad hearth. +And against this background stood the strong, fine form of the young +mistress. + +"Welcome home, Con!" + +Truedale, for a moment, dared not trust his voice. He gripped her hands +and felt as if he were emerging from a trance. Then, of a sudden, a deep +resentment overpowered him. They could not understand, of course, but +every word and tone of appropriation seemed an insult to the reality +that he knew existed. He no longer belonged to them, to the life into +which they were trying to draw him. To-morrow he would explain; he was +eager to do so and end the restraint that sprang into being the moment +he touched Lynda's hands. + +Lynda watched the tense face confronting her and believed Conning was +suffering pangs of remorse and regret. She was filled with pity and +sympathy shone in her eyes. She led him to the library and there +familiarity greeted him--the room was unchanged. Lynda had respected +everything; it was as it always had been except that the long, low chair +was empty. + +They talked together softly in the quiet place until dinner--talked of +indifferent things, realizing that they must keep on the surface. + +"This room and his bedchamber, Con," Lynda explained, "are the same. +For the rest? Well, I hope you will like it." + +Truedale did like it. He gave an exclamation of delight when later they +entered the dining room, which had never been furnished in the past; +like much of the house it had been a sad tribute to the emptiness and +disappointment that had overcome William Truedale's life. Now it shone +with beauty and cheer. + +"It is not merely a place in which to eat," explained Lynda; "a dining +room should be the heart of the home, as the library is the soul." + +"Think of living up to that!"--Brace gave a laugh--"and not having it +interfere with your appetite!" They were all trying to keep cheerful +until such time as they dared recall the recent past without restraint. + +Such an hour came when they gathered once more in the library. Brace +seized his pipe in the anticipation of play upon his emotions. By tacit +consent the low chair was left vacant and by a touch of imagination it +almost seemed as if the absent master were waiting to be justified. + +"And now," Truedale said, huskily, "tell me all, Lynda." + +"He and I were sitting here just as we all are sitting now, that last +night. He had forgiven me for--for staying away" (Lynda's voice shook), +"and we were very happy and confidential. I told him some things--quite +intimate things, and he, well, he came out of his reserve and gruffness, +Con--he let me see the real man he was! I suppose while he had been +alone--for I had neglected him--he had had time to think, to regret his +mistakes; he was very just--even with himself. Con"--and here Lynda had +to pause and get control of herself--"he--he once loved my mother! He +bought this house hoping she would come and, as its mistress, make it +beautiful. When my mother married my father, nothing mattered--nothing +about the house, I mean. Before my mother died she told me--to be kind +to Uncle William. She, in a sacred way, left him to me; me to him. That +was one of the things I told him that last night. I wish I had told him +long ago!" The words were passionate and remorseful. "Oh, it might have +eased his pain and loneliness. When shall we ever learn to say the right +thing when it is most needed? Well, after I had told him he--he grew +very still. It was a long time before he spoke--the joy was sinking in, +I saw that, and it carried the bitterness away. When he did speak he +made me understand that he could not trust himself further on that +subject, but he tried to--to explain about you, Con. Poor man! He +realized that he had made a failure as a guide; but in his own way he +had endeavoured to be a guardian. You know his disease developed just +before you came into his life. Con, he lived all through the years just +for you--just to stand by!" + +From out the shadow where he sat, Brace spoke unevenly: + +"Too bad you don't--smoke, old man!" It was the only suggestion he had +to offer in the tense silence that gripped them all. + +"It's all right!" Truedale said heavily. "Go on when you can, Lynda." + +"Do you--remember your father, Con?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, your uncle feared that too much ease and money might--" + +"I--I begin to understand." + +"So he went to the other extreme. Every step of your well-fought way was +joy to him--the only joy he knew. From his detachment and loneliness he +planned--almost plotted--for you, but he did not tell you. It would all +have been so different--oh! so different if we had all known. Then he +told me a little--about his will." + +No one saw the sudden crimson that dyed Lynda's white face and throat. +"He was very fantastic about that. He made certain arrangements that +were to take effect at once. He has left you three thousand a year, Con, +without any restrictions whatever. He told me that. He left his servants +and employees generous annuities. He left me this house--for my mother's +sake. He insisted that it should be a home at last. A large sum is +provided for its furnishing and upkeep--I'm a trustee! The most +beautiful thing, perhaps, was the thought expressed in these words of +his, 'I want you to do your mother's work and mine, while still +following your own rightful desires. Make this house a place of welcome, +peace, and friendliness!' I mean to do my best, Con." + +"And he's left me"--Brace found relief in the one touch of humour that +presented itself--"he's left me a thousand dollars as a token of his +appreciation of my loyalty to you, when you most needed it." + +But Truedale hardly heeded. His eyes were fixed upon the empty chair +and, since he had not understood in the past, he could not express +himself now. He was suffering the torture that all feel when, too late, +revealment makes clear what never should have been hidden. + +"And then"--Lynda's low, even voice went on--"he sent me away and Thomas +put him to bed. He asked for some medicine that it seems he always had +in case of need; he took too much--and--" + +"So it was suicide!" Truedale broke in desperately. "I feared that. Good +God!" The tragedy and loneliness clutched his imagination--he seemed to +see it all, it was unbearable! + +"Con!" Lynda laid her firm hand upon his arm, "I have learned to call it +something else. It has helped me; perhaps it will help you. He had +waited wearily on this side of the door of release; he--he told me that +he was going on a long journey he had often contemplated--I did not +understand then! I fancy the--the journey was very short. There was no +suffering. I wish you could have seen the peace and majesty of his face! +He could wait no longer. Nothing mattered here, and all that he yearned +for called loudly to him. He simply opened the door himself--and went +out!" + +Truedale clasped the hand upon his arm. "Thank you, Lynda. I did not +realize how kind you could be," was all he said. + +The logs fell apart and filled the room with a rich glow. Brace shook +the ashes from his pipe upon the hearth--he felt now that he could trust +himself. + +"For the future," Lynda's calm voice almost startled the two men by its +practicability and purpose, "this is home--in the truest, biggest sense. +No one shall even enter here and feel--friendless. This is my trust; it +shall be as _he_ wished it, and I mean to have my own life, too! Why, +the house is big enough for us all to live our lives and not interfere +with each other. I mean to bring my private business here in the rooms +over the extension. I'll keep the uptown office for interviews. And you, +Con?" + +Truedale almost sprang to his feet, then, hands plunged in pockets, he +said: + +"There does not seem to be anything for me to do; at least not until the +will is read. I think I shall go back--I left things at loose ends; +there will be time to consider--later." + +"But, Con, there is something for you to do. You will understand after +you see the lawyers in the morning. There is a great deal of business: +many interests of your uncle's that he expected you to represent in his +name--to see that they were made secure. Dr. McPherson has told me +something about the will--enough to help me to begin." + +Truedale looked blankly at Lynda. "Very well, after that--I will go +back," he spoke almost harshly. "I will arrange affairs somehow. I'm no +business man, but I daresay Uncle William chose wise assistants." + +"What's the matter with you, Con?" Brace eyed his friend critically; +"you look fit as a fellow can. This has demanded a good deal of +self-denial and faith from us all, but somehow this duty was the biggest +thing in sight; we rather owe him that, I fancy. You know you cannot run +to cover just now, old man. This has been a jog, but by morning you'll +reconsider and play your part." There was a new note in Kendall's voice. +It was a call to something he hoped was in his friend, but which he had +never tested. There was a sudden fear, too, of the change that had come +to Truedale. It was not all physical. There was a baffling suggestion of +unreality about him that made him almost a stranger. + +"I dare say you are right, Ken." Truedale walked the length of the room +and back. "I own to being cut up over this. I never did my part--I see +that now--and of course I'll endeavour to do what I should. My body's +all right but my nerves still jangle at a shock. To-morrow the whole +thing will settle into shape. You and Lynda have been--well--I cannot +express what I feel." He paused. The hour was late, and for the first +time he seemed to realize that the old home was not his in the sense it +once had been. Lynda understood the moment's hesitation and smiled +slightly. + +"Con, there's one other thing in the house that remains as it was. Under +the eaves the small room that was yours is yours still. I saw to it +myself that not a book or picture was displaced. There are other rooms +at your disposal--to share with us--but that room is yours, always." + +Truedale stood before Lynda and put out his hands in quite the old way. +His eyes were dim and he said hoarsely: "That's about the greatest thing +you've done yet, Lyn. Thank you. Good-night." + +At the door he hesitated--he felt he must speak, but to bring his own +affairs into the tense and new conditions surrounding him seemed +impossible. To-morrow he would explain everything. It was this slowness +in reaching a decision that most defeated Truedale's best interest. +While he deplored it--he seemed incapable of overcoming it. + +Alone in the little room, later, he let himself go. Burying his tired +head upon his folded arms he gave himself up to waves of recollection +that threatened to engulf him. Everything was as it always had been--a +glance proved that. When he had parted from his uncle he had taken only +such articles as pertained to his maturer years. The pictures on the +walls--the few shabby books that had drifted into his lonely and +misunderstood childhood--remained. There was the locked box containing, +Conning knew full well, the pitiful but sacred attempts at +self-expression. The key was gone, but he recollected every scrap of +paper which lay hidden in the old, dented tin box. Presently he went to +the dormer window and opened it wide. Leaning out he tried to find his +way back to Pine Cone--to the future that was to be free of all these +cramping memories and hurting restrictions--but the trail was too +cluttered; he was lost utterly! + +"It is because they do not know," he thought. "After to-morrow it will +be all right." + +Then he reflected that the three thousand dollars Lynda had mentioned +would clear every obstacle from his path and Nella-Rose's. He no longer +need struggle--he could give his time and care to her and his work. He +did not consider the rest of his uncle's estate, it did not matter. +Lynda was provided for and so was he. And then, for the first time in +many days, Truedale speculated upon bringing Nella-Rose away from her +hills. He found himself rather insisting upon it, until he brought +himself to terms by remembering her as he had seen her last--clinging to +her own, vehemently, passionately. + +"No, I've made my choice," he finally exclaimed; "the coming back +unsettled me for the moment but her people shall be my people." + +Below stairs Lynda was humming softly an old tune--"The Song of +To-morrow," it was called. It caught and held Truedale's imagination. He +tried to recall the lines, but only the theme was clear. It was the +everlasting Song of To-morrow, always the one tune set to changing +ideals. + +It was the same idea as the philosophy about each man's "interpretation" +of the story already written, which Conning had reflected upon so often. + +At this time Truedale believed he firmly accepted the principle of +foreordination, or whatever one chose to call it. One followed the path +upon which one's feet had been set. One might linger and wander, within +certain limits, but always each must return to his destined trail! + +A distant church clock struck one; the house was still at last--deathly +still. Two sounded, but Truedale thought on. + +He finally succeeded in eliminating the entangling circumstances that +seemed to lie like a twisted skein in the years stretching between his +going forth from his uncle's house to this night of return. He tried to +understand himself, to estimate the man he was. In no egotistical sense +did he do this, but sternly, deliberately, because he felt that the +future demanded it. He must account to others, but first he must account +to himself. + +He recalled his boyhood days when his uncle's distrust and apparent +dislike of him had driven him upon himself, almost taking self-respect +with it. He re-lived the barren years when, longing for love and +companionship, he found solace in a cold pride that carried him along +through school and into college, with a reputation for hard, unyielding +work, and unsocial habits. + +How desperately lonely he had been--how cruelly underestimated--but he +had made no outcry. He had lived his years uncomplainingly--not even +voicing his successes and achievements. Through long practise in +self-restraint, his strength lay in deliberate calculation--not +indifferent action. He hid, from all but the Kendalls, his private +ambitions and hopes. He studied in order that he might shake himself +free from his uncle's hold upon him. He meant to pay every cent he had +borrowed--to secure, by some position that would supply the bare +necessities of life, time and opportunity for developing the talent he +secretly believed was his. He was prepared, once loose from obligation +to old William Truedale, to starve and prove his faith. And then--his +breakdown had come! + +Cast adrift by loss of health, among surroundings that appealed to all +that was most dangerous in his nature--believing that his former +ambitions were defeated--old longings for love, understanding and +self-revealment arose and conquered the weak creature he was. But they +had appealed to the best in him--not the evillest--thank God! And now? +Truedale raised his head and looked about in the dim room, as if to find +the boy he once had been and reassure him. + +"There is no longer any excuse for hesitation and the damnable weakness +of considering the next step," thought Truedale. "I have chosen my own +course--chosen the simple and best things life has to offer. No man in +God's world has a right to question my deeds. If they cannot understand, +more's the pity." + +And in that hour and conclusion, the indifference and false pride that +had upheld Truedale in the past fell from him as he faced the demands of +the morrow. He was never again to succumb to the lack of confidence his +desolate youth had developed; physically and spiritually he roused to +action now that exactions were made upon him. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The following day Truedale heard the will read. Directly after, he felt +like a man in a quicksand. Every thought and motion seemed but to sink +him deeper until escape appeared impossible. + +He had felt, for a moment, a little surprise that the bulk of his +uncle's great fortune had gone to Dr. McPherson--an already rich and +prosperous man; then he began to understand. Although McPherson was left +free to act as he chose, there had evidently been an agreement between +him and William Truedale as to the carrying out of certain affairs and, +what was more startling and embarrassing, Conning was hopelessly +involved in these. Under supervision, apparently, he was to be +recognized as his uncle's representative and, while not his direct heir, +certainly his respected nephew. + +Truedale was confounded. Unless he were to disregard his uncle's wishes, +there was no way open for him but to follow--as he was led. Far from +being dissatisfied with the distribution of the fortune, he had been +relieved to know that he was responsible for only a small part of it; +but, on the other hand, should he refuse to cooperate in the schemes +outlined by McPherson, he knew that he would be miserably +misunderstood. + +Confused and ill at ease he sought McPherson later in the day and that +genial and warm-hearted man, shrinking always behind so stern an +exterior that few comprehended him, greeted him almost affectionately. + +"I ordered six months for you, Truedale," he exclaimed, viewing the +result of his prescription keenly, "and you've made good in a few weeks. +You're a great advertisement for Pine Cone. And White! Isn't he God's +own man?" + +"I hadn't thought of him in just that way"--Conning reverted to his last +memory of the sheriff--"but he probably showed another side to you. He +has a positive reverence for you and I imagine he accepted me as a duty +you had laid upon him." + +"Nonsense, boy! his health reports were eulogies--he was your friend. + +"But isn't he a freebooter with all his other charms? His contempt for +government, as we poor wretches know it, is sublime; and yet he is the +safest man I know. The law, he often told me, was like a lie; useful +only to scoundrels--torn-down scoundrels, he called them. + +"I tell you it takes a God's man to run justice in those hills! White's +as simple and direct as a child and as wise as a judge ought to be. I +wouldn't send some folk I know to White, they might blur his vision; +but I could trust him to you." + +Silently Truedale contemplated this image of White; then, as McPherson +talked on, the dead uncle materialized so differently from the stupid +estimate he had formed of him that a sense of shame overpowered him. +Lynda had somewhat opened Truedale's eyes, but Lynda's love and +compassion unconsciously coloured the picture she drew. Here was a +hard-headed business man, a man who had been close to William Truedale +all his life, proving him now, to his own nephew, as a far-sighted, +wise, even patient and merciful friend. + +Never had Truedale felt so small and humble. Never had his past +indifference and false pride seemed so despicable and egotistical--his +return for the silent confidence reposed in him, so pitifully shameful. + +He must bear his part now! There was no way but that! If he were ever to +regain his own self-respect or hope to hold that of others, he must, to +the exclusion of private inclination, rise as far as in him lay to the +demands made upon him. + +"Your uncle," McPherson was saying, "tied hand and foot as he was, +looked far and wide during his years of illness. I thought I knew, +thought I understood him; but since his death I have almost felt that he +was inspired. It's a damnable pity that our stupidity and callousness +prevent us realizing in life what we are quick enough to perceive in +death--when it is too late! Truedale's faith in me, when I gave him so +little to go by, is both flattering and touching. He knew he could trust +me--and that knowledge is the best thing he bequeathed to me. But I +expect you to do your part, boy, and by so doing to justify much that +might, otherwise, be questioned. To begin with, as you have just heard, +the sanatorium for cases like your uncle's is to be begun at once. Now +there is a strip of land, which, should it suit our purpose, can be had +at great advantage if taken at once, and for cash. We will run down to +see it this week and then we'll know better where we stand." + +"I'd like," Truedale coloured quickly, "to return to Pine Cone for a few +days. I could start at once. You see I left rather suddenly and +brought--" + +But McPherson laughed and waved his hand in the wide gesture that +disposed of hope and fear, lesser business and even death itself, at +times. + +"Oh! Jim won't tamper with anything. Certainly your traps are safe +enough there. Such things can wait, but this land-deal cannot. Besides +there are men to see: architects, builders, etc. The wishes of your +uncle were most explicit. The building, you recall, was to be begun +within three months of his death. Having all the time there was, +himself, he has left precious little for others." + +Again the big laugh and wide gesture disposed of Pine Cone and the +tragic affairs of little Nella-Rose. Unless he was ready to lay bare his +private reasons, Truedale saw he must wait a few days longer. And he +certainly had no intention of confiding in McPherson. + +"Very well, doctor," he said after a slight pause, "set me to work. I +want you to know that as far as I can I mean--too late, as you say--to +prove my good intentions at least to--my uncle." + +"That's the way to talk!" McPherson rose and slapped Conning on the +back. "I used to say to old Truedale, that if he had taken you more into +his confidence, he might have eased life for us all; but he was timid, +boy, timid. In many ways he was like a woman--a woman hurt and +sensitive." + +"If I had only known--only imagined"; Conning was walking toward the +door; "well, at least I'm on the job now, Dr. McPherson." + +And then for an hour or two Truedale walked the city streets perplexed +and distraught. He was being absorbed without his own volition. By a +subtle force he was convinced that he was part of a scheme bigger and +stronger than his own desires and inclinations. Unless he was prepared +to play a coward's role he must adjust his thoughts and ideas to +coincide with the rules and regulations of the game of life and men. +With this knowledge other and more blighting convictions held part. In +his defiance and egotism he had muddled things in a desperate way. In +the cold, clear light of conventional relations the past few weeks, +shorn of the glamour cast by his romantic love and supposed contempt for +social restrictions, stood forth startlingly significant. At the moment +Truedale could not conceive how he had ever been capable of playing the +fool as he had! Not for one instant did this realization affect his love +and loyalty to Nella-Rose; but that he should have been swept from his +moorings by passion, reduced him to a state of contempt for the folly he +had perpetrated. And, he thought, if he now, after a few days, could so +contemplate his acts how could he suppose that others would view them +with tolerance and sympathy? + +No; he must accept the inevitable results of his action. His love, his +earnest intention of some day living his own life in his own way, were +to cost him more than he, blinded by selfishness and passion in the +hills, had supposed. + +Well, he was ready to pay to the uttermost though it cost him the +deepest heart-ache. As he was prepared to undertake the burden his +uncle's belief in him entailed, so he was prepared, now that he saw +things clearly, to forego the dearest and closest ties of his old life. + +He wondered how he could ever have dreamed that he could go to Lynda and +Brace with his amazing confession and expect them, in the first moment +of shock, to open their hearts and understand him. He almost laughed, +now, as he pictured the absurdity. And just then he drew himself up +sharply and came to his conclusion. + +He could not lay himself bare to any one as a sentimental ass; he must +arrange things as soon as possible to return South; he would, just +before starting, tell Lynda and Brace of his attachment for Nella-Rose. +They would certainly understand why, in the stress and strain of recent +events, he had not intruded his startling news before. He would neither +ask nor expect sympathy or cooperation. He must assume that they could +not comprehend him. This was going to be the hardest wrench of his life, +Truedale recognized that, but it was the penalty he felt he must pay. + +Then he would go--for his wife! He would secure her privately, by all +the necessary conventions he had spurned so madly--he would bring her to +his people and leave to her sweetness and tender charm the winning of +that which he, in his blindness, had all but lost. + +So, in this mood, he returned to his uncle's house and wrote a long +letter to Nella-Rose. He phrased it simply, as to a little child. He +reminded her of the old story she had once told him of her belief that +some day she was to do a mighty big thing. + +"And now you have your chance!" he pleaded. "I cannot live in your +hills, dear, though often you and I will return to them and be happy in +the little log house. But you must come with me--your husband. Come +down the Big Road, letting me lead you, and you must trust me and oh! my +doney-gal, by your blessed sweetness and power you must win for me--for +us both--what I, alone, can never win." + +There was more, much more, of love and longing, of tender loyalty and +passionate reassurance, and having concluded his letter he sealed it, +addressed it, and putting it in an envelope with a short note of +explanation to Jim White as to its delivery, etc., he mailed it with +such a sense of relief as he had not known in many a weary day. + +He prepared himself for a period of patient waiting. He knew with what +carelessness mail matter was regarded in the hills, and winter had +already laid its hold upon Pine Cone, he felt sure. So while he waited +he plunged eagerly into each day's work and with delight saw how +everything seemed to go through without a hitch. It began to look as if, +when Nella-Rose's reply came, there would be no reason for delay in +bringing her to the North. + +But this hope and vision did not banish entirely Truedale's growing +sorrow for the part he must inevitably take when the truth was known to +Lynda and Brace. Harder and harder the telling of it appeared as the +time drew near. Never had they seemed dearer or more sacred to him than +now when he realized the hurt he must cause them. There were moments +when he felt that he could not bear the eyes of Lynda--those friendly, +trusting eyes. Would she ever be able, in the years to come, to forgive +and forget? And Brace--how could that frank, direct nature comprehend +the fever of madness that had, in the name of love, betrayed the +confidence and faith of a lifetime? Well, much lay in the keeping of the +little mountain girl whose fascination and loveliness would plead +mightily. Of Nella-Rose's power Truedale held no doubt. + +Then came White's devastating letter at the close of an exhausting day +when Conning was to dine with the Kendalls. + +That afternoon he had concluded the immediate claims of business, had +arranged with McPherson for a week's absence, and meant in the evening +to explain to Brace and Lynda the reason for his journey. He was going +to start South on the morrow, whether a letter came or not. He had +steeled himself for the crucial hour with his friends; had already, in +his imagination, bidden farewell to the relations that had held them +close through the past years. He believed, because he was capable of +paying this heavy price for his love, that no further proof would be +necessary to convince even Lynda of its intensity. + +They dined cheerfully and alone and, as they crossed the hall afterward, +to the library, Lynda asked casually: + +"Did you get the letters for you, Con? The maid laid them on the stand +by the door." + +Then she went on into the bright room with its long, vacant chair, +singing "To-morrow's Song" in that sweet contralto of hers that deserved +better training. + +There were three letters--one from a man whose son Truedale had tutored +before he went away, one from the architect of the new hospital, and a +bulky one from Dr. McPherson. Truedale carried them all into the library +where Brace sat comfortably puffing away before the fire; and Lynda, +some designs for interior decoration spread out before her on a low +table, still humming, rocked gently to and fro in a very feminine +rocker. Conning drew up a chair opposite Kendall and tore open the +envelope from his late patron. + +"I tell you, Brace," he said, "if any one had told me six weeks ago that +I should ever be indifferent to a possible offer to tutor, I would have +laughed at him. But so it is. I must turn down the sure-paying Mr. Smith +for lack of time." + +Lynda laughed merrily. "And six weeks ago if any one had come to me in +my Top Shelf where I carried on my profession, and outlined this for +me"--she waved her hand around the room--"I'd have called the janitor to +put out an unsafe person. Hey-ho!" And then the brown head was bent over +the problem of an order which had come in that day. + +"Oh! I say, Lyn!" Truedale turned from his second letter. "Morgan +suggests that _you_ attend to the decorating and furnishing of the +hospital. I told him to choose his man and he prefers you if I have no +objection. Objection? Good Lord, I never thought of you. I somehow +considered such work out of your line, but I'm delighted." + +"Splendid!" Lynda looked up, radiant. "How I shall revel in those broad, +clean spaces! How I shall see Uncle William in every room! Thank him, +Con, and tell him I accept--on his terms!" + +Then Truedale opened the third envelope and an enclosed letter fell out, +bearing the postmark of the Junction near Pine Cone! + +There was a small electric reading lamp on the arm of Truedale's chair; +he turned the light on and, while his face was in shadow, the words +before him stood out illumined. + +"Sir--Mister Truedale." The sheriff had evidently been sorely perplexed +as to the proper beginning of the task he had undertaken. + +"I send this by old Doc McPherson, not knowing any better way." + +(Jim's epistle was nearly innocent of punctuation, his words ran on +almost unbroken and gave the reader some trouble in following.) + + Your letter to a certain young person has come and been destroyed + owing to my thinking under the present circumstances, some folks + what don't know about you, better not hear now. I took the letter + to Lone Dome as you set down for me to do meaning to give it to + Nella-Rose like what you said, but she wasn't there. Pete was there + and Marg--she's Nella-Rose's sister, and getting ready to marry + that torn-down scamp Jed Martin which to my way of thinking is + about the best punishment what could be dealt out to him. Pete was + right sober for him and spruced up owing to facts I am now coming + to and when Pete's sober there ain't a more sensible cuss than what + he is nor a gentlemaner. Well, I asked natural like for Nella-Rose + and Marg scrooged up her mouth, knowing full well as how I knew Jed + was second choice for her--but Pete he done tell me that Nella-Rose + had married Burke Lawson and run to safer parts and when I got over + the shock I was certainly thankful for being a sheriff ain't all it + might be when your ideas of justice and liking gets crossed. I + didn't ask any more questions. Peter was sober--he only lies when + he's drunk and not having any wish to rouse Marg I just come away + and burned the letter what you sent. But I've done some thinking on + my own 'count since your letter came and I reckon I've studied the + thing clear on circumstantial evidence which is what I mostly have + to go on in the sticks. I certainly done you a black insult that + day I came upon you and Nella-Rose. I didn't let on, and I never + will, about her being to my place, but no wonder the poor child was + terrible upset when I came in. She had come to me, so I study out, + and found you--stark stranger! How you ever soothed the poor little + thing I don't know--her being wild as a flea--but on top of that, + in I slam and lit out on you both and 'corse she couldn't 'splain + about Burke before you and that's plain enough what she had come to + do, and I didn't leave either one of you a leg to stand on. I've + been pretty low in my spirits I can tell you and I beg your pardon + humble, young feller, and if ever I can do Nella-Rose a turn by + letting Burke free, no matter what he does--I will! But 'tain't + likely he'll act up for some time. Nella-Rose always could tame him + and he's been close on her trail ever since she was a toddler. I'm + right glad they took things in their own hands and left. She didn't + sense the right black meaning I had in my heart that day when she + ran--but you did and I sure am ashamed of the part I done played. + + If you can overlook what no man has a call to overlook in + another--your welcome is red hot here for you at any time. + + JIM WHITE + + Sheriff. + +Truedale read and reread this amazing production until he began to feel +his way through the tangle of words and catch a meaning--false, +ridiculously false of course, but none the less designed as an +explanation and excuse. Then the non-essentials dropped away and one +bald fact remained! Truedale sank back in his chair, turned off the +electric light, and closed his eyes. + +"Tired, old man?" Kendall asked from across the hearth. + +"Yes. Dead tired." + +"You'll travel easier when you get the gait." + +"Undoubtedly." + +"Take a bit of a nap," Lynda suggested. + +"Thanks, Lyn, I will." Then Truedale, safe from intrusion, tried to make +his way out of the maze into which he had been thrown. Slowly he +recovered from the effect of the staggering blow and presently got to +the point where he felt it was all a cruel lie or a stupid jest. There +he paused. Jim was not the kind to lie or joke about such a thing. It +was a mistake--surely a mistake. He would go at once to Pine Cone and +make everything right. Nella-Rose could not act alone. Tradition, +training, conspired to unfit her for this crisis; but that she had gone +from his love and faith into the arms of another man was incredible. No; +she was safe, probably in hiding; she would write him. She had the +address--she was keen and quick, even though she was helpless to cope +with the lawlessness of her mountain environment. Truedale saw the +necessity of caution, not for himself, but for Nella-Rose. He could not +go, unaided, to search for her. Evidently there had been wild doings +after he left; no one but White and Nella-Rose knew of his actual +existence--he must utilize White in assisting him, but above all he must +expect that Nella-Rose would make her whereabouts known. Never for a +moment did he doubt her or put any credence in the conclusions White had +drawn. How little Jim really knew! By to-morrow word would come from +Nella-Rose; somehow she would manage, once she was safe from being +followed, to get to the station and telegraph. But there could be no +leaving the girl in the hills after this; he must, as soon as he located +her, bring her away; bring her into his life--to his home and hers! + +A cold sweat broke out on Truedale's body as he lashed himself +unmercifully in the still room where his two friends, one believing him +asleep, waited for his awakening. + +Well, he was awake at last, thank God! The only difference between him +and a creature such as good men and women abhor was that he meant to +retrieve, as far as in him lay, the past error and injustice. All his +future life should prove his purpose. And then, like a sweet fragrance +or a spirit touch, his love pleaded for him. He had been weak, but not +vicious. The unfettered life had clouded his reason, and his senses had +played him false, but love was untarnished--and it _was_ love. That girl +of the hills was the same now as she had always been. She would accept +him and his people and he would make her life such that, once the +homesickness for the hills was past, she would have no regrets. + +Then another phase held Truedale's thought. In that day when Nella-Rose +accepted, in the fullest sense, his people and his people's code--how +would he stand in her eyes? A groan escaped him, then another, and he +started nervously. + +"Con, what is it--a bad dream?" Lynda touched his arm to arouse him. + +"Yes--a mighty bad one!" + +"Tell it to me. Tell it while it is fresh in your mind. They say once +you have put a dream in words, its effect is killed forever." + +Truedale turned dark, sorrowful eyes upon Lynda. + +"I--I wish I could tell it," he said with a seriousness that made her +laugh, "but it was the kind that eludes--words. The creeping, eating +impression--sort of nightmare. Good Lord! how nerves play the deuce with +you." + +Brace Kendall did not speak. From his place he had been watching +Truedale, for the firelight had betrayed the truth. Truedale had not +been sleeping: Truedale had been terribly upset by that last letter of +his! + +And just then Conning leaned forward and threw his entire mail upon the +blazing logs! + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +For Truedale to await, calmly, further developments was out of the +question. He did, however, force himself to act as sanely as possible. +He felt confident that Nella-Rose, safely hidden and probably enjoying +it in her own elfish way, would communicate with him in a few days at +the latest, now that things had, according to White, somewhat settled +into shape after the outlaw Lawson had taken himself off the scene. + +To get to the station and telegraph would mean quite a feat for +Nella-Rose at any time, and winter was in all likelihood already +gripping the hills. To write and send a letter might be even more +difficult. So Truedale reasoned; so he feverishly waited, but he was not +idle. He rented a charming little suite of rooms, high up in a new +apartment house, and begged Lynda to set them in order at once. Somehow +he believed that in the years ahead, after she understood, Lynda would +be glad that he had asked this from her. + +"But why the hurry, Con?" she naturally questioned; "if people are going +to be so spasmodic I'll have to get a partner. It may be all right, +looked at financially, but it's the ruination of art." + +"But this is a special case, Lyn." + +"They're all special cases." + +"But this is a--welcome." + +"For whom?" + +"Well, for me! You see I've never had a real home, Lyn. It's one of the +luxuries I've always dreamed of." + +"I had thought," Lynda's clear eyes clouded, "that your uncle's house +would be your home at last. It is big enough for us all--we need not run +against each other." + +"Keep my room under the roof, Lyn." Truedale looked at her yearningly +and she--misunderstood! "I shall often come to that--to you and +Brace--but humour me in this fancy of mine." + +So she humoured him--working early and late--putting more of her own +heart in it than he was ever to know, for she believed--poor girl--that +he would offer it to her some day and then--when he found out about the +money--how exactly like a fairy tale it all would be! And Lynda had had +so few fairy tales in her life. + +And while she designed and Conning watched and suggested, they talked of +his long-neglected work. + +"You'll have time soon, Con, to give it your best thought. Did you do +much while you were away?" + +"Yes, Lyn, a great deal!" Truedale was sitting by the tiny hearth in his +diminutive living room. He and Lynda had demanded, and finally +succeeded in obtaining an open space for real logs; disdaining, much to +the owner's amazement, an asbestos mat or gas monstrosity. "I really put +blood in the thing." + +"And when may I hear some of it? I'm wild to get back to our beaten +tracks." + +Truedale raised his eyes, but he was looking beyond Lynda; he was seeing +Nella-Rose in the nest he was preparing for her. + +"Soon, Lyn. Soon. And when you do--you, of all the world, will +understand, sympathize, and approve." + +"Thank you, Con, thank you. Of course I will, but it is good to have you +know it! Let me see, what colour scheme shall we introduce in the living +room?" + +"Couldn't we have a sort of blue-gray; a rather smoky tint with sunshine +in it?" + +"Good heavens, Con! And it is a north room, too." + +"Well, then, how about a misty, whitish--" + +"Worse and worse. Con, in a north room there must be warmth and real +colour." + +"There will be. But put what you choose, Lyn, it will surely be all +right." + +"Suppose, then, we make it golden brown, or--dull, soft reds?" + +Truedale recalled the shabby little shawl that Nella-Rose had worn +before she donned her winter disguise. + +"Make it soft dull red, Lyn--but not _too_ dull." + +Truedale no longer meant to lay his secret bare before departing for the +South. While he would not acknowledge it to his anxious heart, he +realized that he must base the future on the outcome of his journey. +Once he laid hands upon Nella-Rose, he would act promptly and hopefully, +but--he must be sure, now, before he made a misstep. There had been +mistakes enough, heaven knew; he must no longer play the fool. + +And then when the little gilded cage was ready, Truedale conceived his +big and desperate idea. Two weeks had passed since Jim White's letter +and no telegram or note had come from Nella-Rose. Neither love nor +caution could wait longer. Truedale decided to go to Pine Cone. Not as a +returned traveller, certainly not--at first--to White, but to Lone Dome, +and there, passing himself off as a chance wayfarer, he would gather as +much truth as he could, estimate the value of it, and upon it take his +future course. In all probability, he thought--and he was almost gay now +that he was about to take matters into his own hands--he would ferret +out the real facts and be back with his quarry before another week. It +was merely a matter of getting the truth and being on the spot. + +Nella-Rose's family might, for reasons of their own, have deceived Jim +White. Certainly if they did not know at the time of Nella-Rose's +whereabouts they would, like others, voice the suspicion of the hills; +but by now they would either have her with them or know positively where +she was. For all his determination to believe this, Truedale had his +moments of sickening doubt. The simple statement in White's letter, +burned, as time went on, into his very soul. + +But, whatever came--whatever there was to know--he meant to go at once +to headquarters. He would remain, too, until Peter Greyson was sober +enough to state facts. He recalled clearly Jim's estimate of Greyson and +his dual nature depending so largely upon the effect of the mountain +whisky. + +It was late November when Truedale set forth. No one made any objection +to his going now. Things were running smoothly and if he had to go at +all to straighten out any loose ends, he had better go at once. + +To Lynda the journey seemed simple enough. Truedale had left, among +other belongings, his manuscript and books. Naturally he would not trust +them to another's careless handling. + +At Washington, Truedale bought a rough tramping rig and continued his +journey with genuine enjoyment of the adventure. Now that he was nearing +the scene of his past experience he could better understand the delay. +Things moved so slowly among the hills and naturally Nella-Rose, +trusting and fond, was part of the sluggish life. How she would show her +small, white teeth when, smiling in his arms, she told him all about it! +It would not take long to make her forget the weary time of absence and +White's misconception. + +Truedale proceeded by deliberate stages. He wanted to gather all he +possibly could as a foundation upon which to build. The first day after +he left the train at the station--and it had bumped at the end of the +rails just as it had on his previous trip--he walked to the Centre and +there encountered Merrivale. + +"Well, stranger," the old man inquired, "whar yer goin', if it ain't +askin' too much?" + +And Truedale expansively explained. He was tramping through the +mountains for pure enjoyment; had heard of the hospitality he might +expect and meant to test it. + +Merrivale was pleased but cautious. He was full of questions himself, +but ran to cover every time his visitor ventured one. Truedale soon +learned his lesson and absorbed what was offered without openly claiming +more. He remained over night with Merrivale and stocked up the next +morning from the store. + +He had heard much, but little to any purpose. He carried away with him a +pretty clear picture of Burke Lawson who, by Merrivale's high favour, +appeared heroic. The storm, the search, Lawson's escape and supposed +carrying off of Nella-Rose, were the chief topics of conversation. +Merrivale chuckled in delight over this. + +The afternoon of the second day Truedale reached Lone Dome and came upon +Peter, sober and surprisingly respectable, sunning himself on the west +side of the house. + +The first glance at the stately old figure, gone to decay like a tree +with dead rot, startled and amazed Truedale and he thanked heaven that +the master of Lone Dome was himself and therefore to be relied upon; no +one could possibly suspect Peter of cunning or deceit in his present +condition. + +Greyson greeted the stranger cordially. He was in truth desperately +forlorn and near the outer edge of endurance. An hour more and he would +have defied the powers that had recently taken control of him, and made +for the still in the deep woods; but the coming of Truedale saved him +from that and diverted his tragic thoughts. + +The fact was Marg and Jed had gone away to be married. Owing to the +death of the near-by minister in the late storm, they had to travel a +considerable distance in order to begin life according to Marg's strict +ideas of propriety. Before leaving she had impressed upon her father the +necessity of his keeping a clear head in her absence. + +"We-all may be gone days, father," she had said, "and yo' certainly do +drop in owdacious places when you're drunk. Yo' might freeze or starve. +Agin, a lurking beast, hunting fo' food, might chaw yo' fo' yo' got yo' +senses." + +Something of this Greyson explained to his guest while setting forth the +evening meal and apologizing for the lack of stimulant. + +"Being her marriage trip I let Marg have her way and a mind free o' +worry 'bout me. But women don't understand, God bless 'em! What's a drop +in yo' own home? But fo' she started forth Marg spilled every jug onto +the wood pile. When I see the flames extry sparkling I know the reason!" + +Greyson chuckled, walking to and fro from table to pantry, with steady, +almost dignified strides. + +"That's all right," Truedale hastened to say, "I'm rather inclined to +agree with your daughter; and--" raising the concoction Peter had +evolved--"this tea--" + +"Coffee, sir." + +"Excuse me! This coffee goes right to the spot." + +They ate and grew confidential. Edging close, but keeping under cover, +Truedale gained the confidence of the lonely, broken man and, late in +the evening, the hideous truth, as Truedale was compelled to believe, +was in his keeping. + +For an hour Greyson had been nodding and dozing; then, apologetically, +rousing. Truedale once suggested bed, but for some unexplainable reason +Peter shrank from leaving his guest. Then, risking a great deal, +Truedale asked nonchalantly: + +"Have you other children besides this daughter who is on her wedding +trip? It's rather hard--leaving you alone to shift for yourself." + +Greyson was alert. Not only did he share the mountain dweller's wariness +of question, but he instantly conceived the idea that the stranger had +heard gossip and he was in arms to defend his own. His ancestors, who +long ago had shielded the recreant great-aunt, were no keener than Peter +now was to protect and preserve the honour of the little girl who, by +her recent acts--and Greyson had only Jed's words and the mountain talk +to go by--had aroused in him all that was fine enough to suffer. And +Greyson was suffering as only a man can who, in a rare period of +sobriety, views the wrecks of his own making. + +Ordinarily, as White truly supposed, Peter lied only when he was drunk; +but the sheriff could not estimate the vagaries of blood and so, at +Truedale's question, the father of Nella-Rose, with the gesture +inherited from a time of prosperity, rallied his forces and lied! Lied +like a gentleman, he would have said. Broken and shabby as Greyson was, +he appeared, at that moment, so simple and direct, that his listener, +holding to the sheriff's estimate, was left with little doubt concerning +what he heard. He, watching the weak and agonized face, believed Greyson +was making the best of a sad business; but that he was weaving from +whole cloth the garment that must cover the past, Truedale in his own +misery never suspected. While he listened something died within him +never to live again. + +"Yes, sir. I have another daughter--lil' Nella-Rose." + +Truedale shaded his face with his hand, but kept his eyes on Greyson's +distorted face. + +"Lil' Nella-Rose. I have to keep in mind her youth and enjoying ways or +I'd be right hard on Nella-Rose. Yo' may have heard, while travelling +about--o' Nella-Rose?" This was asked nervously--searchingly. + +"I've--I've heard that name," Truedale ventured. "It's a name +that--somehow clings and, being a writer-man, everything interests me." + +Then Greyson gave an account of the trap episode tallying so exactly +with White's version that it established a firm structure upon which to +lay all that was to follow. + +"And there ain't nothing as can raise a woman's tenderness and loyalty +to a man," Greyson went on, "like getting into a hard fix, and sho' +Burke Lawson was in a right bad fix. + +"I begin to see it all now. Nella-Rose went to Merrivale's and he told +her Burke had come back. Merrivale told me that. Naturally it upset her +and she followed him up to warn him. Think o' that lil' girl tracking +'long the hills, through all that storm, to--to save the man she had +played with and flouted but loved, without knowing it! Nella-Rose was +like that. She lit on things and took her fun--but in the big parts she +always did come out strong." + +Truedale shifted his position. + +"I reckon I'm wearying you with my troubles?" Greyson spoke +apologetically. + +"No, no. Go on. This interests me very much." + +"Well, sir, Burke Lawson and Jed Martin came on each other in the deep +woods the night of the big storm and Burke and Jed had words and a +scene. Jed owned up to that. It was life and death and I ain't blaming +any one and I have one thing to thank Burke for--he might have done +different and left a stain on a lady's name, sir! He told Jed how he had +seen Nella-Rose and how she had scorned him for being a coward, but how +she would take her words back if he dared come out and show his head. +And he 'lowed he was going to come out then and there, which he did, and +he and Nella-Rose was going off to Cataract Falls where the Lawsons +hailed from, on the mother's side." + +"But--how do you know that your daughter kept her word? This Lawson may +have been obliged to make away with himself--alone." Truedale grew more +daring. He saw that Greyson, absorbed by his trouble, was less on guard. +But Greyson was keenly observant. + +"He's heard the gossip," thought the old man, "it's ringing through the +hills. Well, a dog as can fetch a bone can carry one!" With that +conclusion reached, Peter made his master stroke. + +"I've heard from her," he half whispered. + +"Heard from her?" gasped Truedale, and even then Greyson seemed unaware +of the attitude of the stranger. "How--did you hear from her?" + +"She wrote and sent the letter long of--of Bill Trim, a half-wit--but +trusty. Nella-Rose went with Lawson--she 'lowed she had to. He came on +her in the woods and held her to her word. She said as how she wanted +to--to come home, but Lawson set forth as how an hour might mean his +life--and put it up to lil' Nella-Rose! He--he swore as how he'd shoot +himself if she didn't go with him--and it was like Burke to do it. He +was always crazy mad for Nella-Rose, and there ain't anything he +wouldn't do when he got balked. She--she had ter go--or see Lawson kill +himself; so she went--but asked my pardon fo' causing the deep trouble. +Lawson married her at the first stopping place over the ridge. He ain't +worthy o' my lil' Nella-Rose--but us-all has got to make the best o' +it. Come spring--she'll be back, and then--I'll forgive her--my lil' +Nella-Rose!" + +From the intensity of his emotions Greyson trembled and the weak tears +ran down his lined face. Taking advantage of the tense moment Truedale +asked desperately: + +"Will you show me that letter, Mr. Greyson?" + +So direct was the request, so apparently natural to the old man's +unguarded suffering, that it drove superficialities before it and merely +confirmed Greyson in his determination to save Nella-Rose's reputation +at any cost. Ignoring the unwarrantable curiosity, alert to the +necessity of quick defense, he said: + +"I can't. I wish to Gawd I could and then I could stop any tongue what +dares to tech my lil' gal's name." + +"Why can you not show me the letter?" Truedale was towering above the +old man. By some unknown power he had got control of the situation. "I +have a reason for--asking this, Mr. Greyson." + +"Marg burned it! It was allus Marg or lil' Nella-Rose for Lawson, and +Nella-Rose got him! When Marg knew this fur certain, there was no length +to which she--didn't go! This is my home, sir; I'm old--Marg is a good +girl and the trouble is past now; her and Jed is making me comfortable, +but we-all don't mention Nella-Rose. It eases me, though, to tell the +truth for lil' Nella-Rose. I know how the tongues are wagging and I have +to sit still fo'--since Marg and Jed took up with each other--my future +lies 'long o' them. I'm an old man and mighty dependent; time was +when--" Greyson rose unsteadily and swayed toward the fireplace. + +"Gawd a'mighty!" he flung out desperately, "how I want--whisky!" + +Truedale saw the wildness in the old man's eyes--saw the trembling and +twitching of the outstretched hands, and feared what might be the result +of trouble and enforced sobriety. He pulled a large flask from his +pocket and offered it. + +"Here!" he said, "take a swallow of this and pull yourself together." + +Greyson, with a cry, seized the liquor and drained every drop before +Truedale could control him. + +"God bless yo'!" whined Greyson, sinking back into his chair, "bless +and--and keep yo'!" + +Truedale dared not leave the house though his soul recoiled from the +sight before him. He waited an hour, watching the effect of the +stimulant. Greyson grew mellow after a time--at peace with the world; he +smiled foolishly and became maudlinly familiar. Finally, Truedale +approached him again. He bent over him and shook him sharply. + +"Did you tell me--the truth--about--Nella-Rose?" he whispered to the +sagging, blear-eyed creature. + +"Yes, sir!" moaned Peter, "I sho' did!" + +And Truedale did not reflect that when Greyson was-drunk--he lied! + +Truedale never recalled clearly how he spent the hours between the time +he left Greyson's until he knocked on the door of White's cabin; but it +was broad daylight and bitingly cold when Jim flung the door open and +looked at the stranger with no idea, for a moment, that he had ever seen +him before. Then, putting his hand out wonderingly, he muttered: + +"Gawd!" and drew Truedale in. Breakfast was spread on the table; the +dogs lay before the blazing fire. + +"Eat!" commanded Jim, "and keep yer jaws shet except to put in food." + +Conning attempted the feat but made a pitiful showing. + +"Come to stay on?" + +White's curiosity was betraying him and the sympathy in his eyes filled +Truedale with a mad desire to take this "God's man" into his confidence. + +"No, Jim. I've come to pack and go back to--to my job!" + +"Gosh! it can't be much of a job if you can tackle it--lookin' like what +you do!" + +"I've been tramping for--for days, old man! Rather overdone the thing. +I'm not so bad as I look." + +"Glad to hear it!" laconically. + +"I'll put up with you to-night, Jim, if you'll take me in." Truedale +made an effort to smile. + +"Provin' there ain't any hard feeling?" + +"There never was, White. I--understood." + +"Shake!" + +They got through the day somehow. The crust was forming over Truedale's +suffering; he no longer had any desire to let even White break through +it. Once, during the afternoon, the sheriff spoke of Nella-Rose and +without flinching Truedale listened. + +"That gal will have Burke eatin' out o' her hand in no time. Lawson is +all right at the kernel, all he needed was some one ter steady him. Once +I made sure he'd married the gal, I felt right easy in my mind." + +"And you--did make sure, Jim? There was no doubt? I--I remember the +pretty little thing; it would have been damnable to--to hurt her." + +"I scrooged the main fact out o' old Pete, her father. There was a +mighty lot o' talk in the hills, but I was glad ter get the facts and +shut the mouths o' them that take ter--ter hissin' like all-fired +scorpions! Nella-Rose had writ to her father, but Marg, the sister, tore +the letter up in stormin' rage 'cause Nella-Rose had got the man she had +sot her feelin's on. Do you happen to call ter mind what I once told you +'bout those two gals and a little white hen?" + +Truedale nodded. + +"Same old actin' up!" Jim went on. "But when Greyson let out what war in +the letter--knowin' Burke like what I do--I studied it out cl'ar enough. +Nella-Rose was sure up agin blood and thunder whatever way yo' put +it--so she ran her chances with Burke. There ain't much choosin' fo' +women in the hills and Burke is an owdacious fiery feller, an' he ain't +ever set his mind to no woman but Nella-Rose." + +That night Truedale went to his old cabin. He built a fire on the +hearth, drew the couch before it, and then the battle was on--the +fierce, relentless struggle. In it--Nella-Rose escaped. Like a bit of +the mist that the sun burns, so she was purified--consumed by the fire +of Truedale's remorse and shame. Not for a moment did he let the girl +bear a shadow of blame--he was done with that forever!--but he held +himself before the judgment seat of his own soul and he passed sentence +upon himself in terms that stern morality has evolved for its own +protection. But from out the wreck and ruin Truedale wrenched one sacred +truth to which he knew he must hold--or sink utterly. He could not +expect any one in God's world to understand; it must always be hidden in +his own soul, but that marriage of his and Nella-Rose's in the gray dawn +after the storm had been holy and binding to him. From now on he must +look upon the little mountain girl as a dear, dead wife--one whose +childish sweetness was part of a time when he had learned to laugh and +play, and forget the hard years that had gone to his un-making, not his +upbuilding. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Truedale travelled back to the place of his new life bearing his books, +his unfinished play, and his secret sorrow with him. His books and +papers were the excuse for his journey; for the rest, no one suspected +nor--so thought Truedale--was any one ever to know. That part of his +life-story was done with; it had been interpreted bunglingly and +ignorantly to be sure, but the lesson, learned by failure, had sunk deep +in his heart. + +He arranged his private work in the little room under the eaves. He +intended, if time were ever his again, to begin where he had left off +when broken health interrupted. + +In the extension room over William Truedale's bedchamber Lynda carried +on her designing and her study; her office, uptown, was reserved for +interviews and outside business. Her home workshop had the feminine +touch that the other lacked. There were her tea table by the hearth, +work bags of dainty silk, and flowers in glass vases. The dog and the +cats were welcome in the pleasant room and sedately slept or rolled +about while the mistress worked. + +But Truedale, while much in the old home, still kept his five-room +flat. He bought a good, serviceable dog that preferred a bachelor life +to any other and throve upon long evening strolls and erratic feeding. +There were plants growing in the windows--and these Conning looked after +with conscientious care. + +When the first suffering and sense of abasement passed, Truedale +discovered that life in his little apartment was not only possible, but +also his salvation. All the spiritual essence left in him survived best +in those rooms. As time went by and Nella-Rose as an actuality receded, +her memory remained unembittered. Truedale never cast blame upon her, +though sometimes he tried to view her from the outsider's position. No; +always she eluded the material estimate. + +"Not more than half real," so White had portrayed her, and as such she +gradually became to Truedale. + +He plunged into business, as many a man had before him, to fill the gaps +in his life; and he found, as others had, that the taste of power--the +discovery that he could meet and fulfil the demands made upon +him--carried him out of the depths and eventually secured a place for +him in the world of men that he valued and strove to prove himself +worthy of. He wisely went slowly and took the advice of such men as +McPherson and his uncle's old lawyer. He grew in time to enjoy the +position of trust as his duties multiplied, and he often wondered how +he could ever have despised the common lot of his fellows. He +deliberately, and from choice, set his personal tastes aside--time +enough for his reading and writing when he had toughened his mental +muscles, he thought. Lynda deplored this, but Truedale explained: + +"You see, Lyn, when I began to carve the thing out--the play, you +know--I had no idea how to handle the tools; like many fools with a +touch of talent, I thought I could manage without preparation. I've +learned better. You cannot get a thing over to people unless you know +something of life--speak the language. I'm learning, and when I feel +that I cannot _help_ writing--I'll write." + +"Good!" Lynda saw his point; "and now let's haunt the theatres--see the +machinery in running order. We'll find out what people want and _why_." + +So they went to the theatre and read plays. Brace made the wholesome +third and their lives settled into calm enjoyment that was charming but +which sometimes--not often, but occasionally--made Lynda pause and +consider. It would not do--for Con--to fall into a pace that might +defeat his best good. + +But this thought brought a deep crimson to the girl's cheeks. + +And then something happened. It was so subtle that Lynda Kendall, least +of all, realized the true significance. + +Once in the early days of her secured self-support, William Truedale had +said to her: + +"You give too much attention, girl, to your tailor and too little to +your dressmaker." + +Lynda had laughingly called her friend frivolous and defended her +wardrobe. + +"One cannot doll up for business, Uncle William." + +"Is business your whole life, Lynda? If so you had better reform it. If +women are going to pattern their lives after men's they must go the +whole way. A sensible man recognizes the need of shutting the office +door sometimes and putting on his dress suit." + +"Well, but Uncle William, what is the matter with this perfectly built +suit? I always slip a fresh blouse on when I am off duty. I hate to be +always changing." + +"If you had a mother, Lynda, she would make you see what I mean. An old +fungus like me cannot be expected to command respect from such an +up-to-date humbug as you!" + +They had laughed it off and Lynda had, once or twice, donned a house +gown to please her critical friend, but eventually had slipped back into +suits and blouses. + +All of a sudden one day--it was nearing holiday time--she left her +workroom at midday and, almost shamefacedly, "went shopping." As the +fever got into her blood she became reckless, and by five o'clock had +bought and ordered home more delicate and exquisite finery than she had +ever owned in all her life before. + +"It's scandalous!" she murmured to her gay, young heart, "an awful waste +of good money, but for the first time, I see how women can get +clothes-mad." + +She devoted the hour and a half before dinner to locating an artistic +dressmaker and putting herself in her hands. + +The result was both startling and exciting. The first gown to come home +was a dull, golden-brown velvet thing so soft and clinging and +individual that it put its wearer into quite a flutter. She "did" and +undid her hair, and, in the process, discovered that if she pulled the +"sides" loose there was a tendency to curl and the effect was distinctly +charming--with the strange gown, of course! Then, marshalling all her +courage, she trailed down to the library and thanked heaven when she +found the room empty. It would be easier to occupy the stage than to +make a late entrance when the audience was in position. So Lynda sat +down, tried to read, but was so nervous that her eyes shone and her +cheeks were rosy. + +Brace and Conning came in together. "Look who's here!" was Kendall's +brotherly greeting. "Gee! Con, look at our lady friend!" He held his +sister off at arms' length and commented upon her "points." + +"I didn't know your hair curled, Lyn." + +"I didn't, myself, until this afternoon. You see," she trembled a bit, +"now that I do not have to go in the subway to business there's no +reason for excluding--this sort of thing" (she touched the pretty gown), +"and once you let yourself go, you do not know where you will land. +Curls go with these frills; slippers, too--look!" + +Then she glanced up at Conning. + +"Do you think I'm very--frivolous?" she asked. + +"I never knew"--he was gazing seriously at her--"how handsome you are, +Lyn. Wear that gown morning, noon and night; it's stunning." + +"I'm glad you both like it. I feel a little unusual in it--but I'll +settle down. I have been a trifle prim in dress." + +Like the giant's robe, Lynda Kendall's garments seemed to transform her +and endow her with the attributes peculiar to themselves. So gradually, +that it caused no wonder, she developed the blessed gift of charm and it +coloured life for herself and others like a glow from a hidden fire. + +All this did not interfere with her business. Once she donned her +working garb she was the capable Lynda of the past. A little more +sentiment, perhaps, appeared in her designs--a wider conception; but +that was natural, for happiness had come to her--and a delicious sense +of success. She, womanlike, began to rejoice in her power. She heard of +John Morrell's marriage to a young western girl, about this time, with +genuine delight. Her sky was clearing of all regrets. + +"Morrell was in the office to-day," Brace told his sister one evening, +"it seemed to me a bit brash for him to lay it on so thick about his +happiness and all that sort of rot." + +"Brace!" + +"Well, it might be all right to another fellow, but it sounded out of +tune, somehow, to me. He says she is the kind that has flung herself +body and soul into love; I wager she's a fool." + +Lynda looked serious at once. + +"I hope not," she said thoughtfully, "and she'll be happier with John, +in the long run, if she has some reservations. I did not think that +once; I do now." + +"But--you, Lyn? You had reservations to burn." + +"I had--too many. That was where the mistake began." + +"You--do not regret?" + +Lynda came close to him. + +"Brace, I regret nothing. I am learning that every step leads to the +next--if you don't stumble. If you do--you have to pick yourself up and +go back. If John learned from me, I, too, have learned from him. I'm +going to try to--love his wife." + +"I bet she's a cross, somehow, between a cowboy and an idiot. John +protested too much about her charms. She's got a sister--sounds a bit to +me as if Morrell had married them both. She's coming to live with them +after awhile. When I fall in love, it's going to be with an orphan out +of an asylum." + +Lynda laughed and gave her brother a hug. Then she said: + +"Our circle is widening and, by the way Brace, I'm going to begin to +entertain a little." + +"Good Lord, Lyn!" + +"Oh! modestly--until I can use my stiff little wings. A dinner now and +then and a luncheon occasionally when I know enough nice women to make a +decent showing. Clothes and women, when adopted late in life, are +difficult. But oh! Brace, it is great--this blessed home life of mine! +The coming away from my beloved work to something even better." + + * * * * * + +The pulse of a city throbs faster in the winter. All the vitality of +well-nourished men and women is at its fullest, while for them who fall +below the normal, the necessity of the struggle for existence keys them +to a high pitch. Not so in the deep, far mountain places. There, the +inhabitants hide from the elements and withdraw into themselves. For +weeks at a time no human being ventures forth from the shelter and +comparative comfort of the dull cabins. Families, pressed thus close and +debarred from the freedom of the open, suffer mentally and spiritually +as one from the wider haunts of men can hardly conceive. + +When Nella-Rose turned away from Truedale that golden autumn day, she +faced winter and the shut-in terrors of the cold and loneliness. In two +weeks the last vestige of autumn would be past, and the girl could not +contemplate being imprisoned with Marg and her father while waiting for +love to return to her. She paused on the wet, leafy path and considered. +She had told Truedale that she would go home, but what did it matter. +She would go to Miss Lois Ann's. She would know when Truedale returned; +she could go to him. In the meantime no human being would annoy her or +question her in that cabin far back in the Hollow. And Lois Ann would +while away the long hours by story and song. It seemed to her there was +but one thing to do--and Nella-Rose did it! She fled to the woman whose +name Truedale had barely heard. + +It took her three good hours to make the distance to the Hollow and it +was quite dark when she tapped on the door of the little cabin. To all +appearances the place was deserted; but after the second knock a shutter +to the right of the door was pushed open and a long, lean hand appeared +holding a lighted candle, while a deep, rich voice called: + +"Who?" + +"Jes' Nella-Rose!" + +The hand withdrew, the shutter was closed, and in another minute the +door was flung wide and the girl drawn into the warm, comfortable room. +Supper, of a better sort than most hill-women knew, was spread out on a +clean table, and in the cheer and safety Nella-Rose expanded and decided +to take the old woman into her confidence at once and so secure present +comfort until Truedale came back to claim her. + +This Lois Ann, in whose sunken eyes eternal youth burned and glowed, was +a mystery in the hills and was never questioned. Long ago she had come, +asked no favours, and settled down to fare as best she could. There was +but one sure passport to her sanctuary. That was--trouble! Once +misfortune overtook one, sex was forgotten, but at other times it was +understood that Miss Lois Ann had small liking or sympathy for men, +while on the other hand she brooded over women and children with the +everlasting strength of maternity. + +It was suspected, and with good reason, that many refugees from justice +passed through Miss Lois Ann's front door and escaped by other exits. +Officers of the law had, more than once, traced their quarry to the +dreary cabin and demanded entrance for search. This was always promptly +given, but never had a culprit been found on the premises! White +understood and admired the old woman; he always halted justice, if +possible, outside her domain, but, being a hill-man, Jim had his +suspicions which he never voiced. + +"So now, honey, what yo' coming to me fo' this black night?" said Lois +Ann to Nella-Rose after the evening meal was cleared away, the fire +replenished, and "with four feet on the fender" the two were content. +"Trouble?" The wonderful eyes searched the happy, young face and at the +glance, Nella-Rose knew that she was compelled to confide! There was no +choice. She felt the power closing in about her, she found it not so +easy as she had supposed, to explain. She sparred for time. + +"Tell me a right, nice story, Miss Lois Ann," she pleaded, "and of +course it's no trouble that has brought me here! Trouble! Huh!" + +"What then?" And now Nella-Rose sank to the hearthstone and bent her +head on the lap of the old woman. It was more possible to speak when she +could escape those seeking eyes. She closed her own and tried to call +Truedale to the dark space and to her support--but he would not come. + +"So it is trouble, then?" + +"No, no! it's--oh! it's the--joy, Miss Lois Ann." + +"Ha! ha! And you've found out that the young scamp is back--that +Lawson?" Lois Ann, for a moment, knew relief. + +"It--it isn't Burke," the words came lingeringly. "Yes, I know he's +back--is he here?" This affrightedly. + +"No--but he's been. He may come again. His maw's always empty, but I +will say this for the scoundrel--he gives more than he takes, in the +long run. But if it isn't Lawson, who then? Not that snake-in-the-grass, +Jed?" Love and trouble were synonymous with Lois Ann when one was young +and pretty and a fool. + +"Jed? Jed indeed!" + +"Child, out with it!" + +"I--I am going to tell you, Miss Lois Ann." + +Then the knotted old hand fell like a withered leaf upon the soft +hair--the woman-heart was ready to bear another burden. Not a word did +the closed lips utter while the amazing tale ran on and on in the gentle +drawl. Consternation, even doubt of the girl's sanity, held part in the +old woman's keen mind, but gradually the truth of the confession +established itself, and once the fact was realized that a stranger--and +_such_ a one--had been hidden in the hills while this thing, that the +girl was telling, was going on--the strong, clear mind of the listener +interpreted the truth by the knowledge gained through a long, hard life. + +"And so, you see, Miss Lois Ann, it's like he opened heaven for me; and +I want to hide here till he comes to take me up, up into heaven with +him. And no one else must know." + +Lois Ann had torn the cawl from Nella-Rose's baby face--had felt, in her +superstitious heart, that the child was mysteriously destined to see +wide and far; and now, with agony that she struggled to conceal, she +knew that to her was given the task of drawing the veil from the soul of +the girl at her feet in order that she might indeed see far and wide +into the kingdom of suffering women. + +For a moment the woman fenced, she would put the cup from her if she +could, like all humans who understand. + +"You--are yo' lying to me?" she asked faintly, and oh, but she would +have given much to hear the girl's impish laugh of assent. Instead, she +saw Nella-Rose's eyes grow deadly serious. + +"It's no lie, Miss Lois Ann; it's a right beautiful truth." + +"And for days and nights you stayed alone with this man?" + +The lean hand, with unrelenting strength, now gripped the drooping face +and held it firmly while the firelight played full upon it, meanwhile +the keen old eyes bored into Nella-Rose's very soul. + +"But he--he is my man! You forget the--marrying on the hill, Miss Lois +Ann!" + +The voice was raised a bit and the colour left the trembling lips. + +"Your man!" And a bitter laugh rang out wildly. + +"Stop, Miss Lois Ann! Yo' shall not look at me like that!" + +The vision was dulled--Nella-Rose shivered. + +"You shall not look at me like that; God would not--why should you?" + +"God!"--the cracked voice spoke the word bitterly. "God! What does God +care for women? It's the men as God made things for, and us-all has to +fend them off--men and God are agin us women!" + +"No, no! Let me free. I was so happy until--Oh! Miss Lois Ann, you +shall not take my happiness away." + +"Yo' came to the right place, yo' po' lil' chile." + +The eyes had seen all they needed to see and the hand let drop the +pretty, quivering face. + +"We'll wait--oh! certainly we-all will wait a week; two weeks; then +three. An' we-all will hide close and see what we-all shall see!" A +hard, pitiful laugh echoed through the room. "And now to bed! Take the +closet back o' my chamber. No one can reach yo' there, chile. Sleep and +dream and--forget." + +And that night Burke Lawson, after an hour's struggle, determined to +come forth among his kind and take his place. Nella-Rose had decided +him. He was tired of hiding, tired of playing his game. One look at the +face he had loved from its babyhood had turned the tide. Lawson had +never before been so long shut away from his guiding star. And she had +said that he might ask again when he dared--and so he came forth from +his cave-place. Once outside, he drew a deep, free breath, turned his +handsome face to the sky, and _felt_ the prayer that another might have +voiced. + +He thought of Nella-Rose, remembered her love of adventure, her +splendid courage and spirit. Nothing so surely could win her as the +proposal he was about to make. To ask her to remain at Pine Cone and +settle down with him as her hill-billy would hold small temptation, but +to take her away to new and wider fields--that was another matter! And +go they would--he and she. He would get a horse somewhere, somehow. With +Nella-Rose behind him, he would never stop until a parson was reached, +and after that--why the world would be theirs from which to choose. + +And it was at that point of Lawson's fervid, religious state that Jed +Martin had materialized and made it imperative that he be dealt with +summarily and definitely. + +After confiding his immediate future to the subjugated Martin--having +forced him to cover at the point of a pistol--Burke, with his big, +wholesome laugh, crawled again out of the cave. Then, raising himself to +his full height, he strode over the sodden trail toward White's cabin +with the lightest, purest heart he had carried for many a day. But Fate +had an ugly trick in store for him. He was half way to White's when he +heard steps. Habit was strong. He promptly climbed a tree. The moon came +out just then and disclosed the follower. "Blake's dawg," muttered +Lawson and, as the big hound took his stand under the tree, he +understood matters. Blake was his worst enemy; he had a score to settle +about the revenue men and a term in jail for which Lawson was +responsible. While the general hunt was on, Blake had entered in, +thinking to square things, while not bringing himself into too much +prominence. + +"Yo' infernal critter!" murmured Lawson, "in another minute you'll howl, +yo' po' brute. I hate ter shoot yo'--yo' being what yo' are--but here +goes." + +After that White's was impossible for a time and Nella-Rose must wait. +In a day or so, probably--so Burke quickly considered--he could make a +dash back, get White to help him, and bear off his prize, but for the +moment the sooner he reached safety beyond the ridge, the better. +Shooting a dog was no light matter. + +Lawson reached safety but with a broken leg; for, going down-stream, he +had met with misfortune and, during that long, hard winter, unable to +fend for himself, he was safely hidden by a timely friend and served by +a doctor who was smuggled to the scene and well paid for his help and +silence. + +And in Lois Ann's cabin Nella-Rose waited, at first with serene hope, +and then, with pitiful longing. She and the old woman never referred to +the conversation of the first night but the girl was sure she was being +watched and shielded and she felt the doubt and scorn in the attitude of +Lois Ann. + +"I'll--I'll send for my man," at last she desperately decided at the +end of the second week. But she dared not risk a journey to the far +station in order to send a telegram. So she watched for a chance to send +a letter that she had carefully and painfully written. + + "I'm to Miss Lois Ann's in Devil-may-come Hollow. I'm trusting and + loving you, but Miss Lois Ann--don't believe! So please, Mister Man + come and tell her and then go back and I will wait--most truly + + Your Nella-Rose." + +then she crossed the name out and scribbled "Your doney-gal." + +It was early in the third week that Bill Trim came whistling down the +trail, on a cold, bitterly cold, November morning. He bore a load of +"grateful gifts" to Lois Ann from men and women whom she had succoured +in times of need and who always remembered her, practically, when winter +"set." + +Bill was a half-wit but as strong as an ox; and, once set upon a task, +managed it in a way that had given him a secure position in the +community. He carried mail into the remotest districts--when there was +any to carry. He "toted" heavy loads and gathered gossip and spilled it +liberally. He was impersonal, ignorant, and illiterate, but he did his +poor best and grovelled at the feet of any one who showed him the least +affection. He was horribly afraid of Lois Ann for no reason that he +could have given; he was afraid of her eyes--her thin, claw-like hands. +As he now delivered the bundles he had for her he accepted the food she +gave and then darted away to eat it in comfort beyond the reach of those +glances he dreaded. + +And there Nella-Rose sought him and sat beside him with a choice morsel +she had saved from her finer fare. + +"Trim," she whispered when he was about to start, "here is a +letter--Miss Lois Ann wants you to mail." + +The bright eyes looked yearningly into the dull, hopeless face. + +"I--hate the ole 'un!" confided Bill. + +"But yo' don't hate me, Bill?" + +"No." + +"Well, then, do it for me, but don't tell a living soul that you saw me. +See, Bill, I have a whole dollar--I earned it by berry-picking. Pay for +the letter and then keep the rest. And if you ever see Marg, and she +asks about me--and whether you've seen me--tell her" (and here +Nella-Rose's white teeth gleamed in the mischievous smile), "tell her +you saw me walking in the Hollow with Burke Lawson!" + +The dull fellow shook with foolish laughter. "I sho' will!" he said, and +then tucked the letter and dollar bill in the breast of his shirt. "And +now, lil' doney-gal, let me touch yo' hand," he pleaded, +"this--er--way." And like a poor frayed, battered knight he pressed his +lips to the small, brown hand of the one person who had always been kind +to him. + +At sunset Bill halted to eat his supper and warm his stiffened body. He +tried to build a fire but the wood was wet and in desperation he took, +at last, the papers from inside his thin coat, they had helped to shield +him from the cold, and utilized them to start the pine cones. He rested +and feasted and later went his way. At the post office he searched among +his rags for the letter and the money. Then his face went white as +ashes: + +"Gawd a'mighty!" he whimpered. + +"What's wrong?" Merrivale came from behind the counter. + +"I done burn my chest protector. I'll freeze without the papers." Then +Bill explained the fire building but, recalling Lois Ann, withheld any +further information. + +"Here, you fool," Merrivale said not unkindly, "take all the papers you +want. And take this old coat, too. And look, lad, in yo' wandering have +yo' seen Greyson's lil' gal?" + +Bill looked cunning and drawing close whispered: + +"Her--and him, I seed 'im, back in the sticks! Her--and him!" Then he +laughed his foolish laugh. + +"I thought as much!" Merrivale nodded, with the trouble a good man knows +at times in his eyes; but his faith in Burke coming to his aid. "You +mean--Lawson?" he asked. + +Bill nodded foolishly. + +"Then keep yo' mouth shut!" warned Merrivale. "If I hear yo' +gabbing--I'll flax the hide o' yo', sure as I keep store." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +A month, then two, passed in the desolate cabin in the Hollow. Winter +clutched and held Pine Cone Settlement in a deadly grip. Old people died +and little children were born. Lois Ann, when it was physically +possible, got to the homes of suffering and eased the women, while she +berated the men for bringing poor souls to such dread passes. But always +Nella-Rose hid and shrank from sight. No need, now, to warn her. A new +and terrible look had come into her eyes, and when Lois Ann saw that +creeping terror she knew that her hour had come. To save Nella-Rose, she +believed, she must lay low every illusion and, with keen and deliberate +force, she pressed the apple of the knowledge of life between the +girlish lips. The bitter truth at last ate its way into the girl's soul +and gradually hate, such as she had never conceived, grew and consumed +her. + +"She will not die," thought the old woman watching her day by day. + +And Nella-Rose did not die, at least not outwardly, but in her, as in +Truedale, the fine, first glow of pure faith and passion, untouched by +the world's interpretation, faded and shrivelled forever. + +The long winter hid the secret in the dreary cabin. The roads and +trails were closed; none drew near for shelter or succour. + +By springtime Nella-Rose was afraid of every living creature except the +faithful soul who stood guard over her. She ran and trembled at the +least sound; she was white and hollow-eyed, but her hate was stronger +and fiercer than ever. + +Early summer came--the gladdest time of the year. The heat was broken by +soft showers; the flowers bloomed riotously, and in July the world-old +miracle occurred in Lois Ann's cabin--Nella-Rose's child was born! With +its coming the past seemed blotted out; hate gave place to reverent awe +and tenderness. In the young mother the woman rose supreme and she would +not permit her mind to hold a harmful thought. + +Through the hours of her travail, when Lois Ann, desperate and +frightened, had implored, threatened, and commanded that she should tell +the name of the father of her child, she only moaned and closed her lips +the firmer. But when she looked upon her baby she smiled radiantly and +whispered to the patient old creature beside her: + +"Miss Lois Ann, this lil' child has no father. It is my baby and God +sent it. I shall call her Ann--cuz you've been right good to me--you +sholy have." + +So it was "lil' Ann" and, since the strange reticence and misunderstood +joyousness remained, Lois Ann, at her wit's end, believing that death +or insanity threatened, went secretly to the Greyson house to confess +and get assistance. + +Peter was away with Jed. The two hung together now like burrs. Whatever +of relaxation Martin could hope for lay in Greyson; whatever of material +comfort Peter could command, must come through Jed, and so they +laboured, in slow, primitive fashion, and edged in a little pleasure +together. Marg, having achieved her ambition, was content and, for the +first time in her life, easy to get along with. And into this +comparative Eden Lois Ann came with words that shattered the peace and +calm. + +In Marg's private thought she had never doubted that her sister had +often been with Burke Lawson in the Hollow. When he disappeared, she +believed Nella-Rose was with him, but she had supported and embellished +her father's story concerning them because it secured her own +self-respect and covered the tracks of the degenerate pair with a shield +that they in no wise deserved, but which put their defenders in a truly +Christian attitude. + +Marg was alone in the cabin when Lois Ann entered. She looked up flushed +and eager. + +"How-de," she said genially. "Set and have a bite." + +"I ain't got no time," the old woman returned pantingly. "Nella-Rose is +down to my place." + +The warm, sunny room grew stifling to Marg. + +"What a-doing?" she said, half under her breath. + +"She's got a--lil' baby." + +The colour faded from Marg's face, leaving it pasty and heavy. + +"Burke--thar?" + +"He ain't been thar all winter. I hid Nella-Rose and her shame but I +dare not any longer. I reckon she's going off." + +"Dying?" + +"May be; or--" and here Lois Ann tapped her head. + +"And he--he went and left her?" groaned Marg--"the devil!" + +Lois Ann watched the terrible anger rising in the younger woman and of a +sudden she realized how useless it would be to voice the wild tale +Nella-Rose held to. So she only nodded. + +"I'll come with you," Marg decided at once, "and don't you let on to +father or Jed--they'd do some killing this time, sure!" + +Together the two made their way to the Hollow and found Nella-Rose in +the quiet room with her baby nestling against her tender breast. The +look on her face might well stay the reproaches on Marg's lips--she +almost reeled back as the deep, true eyes met hers. All the smothered +sisterliness came to the surface for an instant as she trembled and drew +near to the two in the old chintz-covered rocker. + +"See! my baby, Marg. She is lil' Ann." + +"Ann--what?" whispered Marg. + +"Just lil' Ann for--Miss Lois Ann." + +"Nella-Rose" (and now Marg fell on her knees beside her sister), "tell +me where he is. Tell me and as sure as God lives I'll bring him back! +I'll make him own you and--and the baby or he'll--he'll--" + +And then Nella-Rose laughed the laugh that drove Lois Ann to +distraction. + +"Send Marg away, Miss Lois Ann," Nella-Rose turned to her only friend, +"she makes me so--so tired and--I do not want any one but you." + +Marg got upon her feet, all the tenderness and compassion gone. + +"You are--" she began, but Lois Ann was between her and Nella-Rose. + +"Go!" she commanded with terrible scorn. "Go! You are not fit to touch +them. Go! Dying or mad--the girl belongs to me and not to such as has +viper blood in their veins. Go!" And Marg went with the sound of +Nella-Rose's crooning to her child ringing in her ears. + +Things happened dramatically after that in the deep woods. Marg kept the +secret of the Hollow cabin in her seething heart. She was frightened, +fearing her father or Jed might discover Nella-Rose. But she was, at +times, filled with a strange longing to see her sister and touch that +wonderful thing that lay on the guilty mother-breast. + +Was Nella-Rose forever to have the glory even in her shame, while she, +Marg, with all the rights of womanhood, could hold no hope of maternity? + +For one reason or another Marg often stole to the woods as near the +Hollow as she dared to go. She hoped for news but none came; and it was +late August when, one sunny noon, she confronted Burke Lawson! + +Lawson's face was strange and awful to look on. Marg drew away from him +in fear. She could not know but Burke had had a terrific experience that +day and he was on the path for revenge and any one in his way must +suffer. Freed at last from his captivity, he had travelled across the +range and straight to Jim White. And the sheriff, ready for the +recreant, greeted him without mercy, judging him guilty until he proved +himself otherwise. + +"What you done with Nella-Rose?" he asked, standing before Burke with +slow fire in his deep eyes. + +Lawson could never have been the man he was if he were not capable of +holding his own council and warding off attack. + +"What makes you think I've done anything with her?" he asked. + +"None o' that, Burke Lawson," Jim warned. "I've been yo' friend, but I +swear I'll toss yo' ter the dogs, as is after you, with as little +feelin' as I would if yo' were a chunk o' dead meat--if you've harmed +that lil' gal." + +"Well, I ain't harmed her, Jim. And now let's set down and talk it +over. I want to--to bring her home; I want ter live a decent life 'mong +yo'-all. Jim, don't shoot 'til yo' make sure yo' ought ter shoot." + +Thus brought to reason Jim sat down, shared his meal with his reinstated +friend, and gave him the gossip of the hills. Lawson ate because he was +well-nigh starved and he knew he had some rough work ahead; he listened +because he needed all the guiding possible and he shielded the name and +reputation of Nella-Rose with the splendid courage that filled his young +heart and mind. And then he set forth upon his quest with these words: + +"As Gawd A'mighty hears me, Jim White, I'll fetch that lil' Nella-Rose +home and live like a man from now on. Wipe off my sins, Jim; make a +place for me, old man, and I'll never shame it--or God blast me!" + +White took the strong young hand and felt his eyes grow misty. + +"Yo' place is here, Burke," he said, and then Lawson was on his way. + +A half hour later he encountered Marg. In his own mind Burke had a +pretty clear idea of what had occurred. Not having heard any suggestion +of Truedale, he was as ignorant of him as though Truedale had never +existed. Jed, then, was the only man to hold guilty. Jed had, in passion +and revenge, wronged Nella-Rose and had after, like the sneak and +coward he was, sought to secure his own safety by marrying Marg. But +what had they done with Nella-Rose? She had, according to White, +disappeared the night that Jed had been tied in the cave. Well, Jed must +confess and pay!--pay to the uttermost. But between him and Jed Marg now +stood! + +"You!" cried Marg. "You! What yo' mean coming brazen to us-all?" + +"Get out of my way!" commanded Burke, "Where's Jed?" + +"What's that to you?" + +"You'll find out soon enough. Let me by." + +But Marg held her ground and Lawson waited. The look in his eyes awed +Marg, but his presence enraged her. + +"What you-all done with Nella-Rose?" Lawson asked. + +"You better find out! You've left it long enough." + +"Whar is she, I say? And I tell you now, Marg--every one as has wronged +that lil' girl will answer to me. Whar is she?" + +"She--she and her young-un are up to Lois Ann's. They've been hid all +winter. No one but me knows; you've time to make good--before--before +father and Jed get yo'." + +Lawson took this like a blow between the eyes. He could not speak--for a +moment he could not think; then a lurid fire of conviction burned into +his very soul. + +"So--that's it!" he muttered, coming so close to Marg that she shrank +back afraid. "So that's it! Yo'-all have damned and all but killed the +po' lil' girl--then flung her to--to the devil! You've taken the +leavings--you! 'cause yo' couldn't get anything else. Yo' and Jed" (here +Lawson laughed a fearless, terrifying laugh), "yo' and Jed is honourably +married, you two, and she--lil' Nella-Rose--left to--" Emotion choked +Lawson; then he plunged on: "He--he wronged her--the brute, and you took +him to--to save him and yourself you--! And she?--why, she's the only +holy thing in the hills; you couldn't damn her--you two!" + +"For the love o' Gawd!" begged Marg, "keep yo' tongue still and off us! +We ain't done her any wrong; every one, even Jed, thinks she is with +you. Miss Lois Ann hid her--I only knew a week ago. I ain't told a +soul!" + +A look of contempt grew upon Burke's face and hardened there. He was +thinking quick and desperately. In a vague way he realized that he had +the reins in his hands; his only concern was to know whither he should +drive. But, above and beyond all--deep true, and spiritual--were his +love and pity for Nella-Rose. + +They had all betrayed and deserted her. Not for an instant did Lawson +doubt that. Their cowardice and duplicity neither surprised nor daunted +him; but his pride--his sense of superiority--bade him pause and reflect +before he plunged ahead. Finally he said: + +"So you-all depend upon her safety for your safety! Take it--and be +damned! She's been with me--yo' followin' me? She's been with me, +rightful married and happy--happy! From now on I'll manage lil' +Nella-Rose's doings, and the first whisper from man or woman agin her +will be agin me--and God knows I won't be blamed for what I do then! +Tell that skunk of yours," Lawson glared at the terrified Marg, "I'm +strong enough to outbid him with the devil, but from now on him and +you--mind this well, Marg Greyson--him and you are to be our loving +brother and sister. See?" + +With a wild laugh Burke took to the woods. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Two years and a half following William Truedale's death found things +much as the old gentleman would have liked. Often Lynda Kendall, sitting +beside the long, low, empty chair, longed to tell her old friend all +about it. Strange to say, the recluse in life had become very vital in +death. He had wrought, in his silent, lonely detachment, better even +than he knew. His charities, shorn of the degrading elements of many +similar ones, were carried on without a hitch. Dr. McPherson, under his +crust of hardness, was an idealist and almost a sentimentalist; but +above all he was a man to inspire respect and command obedience. No +hospital with which he had to deal was unmarked by his personality. +Neglect and indifference were fatal attributes for internes and nurses. + +"Give the youngsters sleep enough, food and relaxation enough," he would +say to the superintendents, "but after that expect--and get--faithful, +conscientious service with as much humanity as possible thrown in." + +The sanatorium for cases such as William Truedale's was already +attracting wide attention. The finest men to be obtained were on the +staff; specially trained nurses were selected; and Lynda had put her +best thought and energy into the furnishing of the small rooms and +spacious wards. + +Conning, becoming used to the demands made upon him, was at last +dependable, and grew to see, in each sufferer the representative of the +uncle he had never understood; whom he had neglected and, too late, had +learned to respect. He was almost ashamed to confess how deeply +interested he was in the sanatorium. Recalling at times the loneliness +and weariness of William Truedale's days--picturing the sad night when +he had, as Lynda put it, opened the door himself, to release and +hope--Conning sought to ease the way for others and so fill the waiting +hours that less opportunity was left for melancholy thought. He +introduced amusements and pastimes in the hospital, often shared them +himself, and still attended to the other business that William +Truedale's affairs involved. + +The men who had been appointed to direct and control these interests +eventually let the reins fall into the hands eager to grasp them and, in +the endless labour and sense of usefulness, Conning learned to know +content and comparative peace. He grew to look upon his present life as +a kind of belated reparation. He was not depressed; with surprising +adaptability he accepted what was inevitable and, while reserving, in +the personal sense, his past for private hours, he managed to construct +a philosophy and cheerfulness that carried him well on the tide of +events. + +It was something of a shock to him one evening, nearly three years after +his visit to Pine Cone, to find himself looking at Lynda Kendall as if +he had never seen her before. + +She was going out with Brace and was in evening dress. Truedale had +never seen her gowned so, and he realized that she was extremely +handsome and--something more. She came close to him, drawing on her +long, loose, white gloves. + +"I cannot bear to go and leave you--all alone!" she said, raising her +eyes to his. + +"You see, John Morrell is showing us his brand-new wife to-night--and I +couldn't resist; but I'll try to break away early." + +"You are eager to see--Mrs. Morrell?" Truedale asked, and suddenly +recalled the relation Lynda had once held to Morrell. He had not thought +of it for many a day. + +"Very. You see I hope to be great friends with her. I want--" + +"What, Lynda?" + +"Well, to help her understand--John." + +"Let me button your glove, Lyn"--for Truedale saw her hands were +trembling though her eyes were peaceful and happy. And then as the long, +slim hand rested in his, he asked: + +"And you--have never regretted, Lyn?" + +"Regretted? Does a woman regret when she's saved from a mistake and +gets off scot-free as well?" + +They looked at each other for a moment and then Lynda drew away her +hand. + +"Thanks, Con, and please miss us a little, but not too much. What will +you do to pass the time until we return?" + +"I think"--Truedale pulled himself up sharply--"I think I'll go up under +the eaves and get out--the old play!" + +"Oh! how splendid! And you will--let me hear it--some day, soon?" + +"Yes. Business is going easier now. I can think of it without neglecting +better things. Good-night, Lyn. Tuck your coat up close, the night's +bad." + +And then, alone in the warm, bright room, Truedale had a distinct sense +of Lynda having taken something besides herself away. She had left the +room hideously lonely; it became unbearable to remain there and, like a +boy, Conning ran up to the small room next the roof. + +He took the old play out--he had not unpacked it since he came from Pine +Cone! He laid it before him and presently became absorbed in reading it +from the beginning. It was after eleven when he raised his tired eyes +from the pages and leaned back in his chair. + +"I'm like--all men!" he muttered. "All men--and I thought things had +gone deeper with me." + +What he was recognizing was that the play and the subtle influence that +Nella-Rose had had upon him had both lost their terrific hold. He could +contemplate the past without the sickening sense of wrong and shock that +had once overpowered him. Realizing the full meaning of all that had +gone into his past experience, he found himself thinking of Lynda as she +had looked a few hours before. He resented the lesser hold the past +still had upon him--he wanted to shake it free. Not bitterly--not with +contempt--but, he argued, why should his life be shadowed always by a +mistake, cruel and unpardonable as it was, when she, that little +ignorant partner in the wrong, had gone her way and had doubtless by now +put him forever from her mind? + +How small a part it had played with her, poor child. She had been +betrayed by her strange imagination and suddenly awakened passion; she +had followed blindly where he had led, but when catastrophe had +threatened one who had been part of her former life--familiar with all +that was real to her--how readily the untamed instinct had reverted to +its own! + +And he--Truedale comforted himself--he had come back to _his_ own, and +his own had made its claim upon him. Why should he not have his second +chance? He wanted love--not friendship; he wanted--Lynda! All else faded +and Lynda, the new Lynda--Lynda with the hair that had learned to curl, +the girl with the pretty white shoulders and sweet, kind eyes--stood +pleadingly close in the shabby old room and demanded recognition. "She +thinks," and here Truedale covered his eyes, "that I am--as I was when I +began my life--here! What would she say--if she knew? She, God bless +her, is not like others. Faithful, pure, she could not forgive the +_truth_!" + +Truedale, thinking so of Lynda Kendall, owned to his best self that +because the woman who now filled his life held to her high ideals--would +never lower them--he could honour and reverence her. If she, like him, +could change, and accept selfishly that which she would scorn in +another, she would not be the splendid creature she was. And +yet--without conceit or vanity--Truedale believed that Lynda felt for +him what he felt for her. + +Never doubting that he could bring to her an unsullied past, she was, +delicately, in finest woman-fashion, laying her heart open to him. She +knew that he had little to offer and yet--and yet--she was--willing! +Truedale knew this to be true. And then he decided he must, even at this +late day, tell Lynda of the past. For her sake he dare not venture any +further concealment. Once she understood--once she recovered from her +surprise and shock--she would be his friend, he felt confident of that; +but she would be spared any deeper personal interest. It was Lynda's +magnificent steadfastness that now appealed to Truedale. With the +passing of his own season of madness, he looked upon this calm serenity +of her character with deepest admiration. + +"The best any man should hope for," he admitted--turning, as he thought, +his back upon his yearning--"any man who has played the fool as I have, +is the sympathetic friendship of a good woman. What right has a man to +fall from what he knows a woman holds highest, and then look to her to +change her ideals to fit his pattern?" + +Arriving at this conclusion, Truedale wrapped the tattered shreds of his +self-respect about him and accepted, as best he could, the prospect of +Lynda's adjustment to the future. + +Brace and Lynda did not return in time to see Truedale that night. At +twelve, with a resigned sigh, he put away his play and went to his +lonely rooms in the tall apartment farther uptown. His dog was waiting +for him with the reproachful look in his faithful eyes that reminded +Truedale that the poor beast had not had an outing for twenty-four +hours. + +"Come on, old fellow," he said, "better late than never," and the two +descended to the street. They walked sedately for an hour. The dog +longed to gambol; he was young enough to associate outdoors with +license; but being a friend as well as a dog, he felt that this was +rather a time for close comradeship, so he pattered along at his +master's heels and once in a while pushed his cold nose into the limp +hand swinging by Truedale's side. "Thank God!" Conning thought, +reaching down to pat the sleek head, "I can keep you without--confession!" + +For three days and nights Truedale stayed away from the old home. +Business was his excuse--he offered it in the form of a note and a bunch +of violets. Lynda telephoned on the second day and asked him if he were +quite well. The tone of her voice made him decide to see her at once. + +"May I come to dinner to-night, Lyn?" he asked. + +"Sorry, Con, but I must dine with some people who have bought a hideous +house and want me to get them out of the scrape by remodelling the +inside. They're awfully rich and impossible--it's a sort of duty to the +public, you know." + +"To-morrow then, Lyn?" + +"Yes, indeed. Only Brace will be dining with the Morrells; by the way, +she's a dear, Con." + +The next night was terrifically stormy--one of those spring storms that +sweep everything before them. The bubbles danced on the pavements, the +gutters ran floods, and fragments of umbrellas and garments floated +incongruously on the tide. + +Battling against the wind, Conning made his way to Lynda's. As he drew +near the house the glow from the windows seemed to meet and touch him +with welcome. + +"I'll economize somewhere," Lynda often said, "but when darkness comes +I'm always going to do my best to get the better of it." + +Just for one blank moment Truedale had a sickening thought: "Suppose +that welcome was never again for him, after this night?" Then he laughed +derisively. Lynda might have her ideals, her eternal reservations, but +she also had her superb faithfulness. After she knew _all_, she would +still be his friend. + +When he went into the library Lynda sat before the fire knitting a long +strip of vivid wools. Conning had never seen her so employed and it had +the effect of puzzling him; it was like seeing her--well, smoking, as +some of her friends did! Nothing wrong in it--but, inharmonious. + +"What are you making, Lyn?" he asked, taking the ottoman and drawing +close to her. + +"It--it isn't anything, Con. No one wants trash like this. It fulfils +its mission when it is ravelled and knitted, then unravelled. You know +what Stevenson says: 'I travel for travel's sake; the great affair is to +move.' I knit for knitting's sake; it keeps my hands busy while my--my +soul basks." + +She looked up with a smile and Truedale saw that she was ill at ease. It +was the one thing that unnerved him. Had she been her old, +self-contained self he could have depended upon her to bear her part +while he eased his soul by burdening hers; but now he caught in her the +appealing tenderness that had always awakened in old William Truedale +the effort to save her from herself--from the cares others laid upon +her. + +Conning, instead of plunging into his confession, looked at her in such +a protecting, yearning way that Lynda's eyes fell, and the soft colour +slowly crept in her cheeks. + +In the stillness, that neither knew how to break, Truedale noticed the +gown Lynda wore. It was blue and clinging. The whiteness of her slim +arms showed through the loose sleeves; the round throat was bare and +girlish in its drooping curve. + +For one mad moment Truedale tried to stifle his conscience. Why should +he not have this love and happiness that lay close to him? In what was +he different from the majority of men? Then he thought--as others before +him had thought--that, since the race must be preserved, the primal +impulses should not be denied. They outlived everything; they rallied +from shock--even death; they persisted until extinction; and here was +this sweet woman with all her gracious loveliness near him. He loved +her! Yes, strange as it seemed even then to him, Truedale acknowledged +that he loved her with the love, unlike yet like the love that had been +too rudely awakened in the lonely woods when he had been still incapable +of understanding it. + +Then the storm outside reached his consciousness and awakened memories +that hurt and stung him. + +No. He was not as many men who could take and take and find excuse. The +very sincerity of the past and future must prove itself, now, in this +throbbing, vital present. Only so could he justify himself and his +belief in goodness. He must open his heart and soul to the woman beside +him. There was no other alternative. + +But first they dined together across the hall. Truedale noted every +special dish--the meal was composed of his favourite viands. The +intimacy of sitting opposite Lynda, the smiling pleasure of old Thomas +who served them, combined to lure him again from his stern sense of +duty. + +Why? Why? his yearning pleaded. Why should he destroy his own future +happiness and that of this sweet, innocent woman for a whim--that was +what he tried to term it--of conscience? Why, there were men, thousands +of them, who would call him by a harsher name than he cared to own, if +he followed such a course; and yet--then Truedale looked across at +Lynda. + +"A woman should have clear vision and choice," his reason commanded, and +to this his love agreed. + +But alone with Lynda, in the library later, the conflict was renewed. +Never had she been so sweet, so kind. The storm beat against the house +and instead of interfering, seemed to hold them close and--together. It +no longer aroused in Truedale recollections that smarted. It was like an +old familiar guide leading his thought into ways sacred and happy. Then +suddenly, out of a consciousness that knew neither doubt nor fear, he +said: + +"You and I, Lyn, were never afraid of truth, were we?" + +"Never." + +She was knitting again--knitting feverishly and desperately. + +"Lyn--I want to tell you--all about it! About something you must know." + +Very quietly now, Lynda rolled her work together and tossed it, needles +and all, upon the glowing logs. She was done, forever, with subterfuge +and she knew it. The wool curled, blackened, and gave forth a scorched +smell before the red coals subdued it. Then, with a straight, uplifted +look: + +"I'm ready, Con." + +"Just before I broke down and went away, Brace once told me that my life +had no background, no colour. Lynda, it is of that background about +which you do not know, that I want to speak." He waited a moment, then +went on: + +"I went away--to the loneliest, the most beautiful place I had ever +seen. For a time there seemed to be nobody in the world but the man with +whom I lived and me. He liked and trusted me--I betrayed his trust!" + +Lynda caught her breath and gave a little exclamation of dissent, +wonder. + +"You--betrayed him, Con! I cannot believe that. Go on." + +"Yes. I betrayed his trust. He left me and went into the deep woods to +hunt. He put everything in my care--everything. He was gone nearly three +weeks. No one knew of my existence. They are like that down there. If +you are an outsider you do not matter. I had arrived at dark; I was sent +for a certain purpose; that was all that mattered. I began and ended +with the man who was my host and who had been told to--to keep me +secret." Truedale was gripping the arms of his chair and his words came +punctuated by sharp pauses. + +"And then, into that solitude, came a young girl. Remember, she did not +know of my existence. We--discovered each other like creatures in a new +world. There are no words to describe her--I cannot even attempt it, +Lynda. I ruined her life. That's all!" + +The bald, crushing truth was out. For a moment the man Lynda Kendall +knew and loved seemed hiding behind this monster the confession had +called forth. A lesser woman would have shrunk in affright, but not +Lynda. + +"No. That is not all," she whispered hoarsely, putting her hands out as +though pushing something tangible aside until she could reach Conning. +"I demand the rest." + +"What matters it?" Truedale spoke bitterly. "If I tell how and why, can +that alter the--fact? Oh! I have had my hours of explaining and +justifying and glossing over; but I've come at last to the point where +I see myself as I am and I shall never argue the thing again." + +"Con, you have shown me the man as man might see him; I must--I must +have him as a woman--as his God--must see him!" + +"And you think it possible for me to grant this? You--you, Lynda, would +you have me put up a defense for what I did?" + +"No. But I would have you throw all the light upon it that you can. I +want to see--for myself. I will not accept the hideous skeleton you have +hung before me. Con, I have never really known but five men in my life; +but women--women have lain heart deep along my way ever since--I learned +to know my mother! Not only for yourself, but for that girl who drifted +into your solitude, I demand light--all that you can give me!" + +And now Truedale breathed hard and the muscles of his face twitched. He +was about to lay bare the inscrutable, the holy thing of his life, +fearing that even the woman near him could not be just. He had accepted +his own fate, so he thought; he meant not to whine or complain, but how +was he to live his life if Lynda failed to agree with him--where +Nella-Rose was concerned? + +"Will you--can you--do what I ask, Con?" + +"Yes--in a minute." + +"You--loved her? She loved you--Con?" Lynda strove to smooth the way, +not so much for Truedale as for herself. + +"Yes! I found her in my cabin one day when I returned from a long tramp. +She had decked herself out in my bathrobe and the old fez. Not knowing +anything about me, she was horribly frightened when I came upon her. At +first she seemed nothing but a child--she took me by storm. We met in +the woods later. I read to her, taught her, played with her--I, who had +never played in my life before. Then suddenly she became a woman! She +knew no law but her own; she was full of courage and daring and a +splendid disregard for conventions as--as we all know them. For her, +they simply did not exist. I--I was willing and eager to cast my future +hopes of happiness with hers--God knows I was sincere in that! + +"Then came a night of storm--such as this. Can you imagine it in the +black forests where small streams become rivers in a moment, carrying +all before them as they plunge and roar down the mountain sides? Dangers +of all sorts threatened and, in the midst of that storm, something +occurred that involved me! I had sent Nella-Rose--that was her +name--away earlier in the day. I could not trust myself. But she came +back to warn me. It meant risking everything, for her people were abroad +that night bent on ugly business; she had to betray them in order to +save me. To have turned her adrift would have meant death, or worse. +She remained with me nearly a week--she and I alone in that cabin and +cut off from the world--she and I! There was only myself to depend +upon--and, Lynda, I failed again!" + +"But, Con--you meant to--to marry her; you meant that--from the first?" +Lynda had forgotten herself, her suffering. She was struggling to save +something more precious than her love; she was holding to her faith in +Truedale. + +"Good God! yes. It was the one thing I wanted--the one thing I planned. +In my madness it did not seem to matter much except as a safeguard for +her--but I had no other thought or intention. We meant to go to a +minister as soon as the storm released us. Then came the telegram about +Uncle William, and the minister was killed during the storm. Lynda, I +wanted to bring Nella-Rose to you just as she was, but she would not +come. I left my address and told her to send for me if she needed me--I +meant to return as soon as I could, anyway. I would have left anything +for her. She never sent for me--and the very day I left--she--" + +"What, Con? I must know all." + +"Lynda, before God I believe something drove the child to it; you must +not--you shall not judge her. But she went, the very night I left, to a +man--a man of the hills--who had loved her all his life. He was in +danger; he escaped, taking her with him!" + +"I--I do _not_ believe it!" The words rang out sharply, defiantly. +Woman was in arms for woman. The loyalty that few men admit confronted +Truedale now. It seemed to glorify the darkness about him. He had no +further fear for Nella-Rose and he bowed his head before Lynda's blazing +eyes. + +"God bless you!" he whispered, "but oh! Lyn, I went back to make sure. I +had the truth from her own father. And with all--she stands to this day, +in my memory, guiltless of the monstrous wrong she seemed to commit; and +so she will always stand. + +"Since then, Lynda, I have lived a new piece of life; the past lies back +there and it is dead, dead. I would not have told you this but for one +great and tremendous thing. You will not understand this; no woman +could. A man could, but not a woman. + +"As I once loved--in another way--that child of the hills, I love you, +the one woman of my manhood's clearer vision. Because of that love--I +had to speak." + +Truedale looked up and met the eyes that searched his soul. + +"I believe you," Lynda faltered. "I do not understand, but I believe +you. Go away now, Con, I want to think." + +He rose at once and bent over her. "God bless you, Lyn," was all he +said. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Two days, then three passed. Lynda tried to send for Truedale--tried to +believe that she saw clearly at last, but having decided that she was +ready she was again lost in doubt and plunged into a new struggle. + +She neglected her work and grew pale and listless. Brace was worried and +bewildered. He had never seen his sister in like mood and, missing +Conning from the house, he drew, finally, his own conclusions. + +One day, it was nearly a week after Truedale's call, Brace came upon his +sister in the workshop over the extension. She was sitting on the +window-ledge looking out into the old garden where a magnolia tree was +in full bloom. + +"Heigho, boy!" she said, welcoming him with her eyes. "I've just +discovered that spring is here. I've always been ready for it before. +This year it has taken me by surprise." + +Brace came close to her and put his hands on her shoulders. + +"What's the matter, girl?" he asked in his quick, blunt way. + +The tears came to Lynda's eyes, but she did not shrink. + +"Brother," she said slowly, "I--I want to marry Con and--I do not +dare." + +Kendall dropped in the nearest chair, and stared blankly at his sister. + +"Would you mind being a bit more--well, more explicit?" he faltered. + +"I'm going to ask you--some questions, dear. Will you--tell me true?" + +"I'll do my best." Kendall passed his hand through his hair; it seemed +to relieve the tension. + +"Brace, can a man truly love many times? Perhaps not many--but +twice--truly?" + +"Yes--he can!" Brace asserted boldly. "I've been in love a dozen times +myself. I always put it to the coffee-urn test--that settles it." + +"Brace, I am in earnest. Do not joke." + +"Joke? Good Lord! I tell you, Lyn, I am in _deadly_ earnest--deadlier +than you know. When a man puts his love three hundred and sixty-five +times a year, in fancy, behind his coffee-urn, he gets his bearings." + +"You've never grown up, Brace, and I feel as old--as old as both your +grandmothers. I do not mean--puppy-love; I mean the love that cuts deep +in a man's soul. Can it cut twice?" + +"If it couldn't, it would be good-bye to the future of the race!" And +now Kendall had the world's weary knowledge in his eyes. + +"A woman--cannot understand that, Lyn. She must trust if she loves." + +"Yes." The universal language of men struck Lynda like a strange +tongue. Had she been living all her life, she wondered, like a +foreigner--understanding merely by signs? And now that she was +close--was confronting a situation that vitally affected her +future--must she, like other women, trust, trust? + +"But what has all this to do with Con?" Kendall's voice roused Lynda +sharply. + +"Why--everything," she said in her simple, frank way, "he--he is +offering me a second love, Brace." + +For a moment Kendall thought his sister was resorting to sarcasm or +frivolity. But one look at her unsmiling face and shadow-touched eyes +convinced him. + +"You hardly are the woman to whom dregs should be offered," he said +slowly, and then, "But Con! Good Lord!" + +"Brace, now I am speaking the woman's language, perhaps you may not be +able to understand me, but I know Con is not offering me dregs--I do not +think he has any dregs in his nature; he is offering me the best, the +truest love of his life. I know it! I know it! The love that would bring +my greatest joy and his best good and--yet I am afraid!" + +Kendall went over and stood close beside his sister again. + +"You know that?" he asked, "and still are afraid? Why?" + +The clear eyes looked up pathetically. "Because Con may not know, and I +may not be able to make him know--make him--forget!" + +There was a moment's silence. Kendall was never to forget the magnolia +tree in its gorgeous, pink bloom; the droop of his strong, fine sister! +Sharply he recalled the night long ago when Truedale groaned and threw +his letters on the fire. + +"Lyn, I hardly dare ask this, knowing you as I do--you are not the sort +to compromise with honour selfishly or idiotically--but, Lyn, the--the +other love, it was not--an evil thing?" + +The tears sprang to Lynda's eyes and she flung her arms around her +brother's neck and holding him so whispered: + +"No! no! At least I can understand that. It was the--the most beautiful +and tender tragedy. That is the trouble. It was so--wonderful, that I +fear no man can ever quite forget and take the new love without a +backward look. And oh! Brace, I must have--my own! Men cannot always +understand women when they say this. They think, when we say we want our +own lives, that it means lives running counter to theirs. This is not +so. We want, we must choose--but the best of us want the common life +that draws close to the heart of things; we want to go with our men and +along their way. Our way and theirs are the _same_ way, when love is big +enough." + +"Lyn--there isn't a man on God's earth worthy of--you!" + +"Brace, look at me--answer true. Am I such that a man could really want +me?" + +He looked long at her. Bravely he strove to forget the blood tie that +held them. He regarded her from the viewpoint that another man might +have. Then he said: + +"Yes. As God hears me, Lyn--yes!" + +She dropped her head upon his shoulder and wept as if grief instead of +joy were sweeping over her. Presently she raised her tear-wet face and +said: + +"I'm going to marry Con, dear, as soon as he wants me. I hate to say +this, Brace, but it is a little as if Conning had come home to me from +an honourable war--a bit mutilated. I must try to get used to him and I +will! I will!" + +Kendall held her to him close. "Lyn, I never knew until this moment how +much I have to humbly thank God for. Oh! if men only could see ahead, +young fellows I mean, they would not come to a woman--mutilated. I +haven't much to offer, heaven knows, but--well, Lyn, I can offer a clear +record to some woman--some day!" + +All that day Lynda thought of the future. Sitting in her workshop with +the toy-like emblems of her craft at hand she thought and thought. It +seemed to her, struggling alone, that men and women, after all, walked +through life--largely apart. They had built bridges with love and +necessity and over them they crossed to touch each other for a space, +but oh! how she longed for a common highway where she and Con could walk +always together! She wanted this so much, so much! + +At five o'clock she telephoned to Truedale. She knew he generally went +to his apartment at that hour. + +"I--I want to see you, Con," she said. + +"Yes, Lyn. Where?" + +She felt the answer meant much, so she paused. + +"After dinner, Con, and come right up to--to my workshop." + +"I will be there--early." + +Lynda was never more her merry old self than she was at dinner; but she +was genuinely relieved when Brace told her he was going out. + +"What are you going to do, Lyn?" he asked. + +"Why--go up to my workshop. I've neglected things horribly, lately." + +"I thought that night work was taboo?" + +"I rarely work at night, Brace. And you--where are you going?" + +"Up to Morrell's." + +Lynda raised her eyebrows. + +"Mrs. Morrell's sister has come from the West, Lyn. She's very +interesting. She's _voted_, and it hasn't hurt her." + +"Why should it? And"--Lynda came around the table and paused as she was +about to go out of the room "I wonder if she could pass the coffee-urn +test, on a pinch?" + +Kendall coloured vividly. "I've been thinking more of my end of the +table since I saw her than I ever have before in my life. It isn't all +coffee-urn, Lyn." + +"Indeed it isn't! I must see this little womanly Lochinvar at once. Is +she pretty--pretty as Mrs. John?" + +"Why--I don't know. I haven't thought. She's so different from--every +one. She's little but makes you think big. She's always saying things +you remember afterward, but she doesn't talk much. She's--she's got +light hair and blue eyes!" This triumphantly. + +"And I hope she--dresses well?" This with a twinkle, for Kendall was +keen about the details of a woman's dress. + +"She must, or I would have noticed." Then, upon reflection, "or perhaps +I wouldn't." + +"Well, good-night, Brace, and--give Mrs. John my love. Poor dear! she +came up to ask me yesterday if I could make a small room _look_ +spacious! You see, John likes to have everything cluttered--close to his +touch. She wants him to have his way and at the same time she wants to +breathe, too. Her West is in her blood." + +"What are you going to do about it, Lyn?" Kendall lighted a cigar and +laughed. + +"Oh, I managed to give a prairie-like suggestion of openness to her +living-room plan and I told her to make John reach for a few things. It +would do him good and save her soul alive." + +"And she--what did she say to that?" + +"Oh, she laughed. She has such a pretty laugh. Good-night, brother." + +And then Lynda went upstairs to her quiet, dim room. It was a warmish +night, with a moon that shone through the open space in the rear. The +lot had not been built upon and the white path that had seemed to lure +old William Truedale away from life now stretched before Lynda Kendall, +leading into life. Whatever doubts and fears she had known were put +away. In her soft thin dress, standing by the open window, she was the +gladdest creature one could wish to see. And so Truedale found her. He +knew that only one reason had caused Lynda to meet him as she was now +doing. It was--surrender! Across the moon-lighted room he went to her +with opened arms, and when she came to meet him and lifted her face he +kissed her reverently. + +"I wonder if you have thought?" he whispered. + +"I have done nothing else in the ages since I last saw you, Con." + +"And you are not--afraid? You, who should have the best the world has to +offer?" + +"I am not afraid; and I--have the best--the very best." + +Again Truedale kissed her. + +"And when--may I come home--to stay?" he asked presently, knowing full +well that the old home must be theirs. + +Lynda looked up and smiled radiantly. "I had hoped," she said, "that I +might have the honour of declining the little apartment. I'm so glad, +Con, dear, that you want to come home to stay and will not have to +be--forced here!" And at that moment Lynda had no thought of the money. +Bigger, deeper things held her. + +"And--our wedding day, Lyn? Surely it may be soon." + +"Let me see. Of course I'm a woman, Con, and therefore I must think of +clothes. And I would like--oh! very much--to be married in a certain +little church across the river. I found it once on a tramp. There are +vines running wild over it--pink roses. And roses come in early June, +Con." + +"But, dearest, this is only--March." + +"I must have--the roses, Con." + +And so it was decided. + +Late that night, in the stillness of the five little rooms of the big +apartment, Truedale thought of his past and his future. + +How splendid Lynda had been. Not a word of all that he had told her, and +yet full well he realized how she had battled with it! She had accepted +it and him! And for such love and faith his life would be only too +short to prove his learning of his hard lesson. The man he now was +sternly confronted the man he had once been, and then Truedale renounced +the former forever--renounced him with pity, not with scorn. His only +chance of being worthy of the love that had come into his life now, was +to look upon the past as a stepping stone. Unless it could be that, it +would be a bottomless pit. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The roses came early that June. Truedale and Lynda went often on their +walks to the little church nestling deep among the trees in the Jersey +town. They got acquainted with the old minister and finally they set +their wedding day. They, with Brace, went over early on the morning. +Lynda was in her travelling gown for, after a luncheon, she and Truedale +were going to the New Hampshire mountains. It was such a day as revived +the reputation of June, and somehow the minister, steeped in the +conventions of his office, could not let things rest entirely in the +hands of the very eccentric young people who had won his consent to +marry them. An organist, practising, stayed on, and always Lynda was to +recall, when she thought of her wedding day, those tender notes that +rose and fell like a stream upon which the sacred words of the simple +service floated. + +"The Voice That Breathed O'er Eden" was what the unseen musician played. +He seemed detached, impersonal, and only the repeated strains gave +evidence of his sympathy. An old woman had wandered into the church and +sat near the door with a rapt, wistful look on her wrinkled face. Near +the altar was a little child, a tiny girl with a bunch of wayside +flowers in her fat, moist hand. + +Lynda paused and whispered something to the little maid and then, as she +went forward, Truedale noticed that the child was beside Lynda, a +shabby, wee maid of honour! + +It was very quaint, very touchingly pretty, but the scene overawed the +baby and when the last words were said and Truedale had kissed his wife +they noticed that the little one was in tears. Lynda bent over her full +of tenderness. + +"What is it, dear?" she whispered. + +"I--I want--my mother!" + +"So do I, sweetheart; so do I!" + +The wet eyes were raised in wonder. + +"And where is your mother, baby?" + +"Up--up--the hill!" + +"Why, so is mine, but you will find yours--first. Don't cry, sweetheart. +See, here is a little ring. It is too large for you now, but let your +mother keep it, and when you are big enough, wear it--and remember--me." + +Dazzled by the gift, the child smiled up radiantly. "Good-bye," she +whispered, "I'll tell mother--and I won't forget." + +Later that same golden day, when Kendall bade his sister and Truedale +good-bye at the station he had the look on his face that he used to have +when, as a child, he was wont to wonder why he had to be brave because +he was a boy. + +It made Lynda laugh, even while a lump came in her throat. Then, as in +the old days, she sought to recompense him, without relenting as to the +code. + +"Of course you'll miss us, dear old fellow, but we'll soon be back +and"--she put her lips to his ear and whispered--"there's the little +sister of the Morrells; play with her until we come home." + +There are times in life that stand forth as if specially designed, and +cause one to wonder, if after all, a personal God isn't directing +affairs for the individual. They surely could not have just happened, +those weeks in the mountains. So warm and still and cloudless they were +for early June. And then there was a moon for a little while--a calm, +wonderful moon that sent its fair light through the tall trees like a +benediction. After that there were stars--millions of them--each in its +place surrounded by that blue-blackness that is luminous and unearthly. +Securing a guide, Truedale and Lynda sought their own way and slept, at +night, in wayside shelters by their own campfires. They had no definite +destination; they simply wandered like pilgrims, taking the day's dole +with joyous hearts and going to their sleep at night with healthy +weariness. + +Only once during those weeks did they speak of that past of Truedale's +that Lynda had accepted in silence. + +"My wife," Truedale said--she was sitting beside him by the outdoor +fire--"I want you always to remember that I am more grateful than words +can express for your--bigness, your wonderful understanding. I did not +expect that even you, Lyn, could be--so!" + +She trembled a little--he remembered that afterward--he felt her against +his shoulder. + +"I think--I know," she whispered, "that women consider the _effect_ of +such--things, Con. Had the experience been low, it would have left its +mark; as it is I am sure--well, it has not darkened your vision." + +"No, Lyn, no!" + +"And lately, I have been thinking of her, Con--that little Nella-Rose." + +"You--have? You _could_, Lyn?" + +"Yes. At first I couldn't possibly comprehend--I do not now, really, but +I find myself believing, in spite of my inability to understand, that +the experience has cast such a light upon her way, poor child, that--off +in some rude mountain home--she has a little fairer space than some. +Con, knowing you, I believe you could not have--lowered her. She went +back to her natural love--it must have been a strong call--but I shall +never believe her depraved." + +"Lyn," Truedale's voice was husky, "once you made me reconciled to my +uncle's death--it was the way you put it--and now you have made me dare +to be--happy." + +"Men never grow up!" Lynda pressed her face to his shoulder, "they make +a bluff at caring for us and defending us and all the rest--but we +understand, we understand! I think women mother men always even when +they rely upon them most, as I do upon you! It's so splendid to think, +when we go home, of the great things we are going to do--together." + +A letter from Brace, eventually, made them turn their faces homeward. It +was late July then. + + LYN, DEAR: + + When you can conveniently give me a thought, do. And when are you + coming back? I hope I shall not shock you unduly--but it's that + little sister of the Morrells that is the matter, Elizabeth + Arnold--Betty we call her. I've got to marry her as soon as I can. + I'll never be able to do any serious business again until I get her + behind the coffee-urn. She haunts me day and night and then when I + see her--she laughs at me! We've been over to look at that church + where you and Con were married. Betty likes it, but prefers her own + folk to stray old women and lost kids. We think September would be + a jolly month to be married in, but Betty refuses to set a day + until she finds out if she approves of my people! That's the way + _she_ puts it. She says she wants to find out if you believe in + women's voting, for if you don't, she knows she never could get on + with you. She believes that the thing that makes women opposed, + does other things to them--rather unpleasant, unfriendly things. + + I told her your sentiments and then she asked about Con. She says + she wouldn't trust the freest woman in the East if she were married + to a slave-believing man. + + By all this you will judge what a comical little cuss Betty is, + but all the same I am quite serious in urging you to come home + before I grow desperate. + + BRACE. + +Truedale looked at Lynda in blank amazement. "I'd forgotten about the +sister," he said, inanely. + +"I think, dear, we'll _have_ to go home. I remember once when we were +quite little, Brace and I, mother had taken me for a visit and left him +at home. He sent a letter to mother--it was in printing--'You better +come back,' he said; 'You better come in three days or I'll do +something.' We got there on the fourth day and we found that he had +broken the rocking chair in which mother used to put him to sleep when +he was good!" + +"The little rowdy!" Truedale laughed. "I hope he got a walloping." + +"No. Mother cried a little, had the chair mended, and always said she +was sorry that she had not got home on the third day." + +"I see. Well, Lyn, let's go home to him. I don't know what he might +break, but perhaps we couldn't mend it, so we'll take no chances." + +Truedale and Lynda had walked rather giddily upon the heights; the +splendour of stars and the warm touch of the sun had been very near +them; but once they descended to the paths of plain duty they were not +surprised to find that they lay along a pleasant valley and were warmed +by the brightness of the hills. + +"It's--home, now!" whispered Truedale as he let himself and Lynda in at +the front door, "I wish Uncle William were here to welcome us. How he +loved you, Lyn." + +Like a flood of joy memory overcame Lynda. This was how William Truedale +had loved her--this luxury of home--and then she looked at Truedale and +almost told him of the money, the complete assurance of the old man's +love and trust. But of a sudden it became impossible, though why, Lynda +could not have said. She shrank from what she had once believed would be +her crowning joy; she decided to leave the matter entirely with Dr. +McPherson. + +After all, she concluded, it should be Con's right to bring to her this +last touching proof of his uncle's love and desire. How proud he would +be! How they would laugh over it all when they both knew the secret! + +So the subject was not referred to and a day or so later Betty Arnold +entered their lives, and so intense was their interest in her and her +affairs that personal matters were, for the moment, overlooked. + +Lynda went first to call upon Betty alone. If she were to be +disappointed, she wanted time to readjust herself before she encountered +other eyes. Betty Arnold, too, was alone in her sister's drawing room +when Lynda was announced. The two girls looked long and searchingly at +each other, then Lynda put her hands out impulsively: + +"It's really too good to be true!" was all she could manage as she +looked at the fair, slight girl and cast doubt off forever. + +"Isn't it?" echoed Betty. "Whew! but this is the sort of thing that ages +one." + +"Would it have mattered, Betty, whether I was pleased or not?" + +"Lynda, it would--awfully! You see, all my life I've been independent +until I met Brace and now I want everything that belongs to him. His +love and mine collided but it didn't shock us to blindness, it awakened +us--body and soul. When that happens, everything matters--everything +that belongs to him and me. I knew you liked Mollie, and John is an old +friend; they're all I've got, and so you see if you and I hadn't--liked +each other, it would have been--tragic. Now let's sit down and have tea. +Isn't it great that we won't have to choke over it?" + +Betty presided at the small table so daintily and graciously that her +occasional lapses into slang were like the dartings of a particularly +frisky little animal from the beaten track of conventions. She and Lynda +grew confidential in a half hour and felt as if they had known each +other for years at the close of the call. Just as Lynda was reluctantly +leaving, Mrs. Morrell came in. She was darker, more dignified than her +sister, but like her in voice and laugh. + +"Mollie, I wish I had told you to stay another hour," Betty exclaimed, +going to her sister and kissing her. "And oh! Mollie, Lynda likes me! +I'll confess to you both now that I have lain awake nights dreading this +ordeal." + +When Lynda met Brace that evening she was amused at his drawn face and +tense voice. + +"How did you like her?" he asked feebly and at that moment Lynda +realized how futile a subterfuge would have been. + +"Brace, I love her!" + +"Thank God!" + +"Why, Brace!" + +"I mean it. It would have gone hard with me if you hadn't." + +To Truedale, Betty presented another aspect. + +"You can trust women with your emotions about men," she confided to +Lynda, "but not men! I wouldn't let Brace know for anything how my love +for him hobbles me; and if your Con--by the way, he's a great deal nicer +than I expected--should guess my abject state, he'd go to Brace and--put +him wise! That's why men have got where they are to-day--standing +together. And then Brace might begin at once to bully me. You see, +Lynda, when a husband gets the upper hand it's often because he's +reinforced by all the knowledge his male friends hand out to him." + +Truedale met Betty first at the dinner--the little family dinner Lynda +gave for her. Morrell and his wife. Brace and Betty, himself and Lynda. + +In a trailing blue gown Betty looked quite stately and she carried her +blond head high. She sparkled away through dinner and proved her happy +faculty of fitting in, perfectly. It was a very merry meal, and later, +by the library fire, Conning found himself tete-a-tete with his future +sister-in-law. She amused him hugely. + +"I declare," he said teasingly, "I can hardly believe that you believe +in the equality of the sexes." They were attacking that problem at the +moment. + +"I--don't!" Betty looked quaintly demure. "I believe in the superiority +of men!" + +"Good Lord!" + +"I do. That's why I want all women to have the same chance that men have +had to get superior. I--I want my sisters to get there, too!" + +"There? Just where?" Truedale began to think the girl frivolous; but her +charm held. + + +"Why, where their qualifications best fit them to be. I'm going to tell +you a secret--I'm tremendously religious! I believe God knows, better +than men, about women; I want--well, I don't want to seem flippant--but +truly I'd like to hear God speak for himself!" + +Truedale smiled. "That's a common-sense argument, anyway," he said. "But +I suppose we men are afraid to trust any one else; we don't want +to--lose you." + +"As if you could!" Betty held her small, white hand out to the dog +lying at her feet. "As if we didn't know, that whatever we don't want, +we do want you. Why, you are our--job." + +Truedale threw his head back and laughed. "You're like a whiff of your +big mountain air," he said. + +"I hope I always will be," Betty replied softly and earnestly, "I must +keep--free, no matter what happens. I must keep what I am, or how can I +expect to keep--Brace? He loved _this_ me. Marriage doesn't perform a +miracle, does it--Conning? please let me call you that. Lynda has told +me how she and you believe in two lives, not one narrow little life. +It's splendid. And now I am going to tell you another secret. I'll have +to let Lynda in on this, too, she must help me. I have a little money of +my very own--I earned every cent of it. I am going to buy a tiny bit of +ground, I've picked it out--it's across the river in the woods. I'm +going to build a house, not much of a one, a very small one, and I'm +going to call it--The Refuge. When I cannot find myself, when I get +lost, after I'm married, and am trying to be everything to Brace, I'm +going to run away to--The Refuge!" The blue eyes were shining "And +nobody can come there, not even Brace, except by invitation. I +think"--very softly--"I think all women should have a--a Refuge." + +Truedale found himself impressed. "You're a very wise little woman," he +said. + +"One has to be, sometimes," came the slow words. And at that moment all +doubt of Betty's serious-mindedness departed. + +Brace joined them presently. He looked as if he had been straining at a +leash since dinner time. + +"Con," he said, laying his hand on the light head bending over the dog, +"now that you have talked and laughed with Betty, what have you got to +say?" + +"Congratulations, Ken, with all my heart." + +"And now, Betty"--there was a new tone in Kendall's voice--"Mollie has +said you may walk back with me. The taxi would stifle us. There's a +moon, dear, and a star or two--" + +"As if that mattered!" Betty broke in. "I'm very, very happy. Brace, +you've got a nice, sensible family. They agree with me in everything." + +The weeks passed rapidly. Betty's affairs absorbed them all, though she +laughingly urged them to leave her alone. + +"It's quite awful enough to feel yourself being carried along by a +deluge," she jokingly said, "without hearing the cheers from the banks." + +But Mollie Morrell flung herself heart and soul into the arranging of +the wardrobe--playing big sister for the first and only time in her +life. She was older than Betty, but the younger girl had always swayed +the elder. + +And Lynda became fascinated with the little bungalow across the river, +known as The Refuge. + +The original fancy touched her imagination and she put other work aside +while she vied with Betty for expression. + +"I've found an old man and woman, near by," Betty said one day, "they +were afraid they would have to go to the poor-house, although both are +able to do a little. I'm going to put them in my bungalow--the two +little upstair rooms shall be theirs. When I run down to find myself it +will be homey to see the two shining, old faces there to greet me. They +are not a bit cringing; I think they know how much they will mean to me. +They consider me rather immoral, I know, but that doesn't matter." + +And then in early October Brace and Betty were married in the church +across the river. Red and gold autumn leaves were falling where earlier +the roses had clambered; it was a brisk, cool day full of sun and shade +and the wedding was more to the old clergyman's taste. The organist was +in his place, his music discriminately chosen, there were guests and +flowers and discreet costumes. + +"More as it should be," thought the serene pastor; but Lynda missed the +kindly old woman who had drifted in on her wedding day, and the small, +tearful girl who had wanted her mother. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +There are spaces in all lives that seem so surrounded by safety and +established conditions that one cannot conceive of change. Those +particular spots may know light and shade of passing events but it seems +that they cannot, of themselves, be affected. So Truedale and Lynda had +considered their lives at that period. They were supremely happy, they +were gloriously busy--and that meant that they both recognized +limitations. They took each day as it came and let it go at the end with +a half-conscious knowledge that it had been too short. + +Then one late October afternoon Truedale tapped on the door of Lynda's +workshop and to her cheery "come," entered, closed the door after him, +and sat down. He was very white and sternly serious. Lynda looked at him +questioningly but did not speak. + +"I've seen Dr. McPherson," Conning said presently, "he sent for me. He's +been away, you know." + +"I had not known--but--" Then Lynda remembered! + +"Lynda, did you know--of my uncle's--will before his death?" + +"Why, yes, Con." + +Something cold and death-like clutched Lynda's heart. It was as if an +icy wave had swept warmth and safety before it, leaving her aghast and +afraid. + +"Yes, I knew." + +"Will you tell me--I could not go into this with McPherson, somehow; he +didn't see it my way, naturally--will you tell me what would have become +of the--the fortune had I not married you?" + +The deathly whiteness of Lynda's face did not stay Truedale's hard +words; he was not thinking of her--even of himself; he was thinking of +the irony of fate in the broad sense. + +"The money would have--come to me." Then, as if to divert any further +misunderstanding. "And when I refused it--it would have reverted to +charities." + +"I see. And you did this for me, Lyn! How little even you understood. +Now that I have the cursed money I do not know what to do with it--how +to get rid of it. Still it was like you, Lynda, to sacrifice yourself in +order that I might have what you thought was my due. You always did +that, from girlhood. I might have known no other woman could have done +what you have done, no such woman as you, Lyn, without a mighty motive; +but you did not know me, really!" + +And now, looking at Lynda, it was like looking at a dead face--a face +from which warmth and light had been stricken. + +"I--do not know what you--mean, Con," she said, vaguely. + +"Being you, Lyn, you couldn't have taken the money, yourself, +particularly if you had declined to marry me. A lesser woman would have +done it without a qualm, feeling justified in outwitting so cruel a +thing as the bequest; but not you! You saw no other way, so you--you +with your high ideals and clear beliefs--you married the man I am--in +order to--to give me--my own. Oh, Lyn, what a sacrifice!" + +"Stop!" Lynda rose from her chair and, by a wide gesture, swept the +marks of her trade far from her. In so doing she seemed to make space to +breathe and think. + +"Do you think I am the sort of girl who would sell herself for +anything--even for the justice I might think was yours?" + +"Sell yourself? Thank God, between us, Lynda, that does not enter in." + +"It would have, were I the woman your words imply. I had nothing to gain +by marrying you, nothing! Nothing--that is--but--but--what you are +unable to see." And then, so suddenly that Truedale could not stop her, +Lynda almost ran from the room. + +For an hour Truedale sat in her empty shop and waited. He dared not seek +her and he realized, at last, that she was not coming back to him. His +frame of mind was so abject and personal that he could not get Lynda's +point of view. He could not, as yet, see the insult he had offered, +because he had set her so high and himself so low. He saw her only as +the girl and woman who, her life through, had put herself aside and +considered others. He saw himself in the light such a woman as he +believed Lynda to be would regard him. He might have known, he bitterly +acknowledged, that Lynda could not have overlooked in her pure woman +soul the lapse of his earlier life. He remembered how, that night of his +confession, she had begged to be alone--to think! Later, her +silence--oh! he understood it now. It was her only safeguard. And that +once, in the woods, when he had blindly believed in his great joy--how +she had solemnly made the best of the experience that was too deep in +both hearts to be resurrected. What a fool he had been to dream that so +wrong a step as he had once taken could lead him to perfect peace. +Thinking these thoughts, how could he, as yet, comprehend the wrong he +was doing Lynda? Why, he was grieving over her, almost breaking his +heart in his desire to do something--anything--to free her from the +results of her useless sacrifice. + +At six o'clock Truedale went downstairs, but the house was empty. Lynda +had gone, taking all sense of home with her. He did not wait to see what +the dinner hour might bring about; he could not trust himself just +then. Indeed--having blasted every familiar landmark--he was utterly and +hopelessly lost. He couldn't imagine how he was ever to find his way +back to Lynda, and yet they would have to meet--have to consider. + +Lynda, after leaving her workshop, had only one desire--she wanted Betty +more than she wanted anything else. She put on her hat and coat and +started headlong for her brother's apartment farther uptown. She felt +she must get there before Brace arrived and lay her trouble before the +astoundingly clear, unfaltering mind and heart of the little woman who, +so short a time ago, had come into their lives. But after a few blocks, +Lynda's steps halted. If this were just her own trouble--but what +trouble is just one's own?--she need not hesitate; but how could she +reveal what was deepest and most unfailing in her soul to any living +person--even to Betty of the unhesitating vision? + +Presently Lynda retraced her steps. The calm autumn night soothed and +protected her. She looked up at the stars and thought of the old words: +"Why so hot, little man, why so hot?" Why, indeed? And then in the still +dimness--for she had turned into the side streets--she let Truedale come +into her thoughts to the exclusion, for the moment, of her own bitter +wrong. She looked back at his strange, lonely boyhood with so little in +it that could cause him to view justly his uncle's last deed. She +remembered his pride and struggle--his reserve and almost abnormal +sensitiveness. Then--the experience in the mountain! How terribly deep +that had sunk into Truedale's life; how unable he had been to see in it +any wrong but his own. Lynda had always honoured him for that. It had +made it possible for her to trust him absolutely. She had respected his +fine position and had never blurred it by showing him how she, as a +woman, could see the erring on the woman's part. No, she had left +Nella-Rose to him as his high-minded chivalry had preserved her--she had +dared do all that because she felt so secure in the love and sincerity +of the present. + +"And now--what?" + +The bitterness was past. The shock had left her a bit weak and helpless +but she no longer thought of the human need of Betty. She went home and +sat down before the fire in the library and waited for light. At ten +o'clock she came to a conclusion. Truedale must decide this thing for +himself! It was, after all, his great opportunity. She could not, with +honour and self-respect, throw herself upon him and so complicate the +misunderstanding. If her life with him since June had not convinced him +of her simple love and faith--her words, now, could not. He must seek +her--must realize everything. And in this decision Lynda left herself so +stranded and desolate that she looked up with wet eyes and saw--William +Truedale's empty chair! A great longing for her old friend rose in her +breast--a longing that not even death had taken from her. The clock +struck the half-hour and Lynda got up and with no faltering went toward +the bedroom door behind which the old man had started forth on his +journey to find peace. + +And just as she went, with blinded eyes and aching heart, to shut +herself away from the dreariness of the present, Truedale entered the +house and, from the hall, watched her. He believed that she had heard +him enter, he hoped she was going to turn toward him--but no! she went +straight to the never-used room, shut the door, and--locked it! + +Truedale stood rooted to the spot. What he had hoped--what trusted--he +could hardly have told. But manlike he was the true conservative and +with the turning of that key his traditions and established position +crumbled around him. + +Lynda and he were married and, unless they decided upon an open break, +they must live their lives. But the turning of the key seemed to +proclaim to the whole city a new dispensation. A declaration of +independence that spurned--tradition. + +For a moment Truedale was angry, unsettled, and outraged. He strode into +the room with stern eyes; he walked half way to the closed--and +locked--door; he gazed upon it as if it were a tangible foe which he +might overcome and, by so doing, reestablish the old ideals. Then--and +it was the saving grace--Truedale smiled grimly. "To be sure," he +muttered. "Of course!" and turned to his room under the eaves. + +But the following day had to be faced. There were several things that +had to be dealt with besides the condition arising from the locking of +the door of William Truedale's room. + +Conning battled with this fact nearly all night, little realizing that +Lynda was feeling her way to the same conclusion in the quiet room +below. + +"I'm not beaten, Uncle William," she whispered, kneeling beside the bed. +"If I could only see how to meet to-morrow I would be all right." + +And then a queer sort of comfort came to her. The humour with which her +old friend would have viewed the situation pervaded the room, bringing +strength with it. + +"I know," she confided to the darkness in which the old man seemed +present, in a marvellously real way, "I know I love Conning. A +make-believe love couldn't stand this--but the true thing can. And he +loves _me!_ I know it through and through. The other love of his +wasn't--what this is. But he must find this out for himself. I've always +been close when he needed me; he must come to me now--for his sake even +more than for mine. I am deserving of that, am I not, Uncle William?" + +The understanding friendship did not fail the girl kneeling by the empty +bed. It seemed to come through the rays of moonlight and rest like a +helpful touch upon her. + +"Little mother!"--and in her soul Lynda believed William Truedale and +her mother had come together--"little mother, you did your best without +love; I will do mine--with it! And now I am going to bed and I am going +to sleep." + +The next morning Truedale and Lynda were both so precipitate about +attacking the situation that they nearly ran into each other at the +dining-room door. They both had the grace to laugh. Then they talked of +the work at hand for the morning. + +"I have a studio to evolve," Lynda said, passing a slice of toast to +Truedale from the electric contrivance before her, "a woman wants a +studio, she feels it will be an inspiration. She's a nice little society +woman who is bored to death. She's written an article or two for a +fashion paper and she believes she has discovered herself. I wish I knew +what to put in the place. She'd scorn the real thing and I hate to +compromise when it comes to such things. And you, Con, what have you +that must be done?" + +Truedale looked at her earnestly. "I must meet the lawyer and +McPherson," he said, "but may I come--for a talk, Lyn, afterward?" + +"I shall be in my workshop all day, Con, until dinner time to-night." + +The day was a hard one for them both, but womanlike Lynda accepted it +and came to its close with less show of wear and tear than did +Truedale. She was restless and nervous. She worked conscientiously until +three and accomplished something in the difficult task the society woman +had entrusted her with; then she went to her bedroom and, removing every +sign of her craft, donned a pretty house dress and went back to her +shop. She meant to give Truedale every legitimate assistance, but she +was never prouder or firmer in her life. She called the dogs and the +cats in; she set the small tea table by the hearth and lighted just fire +enough to take the chill from the room and yet leave it sweet and fresh. + +At five there was a tap on the door. + +"Just in time, Con, for the tea," she called and welcomed him in. + +To find her so calm, cheerful, and lovely, was something of a shock to +Truedale. Had she been in tears, or, had she shown any trace of the +suffering he had endured, he would have taken her in his arms and +relegated the unfortunate money to the scrap-heap of non-essentials. But +the scene upon which he entered had the effect of chilling him and +bringing back the displeasing thought of Lynda's sacrifice. + +"Have you had a hard day, Con?" + +"Yes." + +"Drink the tea, and--let me see, you like bread and butter, don't you, +instead of cakes?" + +They were silent for a moment while they sipped the hot tea. Then, +raising their eyes, they looked suddenly at each other. + +"Lyn, I cannot do without you!" + +She coloured deeply. She knew he did not mean to be selfish--but he was. + +"You would be willing even to--accept my sacrifice?" she asked so softly +that he did not note the yearning in the tones--the beseeching of him to +abdicate the position that, for her, was untenable. + +"Anything--anything, Lynda. The day without you has been--hell. We'll +get rid of the money somehow. Now that we both know how little it means, +we'll begin again and--free from Uncle William's wrong conceptions--Lyn--" +He put his cup down and rose quickly. + +"Wait!" she whispered, shrinking back into her low armchair and holding +him off by her smile of detachment more than by her word of command. + +"I--I cannot face life without you," Truedale spoke hoarsely, "I never +really had to contemplate it before. I need you--must have you." + +He came a step nearer, but Lynda shook her head. + +"Something has happened to us, Con. Something rather tremendous. We must +not bungle." + +"One thing looms high. Only one, Lyn." + +"Many things do, Con. They have been crowding thick around me all day. +There are worse things than losing each other!" + +"No!" Truedale denied, vehemently. + +"Yes. We could lose ourselves! This thing that makes you fling aside +what went before, this thing that makes me long--oh! how I long, Con--to +come to you and forget, this thing--what is it? It is the holiest thing +we know, and unless we guard it sacredly we shall hurt and kill it and +then, by and by, Con, we shall look at each other with frightened +eyes--over a dead, dead love." + +"Lynda, how--can you? How dare you say these things when you +confess--Oh! my--wife!" + +"Because"--and she seemed withdrawing from Truedale as he +advanced--"because I have confessed! You and I, Con, have reached +to-day, by different routes, the most important and vital problem. All +my life I have been pushing doors open as I came along. Sometimes I have +only peered in and hurried on; sometimes I have stayed and learned a +lesson. It will always be so with me. I must know. I think you are +willing not to know unless you are forced." + +Truedale winced and went back slowly to his chair. + +"Con, dear, unless you wish it otherwise, I want, as far as possible, to +begin from to-day and find out just how much we do mean to each other. +Let us push open the doors ahead until we make sure we both want the +same abiding place. Should you find a spot better, safer for you than +this that we thought we knew, I will never hold you by a look or word, +dear." + +"And you--Lyn?" Truedale's voice shook. + +"For myself I ask the same privilege." + +"You mean that we--live together, yet apart?" + +"Unless you will it otherwise, dear. In that case, we will close this +door and say--good-bye, now." + +Her strength, her tenderness, unmanned Truedale. Again he felt that call +upon him which she had inspired the night of his confession. Again he +rallied to defend her--from her own pitiless sense of honour. + +"By heaven!" he cried. "It shall not be good-bye. I will accept your +terms, live up to them, and dare the future." + +"Good, old Con! And now, please, dear, go. I think--I think I am going +to cry--a little and"--she looked up quiveringly--"I mustn't have red +eyes at dinner time. Brace and Betty are coming. Thank heaven, Con, +Betty will make us laugh." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Having agreed upon this period of probation both Lynda and Truedale +entered upon it with characteristic determination. There were times when +Conning dejectedly believed that no woman could act as Lynda was doing, +if she loved a man. No, it was not in woman's power to forego all Lynda +was foregoing if she loved deeply. Not that Lynda could be said to be +cold or indifferent; she had never been sweeter, truer; but she was so +amazingly serene! + +Perhaps she was content, having secured his rights for him, to go on and +be thankful that so little was actually exacted from her. + +But such reasoning eventually shamed Truedale, and he acknowledged that +there was something superb in a woman who, while still loving a man, was +able to withhold herself from him until both he and she had sounded the +depths of their natures. + +In this state of mind Truedale devoted himself to business, and Lynda, +with a fresh power that surprised even herself, resumed her own tasks. + +"And this is _love_," she often thought to herself, "it is the real +thing. Some women think they have love when _love has them_. This +beautiful, tangible something that is making even these days sacred has +proved itself. I can rely upon it--lean heavily upon it." + +Sometimes she wondered what she was waiting for. Often she feared, in +her sad moments, that it might last forever--be accepted this poor +counterfeit for the real--and the full glory escape her and Truedale. + +But at her best she knew what she was waiting for--what was coming. It +was something that, driving all else away, would carry her and Conning +together without reservations or doubts. They would _know!_ He would +know the master passion of his life; she, that she could count all lost +unless she made his life complete and so crown her own. + +The money was never mentioned. In good and safe investments it lay, +awaiting a day, so Truedale told McPherson, when it could be got rid of +without dishonour or disgrace. + +"But, good heavens! haven't you any personal ambitions--you and Lynda?" +McPherson had learned to admire Conning, and Lynda had always been one +of his private inspirations. + +"None that Lynda and I cannot supply ourselves," Truedale replied. "To +have our work, and the necessity for our work, taken from us would be no +advantage." + +"But haven't you a duty to the money?" + +"Yes, we have, and I'm trying to find out just what it is." + +And living this strange, abnormal life--often wondering why, and +fearing much--three, then four years, passed them by. + +It is one thing for two proud, sensitive natures to enter upon a +deliberate course, and quite another for them to abandon it when the +supposed need is past. There was now no doubt in Truedale's heart +concerning Lynda's motive for marrying him; nor did Lynda for one moment +question Truedale's deep affection for her. Yet they waited--quite +subconsciously at first, then with tragic stubbornness--for something to +sweep obstacles aside without either surrendering his position. + +"He must want me so that nothing can sway him again," thought Lynda. + +"She must know that my love for her can endure anything--even this!" +argued Conning, and his stand was better taken than hers as she was to +find out one day. + +It seemed enough, in the beginning, to live their lives close and +confidentially--to feel the tie of dependence that held them; but the +knot cut in deep at times and they suffered in foolish but proud +silence. + +Many things occurred during those years that widened the horizon for +them all. Betty's first child came and went, almost taking the life of +the young mother with it. Before the possible calamity Brace stood +appalled, and both Conning and Lynda realized how true a note the girl +was in their lives. She seemed to belong to them in a sense stronger +than blood could have made her. They could not imagine life without her +sunny companionship. Never were they to forget the grim dreariness of +the once cheerful apartment during those days and nights when Death +hovered near, weighing the chances. But Betty recovered and came back +with a yearning look in her eyes that had never been there before. + +"You see," she confided to Lynda, "there will always be moments when I +must listen to hear if my baby is calling. At times, Lyn, it seems as if +he were just on ahead--keeping me from forgetting. It doesn't make me +sad, dear, it's really beautiful that he didn't quite escape me." + +"And do you go to The Refuge to think and look and listen?" Lynda asked. +For they all worried now when Betty betook herself to the little house. + +"Not much!" And here Betty twinkled. "I go there to meet Betty Arnold +face to face, and ask her if she would rather trade back. And then I +come trotting home, almost out of breath, to precious old Brace; I'm so +afraid he won't know he's still the one big thing in the world for me." + +This little child of Betty's and Brace's had made a deep impression upon +them all. It had lived only three days and while it stayed the black +shadow hanging over the mother had made the baby seem of less account; +but later, they all recalled the pretty, soft mite with the strange, +old look in its wide eyes. He had been beautiful as babies who are not +going to stay often are. There were to be no years for him to change and +grow and so loveliness came with him. + +"I reckon the little chap thought we didn't want him," Brace choked as +he spoke over the small, cold body of his first-born, "so he turned back +home before he forgot the way." + +"Don't, brother!" Lynda pleaded as she stood with Truedale beside him. +"You know the way home might have been longer and harder, by and by." + +"I wish Betty and I might have helped to make it easier; for a time, +anyway." The eternal revolt against seemingly useless suffering rang in +the words. + +And that night Truedale had kissed Lynda lingeringly. + +"Such things," he said, referring to the day's sad duties, "such things +do drag people together." + +After that something new throbbed in their lives--something that had not +held sway before. If Betty looked and listened for the little creature +who had gone on ahead, Lynda listened and looked into what had been a +void in her life before. + +She had always loved children in a kindly, detached way, but she had +never appropriated them. But now she could not forget the feeling of +that small, downy head that for a day or so nestled on her breast while +the young mother's feet all but slipped over the brink. She remembered +the strange look in the child's deep eyes the night it died. The +lonely, aged look that, in passing, seemed trying to fix one familiar +object. And when the dim light went out in the little face and only a +dead baby lay in her arms, maternity had been called forth from its +slumber and in following Betty's child, became vitalized and definite. + +"I--I think I shall adopt a child." So she had thought while the cold +little head yet lay in the hollow of her arm. She never let go this +thought and only hesitated before voicing it to Truedale because she +feared he could not understand and might cruelly misunderstand. Life was +hard enough and difficult enough for them both just then, and often, +coming into the quiet home at the day's end, Lynda would say, to cheer +her faint heart: + +"Oh, well, it's really like coming to a hearth upon which the fire is +not yet kindled. But, thank heaven! it is a clean hearth, not cluttered +with ashes--it is ready for the fire." + +But was it? More and more as the time went on and Truedale kept his +faith and walked his way near hers--oh! they were thankful for that--but +still apart, Lynda wondered. It was all so futile, so utterly selfish +and childish--yet neither spoke. Then suddenly came the big thing that +drove them together and swept aside all the barrier of rubbish they had +erected. Like many great and portentous things it seemed very like the +still, small voice in the burning bush--the tiny star in the black +night. + +Truedale had had an enlightening conversation with McPherson in the +afternoon. The old doctor was really a soft-hearted sentimentalist and +occasionally he laid himself bare to the eye of some trustworthy friend. +This time it was Truedale. + +Up and down the plain, businesslike office McPherson was tramping when +Conning was announced. + +"Oh! come in, come in!" called McPherson. "You can better understand +this than some. I've had a devil of a day. One confounded thing after +another to take the soul out of me. And now this letter from old Jim +White!" + +Conning started. It had now been years since Pine Cone had touched his +thought sharply. + +"What's the matter with White?" he asked. + +"Look out of the window!" + +Truedale did so, and into the wall-like snow which had been falling all +day. + +"They've been having that in the mountains for weeks. Trails blotted +out, folk hiding like beasts, and that good old chap, White, took this +time to break his leg. There he lay for a whole week, damn it all! Two +of his dogs died--he, himself, almost starved. Managed to crawl to the +food while there was any, and then some one ploughed through to get Jim +to organize a hanging or some other trifling thing, and found him! Good +Lord, Truedale, what they need down there is roads! roads! Roads over +which folk can travel to one another and become human. That's all the +world needs anyway!" Here McPherson stopped in front of Truedale and +glared as if about to put the blame of impeded traffic up to him. "Roads +over which folk can travel to one another. See here, you're looking for +some excuse to get rid of your damned money. Why don't you build roads?" + +"Roads?" Truedale did not know whether to laugh or take his man +seriously. + +"Yes, roads. I'm going down to Jim. I haven't much money; I've made a +good deal, but somehow I never seem able to be caught with the goods on +me. But what little I've got now goes to Jim for the purpose of forging +a connecting link between him and the Centre. But here's a job for you. +You can grasp this need. I've got a boy in the hospital; he caved in +from over-study. Trying to get an education while starving himself to +death and doing without underclothes. You ought to know how to hew a +short cut to him, Truedale; you did some hacking through underbrush +yourself. If I didn't believe folk would travel to one another over +roads, if there _were_ roads, I'd go out and cut my throat." + +The big man, troubled and as full of sympathy as a tender woman, paused +in his strides and ejaculated: + +"Damn it all, Truedale!" Had he been a woman he would have dissolved in +tears. + +Truedale at last caught his meaning. Here was a possible chance to set +the accumulating money free. For two hours, while the sun travelled down +to the west, the men talked over plans and projects. + +"Of course I'll look after the boy in the hospital, Dr. McPherson. I +know the short cut to him and he probably can lead me to others, but I +want"--and here Truedale's eyes grew gloomy--"I want you to take with +you down to Pine Cone some checks signed in blank. I know the need of +roads down there," did he not? and for an instant his brows grew +furrowed as he reflected how different his own life might have been, had +travelling been easy, back in the time when he was at the mercy of the +storm. + +"I'd like to do something for Pine Cone. Make the roads, of course, but +back up those men and women who are doing God's work down there with +little help or money. They know the people--Jim has explained them to +me. They're not 'extry polite,' Jim says, but they understand the needs. +I don't care to have my name known--I'm rather poor stuff for a +philanthropist--but I want to do something as a starter, and this seems +an inspiration." + +McPherson had been listening, and gradually his long strides became less +nervous. + +"Until to-day, I haven't wished your uncle back, Truedale, since he +went. He was a poor, inarticulate fellow, but I've learned to realize +that he had a wide vision." + +"Thank you, Dr. McPherson, but I have often wished him back." + +Once outside McPherson's house, Truedale raised his head and sniffed the +clear, winter air with keen enjoyment. A sense of achievement possessed +him; the joy of feeling he had solved a knotty problem. He found he +could think of Pine Cone--and, yes, of Nella-Rose--without a hurting +smart. He was going to do something for her--for her people! He was +going to make life easier--happier--for them, so he prayed in his +silent, wordless way. He had a new and strange impulse to go to Lynda +and tell her that at last he was released from any hold of the past. He +was going to do what he could and there was no longer any dragging of +the anchors. He wanted her to help him--to work out some questions from +the woman's point of view. So he hurried on and entered the house with a +light, boyish step. + +Thomas, bent but stately, was laying the table in the cheerful dining +room. There were flowers in a deep green bowl, pale golden asters. + +Long afterward Truedale recalled everything as if it had been burned in +his mind. + +"Is Miss Lynda in?" he asked, for they all clung to the titles of the +old days. + +"Not yet, Mister Con. She went out in a deal of a hurry long about +three o'clock. She didn't say a word--and that's agin her pleasant +fashion--so I took it that she had business that fretted her. She's been +in the workshop all day." Thomas put the plates in place. They were +white china, with delicate gold edges. "Hum! hum! Mister Con, your uncle +used to say, when he felt talkative, that Miss Lynda ought to have some +one to hold her back when she took to running." + +"I'll look her up, Thomas!" + +Conning went up to the workshop and turned on the electricity. A +desolate sensation overcame the exhilaration of the afternoon. Lynda +seemed strangely, ominously distant--as if she had gone upon a long, +long journey. + +There was a dying fire on the hearth and the room was in order except +for the wide table upon which still lay the work Lynda had been engaged +with before she left the house. + +Truedale sat down before it and gradually became absorbed, while not +really taking in the meaning of what he saw. He had often studied and +appreciated Lynda's original way of solving her problems. It was not +enough for her to place upon paper the designs her trained talent +evolved; she always, as she put it, lived in the rooms she conceived. +Here were real furniture--diminutive, but perfect, and real +hangings--colour and form ideal, and arranged so that they could be +shifted in order that light effects might be tested. + +It was no wonder Truedale had often remarked that Lynda's work was so +individual and personal--she breathed the breath of life in it before +she let it go from her. Truedale had always been thankful that marriage +had not taken from Lynda her joy in her profession. He would have hated +to know that he interfered with so real and vital a gift. + +But this room upon which he was now looking was different from anything +he had ever before seen in the workshop. It interested and puzzled him. + +Lynda's specialties were libraries and living rooms; there were two or +three things she never attempted--and this? Truedale looked closer. How +pretty it was--like a child's playroom--and how fanciful! There was a +fireplace off in a corner, before which stood a screen with a most +benign goblin warning away, with spread claws, any heedless, toddling +feet. The broad window-seats might serve as boxes for childish treasure. +There were delectable, wee chairs and conveniently low stools; there was +a tiny bed set in a dim corner over which, on a protecting shield, +angels with folded wings and rapt faces were outlined. + +"Why, this must be a--nursery!" Truedale exclaimed half aloud; "and she +said she would never design one." + +Clearly he recalled Lynda's reason. "If a father and a mother cannot +conceive and carry out the needs of a nursery, they do not deserve one. +I could never bring myself to intrude there." + +"What does this mean?" Truedale bent closer. The table had been painted +white to serve as a floor for the dainty setting, and now, as he looked +he saw stains--dark, tell-tale stains on the shining surface. + +They were tear-stains; Lynda, who so joyously put her heart and soul in +the ideals for other homes, had wept over the nursery of another woman's +child! + +For some reason Truedale was that day particularly open to impression. +As he sat with the toy-like emblems before him, the holiest and +strongest things of life seized upon him with terrific meaning. He drew +out his watch and saw that it was the dinner hour and the still house +proved that the mistress was yet absent. + +"There is only one person to whom she would go," he murmured. "I'll go +to Betty's and bring Lynda home." + +He made an explanation to Thomas that covered the situation. + +"I found what the trouble was, Thomas," he said. "It will be all right +when we get back. But don't keep dinner." + +He took a cab to Brace's. He was too distraught to put himself on +exhibition in a public conveyance. Brace sat in lonely but apparently +contented state at the head of his table. + +"Bully for you, old man," he greeted. "You were never more welcome. I'll +have a plate put on for you at once. What's the matter? You look--" + +"Ken, where's Betty?" + +"Run away to herself, Con. Went yesterday. Goes less and less often, but +she cut yesterday." + +"Has--has Lynda been here to-day?" + +"Yes. About three. When she found Betty gone, she wouldn't stay. Sit +down, old man. You'll learn, as I have, to appreciate Lyn more if she +isn't always where we men have thought women ought to be." + +Truedale sat down opposite Kendall but said he would take only a cup of +coffee. When it was finished he rose, more steadily, and said quietly: + +"I know it's unwritten law, Ken, that we shouldn't follow Betty up +without an invitation; but I've got to go over there to-night." + +"It's dangerous, old man. I advise against it. What's up?" + +"I must see Lyn. I believe she is there." + +"Rather a large-sized misunderstanding?" + +"I hope, Ken, God helping me, it's going to be the biggest +_understanding_ Lynda and I have ever had." + +Kendall was impressed--and, consequently, silent. + +"I'm sure Betty will forgive me. Good-night." + +"Good-night, old chap, and--and whatever it is, I fancy it will come out +all right." + +And then, into the night Truedale plunged--determined to master the +absurd situation that both he and Lynda had permitted to exist. He felt +like a man who had been suffering in a nightmare and had just awakened +and shaken off the effect of the unholy dream. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Lynda, that winter day, had undertaken her task with unwonted energy. +She had never done a similar piece of work before. In her early +beginning she had rather despised the inadequacy of women who, no matter +what might be said in defense of their ignorance regarding the rest of +their homes, did not know how to design and plan their own nurseries. +Later she had eliminated designing of this kind because so few asked for +it, and it did not pay to put much time on study in preparation for the +rare occasions when nurseries were included in the orders. But this was +an exception. A woman who had lost three children was expecting the +fourth, and she had come to Lynda with a touching appeal. + +"You helped make a home of my house, Mrs. Truedale, but I always managed +the nursery--myself before; now I cannot. I want you to put joy and +welcome in it for me. If I were to undertake it I should fail miserably, +and evolve only gloom and fear. It will be different--afterward. But you +understand and--you will?" + +Lynda had understood and had set herself to her work with the new, happy +insight that Betty's little baby had made possible. It had all gone +well until the "sleeping corner" was reached, and then--something +happened. A memory of one of Betty's confessions started it. "Lyn," she +had said, just before her baby came, "I kneel by this small, waiting +crib and pray--as only mothers know how to pray--and God teaches them +afresh every time! I do so want to be worthy of the confidence of--God." + +"And I--am never to know!" Lynda bowed her head. "I with my love--with +my desire to hear God speak--am never to hear. Why?" + +Then it was that Lynda wept. Wept first from a desolate sense of defeat; +then--and God sometimes speaks to women kneeling beside the beds of +children not their own--she raised her head and trembled at the flood of +joy that overcame her. It was like a mirage, seen in another woman's +world, of her own blessed heritage. + +Filled with this vision she had fled to Betty's, only to find that Betty +had fled on her own account! + +There was no moment of indecision; welcome or not, Lynda had to reach +Betty--and at once! + +She had tarried, after setting her face to the river. She even stopped +at a quiet little tea room and ate a light meal. Then she waited until +the throng of business men had crossed the ferry to their homes. It was +quite dark when she reached the wooded spot where, hidden deep among the +trees, was Betty's retreat. + +There was a light in the house--the living room faced the path--and +through the uncurtained window Lynda saw Betty sitting before the fire +with her little dog upon her lap. + +"Oh, Betty," she whispered, stretching her arms out to the lonely little +figure in the low, deep chair. "Betty! Betty!" She waited a moment, then +she tapped lightly upon the glass. The dog sprang to the floor, its +sharp ears twitching, but he did not bark. Betty came to the door and +stood in the warm, lighted space with arms extended. She knew no fear, +there was only doubt upon her face. + +"Lyn, is it you?" + +"Yes! How did you guess?" + +"All day I've been thinking about you--wanting you. Sometimes I can +bring people that way." + +"And I have wanted you! Betty, may I stay--to-night?" + +"Why, yes, dear. Stay until you want to go home. I've been pulling +myself together; I'm almost ready to go back to Brace. Come in! +Why--what is it, dear? Come, let me take off your things! There! Now lie +back in the chair and tell Betty all about it." + +"No, no! Betty, I want to sit so--at your feet. I want to learn all that +you can teach me. You have never had your eyes blinded--or you would +know how the light hurts." + +"Well, then. Put your blessed, tired head on my knee. You're my little +girl to-night, Lyn, and I am your--mother." + +For a moment Lynda cried as a child might who had reached safety at +last. Betty did not check or soothe the heavy sobs--she waited. She knew +Lynda was saved from whatever had troubled her. It was only the telling +of it now. And presently the dark head was lifted. + +"Betty, it is Con and I!" + +"Yes, dear." + +"I've loved him all my life; and I believe--I _know_--he loved me! Women +do not make mistakes about the real thing." + +"Never, Lyn, never." + +"Betty, once when I thought Con had wronged me, I wanted to come to +you--I almost did--but I couldn't then! Now that I am sure I have +wronged him, it is easy to come to you--you are so understanding!" The +radiance of Lynda's face rather startled Betty. Abandon, relief, +glorified it until it seemed a new--a far more beautiful face. + +"All my life, Betty, I've been controlling myself--conquering myself. I +got started that way and--and I've kept on. I've never done anything +without considering and weighing; but now I'm going to fling myself into +love and life and--pay whatever there is to pay." + +"Why, Lyn, dear, please go slower." Betty pressed her face to the head +at her knee. + +"Betty, there was another love in Con's life--one that should never +have been there." + +This almost took Betty's breath. She was thankful Lynda's eyes were +turned away; but by some strange magic the words raised Truedale in +Betty's very human imagination. + +"I sometimes think the--the thing that happened--was the working out of +an old inheritance; Con has overcome much, but that caught him in its +snare. He was ready to let it ruin his whole future. He would never have +flinched--never have known, or admitted if he had known--what he had +foregone. But the thing was taken out of his control altogether--the +girl married another man! + +"When Con came to himself again, he told me, Betty--told me so simply, +so tragically, that I saw what a deep cut the experience had made in his +life--how it had humbled him. Never once did he blame any one else. I +loved him for the way he looked upon it; so many men could not have done +so. That made the difference with me. It was what the thing had done to +Con that made it possible for me to love him the more! + +"He wanted the best things in life but didn't think he was worthy! And +I? Well, I thought I saw enough for us both, and so I married him! Then +something happened--it doesn't matter what it was--it was a foolish, +ugly thing, but it had to be something. And Con thought I had never +forgiven the--the first love--that I had sacrificed myself for him--in +marriage! And no woman could bear that." + +"My poor, dear Lyn." + +"Can't you see, Betty, it all comes from the idiotic idea that men--some +men--have about women. They put us on a toppling pedestal; when we fall +they are surprised, and when we don't they--are afraid of us! And all +the time--you know this, Betty--we ought not to be on pedestals at all; +we don't--we _don't_ belong on them! We want to be close and go along +together." + +"Yes, Lyn; we do! we do!" + +"Well--after Con misunderstood, I just let him go along thinking I +was--well, the kind of woman who could sacrifice herself. I thought he +would want me so that he would--find out. And so we've been eating our +hearts out--for ages!" + +"Why, Lyn! you cruel, foolish girl." + +"Yes--and because I knew you would say that--I could come to you. +You--do not blame Con?" + +"Blame _him_! Why, Lyn, a gentleman doesn't take a woman off her beastly +pedestal; she comes down herself--if she isn't a fool." + +"Well, Betty, I'm down! I'm down, and I'm going to crawl to Con, if +necessary, and then--I think he'll lift me up." + +"He'll never pull you down, that's one sure thing!" + +"Oh! thank you, Betty. Thank you." + +"But, Lyn--what has so suddenly brought you to your senses?" + +"Your little baby, Betty!" + +"My--baby!" The words came in a hard, gasping breath. + +"I held him when he died, Betty. I had never been close to a baby +before--never! A strange thing happened to me as I looked at him. It was +like knowing what a flower would be while holding only the bud. The +baby's eyes had the same expression I have seen in Con's eyes--in +Brace's; I know now it is the whole world's look. It was full of +wonder--full of questions as to what it all meant. I am sure that it +comes and goes but never really is answered--here, Betty." + +"Oh! Lyn. And I have been bitter--miserable--because I felt that it +wasn't fair to take my baby until he had done some little work in the +world! And now--why, he did a great thing. My little, little baby!" +Betty was clinging to Lynda, crying as if all the agony were swept away +forever. + +"Sometimes"--Lynda pressed against Betty--"sometimes, lately, in Con's +eyes I have seen the look! It was as if he were asking me whether he had +yet been punished enough! And I've been thinking of myself--thinking +what Con owed _me;_ what _I_ wanted; _when_ I should have it! I hate and +despise myself for my littleness and prudery; why, he's a thousand times +finer than I! That's what pedestals have done for women. But now, +Betty, I'm down; and I'm down to stay. I'm--" + +"Wait, Lyn, dear." Betty mopped her wet face and started up. She had +seen a tall form pass the window, and she felt as if something +tremendous were at stake. "Just a minute, Lyn. I must speak to Mrs. +Waters if you are to stay over night. She's old, you know, and goes +early to bed." + +Lynda still sat on the floor--her face turned to the red glow of the +fire that was growing duller and duller. Presently the door opened, and +her words flowed on as if there had been no interruption. + +"I'm going to Con to-morrow. I had to make sure--first; but I know now, +I know! I'm going to tell him all about it--and ask him to let me walk +beside him. I'm going to tell him how lonely I've been in the place he +put me--how I've hated it! And some time--I feel as sure as sure can +be--there will be something I can do that will prove it." + +"My--darling!" + +Arms stronger than Betty's held her close--held her with a very human, +understanding strength. + +"You've done the one big thing, Lyn!" + +"Not yet, not yet, Con, dear." + +"You have made me realize what a wrong--a bitter wrong--I did you, when +I thought you could be less than a loving woman." + +"Oh, Con! And have you been lonely, too?" + +"Sweet, I should have died of loneliness had something not told me I +was still travelling up toward you. That has made it possible." + +"Instead"--Lynda drew his face down to hers--"instead, I've been +struggling up toward _you!_! Dear, dear Con, it isn't men and women; +it's _the_ man--_the_ woman. Can't you see? It's the sort of thing life +makes of us that counts; not the steps we take on the way. You--you know +this, Con?" + +"I know it, now, from the bottom of my soul." + + * * * * * + +It was one of Betty's quaint sayings that some lives were guided by +flashlights, others by a steady gleam. Hers had always been by the +former method. She made her passage from one illumination to another +with great faith, high courage, and much joyousness. After the night +when Lynda made her see what her dear, dead baby had accomplished in his +brief stay, she rose triumphant from her sorrow. She was her old, bright +self again; she sang in her home, transfigured Brace by her happiness, +and undertook her old interests and duties with genuine delight. + +But for Lynda and Truedale the steady gleam was necessary. They never +questioned--never doubted--after the night when they came home from the +little house in the woods. To them both happiness was no new thing; it +was a precious old thing given back after a dark period of testing. The +days were all too short, and when night brought Conning running and +whistling to the door, Lynda smiled and realized that at last the fire +was burning briskly on her nice, clean hearth. They had so much in +common--so much that demanded them both in the doing of it. + +"No bridges for us, here and there, over which to reach each other," +thought Lynda; "it's the one path for us both." Then her eyes grew +tenderly brooding as she remembered how 'twas a little child that had +led them--not theirs, but another's. + +The business involved in setting old William Truedale's money in +circulation was absorbing Conning at this time. Once he set his feet +upon the way, he did not intend to turn back; but he sometimes wondered +if the day would ever come when he could, with a clear conscience, feel +poor enough to enjoy himself, selfishly, once more. + +From McPherson he heard constantly of the work in the southern hills. +Truedale was, indeed, a strong if silent and unsuspected force there. As +once he had been an unknown quantity, so he remained; but the work went +on, supervised by Jim White, who used with sagacity and cleverness the +power placed in his hands. + +Truedale's own particular interests were nearly all educational. Even +here, he held himself in reserve--placed in more competent hands the +power they could wield better than he. Still, he was personally known +and gratefully regarded by many young men and women who were +struggling--as he once had struggled--for what to them was dearer than +all else. He always contrived to leave them their independence and +self-respect. Naturally all this was gratifying and vital to Lynda. +Achievement was dear to her temperament, and the successes of others, +especially those nearest to her, were more precious to her than her own. +She saw Truedale drop his old hesitating, bewildered manner like a +discarded mantle. She grew to rely upon his calm strength that developed +with the demands made upon it. She approved of him so! And that +realization brought out the best in her. + +One November evening she and Con were sitting in the library, Truedale +at his desk, Lynda idly and luxuriously rocking to and fro, her hands +clasped over her head. She had learned, at last, the joy of absolute +relaxation. + +"There's a big snow-storm setting in," she said, smiling softly. Then, +apropos of nothing: "Con, we've been married four years and over!" + +"Only that, Lyn? It seems to me like my whole life." + +"Oh, Con--so long as that?" + +"Blessedly long." + +After another pause Lynda spoke merrily: "Con, I want some of Uncle +William's money. A lot of it." + +Truedale tossed her a new check book. "Now that you see there is no +string tied to it," he said, "may I ask what for? Just sympathetic +interest, you know." + +"Of course. Well, it's this way. Betty and I are broke. It's fine for +you to make roads and build schools and equip the youth of America for +getting all the learning they can carry, but Betty and I are after the +babies. We've been agonizing over the Saxe Home--Betty's on the +Board--and before Christmas we are going to undress all those poor +standardized infants and start their cropped hair to growing." + +Truedale laughed heartily. "Intimacy with Betty," he said, "has coloured +your descriptive powers, Lyn, dear." + +"Oh, all happy women talk one tongue." + +"And you _are_ happy, Lyn?" + +"Happy? Yes--happy, Con!" + +They smiled at each other across the broad table. + +"Betty has told the superintendent that if there is a blue stripe or a +cropped head on December twenty-fourth, she's going to recommend the +dismissal of the present staff." + +"Good Lord! Does any one ever take Betty seriously? I should think one +of those board meetings would bear a strong family resemblance to an +afternoon tea--rather a frivolous one." + +"They don't. And, honestly, people are tremendously afraid of Betty. She +makes them laugh, but they know she gets what she wants--and with a +joke she drives her truths home." + +"There's something in that." Truedale looked earnest. "She's a great +Betty." + +"So it's up to Betty and me, now," Lynda went on. "We can take off the +shabby, faded little duds, but we've got to have something to put on at +once, or the kiddies will take cold." + +"Surely." + +"We think that to start a child out in stripes is almost as bad as +finishing him in them. To make a child feel--different--is sure to damn +him." + +"And so you are going to make the Saxe Home an example and set the ball +rolling." + +"Exactly, Con. And we're going to slam the door in the faces of the +dramatic rich this Christmas. The lambies at the Saxe are going to have +a nice, old-fashioned tree. They are going to dress it themselves the +night before, and whisper up the chimney what they want--and there is +not going to be a speech on Christmas Day within a mile of that Home!" + +"That's great. I'd like to come in on that myself." + +"You can, Con, we'll need you." + +"Christmas always does set the children in one's thoughts, doesn't it? I +suppose Betty is particularly keen--having had her baby for a day or +so." Truedale's eyes were tender. Betty's baby and its fulfilled mission +were sacred to him and Lynda. + +"Betty is going to adopt a child, Con." + +"Really?" + +"Yes. She says she cannot stand Christmas without one. It's a rebuke +to--to her boy." + +"Poor little Bet!" + +"Oh! it makes me so--so humble when I see her courage. She says if she +has a dozen children of her own it will make no difference; she must +have her first child's representative. She's about decided upon the +one--he's the most awful of them all. She's only hesitating to see if +anything awfuller will turn up. She says she's going to take a baby no +one else will have--she's going to do the biggest thing she can for her +own dead boy. As if her baby ever could be dead! Sometimes I think he is +more alive than if he had stayed here and got all snarled up in earthly +things--as so many do!" + +Conning came close to Lynda and drew her head back against his breast. + +"You are--crying, darling!" he said. + +"It's--it's Betty. Con, what is it about her that sort of brightens the +way for us all, yet dims our eyes?" + +"She's very illuminating. It's a big thing--this of adopting a child. +What does Brace think of it?" + +"He adores everything Betty does. He says"--Lynda smiled up into the +face above her--"he says he wishes Betty had chosen one with hair a +little less crimson, but that doubtless he'll grow to like that tint +better than any other." + +"Lyn, have you ever thought of adopting a child?" + +"Oh!--sometimes. Yes, Con." + +"Well, if you ever feel that you ought--that you want to--I will be glad +to--to help you. I see the risk--the chance, and I think I would like a +handsome one. But it is Christmas time, and a man and woman, if they +have their hearts in the right places, do think of children and trees +and all the rest at this season. Still"--and with that Truedale pressed +his lips to Lynda's hair--"I'm selfish, you seem already to fill every +chink of my life." + +"Con, that's a blessed thing to say to a woman--even though the woman +knows you ought not to say it. And now, I'm going to tell you something +else, Con. It's foolish and trifling, perhaps, but I've set my heart +upon it ever since the Saxe Home got me to thinking." + +"Anything in the world, Lyn! Can I help?" + +"I should say you could. You'll have to be about the whole of it. +Starting this Christmas, I'm going to have a tree--right here in this +room--close to Uncle William's chair!" + +"By Jove! and for--for whom?" + +"Why, Con, how unimaginative you are! For you, for me, for Uncle +William, for any one--any really right person, young or old--who needs a +Christmas tree. Somehow, I have a rigid belief that some one will +always be waiting. It may not be an empty-handed baby. Perhaps you and I +may have to care for some dear _old_ soul that others have forgotten. We +could do this for Uncle William, couldn't we, Con?" + +"Yes, my darling." + +"The children cannot always know what they are missing, but the old can, +and my heart aches for them often--aches until it really hurts." + +"My dear girl!" + +"They are so alike, Con, the babies and the very aged. They need the +same things--the coddling, the play, the pretty toys to amuse +them--until they fall asleep." + +"Lynda, you are all nerves and fancies. Pretty ones--but dangerous. +We'll have our tree--we'll call it Uncle William's. We'll take any +one--every one who is sent to us--and be grateful. And that makes me +think, we must have a particularly giddy celebration up at the +Sanatorium. McPherson and I were speaking of it to-day." + +"Con, I wonder how many secret interests you have of which I do not +know?" + +"Not many." + +"I wonder!" + +Truedale laughed, a bit embarrassed. "Well," he said, suddenly changing +the subject, "talking about nerves reminds me that when the holidays are +over you and I are going away on a honeymoon. After this we are to have +one a year. We'll drop everything and indulge in the heaven-given luxury +of loafing. You need it. Your eyes are too big and your face too pale. I +don't see what has ailed me not to notice before. But right after +Christmas, dear, I'm going to run away with you.... What are you +thinking about, Lyn?" + +"Oh, only the blessedness of being taken care of! It's strange, but I +know now that all my life--before this--I was gazing at things through +closed windows. Alone in my cell I looked out--sometimes through +beautiful stained glass, to be sure--at trees waving and people passing. +Now and then some one paused and spoke to me, but always with the +barrier between. Now--I touch people--there is nothing to keep us apart. +I'm just like everybody else; and your love and care, Con, have set the +windows wide!" + +"This will never do, Lyn. Such fancies! I may have to take you away +_before_ Christmas." Truedale spoke lightly but his look was anxious. + +"In the meantime, let us go out for a walk in the snow. There's enough +wind to make it a tussle. Come, dear!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Two days later Lynda came down from her workshop by the back stairs, and +passed through William Truedale's bedchamber on the way to the library. +It was only ten o'clock in the morning but Truedale had a habit, if he +happened to be in the neighbourhood, of dropping in for a moment at this +hour. If he should to-day Lynda wanted to confer with him about some +details concerning the disrobing of the Saxe infants. She was +particularly light hearted and merry. A telephone call from Betty had +put her in the sunniest humour. + +To her surprise, as she entered the library, she saw a small, most +peculiar-looking woman sitting quite straight on the edge of a chair in +the middle of the room. + +It was a cast-iron rule that Lynda must not be disturbed at her morning +work. Thomas generally disposed of visitors without mercy. + +"Good morning!" Lynda said kindly. "Can I do anything for you? I am +sorry you had to wait." + +She concluded it was some one connected with the Saxe Home. That was +largely in her mind at the moment. + +"I want to see"--and here the strange little figure came to Lynda and +held out a very dirty, crumpled piece of paper on which was written +Truedale's name and address. + +"Mr. Truedale may not be home until evening," Lynda said. And now she +thought that this must be one of the private and pet dependents of Con's +with whom she would deal very gently and tactfully. "I wonder if you +won't tell me all about it and I will either tell Mr. Truedale or set a +time for you to see him." + +Glad of any help in this hour of extremity, the stranger said: + +"I'm--I'm Nella-Rose. Do you know about me?" + +Know about her? Why, after the first stunning shock, she seemed to be +the _only_ thing Lynda did know about--ever had known! She stared at the +little figure before her for what seemed an hour. She noted the worried, +pitiful child face that, screened behind the worn and care-lined +features, looked forth like a pretty flower. Then Lynda said, weakly: + +"Yes, I know about you--all about you, Nella-Rose." + +The pitiful eyes brightened. What Nella-Rose had been through since +leaving her hills only God understood. + +"I'm right glad! And you--you are--" + +"I'm Conning Truedale's--wife." + +Somehow Lynda expected this to be a devastating shock, but it was not. +Nella-Rose was past reservations or new impressions. + +"I--I reckoned so," was all she said. + +"You must sit down. You look very tired." Lynda had forgotten Truedale's +possible appearance. + +"I _am_ right tired. It's a mighty long way from Pine Cone. And I was +so--so frightened, but folks was certainly good and just helped me--to +here! One old lady came to the door with me." + +"Why--have you come, Nella-Rose?" Lynda drew her own chair close to the +stranger's and as she did so, she could but wonder, now that she was +herself again, how exactly Nella-Rose seemed to fit into the scene. She +was like a recurrence--like some one who had played her part before--or +were the scene and Nella-Rose but the materialization of something Lynda +had always expected, always dreaded, but which she had always known must +come some day? She was prepared now--terribly prepared! Everything +depended upon her management of the crucial moments. Her kindness did +not desert her, nor her merciful justice, but she meant to shield +Truedale with her life--hers and Nella-Rose's, if necessary. "Why--have +you--come?" she asked again, and Nella-Rose, taking for granted that +this pale, strange woman did know all about her--knew everything and +every one pertaining to her--fixed her sweet eyes, tear-filled but not +overflowing, upon her face. + +"I want--to tell him that I'm right sorry I hated him. I--I didn't know +until Bill Trim died. I want to ask him to--to forgive me, and--then I +can go back." + +"What--did--Bill Trim tell you?" Lynda tried with all her strength to +keep her mind cool, her thoughts steady. She wanted to lead Nella-Rose +on and on, without losing the way herself. + +"That he burned--he didn't mean to--he burned the letter I +sent--asking--" + +"I see! You wrote--a letter, then?" + +"Yes. He told me, if I wanted him--and I did--Godda'mighty! how I wanted +him then!" Nella-Rose clasped her poor little work-hardened hands close, +and her small white teeth showed through the parted lips while she +struggled to regain her calm. + +"You see--when I gave the letter to Bill Trim, I--I told him--I had +to--that it was Miss Lois Ann's, so he didn't think it mattered to me; +but when he was dying--he was hurt on the big road they are making in +the hills--he was brought to us-all, and Miss Lois Ann and I took care +of him, and he grew right sorry for hating her and not telling about the +letter--and then--he spoke it out!" + +"I see. I see. And that was--how long ago--that you wrote the letter?" + +Nella-Rose looked back over the weary way she had travelled, to this +moment in the warm, sun-filled room. + +"It was befo' lil' Ann came that I sent the letter," she faltered. + +"Little Ann?" Lynda repeated the name and something terrible rose within +her--something that would kill her unless she conquered it. So she asked +quickly, desperately: + +"Your--your child? I see. Go on--Nella-Rose." + +"I wrote the letter and--sent it. I was hid in Miss Lois Ann's cabin--it +was winter--and no one found out! Miss Lois Ann wouldn't believe what I +told; she said when him and me was married under the trees and God +understood, it didn't make me--right! She--helped me, but she +hated--him! And then when he--didn't come, she taught me to--to hate, +and it was right _black_ hate until lil' Ann came. When God let her down +to me--He took the hate away." + +Lynda was blinded by her tears. She could hardly see the small figure +crouching in the low chair by the fire. + +"And then--Miss Lois Ann went and told my folks--told Marg, my sister. +Marg was married to Jed and she was mighty scornful of me and lil' Ann. +She wouldn't tell Jed and my father--she came alone to me. She told me +what folks thought. They-all thought I'd gone away with Burke Lawson and +Marg felt sorry to see me alive--with lil' Ann. But Miss Lois Ann +wouldn't let her sting me with her tongue--she drove her away. +Then--Burke came! He'd been a right long way off--he'd broken his leg; +he came as soon as he could, and Marg told him and--and laid lil' Ann to +him!" + +"And you--never spoke? You never told?" Lynda had drawn very close--her +words were barely above a whisper. + +"No. It was this-er-way. First, love for him held my tongue mighty +still; then hate; and afterwards I couldn't!" + +"But now, Nella-Rose, _now_--why have you spoken--now?" + +"I haven't yet. Not to them-all. I had to come here--to him first. I +reckon you don't know about Burke and me?" + +Lynda shook her head. She had thought she knew--but she had wandered +sadly. + +"When Marg laid my trouble to Burke he just took it! First I couldn't +understand. But he took my trouble--and me! He took lil' Ann and me out +of Miss Lois Ann's cabin into--peace and safety. He tied every one's +tongue--it seemed like he drove all the--the wrong away by his big, +strong love--and set me free, like he was God! He didn't ask nothing for +a right long time, not 'til I grew to--believe him and trust him. Then +we went--when no one knew--and was married. Now he's my man and he's +always been lil' Ann's father till--till--" + +A log fell upon the hearth and both women started guiltily and +affrightedly. + +"Go on! go on!" breathed Lynda. "Go on!" + +"Till the twins came--Burke's and mine! Then he knew the +difference--even his love for me couldn't help him--it hindered; and +while I--I feared, I understood!" + +"Oh! oh! oh!" Lynda covered her aching eyes with her cold hands. She +dared not look at Nella-Rose. That childish yet old face was crowding +everything but pity from the world. Truedale, herself--what did they +matter? + +"He--he couldn't bear to have lil' Ann touch--the babies. I could see +him--shiver! And lil' Ann--she's like a flower--she fades if you don't +love her. She grew afraid and--and hid, and it seemed like the soul of +me would die; for, don't you see, Burke thinks that Marg's man is--is +the father, and Marg and Jed lays the trouble to Burke and they think +her--his! And--and it has grown more since the big road brought us-all +closer. The big road brought trouble as well as good. Once"--and here +the haggard face whitened--"once Burke and Jed fought--and a fight in +the hills means more fights! Just then Bill Trim was hurt and told me +before he died; it was like opening a grave! I 'most died 'long with +Bill Trim--'til I studied about lil' Ann! And then--I saw wide, and +right far, like I hadn't since--since before I hated. I saw how I must +come and--tell you-all, and how maybe you'd take lil' Ann, and then I +could go back to--to my man and--there'll be peace when he knows--at +last! Will you--oh! will you be with me, kind lady, when I--tell +your--your--man?" Nella-Rose dropped at Lynda's feet and was pleading +like a distraught child. "I've been so afraid. I did not know his world +was so full of noise and--and right many things. And he will +be--different--and I may not be able to make him understand. But you +will--_you_ will! I must get back to the hills. I done told Burke I--I +was going to prove myself to his goodness--by putting lil' Ann with them +as would be mighty kind to her. I seemed to know how it would turn +out--and I dared to say it; but now--now I am mighty--'fraid!" + +The tears were falling from the pain-racked eyes--falling upon Lynda's +cold, rigid hands--and they seemed to warm her heart and clear her +vision. + +"Nella-Rose," she said, "where is little Ann?" + +"Lil' Ann? Why, there's lil' Ann sleeping her tire off under your +pillows. She was cold and mighty wore out." Nella-Rose turned toward the +deep couch under the broad window across the room. + +Silently, like haunted creatures, both women stole toward the couch and +the mother drew away the sheltering screen of cushions. As she did so, +the little child opened her eyes, and for a moment endeavoured to find +her place in the strangeness. She looked at her mother and smiled a +slow, peculiar smile. Then she fixed her gaze upon Lynda. It was an old, +old look--but young, too--pleading, wonder-filled. The child was so like +Truedale--so unmercifully, cruelly like him--that, for a moment, reason +deserted Lynda and she covered her face with both hands and swayed with +silent laughter. + +Nella-Rose bent over her child as if to protect her. "Lil' Ann," she +whispered, "the lady is a right kind lady--right kind!" She felt she +must explain and justify. + +After a moment or two Lynda gained control of her shaken nerves. She +suddenly found herself calm, and ready to undertake the hardest, the +most perilous thing that had ever come into her life. "Bring little Ann +to the fire;" she said, "I'm going to order some lunch, and then--we can +decide, Nella-Rose." + +Nella-Rose obeyed, dumbly. She was completely under the control of the +only person, who, in this perplexed and care-filled hour, seemed able to +guide and guard her. + +Lynda watched the two eat of the food Thomas brought in. There was no +fear of Truedale coming now. There was safety ahead for some hours. +Lynda herself made a pretext of eating, but she hardly took her eyes +from little Ann's face. She wanted familiarity to take the place of +shock. She must grow accustomed to that terrible resemblance, for she +knew, beyond all doubt, that it was to hold a place in all her future +life. + +When the last drop of milk went gurgling down the little girl's throat, +when Nella-Rose pushed her plate aside, when Thomas had taken away the +tray, Lynda spoke: + +"And now, Nella-Rose, what are you going to--to do with us all?" + +The tired head of little Ann was pressed against her mother's breast. +The food, the heat, were lulling her weary senses into oblivion again. +Lynda gave a swift thought of gratitude for the momentary respite as she +watched the small, dark face sink from her direct view. + +"We are all in your hands," she continued. + +"In _my_ hands--_mine_?" + +"Yes. Yours." + +"I--I must--tell him--and then go home." + +"Must you, Nella-Rose?" + +"What else is there for me?" + +"You must decide. You, alone." + +"You"--the lips quivered--"you will not go with me?" + +"I--cannot, Nella-Rose." + +"Why?" + +"Because"--and with all her might Lynda sought words that would lay low +the difference between her and the simple, primitive woman close to +her--felt she _must_ use ideas and terms that would convey her meaning +and not drive her and Nella-Rose apart--"because, while he is my man +now, he was first yours. Because you were first, you must go alone--if +go you must. Then he shall decide." + +Nella-Rose grasped the deep meaning after a moment and sank back +shivering. The courage and endurance that had borne her to this hour +deserted her. The help, that for a time had seemed to rise up in Lynda, +crumbled. Alone, drifting she knew not where, Nella-Rose waited. + +"I'm--afraid!" she repeated over and over. "I'm right afraid. He's not +the same; it's all, all gone--that other life--and yet I cannot let him +think--!" + +The two women looked at each other over all that separated +them--and each comprehended! The soul of Nella-Rose demanded +justification--vindication--and Lynda knew that it should have it, if +the future were to be lived purely. There was just one thing Lynda had +to make clear in this vital moment, one truth that must be understood +without trespassing on the sacred rights of others. Surely Nella-Rose +should know all that there was to know before coming to her final +decision. So Lynda spoke: + +"You think he"--she could not bring herself, for all her bravery and +sense of justice, to speak her husband's name--"you think he remembers +you as something less than you were, than you are? Nella-Rose, he never +has! He did not understand, but always he has held you sacred. Whatever +blame there may have been--he took it all. It was because he could; +because it was possible for him to do so, that I loved him--honoured +him. Had it been otherwise, as truly as God hears me, I could not have +trusted him with my life. That--that marriage of yours and his was as +holy to him as, I now see, it was to you; and he, in his heart, has +always remembered you as he might a dear, dead--wife!" + +Having spoken the words that wrung her heart, Lynda sank back exhausted. +Then she made her first--her only claim for herself. + +"It was when everything was past and his new life began--his man's +life--that I entered in. He--he told me everything." + +Nella-Rose bent over her sleeping child, and a wave of compassion +overflooded her thought. + +"I--I must think!" she whispered, and closed her lovely eyes. What she +saw in the black space behind the burning lids no one could know, but +her tangled little life must have been part of it. She must have seen it +all--the bright, sunlit dream fading first into shadow, then into the +dun colour of the deserted hills. Burke Lawson must have stood boldly +forth, in his supreme unselfishness and Godlike power, as her +redeemer--her man! The gray eyes suddenly opened and they were calm and +still. + +"I--I only wanted him--to remember me--like he once did," she faltered. +She was taking her last look at Truedale. "So long as he--he didn't +think me--less; I reckon I don't want him--to think of me as I +am--now." + +"Suppose"--the desperate demand for full justice to Nella-Rose drove +Lynda on--"suppose it were in your power and mine to sweep everything +aside; suppose I--I went away. What would you do, Nella-Rose?" + +Again the eyes closed. After a moment: + +"I--would go back to--my man!" + +"You mean that--as truly as God hears you?--you mean that, Nella-Rose?" + +"Yes. But lil' Ann?" + +Now that she had made the great decision about Truedale, there was still +"lil' Ann." + +Lynda fought for mastery over the dread thing that was forcing its way +into her consciousness. Then something Nella-Rose was saying caught her +fevered thought. + +"When I was a lil' child I used to dream that some day I would do a +mighty big thing--maybe this is it. I don't want to hurt his life +and--yours; I couldn't hurt my man and--and--the babies waiting back +there for me. But--lil' Ann!" + +The name came like a sob. And somehow Lynda thought of Burke Lawson! +Burke, who had done his strong best, and still could not keep himself in +control because of--lil' Ann! The helpless baby was--oh! yes, yes--it +was Truedale's responsibility. If she, Lynda, were to keep her life--her +sacred love--she, too, must do a "big thing"--perhaps the biggest a +woman is ever called upon to do--to prove her faith. + +For another moment she struggled; then, like a blind woman, she +stretched out her hands and laid them upon the child. + +"Nella-Rose, will you give--_me_ little Ann?" + +"Give her--to--you?" There was anguish, doubt, but hope, in the words. + +"I want--the child! She shall have her father--her father's home--his +love, God willing! And I, Nella-Rose, as I hope for God's mercy, I will +do my duty by little Ann." + +And now Lynda was on the floor beside the shabby pair, shielding them as +best she could from the last wrench and renunciation. + +"Are you doing this for--for your man?" whispered Nella-Rose. + +"Yes. For my--man!" They looked long into each other's eyes. Then +solemnly, slowly, Nella-Rose relinquished her hold of the child. + +"I--give you--lil' Ann." So might she have spoken if, in religious +fervour, she had been resigning her child to death. "I--I--give you lil' +Ann." Gently she kissed the sleeping face and laid her burden in the +aching, strained arms that had still to learn their tender lesson of +bearing. Ann opened her eyes, her lips quivered, and she turned to her +mother. + +"Take--lil' Ann!" she pleaded. Then Nella-Rose drank deep of the bitter +cup, but she smiled--and spoke one of the lies over which angels have +wept forgivingly since the world began. + +"Lil' Ann, the kind lady is going to keep yo' right safe and happy 'til +mother makes things straight back there with--with yo'--father, in the +hills. Jes' yo' show the lady how sweet and pretty yo' can be 'til +mother comes fo' yo'! Will yo'--lil' Ann?" + +"How long?" + +"A mighty lil' while." + +All her life the child had given up--shrunk from that which she feared +but did not understand; and now she accepted it all in the dull, +hopeless way in which timid children do. She received her mother's +kiss--gave a kiss in return; then she looked gloomily, distrustingly, at +Lynda. After that she seemed complacent and obeyed, almost stupidly, +whatever she was told to do. + +Lynda took Nella-Rose to the station, saw to her every comfort, put a +sum of money in her hand with the words: + +"You must take it, Nella-Rose--to prove your trust in me; and it will +buy some--some things for--the other babies. But"--and here she went +close to Nella-Rose, realizing for the first time that the most +difficult part, for her, was yet to come--"how will it be with--with +your man--when he knows?" + +Nella-Rose looked up bravely and something crept into her eyes--the +look of power that only a woman who recognizes her hold on a man ever +shows. + +"He'll bear it--right grateful--and it'll wipe away the hate for Jed +Martin. He'll do the forgiving--since I've given up lil' Ann; and if he +doubts--there's Miss Lois Ann. She's mighty powerful with men--when it's +women that matters." + +"It's very wonderful!" murmured Lynda. "More wonderful than I can +understand." And yet as she spoke she knew that she _did_ understand. +Between her and Burke Lawson, a man she was never to know, there was a +common tie--a deep comprehension. + +Late that afternoon Lynda drove to Betty's with little Ann sitting +rigidly on the seat beside her. The child had not spoken since she had +seen the train move out of the station bearing her mother away. She had +not cried or murmured. She had gone afterward, holding Lynda's hand, +through amazing experiences. She had seen her shabby garments discarded +in dazzling shops, and fine apparel replace them. Once she had caught a +glimpse of her small, transformed self in a long mirror and her dark +eyes had widened. That was all. Lynda had watched her feverishly. She +had hoped that with the change of clothing the startling likeness would +lessen, but it did not. Robed in the trappings of her father's world, +little Ann seemed to become more wholly his. + +"Do you like yourself, little Ann?" Lynda had asked when, at last, a +charming hat was placed upon the dark curls. + +There was no word of reply--only the wide, helpless stare--and, to cover +her confusion, Lynda hurried away to Betty. + +The maid who admitted her said that "Mrs. Kendall was upstairs in the +nursery with the baby." + +Lynda paused on the stairs and asked blankly: "The baby? What baby?" + +The maid was a trusted one and close to Betty. + +"The little boy from the Home, Mrs. Truedale," she replied, "and already +the house is cheerfuller." + +Lynda felt a distinct disappointment. She had hoped that Betty would +care for little Ann for a few days, but how could she ask it of her now? + +In the sunny room upstairs Betty sat in a low rocker, crooning away to a +restless bundle in her arms. + +"You, Lyn?" Lynda stood in the doorway; Betty's back was to her. + +"Yes, Betty." + +"Come and see my red-headed boy--my Bobilink! He's going to be Robert +Kendall." + +Then Lynda drew near with Ann. Betty stopped rocking and confronted the +two with her far-reaching, strangely penetrating gaze. + +"What a beautiful little girl," she whispered. + +"Is she beautiful, Betty?" + +"She's--lovely. Come here, dear, and see my baby." Betty put forth a +welcoming hand to the child, but Ann shrank away and her long silence +was broken. + +"I jes' naturally hate babies!" she whispered, in the soft drawl that +betrayed her. + +"Lyn, who is she? Why--what is the matter?" + +Lynda came close and her words did not reach past Betty's strained +hearing. "I--I'm going to--adopt her. I--I must prepare, Con. I hoped +you'd keep her for a few days." + +"Of course I will, Lyn. I'm ready--but Lyn, tell me!" + +"Betty, look at her! She has come out of--of Con's past. He doesn't +know, he mustn't know--not now! She belongs to--to the future. Can +you--can you understand? I never suspected until to-day. I've got to get +used to it!" Then, fiercely: "But I'm going to do it, Betty! Con's road +is my road; his duty my duty; it's all right--only just at first--I've +got to--steady my nerves!" + +Without a word Betty rose and laid the now-sleeping baby in a crib; then +she came back to the low chair and opened her arms to little Ann with +the heaven-given gesture that no child resists--especially a suffering, +lonely child. + +"Come here, little girl, to--to Aunt Betty," she said. + +Fascinated, Ann walked to the shelter offered. + +"Will you kiss me?" Betty asked. The kiss was given mutely. + +"Will you tell Aunt Betty your name?" + +"Ann." + +"Ann what?" + +"Jes' lil' Ann." + +Then Betty raised her eyes to Lynda's face and smiled at its tragic +suffering. + +"Poor, old Lyn!" she said, "run home to Con. You need him and God knows +he needs you. It will take the big love, Lyn, dear, the big love; but +you have it--you have it!" + +Without a word Lynda turned and left Betty with the children. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Potential motherhood can endure throes of travail other than physical; +and for the next week Lynda passed through all the phases of spiritual +readjustment that enabled her, with blessed certainty of success, to +accept what she had undertaken. + +She did not speak to Truedale at once, but she went daily to Betty's and +with amazement watched the miracle Betty was performing. She never +forgot the hour, when, going softly up the stairs, she heard little Ann +laugh gleefully and clap her hands. + +Betty was playing with the baby and telling Ann a story at the same +time. Lynda paused to listen. + +"And now come here, little Ann, and kiss Bobilink. Isn't he smelly-sweet +and wonderful?" + +"Yes." + +"That's right. Kiss him again. And you once said you just naturally +didn't like babies! Little Ann, you are a humbug. And now tell me how +much you like Bobilink." + +"Heaps and lickwigs." + +"Now kiss me, you darling, and come close--so we will not waken Bobbie. +Let me see, this is going to be the story of the little girl who adopted +a--mother! Yesterday it was Bobbie's story of how a mother adopted a +little boy. You remember, the mother had to have a baby to fill a big +empty space, so she went to a house where some lost kiddies were and +found just the one that fitted in and--and--but this is Ann's story +to-day! + +"Once there was a little girl--a very dear and good little girl--who +knew all about a mother, and how dear a mother was; because she had one +who was obliged to go away--" + +"For a right lil' time?" Ann broke in. + +"Of course," Betty agreed, "a right little time; but the small girl +thought, while she waited, that she would adopt a mother and not tell +her about the other one, for fear she might not understand, and she'd +teach the adopted mother how to be a real mother. And now one must +remember all the things little girls do to--to adopted mothers. First--" + +At this point Lynda entered the room, but Betty went on calmly: + +"First, what do little girls do, Ann?" + +"Teach them how to hold lil' girls." + +"Splendid! What next?" + +"Kiss them and cuddle them right close." + +"Exactly! Next?" + +"They make mothers glad and they make them laugh--by being mighty good." + +Then both Betty and Ann looked at Lynda. The sharp, outer air had +brought colour to her cheeks, life to her eyes. She was very handsome +in her rich furs and dark, feathered hat. + +"Now, little Ann, trot along and do the lesson, don't forget!" Betty +pushed the child gently toward Lynda. + +With a laugh, lately learned and a bit doubtful, Ann ran to the opened +arms. + +"Snuggle!" commanded Betty. + +"I'm learning, little Ann," Lynda whispered, "you're a dear teacher. And +now I have something to tell you." + +Ann leaned back and looked with suspicion at Lynda. Her recent past had +been so crowded with events that she was wary and overburdened. + +"What?" she asked, with more dread than interest. + +"Ann, I'm going to take you to a big house that is waiting for a--little +girl." + +The child turned to Betty. + +"I don't want to go," she said, and her pretty mouth quivered. Was she +always to be sent away?--always to have to go when she did not want to +go? + +Betty smiled into the worried little face. "Oh! we'll see each other +every day," she comforted; "and besides, this is the only way you can +truly adopt a mother and play fair. It will be another dear place for +Bobilink to go for a visit, and best of all--there's a perfectly +splendid man in the big house--for a--for--a father!" + +Real fear came into Ann's eyes at this--fear that lay at the root of +all her trouble. + +"No!" she cried. "I can't play father!" + +Lynda drew her to her closely. "Ann, little Ann, don't say that!" she +pleaded passionately: "I'll help you, and together we'll make it come +true. We must, we must!" + +Her vehemence stilled the child. She put her hands on either side of +Lynda's face and timidly faltered: "I'll--I'll try." + +"Thank you, dear. And now I want to tell you something else--we're going +to have a Christmas tree." + +This meant nothing to the little hill-child, so she only stared. + +"And you must come and help." + +"You have something to teach her, Lyn," Betty broke in. There were tears +in her eyes. "Just think of a baby-thing like that not knowing the +thrills of Christmas." + +Then she turned to Ann: "Go, sweetheart," she said, "and make a nest for +Bobbie on the bed across the hall." And then when Ann trotted off to do +the bidding, Betty asked: "What did he say, Lyn, when you told him?" + +"He said he was glad, very glad. He has been willing, for a long time, +that I should take a child--when I saw one I wanted. He naturally +connects Ann with the Saxe Home; her being with you has strengthened +this belief. I shall let it go at that--for a time, Betty." + +"Yes. It is better so. After he learns to know and love the child," +Betty mused, "the way will be opened. And oh! Lyn, Ann is so wonderful. +She has the most remarkable character--so deep and tenderly true for +such a mite." + +"Suppose, Betty--suppose Con notices the likeness!" + +At this Betty smiled reassuringly. + +"He won't. Men are so stupidly humble. A pretty little girl would escape +them every time." + +"But her Southern accent, Betty. It is so pronounced." + +"My dear Lyn, it is! She sometimes talks like a little darkey; but to my +certain knowledge there are ten small Southerners at the Saxe, of +assorted ages and sexes, waiting for adoption." + +"And she may speak out, Betty. Her silence as to the past will disappear +when she has got over her fear and longing." + +Betty looked more serious. "I doubt it. Not a word has passed her lips +here--of her mother or home. It has amazed me. She's the most unusual, +the most fascinating creature I ever saw, for her age. Brace is wild +about her--he wants me to keep her. But, Lyn, if she does break her +strange silence, it will be your big hour! Whatever Con is or isn't--and +sometimes I feel like hugging him, and again, like shaking him--he's +the tenderest man with women--not even excepting Brace--that I have ever +seen. It never has occurred to him to reason out how much you love +him--he's too busy loving you. But when he finds this out! Well, Lyn, it +makes me bow my head and speak low." + +"Don't, Betty! Don't suggest pedestals again," Lynda pleaded. + +"No pedestal, Lyn; no pedestal--but the real, splendid _you_ revealed at +last! And now--forget it, dear. Here comes lil' Ann." + +The child tiptoed in with outstretched arms. + +"The nest is made right soft," she whispered, "and now let me carry +Bobilink to--to the sleepy dreams." + +"Where did you learn to carry babies?" Betty hazarded, testing the +silence. The small, dark face clouded; the fear-look crept to the large +eyes. + +"I--I don't know," was the only reply, and Ann turned away--this time +toward Lynda! + +"And suppose he never knows?" Lynda spoke with her lips pressed to Ann's +soft hair--the child was in her arms. + +"Then you and Con will have something to begin heaven with." Betty's +eyes were wet. "We all have something we don't talk about much on +earth--we do not dare. Brace and I have our--baby!" + +Two days later Lynda took Ann home. They went shopping first and the +child was dazzlingly excited. She forgot her restraint and shyness in +the fascinating delirium of telling what she wanted with a pretty sure +belief that she would get it. No wonder that she was taken out of +herself and broke upon Truedale's astonished gaze as quite a different +child from the one Lynda had described. + +The brilliant little thing came into the hall with Lynda, her arms +filled with packages too precious to be consigned to other hands; her +eyes were dancing and her voice thrilling with happiness. + +"And now I'll call you muvver-Lyn 'cause you're mighty kind and this is +your house! It's a right fine house." + +Truedale had well timed his return home. He was ready to greet the two +in the library. The prattling voice charmed him with its delightful +mellowness and he went forward gladly to meet Lynda and the new little +child. Ann was ahead; Lynda fell back and, with fast-throbbing heart +waited by the doorway. + +Ann had had a week and more of Brace Kendall to wipe away the impression +Burke Lawson had imprinted upon her mind. But she was shy of men and +weighed them carefully before showing favours. She stood still when she +saw Truedale; she dropped, unheeded, a package; she stared at him, while +he waited with extended hands. Then slowly--as if drawn against her +will--Ann advanced and laid her hands in his. + +"So this is the little girl who has come to help us make Christmas?" + +"Yes." Still that fixed look. It seemed to Lynda the most unnatural +thing she had ever seen. And oh! how alike the two were, now that they +were together! + +"You are little Ann and you are going to play with"--Truedale looked +toward Lynda and drew her to him by the love in his eyes--"You are going +to play with us, and you will call us mother and father, won't you, +little Ann?" He meant to do his part in full. He would withhold nothing, +now that Lynda had decided to take this step. + +"Yes." + +"And do you suppose you could kiss me--to begin with?" + +Quaintly the child lifted herself on her toes--Truedale was half +kneeling before her--and gave him a lingering kiss. + +"We're going to be great friends, eh, little Ann?" Truedale was pleased, +Lynda saw that. The little girl was making a deep impression. + +"Yes." Then--deliberately: "Shall I have to teach you to be a father?" + +"What does she mean?" Truedale looked at Lynda who explained Betty's +charming foolery. + +"I see. Well, yes, Ann, you must teach me to be a father." + +And so they began their lives together. And after a few days Lynda saw +that during the child's stay with Betty the crust of sullen reserve had +departed--the little creature was the merriest, sweetest thing +imaginable, once she could forget herself. Protected, cared for, and +considered, she developed marvellously and soon seemed to have been with +them years instead of days. The impression was almost startling and both +Lynda and Truedale remarked upon it. + +"There are certain things she does that appear always to have been +waiting for her to do," Conning said, "it makes her very charming. She +brushes the dogs and cats regularly, and she's begun to pick up books +and papers in my den in a most alarming way--but she always manages to +know where they belong." + +"That's uncanny," Lynda ventured; "but she certainly has fitted in, +bless her heart!" + +There had been moments at first when Lynda feared that Thomas would +remember the child, but the old eyes could hardly be expected to +recognize, in the dainty little girl, the small, patched, and soiled +stranger of the annoying visit. Many times had Thomas explained and +apologized for the admittance of the two "forlornities," as he called +them. + +No, everything seemed mercifully blurred; and Ann, in her new home, +apparently forgot everything that lay behind her. She never even asked +to go back to Betty's though she welcomed Betty, Brace, and Bobbie with +flattering joy whenever they came to visit. She learned to be very fond +of Lynda--was often sweetly affectionate with her; but in the wonderful +home, her very own, waited upon and cared for, it was Conning who most +appealed to her. For him she watched and waited at the close of day, and +if she were out with Lynda she became nervous and worried if they were +delayed as darkness crept on. + +"I want father to see me waiting," she would urge; "I like to see his +gladness." + +"And so do I!" Lynda would say, struggling to overcome the unworthy +resentment that occasionally got the better of her when the child too +fervently appropriated Conning. + +But this trait of Ann's flattered and delighted Truedale; often he was +amused, but he knew that it was the one thing above all else in the +little girl that endeared her to him. + +"What a darling she is!" he often said to Lynda when they were alone +together. "Is she ever naughty?" + +"Yes, often--the monkey!" + +"I'm glad to hear it. I hate a flabby youngster. Does she ever speak of +her little past, Lyn?" + +"Never." + +"Isn't that strange?" + +"Yes, but I'm glad she doesn't. I want her to forget. She's very happy +with us--but she's far from perfect." "To what form of cussedness does +she tend, Lyn? With me she's as lamblike as can be." + +"Oh! she has a fiery temper and, now that I think of it, she generally +shows it in reference to you." + +"To me?" Truedale smiled. + +"Yes. Thomas found her blacking your shoes the other day. She was making +an awful mess of it and he tried to take them from her. She gave him a +real vicious whack with the brush. What she said was actually comical: +'He's mine; if I want to take the dirt from his shoes, I can. He +_shan't_ walk on dirt--and he's mine!'" + +"The little rascal. And what did Thomas do?" + +"Oh! he let her. People always let her. I do myself." + +"She's a fascinating kid," Truedale said with a laugh. Then, very +earnestly: "I'm rather glad we do not know her antecedents, Lyn; it's +safer to take her as we find her and build on that. But I'd be willing +to risk a good deal that much love and goodness are back of little Ann, +no matter how much else got twisted in. And the love and goodness must +be her passport through life." + +"Yes, Con, and they are all that are worth while." + +But every change was a period of struggle to Ann and those who dealt +with her. She had a passionate power of attachment to places and people, +and readjustment caused her pain and unrest. + +When school was considered, it almost made her ill. She clung to +Truedale and implored him not to make her go away. + +"But it's only for the day time, Ann," he explained, "and you will have +children to play with--little girls like yourself." + +"No; no! I don't want children--only Bobbie! I only want my folks!" + +Lynda came to her defense. + +"Con, we'll have a governess for a year or so." + +"Is it wise, Lyn, to give way to her?" + +"Yes, it is!" Ann burst in; "it is wise, I'd die if I had to go." + +So she had a governess and made gratifying strides in learning. The +trait that was noticeable in the child was that she developed and +thrived most when not opposed. She wilted mentally and physically when +forced. She had a most unusual power of winning and holding love, and +under a shy and gentle exterior there were passion and strength that at +times were pathetic. While not a robust child she was generally well and +as time passed she gained in vigour. Once, and once only, was she +seriously ill, and that was when she had been with Truedale and Lynda +about two years. During all that time, as far as they knew, she had +never referred to the past and both believed that, for her, it was dead; +but when weakness and fever loosened the unchildlike control, something +occurred that alarmed Lynda, but broke down forever the thin barrier +that, for all her effort, had existed between her and Ann. She was +sitting alone with the child during a spell of delirium, when suddenly +the little hot hands reached up passionately, and the name "mother" +quivered on the dry lips in a tone unfamiliar to Lynda's ears. She bent +close. + +"What, little Ann?" she whispered. + +The big, burning eyes looked puzzled. Then: "Take me to--to the +Hollow--to Miss Lois Ann!" + +"Sh!" panted Lynda, every nerve tingling. "See, little Ann--don't you +know me?" + +The child seemed to half understand and moaned plaintively: + +"I'm lost! I'm lost!" + +Lynda took her in her arms and the sick fancy passed, but from that hour +there was a new tie between the two--a deeper dependence. + +There was one day when they all felt little Ann was slipping from them. +Dr. McPherson had come as near giving up hope as he ever, outwardly, +permitted himself to do. + +"You had better stay at home," he said to Conning; "children are +skittish little craft. The best of them haul up anchor sometimes when +you least expect it." + +So Truedale remained at home and, wandering through the quiet house, +wondered at the intensity of his suffering as he contemplated the time +on ahead without the child who had so recently come into his life from +he knew not where. He attributed it all to Ann's remarkable +characteristics. + +Late in the afternoon of the anxious day he went into the sick room and +leaned over the bed. Ann opened her eyes and smiled up at him, weakly. + +"Make a light, father," she whispered, and with a fear-filled heart +Truedale touched the electric button. The room was already filled with +sunlight, for it faced the west; but for Ann it was cold and dark. + +Then, as if setting the last pitiful scene for her own departure, she +turned to Lynda: "Make a mother-lap for Ann," she said. Lynda tenderly +lifted the thin form from the bed and held it close. + +"I--I taught you how to be a mother, didn't I, mommy-Lyn?" she had never +called Lynda simply "mother," while "father" had fallen naturally from +her lips. + +"Yes, yes, little Ann." Lynda's eyes were filled with tears and in that +moment she realized how much the child meant to her. She had done her +duty, had exceeded it at times, in her determination not to fall short. +She had humoured Ann, often taking sides against Conning in her fear of +being unjust. But oh! there had always been something lacking; and now, +too late, she felt that, for all her struggle, she had not been true to +the vow she had made to Nella-Rose! + +But Ann was gazing up at her with a strange, penetrating look. + +"It's the comfiest lap in the world," she faltered, "for little, tired +girls." + +"I--I love her!" Lynda gazed up at Truedale as if confessing and, at the +end, seeking forgiveness. + +"Of course you do!" he comforted, "but--be brave, Lyn!" He feared to +excite Ann. Then the weary eyes of the child turned to him. + +"Mommy-Lyn does love me!" the weak voice was barely audible; "she does, +father, she does!" + +It was like a confirmation--a recognition of something beautiful and +sacred. + +"I felt," Lynda said afterward to Betty, "as if she were not only +telling Con, but God, too. I had not deserved it--but it made up for all +the hard struggle, and swept everything before it." + +But Ann did not die. Slowly, almost hesitatingly, she turned back to +them and brought a new power with her. She, apparently, left her baby +looks and nature in the shadowy place from which she had escaped. Once +health came to her, she was the merriest of merry children--almost noisy +at times--in the rollicking fashion of Betty's irrepressible Bobilink. +And the haunting likeness to Truedale was gone. For a year or two the +lean, thready little girl looked like no one but her own elfish self; +and then--it was like a revealment--she grew to be like Nella-Rose! + +Lynda, at times, was breathless as she looked and remembered. She had +seen the mother only once; but that hour had burned the image of face, +form, and action into her soul. She recalled, too, Conning's graphic +description of his first meeting with Nella-Rose. The quaint, dramatic +power that had marked Ann's mother, now developed in the little +daughter. She had almost entirely lost the lingering manner of +speech--the Southern expressions and words--but she was as different +from the children with whom she mingled as she had ever been. + +When she was strong enough she resumed her studies with the governess +and also began music. This she enjoyed with the passion that marked her +attitude toward any person or thing she loved. + +"Oh, it lets something in me, free!" she confided to Truedale. "I shall +never be naughty or unkind again--I wouldn't dare!" + +"Why?" Conning was no devotee of music and was puzzled by Ann's +intensity. + +"Why," she replied, puckering her brows in the effort to make herself +clear, "I--I wouldn't be worthy of--of the beautiful music, if I were +horrid." + +Truedale laughed and patted her pretty cropped head, over which the new +little curls were clustering. + +Life in the old house was full and rich at that time. Conning was, as he +often said, respectably busy and important enough in the affairs of men +to be content; he would never be one who enjoyed personal power. + +Lynda, during Ann's first years, had taken a partner who attended to +interviews, conferences, and contracts; but in the room over the +extension the creative work went on with unabated interest. Little Ann +soon learned to love the place and had her tiny chair beside the hearth +or table. There she learned the lessons of consideration for others, and +self-control. + +"If the day comes," Lynda told Betty, "when my work interferes with my +duty to Con and Ann, it will go! But more and more I am inclined to +think that the interference is a matter of choice. I prefer my +profession to--well, other things." + +"Of course," Betty agreed; "women should not be forever coddling their +offspring, and when they learn to call things by their right names and +develop some initiative, they won't whine so much." + +Lynda and Truedale had sadly abandoned the hope of children of their +own. It was harder for Lynda than for Con, but she accepted what seemed +her fate and thanked heaven anew for little Ann and the sure sense that +she could love her without reserve. + +And then, after the years of change and readjustment, Lynda's boy was +born! He seemed to crown everything with a sacred meaning. Not without +great fear and doubt did Lynda go down into the shadow; not without an +agony of apprehension did Truedale go with her to the boundary over +which she must pass alone to accept what God had in store for her. They +remembered with sudden and sharp anxiety the peril that Betty had +endured, though neither spoke of it; and always they smiled courageously +when most their hearts failed. + +Then came the black hours of suffering and doubt. A wild storm was +beating outside and Truedale, hearing it, wondered whether all the great +events of his life were to be attended by those outbursts of nature. He +walked the floor of his room or hung over Lynda's bed, and at midnight, +when she no longer knew him or could soothe him by her brave smile, he +went wretchedly away and upon the dim landing of the stairs came upon +Ann, crouching white and haggard. + +His nerves were at the breaking point and he spoke sharply. + +"Why are you not in bed?" he asked. + +"While--mommy-Lyn is--in--there?" gasped the girl, turning reproachful +eyes up to him. "How--could I?" + +"How long have you been here?" + +"Always; always!" + +"Ann, you must go to your room at once! Come, I will go with you." She +rose and took his hand. There was fear in her eyes. + +"Is--is mommy-Lyn--" she faltered, and Truedale understood. + +"Good God!--no!" he replied; "not that!" + +"I was to--to stay close to you." Ann was trembling as she walked +beside him. "She gave you--to me! She gave you to me--to keep for her!" + +Truedale stopped short and looked at Ann. Confusedly he grasped the +meaning of the tie that held this child to Lynda--that held them all to +the strong, loving woman who was making her fight with death, for a +life. + +"Little Ann," was all he could say, but he bent and kissed the child +solemnly. + +When morning dawned, Lynda came back--bringing her little son with her. +God had spoken! + +Truedale, sitting beside her, one hand upon the downy head that had +nearly cost so much, saw the mother-lips move. + +"You--want--the baby?" he asked. + +"I--I want little Ann." Then the white lids fell, shutting away the weak +tears. + +"Lyn, the darling has been waiting outside your door all night--I +imagine she is there now." + +"Yes, I know. I want her." + +"Are you able--just now, dear?" + +"I--must have little Ann." + +So Ann came. She was white--very much awed; but she smiled. Lynda did +not open her eyes at once; she was trying to get back some of the old +self-control that had been so mercilessly shattered during the hours of +her struggle, but presently she looked up. + +"You--kept your word, Ann," she said. Then: "You--you made a place for +my baby. Little Ann--kiss your--brother." + +They named the baby for William Truedale and they called him Billy, in +deference to his pretty baby ways. + +"He must be Uncle William's representative," said Lynda, "as Bobbie is +the representative of Betty's little dead boy." + +"I often think of--the money, Lyn." Truedale spoke slowly and seriously. +"How I hated it; how I tried to get rid of it! But when it is used +rightly it seems to secure dignity for itself. I've learned to respect +it, and I want our boy to respect it also. I want to put it on a firm +foundation and make it part of Billy's equipment--a big trust for which +he must be trained." + +"I think I would like his training to precede his knowledge of the money +as far as possible," Lynda replied. "I'd like him to put up a bit of a +fight--as his father did before him." + +"As his father did _not_!" Truedale's eyes grew gloomy. "I'm afraid, +Lyn, I'm constructed on the modelling plan--added to, built up. Some +fellows are chiselled out. I wonder--about little Billy." + +"Somehow"--Lynda gave a little contented smile--"I am not afraid for +Billy. But I would not take the glory of conflict from him--no! not for +all Uncle William's money! He must do his part in the world and find +his place--not the place others may choose for him." + +"You're going to be sterner with him than you are with Ann, aren't you, +Lyn?" Truedale meant this lightly, but Lynda looked serious. + +"I shall be able to, Con, for Billy brought something with him that Ann +had to find." + +"I see--I see! That's where a mother comes in strong, my dear." + +"Oh! Con, it's where she comes in with fear and trembling--but with an +awful comprehension." + +This "comprehension" of the responsibilities of maternity worked forward +and backward with Lynda much to Truedale's secret amusement. Confident +of her duty to her son, she interpreted her duty to Ann. While Billy, +red-faced and roving-eyed, gurgled or howled in his extreme youth, Lynda +retraced her steps and commandingly repaired some damages in her +treatment of Ann. + +"Ann," she said one day, "you must go to school." + +"Why?" Ann naturally asked. She was a conscientious little student and +extremely happy with the governess who came daily to instruct her. + +"You study and learn splendidly, Ann, but you must have--have children +in your life. You'll be queer." + +"I've got Bobbie, and now Billy." + +"Ann, do not argue. When Billy is old enough to go to school he is +going, without a word! I've been too weak with you, Ann--you'll +understand by and by." + +The new tone quelled any desire on Ann's part to insist further; she was +rather awed by this attitude. So, with a lofty, detached air Miss Ann +went to school. At first she imbibed knowledge under protest, much as +she might have eaten food she disliked but which she believed was good +for her. Then certain aspects of the new experience attracted and +awakened her. From the mass of things she ought to know, she clutched at +things she wanted to know. From the girls who shared her school hours, +she selected congenial spirits and worshipped them, while the others, +for her, did not exist. + +"She's so intense," sighed Lynda; "she's just courting suffering. She +lavishes everything on them she loves and grieves like one without hope +when things go against her." + +"She's the most dramatic little imp." Truedale laughed reminiscently as +he spoke--he had seen Ann in two or three school performances. "I +shouldn't wonder if she had genius." + +Betty looked serious when she heard this. "I hope not!" was all she +said, and from then on she watched Ann with brooding eyes; she urged +Lynda to keep her much out of doors in the companionship of Bobbie and +Billy who were normal to a relieving extent. Ann played and enjoyed the +babies--she adored Billy and permitted him to rule over her with no +light hand--but when she could, she read poetry and talked of strange, +imaginative things with the few girls in whose presence she became rapt +and reverent. + +Brace was the only one who took Ann as a joke. + +"She's working out her fool ideas, young," he comforted; "let her alone. +A boy would go behind some barn and smoke and revel in the idea that he +was a devil of a fellow. Annie"--he, alone, called her that--"Annie is +smoking her tobacco behind her little barns. She'll get good and sick of +it. Let her learn her lesson." + +"That's right," Betty admitted, "girls ought to learn, just as boys +do--but if I ever find _Bobbie_ smoking--" + +"What will you do to him, Betty?" + +"Well, I'm not sure, but I _do_ know I'd insist upon his coming from +behind barns." + +And that led them all to consider Ann from the barn standpoint. If she +wanted the tragic and sombre she should have it--in the sunlight and +surrounded with love. So she no longer was obliged to depend on the +queer little girls who fluttered like blind bats in the crude of their +adolescent years. Lynda, Betty, Truedale, and Brace read bloodcurdling +horrors to her and took her to plays--the best. And they wedged in a +deal of wholesome, commonplace fun that presently awoke a response and +developed a sense of humour that gave them all a belief that the worst +was past. + +"She has forgotten everything that lies back of her sickness," Lynda +once said to Betty; "it's strange, but she appears to have begun from +that." + +Then Betty made a remark that Lynda recalled afterward: + +"I don't believe she has, Lyn. I'm not worried about Ann as you and Con +are. Her Lady Macbeth pose is just plain girl; but she has depths we +have never sounded. Sometimes I think she hides them to prove her +gratitude and affection, and because she is so helpless. She was nearly +five when she came to you, Lyn, and I believe she does remember the +hills and her mother!" + +"Why, Betty, what makes you think this?" Lynda was appalled. + +"It is her eyes. There are moments when she is looking back--far back. +She is trying to hold to something that is escaping her. Love her, Lyn, +love her as you never have before." + +"If I thought that, Betty!" Lynda was aghast. "Oh! Betty--the poor +darling! I cannot believe she could be so strong--so--terrible." + +"It's more or less subconscious--such things always are--but I think Ann +will some day prove what I say. In a way, it's like the feeling I have +for--for my own baby, Lyn. I see him in Bobbie; I feel him in Bobbie's +dearness and naughtiness. Ann holds what went before in what is around +her now. Sometimes it puzzles her as Bobbie puzzles me." + +About this time--probably because he was happier than he had ever been +before, possibly because he had more time that he could conscientiously +call his own than he had had for many a well-spent year--Truedale +repaired to his room under the eaves, sneaking away, with a half-guilty +longing, to his old play! So many times had he resurrected it, then cast +it aside; so many hopes and fears had been born and killed by the +interruption to his work, that he feared whatever strength it might once +have had must be gone now forever. + +Still he retreated to his attic room once more--and Lynda asked no +questions. With strange understanding Ann guarded that door like a +veritable dragon. When Billy's toddling steps followed his father Ann +waylaid him; and many were the swift, silent struggles near the portal +before the rampant Billy was carried away kicking with Ann's firm hand +stifling his outraged cries. + +"What Daddy doing there?" Billy would demand when once conquered. + +"That's nobody's business but Daddy's," Ann unrelentingly insisted. + +"I--I want to know!" Billy pleaded. + +"Wait until Daddy wants you to know." + +Under the eaves, hope grew in Truedale's heart. The old play had +certainly the subtle human interest that is always vital. He was sure of +that. Once, he almost decided to take Ann into his confidence. The child +had such a dramatic sense. Then he laughed. It was absurd, of course! + +No! if the thing ever amounted to anything--if, by putting flesh upon +the dry bones and blood into the veins, he could get it over--it was to +be his gift to Lynda! And the only thing that encouraged him as he +worked, rather stiffly after all the years, was the certainty that at +times he heard the heart beat in the shrunken and shrivelled thing! And +so--he reverently worked on. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Among the notes and suggestions sprinkled through the old manuscript +were lines that once had aroused the sick and bitter resentment of +Truedale in the past: + + "Thy story hath been written long since. + Thy part is to read and interpret." + +Over and over again he read the words and pondered upon his own change +of mind. Youth, no matter how lean and beggared it may be, craves and +insists upon conflict--upon the personal loss and gain. But as time +takes one into its secrets, the soul gets the wider--Truedale now was +sure it was the wider--outlook. Having fought--because the fight was +part of the written story--the craving for victory, of the lesser sort, +dwindled, while the higher call made its appeal. To be part of the +universal; to look back upon the steps that led up, or even down, and +hold the firm belief that here, or elsewhere--what mattered in the +mighty chain of many links--the "interpretation" told! + +Truedale came to the conclusion that fatalism was no weak and spineless +philosophy, but one for the making of strong souls. + +Failure, even wrong, might they not, if unfettered by the narrow +limitations of here and now, prove miracle-working elements? + +Then the effect upon others entered into Truedale's musings as it had in +the beginning. The "stories" of others! He leaned his head at this +juncture upon his clasped hands and thought of Nella-Rose! Thought of +her as he always did--tenderly, gently, but as holding no actual part in +his real life. She was like something that had gained power over an +errant and unbridled phase of his past existence. He could not make her +real in the sense of the reality of the men, women, and affairs that now +sternly moulded and commanded him. She was--she always would be to +him--a memory of something lovely, dear, but elusive. He could no longer +place and fix her. She belonged to that strange period of his life when, +in the process of finding himself, he had blindly plunged forward +without stopping to count the cost or waiting for clear-sightedness. + +"What has she become?" he thought, sitting apart with his secret work. +And then most fervently he hoped that what Lynda had once suggested +might indeed be true. He prayed, as such men do pray, that the +experience which had enabled him to understand himself and life better +might also have given Nella-Rose a wider, freer space in which to play +her chosen part. + +He recalled his knowledge of the hill-women as Jim White had described +them--women to whom love, in its brightest aspect, is denied. Surely +Nella-Rose had caught a glimpse more radiant than they. Had it pointed +her to the heaven of good women--or--? + +And eventually this theme held and swayed the play--this effect of a +deep love upon such a nature as Nella-Rose's, the propelling power--the +redeeming and strengthening influence. In the end Truedale called his +work "The Interpretation." + +And while this was going on behind the attic door, a seemingly slight +incident had the effect of reinforcing Truedale's growing belief in his +philosophy. + +He and Lynda went one day to the studio of a sculptor who had suddenly +come into fame because of a wonderful figure, half human, half divine, +that had startled the sophisticated critics out of their usual calm. + +The man had done much good work before, but nothing remarkable; he had +taken his years of labour with patient courage, insisting that they were +but preparation. He had half starved in the beginning--had gradually +made his way to what every one believed was a mediocre standstill; but +he kept his faith and his cheerful outlook, and then--he quietly +presented the remarkable figure that demanded recognition and +appreciation. + +The artist had sold his masterpiece for a sum that might reasonably have +caused some excitement in his life--but it had not! + +"I'm sorry I let the thing go," he confided to a chosen few; "come and +help me bid it good-bye." + +Lynda and Conning were among the chosen, and upon the afternoon of their +call they happened to be alone with him in the studio. + +All other pieces of work had been put away; the figure, in the best +possible light, stood alone; and the master, in the most impersonal way, +stood guard over it with reverent touch and hushed voice. + +Had his attitude been a pose it would have been ridiculous; but it was +so detached, so sincere, so absolutely humble, that it rose to the +height of dignified simplicity. + +"Thornton, where did you get your inspiration--your model?" Truedale +asked, after the beauty of the thing had sunk into his heart. + +"In the clay. Such things are always in the clay," was the quiet reply. + +Lynda was deeply moved, not only by the statue, but by its creator. +"Tell us, please," she said earnestly, "just what you mean. I think it +will help us to understand." + +Thornton gave a nervous laugh. He was a shy, retiring man but he thought +now only of this thing he had been permitted to portray. + +"I always"--he began hesitatingly--"take my plaster in big lumps, +squeeze it haphazard, and then sit and look at it. After that, it is a +mere matter of choice and labour and--determination. When this"--he +raised his calm eyes to the figure--"came to me--in the clay--I saw it +as plainly as I see it now. I couldn't forget, or, if I did, I began +again. Sometimes, I confess, I got weird results as I worked; once, +after three days of toil, a--a devil was evolved. It wasn't bad, either, +I almost decided to--to keep it; but soon again I caught a glimpse of +the vision, always lurking close. So I pinched and smoothed off and +added to, and, in the end, the vision stayed. It was in the +clay--everything is, with me. If I cannot see it there, I might as well +give up." + +"Thornton, that's why you never lost courage!" Truedale exclaimed. + +"Yes, that's the reason, old man." + +Lynda came close. "Thank you," she said with deep feeling in her voice, +"I do understand; I thought I would if you explained, and--I think your +method is--Godlike!" + +Thornton flushed and laughed. "Hardly that," he returned, "it's merely +my way and I have to take it." + +It was late summer when Truedale completed the play. Lynda and the +children were away; the city was hot and comparatively empty. It was a +time when no manager wanted to look at manuscripts, but if one was +forced upon him, he would have more leisure to examine it than he would +have later on. + +Taking advantage of this, Truedale--anxious but strangely +insistent--fought his way past the men hired to defeat such a course, +and got into the presence of a manager whose opinion he could trust. + +After much argument--and the heat was terrific--the great man promised, +in order to rid himself of Truedale's presence, to read the stuff. He +hadn't the slightest intention of doing so, and meant to start it on its +downward way back to the author as soon as the proper person--in short +his private secretary--came home from his vacation. + +But that evening an actress who was fine enough and charmingly +temperamental enough to compel attention, bore down through the heat +upon the manager, with the appalling declaration that she was tired to +death of the part selected for her in her play, and would have none of +it! + +"But good Lord!" cried the manager, fanning himself with his +panama--they were at a roof garden restaurant--"this is August--and you +go on in October." + +"Not as a depraved and sensual woman, Mr. Camden; I want to be for once +in my life a character that women can remember without blushing." + +"But, my poor child, that's your splendid art. You are a--an +angel-woman, but you can play a she-devil like an inspired creature. You +don't mean that you seriously contemplate ruining _my_ reputation and +your own--by--" + +"I mean," said the angel-woman, sipping her sauterne, "that I don't care +a flip for your reputation or mine--the weather's too hot--but I'm not +going to trail through another slimy play! No; I'll go into the movies +first!" + +Camden twisted his collar; he felt as if he were choking. "Heaven +forbid!" was all he could manage. + +"I want woods and the open! I want a character with a little, twisted, +unawakened soul to be unsnarled and made to behave itself. I don't mind +being a bit naughty--if I can be spanked into decorum. But when the +curtain goes down on my next play, Camden, the women are going out of +the theatre with a kind thought of me, not throbbing with +disapproval--good women, I mean!" + +And then, because Camden was a bit of a sentimentalist with a good deal +of superstition tangled in his make-up, he took Truedale's play out of +his pocket--it had been spoiling the set of his coat all the +evening--and spread it out on the table that was cleared now of all but +the coffee and the cigarettes which the angel-woman--Camden did not +smoke--was puffing luxuriously. + +"Here's some rot that a fellow managed to drop on me to-day. I didn't +mean to undo it, but if it has an out-of-door setting, I'll give it a +glance!" + +"Has it?" asked the angel, watching the perspiring face of Camden. + +"It has! Big open. Hills--expensive open." + +"Is it rot?" + +"Umph--listen to this!" Camden's sharp eye lighted on a vivid sentence +or two. "Not the usual type of villain--and the girl is rather unique. +Up to tricks with her eyes shut. I wonder how she'll pan out?" Camden +turned the pages rapidly, overlooking some of Con's best work, but +getting what he, himself, was after. + +"By Jove! she doesn't do it!" + +"What--push those matches this way--what doesn't she do?" asked the +angel. + +"Eternally damn the man and claim her sex privilege of unwarranted +righteousness!" + +"Does she damn herself--like an idiot?" The angel was interested. + +"She does not! She plays her own little role by the music of the +experience she lived through. It's not bad, by the lord Harry! It's got +to be tinkered--and painted up--but it's original. Just look it over." + +Truedale's play was pushed across the table and the angel-woman seized +upon it. The taste Camden had given her--like caviar--sharpened her +appetite. She read on in the swift, skipping fashion that would have +crushed an author's hopes, but which grasped the high lights and caught +the deep tones. Then the woman looked up and there were genuine tears in +her eyes. + +"The little brick!" said the voice of loveliness and thrills, "the +splendid little trump! Why, Camden, she had her ideals--real, fresh, +woman-ideals--not the ideals plastered on us women by men, who would +loathe them for themselves! She just picked up the scraps of her damaged +little affairs and went, without a whimper, to the doing of the only job +she could ever hope to succeed in. And she let the man-who-learned go! +Gee! but that was a big decision. She might so easily have muddled the +whole scheme of things, but she didn't! The dear, little, scrimpy, +patched darling. + +"Oh! Camden, I want to be that girl for as long a run as you can force. +After the first few weeks you won't have to bribe folks to come--it'll +take hold, after they have got rid of bad tastes in their mouths and +have found out what we're up to! Don't count the cost, Camden. This is a +chance for civic virtue." + +"Do you want more cigarettes, my dear?" + +"No. I've smoked enough." + +Camden drew the manuscript toward him. "It's a damned rough diamond," he +murmured. + +"But you and I know it is a diamond, don't we, Camby?" + +"Well, it sparkles--here and there." + +"And it mustn't be ruined in the cutting and setting, must it?" The +angel was wearing her most devout and flattering expression. She was +handling her man with inspired touch. + +"Umph! Well, no. The thing needs a master hand; no doubt of that. But +good Lord! think of the cost. This out-of-door stuff costs like all +creation. Your gowns will let you out easy--you can economize on _this_ +engagement--but have a heart and think of me!" + +"I--I do think of you, Camby. You know as well as I that New York is at +your beck and call. What you say--goes! Call them now to see something +that will make them sure the world isn't going to the devil, Camden. In +this scene"--and here the woman pulled the manuscript back--"when that +little queen totes her heavy but sanctified heart up the trail, men and +women will shed tears that will do them good--tears that will make them +see plain duty clearer. Men and--yes, women, too, Camby--_want_ to be +decent, only they've lost the way. This will help them to find it!" + +"We've got to have two strong men." Camden dared not look at the +pleading face opposite. But something was already making him agree with +it. + +"And, by heavens, I don't know of but one who isn't taken." + +"There's a boy--he's only had minor parts so far--but I want him for the +man-who-learned-his-lesson. You can give the big wood-giant to John +Harrington--I heard to-day that he was drifting, up to date--but I want +Timmy Nichols for the other part." + +"Nichols? Thunder! He's only done--what in the dickens has he done? I +remember him, but I can't recall his parts." + +"That's it! That's it! Now I want him to drive his part home--with +himself!" + +Camden looked across at the vivid young face that a brief but brilliant +career had not ruined. + +"I begin to understand," he muttered. + +"Do you, Camden? Well, I'm only beginning to understand myself!" + +"Together, you'll be corking!" Camden suddenly grew enthusiastic. + +"Won't we? And he did so hate to have me slimy. No one but Timmy and my +mother ever cared!" + +"We'll have this--this fellow who wrote the play--what's his name?" + +"Truedale." The woman referred to the manuscript. + +"Yes. Truedale. We'll have him to dinner to-morrow. I'll get Harrington +and Nichols. Where shall we go?" + +"There's a love of a place over on the East Side. They give you such +good things to eat--and leave you alone." + +"We'll go there!" + +It was November before the rush and hurry of preparation were over and +Truedale's play announced. His name did not appear on it so his people +were not nerve-torn and desperate. Truedale often was, but he managed to +hide the worst and suffer in silence. He had outlived the anguish of +seeing his offspring amputated, ripped open, and stuffed. He had come to +the point where he could hear his sacredest expressions denounced as rot +and supplanted by others that made him mentally ill. But in the end he +acknowledged, nerve-racked as he was, that the thing of which he had +dreamed--the thing he had tried to do--remained intact. His eyes were +moist when the curtain fell upon his "Interpretation" at the final +rehearsal. + +Then he turned his attention to his personal drama. He chose his box; +there were to be Lynda and Ann, Brace and Betty, McPherson and himself +in it. Betty, Brace, and the doctor were to have the three front +chairs--not because of undue humility on the author's part, but because +there would, of course, be a big moment of revelation--a moment when +Lynda would know! When that came it would be better to be where curious +eyes could not behold them. Perhaps--Truedale was a bit anxious over +this--perhaps he might have to take Lynda away after the first act, and +before the second began, in order to give her time and opportunity to +rally her splendid serenity. + +And after the play was over--after he knew how the audience had taken +it--there was to be a small supper--just the six of them--and during +that he would confess, for better or worse. He would revel in their joy, +if success were his, or lean upon their sympathy if Fate proved unkind. + +Truedale selected the restaurant, arranged for the flowers, and then +grew so rigidly quiet and pale that Lynda declared that the summer in +town had all but killed him and insisted that he take a vacation. + +"We haven't had our annual honeymoon trip, Con," she pleaded; "let's +take it now." + +"We'll--we'll go, Lyn, just before Christmas." + +"Not much!" Lynda tossed her head. "It will take our united efforts from +December first until after Christmas to meet the demands of Billy and +Ann." + +"But, Lyn, the theatre season has just opened--and--" + +"Don't be a silly, Con. What do we care for that? Besides, we can go to +some place where there are theatres. It's too cold to go into the +wilds." + +"But New York is _the_ place, Lyn." + +"Con, I never saw you so obstinate and frivolous. Why, you're thin and +pale, and you worry me. I will never leave you again during the summer. +Ann was edgy about it this year. She told me once that she felt all the +hotness you were suffering. I believe she did! _Now_ will you come away +for a month?" + +"I--I cannot, Lyn." + +"For two weeks, then? One?" + +"Darling, after next week, yes! For a week or ten days." + +"Good old Con! Always so reasonable and--kind," Lynda lifted her happy +face to his.... + +But things did not happen as Truedale arranged--not all of them. There +was a brief tussle, the opening night of the play, with McPherson. He +didn't see why he should be obliged to sit in the front row. + +"I'm too tall and fat!" he protested; "it's like putting me on +exhibition. Besides, my dress suit is too small for me and my +shirt-front bulges and--and I'm not pretty. Put the women in front, +Truedale. What ails you, anyway?" + +Conning was desperate. For a moment it looked as if the burly doctor +were going to defeat everything. + +"I hate plays, you know!" McPherson was mumbling; "why didn't you bring +us to a musical comedy or vaudeville? Lord! but it's hot here." + +Betty, watching Truedale's exasperated face, came to his assistance. + +"When at a party you're asked whether you will have tea or coffee, Dr. +McPherson," she said, tugging at his huge arm, "you mustn't say +'chocolate,' it isn't polite. If Con wants to mix up the sexes he has a +perfect right to, after he's ruined himself buying this box. Do sit down +beside me, doctor. When the audience looks at my perfectly beautiful +new gown they'll forget your reputation and shirt-front." + +So, muttering and frowning, McPherson sat down beside Betty, and Brace +in lamblike mood dropped beside him. + +"It's wicked," McPherson turned once more; "I don't believe Ann can see +a thing." + +"Yes, I can, Dr. McPherson--if you keep put! I want to sit between +father and mommy-Lyn. When I thrill, I have to have near me some one +particular, to hold on to." + +"You ought to be in bed!" + +Little Ann leaned against his shoulder. "Don't be grumpy," she +whispered, "I like you best of all--when you're not the doctor." + +"Umph!" grunted McPherson, but he stayed "put" after that, until the +curtain went down on the first act. Then he turned to Truedale. He had +been laughing until the tears stood in his eyes. + +"Did that big woodsman make you think of any one?" he asked. + +"Did he remind _you_ of any one?" Truedale returned. He was weak with +excitement. Lynda, sitting beside him, was almost as white as the gown +she wore--for she had remembered the old play! + +"He's enough like old Jim White to be his twin! I haven't laughed so +much in a month. I feel as if I'd had a vacation in the hills." + +Then the curtain went up on the big scene! Camden had spared no +expense. That was his way. The audience broke into appreciative applause +as it gazed at the realistic reproduction of deep woods, dim trails, and +a sky of gold. It was an empty stage--a waiting moment! + +In the first act the characters had been more or less subservient to the +big honest sheriff, with his knowledge of the people and his amazing +interpretation of justice. He had been so wise--so deliciously +anarchistic--that the real motive of the play had only begun to appear. +But now into the beautiful, lonely woods the woman came! The shabby, +radiant little creature with her tremendous problem yet to solve. +Through the act she rose higher, clearer; she won sympathy, she revealed +herself; and, at the end, she faced her audience with an appeal that was +successful to the last degree. + +In short, she had got Truedale's play over the footlights! He knew it; +every one knew it. And when the climax came and the decision was +made--leaving the man-who-had-learned-his-lesson unaware of the divine +renunciation but strong enough to take up his life clear-sightedly; when +the little heroine lifted her eyes and her empty arms to the trail +leading up and into the mysterious woods--and to all that she knew they +held--something happened to Truedale! He felt the clutch of a small cold +hand on his. He looked around, and into the wide eyes of Ann! The child +seemed hypnotized and, as if touched by a magic power, her resemblance +to her mother fairly radiated from her face. She was struggling for +expression. Seeking to find words that would convey what she was +experiencing. It was like remembering indistinctly another country and +scene, whose language had been forgotten. Then--and only Lynda and +Truedale heard--little Ann said: + +"It's Nella-Rose! Father, it's Nella-Rose!" + +Betty had been right. The shock had, for a moment, drawn the veil aside, +the child was looking back--back; she heard what others had called the +one she now remembered--the sacreder name had escaped her! + +"Father, it's Nella-Rose!" + +Truedale continued to look at Ann. Like a dying man--or one suddenly +born into full life--he gradually understood! As Ann looked at that +moment, so had Nella-Rose looked when, in Truedale's cabin, she turned +her eyes to the window and saw his face! + +This was Nella-Rose's child, but why had Lynda--? And with this thought +such a wave of emotion swept over Truedale that he feared, strong as he +was, that he was going to lose consciousness. For a moment he struggled +with sheer physical sensation, but he kept his eyes upon the small, dark +face turned trustingly to his. Then he realized that people were moving +about; the body of the house was nearly empty; McPherson, while helping +Betty on with her cloak, was commenting upon the play. + +"Good stuff!" he admitted. "Some muscle in that. Not the usual appeal to +the uglier side of life. But come, come, Mrs. Kendall, stop crying. It's +only a play, after all." + +"Oh! I know," Betty quiveringly replied, "but it's so human, Dr. +McPherson. That dear little woman has almost broken my heart; but she'd +have broken it utterly if she had acted differently. I don't believe the +author ever _guessed_ her! Somewhere she _lived_ and played her part. I +just know it!" + +Truedale heard all this while he watched the strained look fading from +Ann's face. The past was releasing her, giving her back to the safe, +normal present. Presently she laughed and said: "Father, I feel so +queer. Just as if I'd been--dreaming." + +Then she turned with a deep, relieving sigh to Lynda. "Thank you for +bringing me, mommy-Lyn," she said, "it was the best play I've ever seen +in all my life. Only I wish that nice actress-lady had gone with the man +who didn't know. I--I feel real sorry for him. And why didn't she +go?--I'd have gone as quick as anything." + +The door had closed between Ann's past and her future! Truedale got upon +his feet, but he was still dazed and uncertain as to what he should do +next. Then he heard Lynda say, and it almost seemed as if she spoke +from a distance she could not cross, "Little Ann, bring father." + +He looked at Lynda and her white face startled him, but she smiled the +kind, true smile that called upon him to play his part. + +Somehow the rest of the plan ran as if no cruel jar had preceded it. The +supper was perfect--the guests merry--and, when he could command +himself, Truedale--keeping his eyes on Lynda's face--confessed. + +For a moment every one was quiet. Surprise, delight, stayed speech. Then +Ann asked: "And did you do it behind the locked door, father?" + +"Yes, Ann." + +"Well, I'm glad I kept Billy out!" + +"And Lyn--did you know?" Betty said, her pretty face aglow. + +"I--I guessed." + +But the men kept still after the cordial handshakes. McPherson was +recalling something Jim White had said to him recently while he was with +the sheriff in the hills. + +"Doc, that thar chap yo' once sent down here--thar war a lot to him +us-all didn't catch onter." + +And Brace was thinking of the night, long, long ago, when Conning threw +some letters upon the glowing coals and groaned! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +They were home at last in old William Truedale's quiet house. Conning +went upstairs with Ann. Generally Lynda went with him to kiss Ann +good-night before they bent over Billy's crib beside their own bed. But +now, Lynda did not join them and Ann, starry-eyed, prattled on about the +play and her joy in her father's achievement. She was very quaint and +droll. She ran behind a screen and dropped her pretty dress, and issued +forth, like a white-robed angel, in her long gown, her short brown curls +falling like a beautiful frame around her gravely sweet face. + +Truedale, sitting by the shaded lamp, looked at her as if, in her true +character, she stood revealed. + +"Little Ann," he said huskily, "come, let me hold you while we wait for +mommy-Lyn." + +Ann came gladly and nestled against his breast. + +"To think it's my daddy that made the splendid play!" she whispered, +cuddling closer. "I can tell the girls and be so proud." Then she yawned +softly. + +"Mommy-Lyn, I suppose, had to go and whisper the secret to Billy," she +went on, finding as usual an excuse instead of a rebuke. "Billy's missed +the glory of his life because he's so young!" + +Another--a longer yawn. Then the head lay very still and Truedale saw +that she was asleep. Reverently he kissed her. Then he bore her to the +little bed behind the white screen, with its tall angels with brooding +eyes. As he laid her down she looked up dreamily: + +"I'm a pretty big girl to be carried," she whispered, "but my daddy is +strong and--and great!" + +Again Truedale kissed her, then went noiselessly to find Lynda. + +He went to their bedchamber, but Lynda was not there. Billy, rosy and +with fat arms raised above his pretty blond head, was sleeping--unconscious +of what was passing near. Truedale went and looked yearningly down at +him. + +"My boy!" he murmured over and over again; "my boy." But he did not kiss +Billy just then. + +There was no doubt in Truedale's mind, now, as to where he would find +Lynda. Quietly he went downstairs and into the dim library. The fire was +out upon the hearth. The gray ashes gave no sign of life. The ticking of +the clock was cruelly loud; and there, beside the low, empty chair, +knelt Lynda--her white dress falling about her in motionless folds. + +Truedale, without premeditation, crossed the room and, sitting in his +uncle's chair--the long-empty chair, lifted Lynda's face and held it in +his hand. + +"Lyn," he said, fixing his dark, troubled eyes upon hers, "Lyn, who is +Ann's father?" + +Lynda had not been crying; her eyes were dry and--faithful! + +"You, Con," she said, quietly. + +During the past years had Lynda ever permitted herself to imagine how +Conning would meet this hour she could not have asked more than now he +gave. He was ready, she saw that, to assume whatever was his to bear. +His face whitened; his mouth twitched as the truth of what he heard sunk +into his soul; but his gaze never fell from that which was raised to +his. + +"Can you--tell me all about it, Lyn?" he asked. + +For an instant Lynda hesitated. Misunderstanding, Truedale added: + +"Perhaps you'd rather not to-night! I can wait. I trust you absolutely. +I am sure you acted wisely." + +"Oh! Con, it was not I--not I. It was Nella-Rose who acted wisely. I +left it all to her! It was she who decided. I have always wanted, at +least for years, to have you know; but it was Nella-Rose's wish that you +should not. And now, little Ann has made it possible." + +And then Lynda told him. He had relinquished his hold upon her and sat +with tightly clenched hands gazing at the ashes on the hearth. Lynda +pressed against him, watching--watching the effect of every word. + +"And, Con, at first, when I knew, every fibre of my being claimed you! +I wanted to push her and--and Ann away, but I could not! Then I tried to +act for you. I saw that since Nella-Rose had been first in your life she +should have whatever belonged to her; I knew that you would have it so. +When I could bring myself to--to stand aside, I put us all into her +keeping. She was very frightened, very pitiable, but she closed her eyes +and I knew that she saw truth--the big truth that stood guard over all +our lives and had to be dealt with honestly--or it would crush +everything. I could see, as I watched her quiet face, that she was +feeling her way back, back. Then she realized what it all meant. Out of +the struggle--the doubt--that big, splendid husband of hers rose +supreme--her man! He had saved her when she had been most hopelessly +lost. Whatever now threatened him had to go! Her girlhood dream faded +and the safe reality of what he stood for remained. Then she opened her +eyes and made her great decision. Since you had never dishonoured her in +your thought, she would not have you know her as she then was! +But--there remained little Ann! Oh! Con, I never knew, until Billy came, +what Nella-Rose's sacrifice meant! I thought I did--but afterward, I +knew! One has to go down into the Valley to find the meaning of +motherhood. I had done, or tried to do, my duty before, but Billy taught +me to love Ann and understand--the rest!" + +There was silence for a moment. Among the white ashes a tiny red spark +was showing. It glowed and throbbed; it was trying hard to find +something upon which to live. + +"And, Lyn, after she went back to the hills--how was it with her?" + +"She laid everything but your name upon the soul of her man. He never +exacted more. His love was big enough--divine enough--to accept. Oh! +Con, through all the years when I have tried to--to do my part, the +husband of Nella-Rose has helped me to do it! Nella-Rose never looked +back--to Ann and me. Having laid the child upon the altar, +she--trusted." + +"Yes, that would be her way." Truedale's voice broke a bit. + +"But, Con, I kept in touch with her through that wonderful old +woman--Lois Ann. I--oh! Con, I made life easier, brighter for them all; +just as--as you would have done. Lois Ann has told me of the happiness +of the little cabin home, of the children--there are three--" + +A sharp pause caused Truedale to turn and look at Lynda. + +"And--now?" he asked. + +"Con, Nella-Rose died last year!" + +The stillness in the room pressed close; even the clock's ticking was +unnoticed. The spark upon the hearth had become a flame; it had found +something upon which to feed. Like a radiant hope it rose, faded, then +leaped higher among the white ashes. + +"She went, Con, like a child tired of its play. She was with Lois Ann; +it was the hill-fever, and she was mercifully spared the knowledge of +suffering or--renunciation. She kept repeating that she saw beautiful +things; she was glad--glad to the last minute. Her children and husband +have gone to Nella-Rose's old home. Lois Ann says they are saving +everybody! That's all, Con--all." + +Then Truedale, his eyes dim but undaunted, leaned and drew Lynda up +until, kneeling before him, her hands upon his shoulders, they faced +each other. + +"And this is the way women--save men!" he said. + +"It is the way they try to save--themselves," Lynda replied. + +"Oh, Con, Con, when will our men learn that it is the one life, the one +great love that we women want?--the full knowledge and--responsibility?" + +"My darling!" Truedale kissed the tender mouth. Then drawing her close, +he asked: + +"Do you remember that day in Thornton's studio--and his words? Looking +back at my life, I cannot understand--I may never understand--what the +Creator meant, but I do know that it was all in the clay!" + +Lynda drew away--her hands still holding him. Her brave smile was +softening her pale face. + +"Oh! the dear, dear clay!" she whispered. "The clay that has been +pressed and moulded--how I love it. I also do not understand, Con, but +this I know: the Master never lost the vision in the clay." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Man Thou Gavest, by Harriet T. 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