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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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