For Truedale to await, calmly, further developments was out of the question.  He did, however, force himself to act as sanely as possible.  He felt confident that Nella-Rose, safely hidden and probably enjoying it in her own elfish way, would communicate with him in a few days at the latest, now that things had, according to White, somewhat settled into shape after the outlaw Lawson had taken himself off the scene.

To get to the station and telegraph would mean quite a feat for Nella-Rose at any time, and winter was in all likelihood already gripping the hills.  To write and send a letter might be even more difficult.  So Truedale reasoned; so he feverishly waited, but he was not idle.  He rented a charming little suite of rooms, high up in a new apartment house, and begged Lynda to set them in order at once.  Somehow he believed that in the years ahead, after she understood, Lynda would be glad that he had asked this from her.

“But why the hurry, Con?” she naturally questioned; “if people are going to be so spasmodic I’ll have to get a partner.  It may be all right, looked at financially, but it’s the ruination of art.”

“But this is a special case, Lyn.”

“They’re all special cases.”

“But this is a-welcome.”

“For whom?”

“Well, for me!  You see I’ve never had a real home, Lyn.  It’s one of the luxuries I’ve always dreamed of.”

“I had thought,” Lynda’s clear eyes clouded, “that your uncle’s house would be your home at last.  It is big enough for us all-we need not run against each other.”

“Keep my room under the roof, Lyn.”  Truedale looked at her yearningly and she-misunderstood!  “I shall often come to that-to you and Brace-but humour me in this fancy of mine.”

So she humoured him-working early and late-putting more of her own heart in it than he was ever to know, for she believed-poor girl-that he would offer it to her some day and then-when he found out about the money-how exactly like a fairy tale it all would be!  And Lynda had had so few fairy tales in her life.

And while she designed and Conning watched and suggested, they talked of his long-neglected work.

“You’ll have time soon, Con, to give it your best thought.  Did you do much while you were away?”

“Yes, Lyn, a great deal!” Truedale was sitting by the tiny hearth in his diminutive living room.  He and Lynda had demanded, and finally succeeded in obtaining an open space for real logs; disdaining, much to the owner’s amazement, an asbestos mat or gas monstrosity.  “I really put blood in the thing.”

“And when may I hear some of it?  I’m wild to get back to our beaten tracks.”

Truedale raised his eyes, but he was looking beyond Lynda; he was seeing Nella-Rose in the nest he was preparing for her.

“Soon, Lyn.  Soon.  And when you do-you, of all the world, will understand, sympathize, and approve.”

“Thank you, Con, thank you.  Of course I will, but it is good to have you know it!  Let me see, what colour scheme shall we introduce in the living room?”

“Couldn’t we have a sort of blue-gray; a rather smoky tint with sunshine in it?”

“Good heavens, Con!  And it is a north room, too.”

“Well, then, how about a misty, whitish-

“Worse and worse.  Con, in a north room there must be warmth and real colour.”

“There will be.  But put what you choose, Lyn, it will surely be all right.”

“Suppose, then, we make it golden brown, or-dull, soft reds?”

Truedale recalled the shabby little shawl that Nella-Rose had worn before she donned her winter disguise.

“Make it soft dull red, Lyn-but not too dull.”

Truedale no longer meant to lay his secret bare before departing for the South.  While he would not acknowledge it to his anxious heart, he realized that he must base the future on the outcome of his journey.  Once he laid hands upon Nella-Rose, he would act promptly and hopefully, but-he must be sure, now, before he made a misstep.  There had been mistakes enough, heaven knew; he must no longer play the fool.

And then when the little gilded cage was ready, Truedale conceived his big and desperate idea.  Two weeks had passed since Jim White’s letter and no telegram or note had come from Nella-Rose.  Neither love nor caution could wait longer.  Truedale decided to go to Pine Cone.  Not as a returned traveller, certainly not-at first-to White, but to Lone Dome, and there, passing himself off as a chance wayfarer, he would gather as much truth as he could, estimate the value of it, and upon it take his future course.  In all probability, he thought-and he was almost gay now that he was about to take matters into his own hands-he would ferret out the real facts and be back with his quarry before another week.  It was merely a matter of getting the truth and being on the spot.

Nella-Rose’s family might, for reasons of their own, have deceived Jim White.  Certainly if they did not know at the time of Nella-Rose’s whereabouts they would, like others, voice the suspicion of the hills; but by now they would either have her with them or know positively where she was.  For all his determination to believe this, Truedale had his moments of sickening doubt.  The simple statement in White’s letter, burned, as time went on, into his very soul.

But, whatever came-whatever there was to know-he meant to go at once to headquarters.  He would remain, too, until Peter Greyson was sober enough to state facts.  He recalled clearly Jim’s estimate of Greyson and his dual nature depending so largely upon the effect of the mountain whisky.

It was late November when Truedale set forth.  No one made any objection to his going now.  Things were running smoothly and if he had to go at all to straighten out any loose ends, he had better go at once.

To Lynda the journey seemed simple enough.  Truedale had left, among other belongings, his manuscript and books.  Naturally he would not trust them to another’s careless handling.

At Washington, Truedale bought a rough tramping rig and continued his journey with genuine enjoyment of the adventure.  Now that he was nearing the scene of his past experience he could better understand the delay.  Things moved so slowly among the hills and naturally Nella-Rose, trusting and fond, was part of the sluggish life.  How she would show her small, white teeth when, smiling in his arms, she told him all about it!  It would not take long to make her forget the weary time of absence and White’s misconception.

Truedale proceeded by deliberate stages.  He wanted to gather all he possibly could as a foundation upon which to build.  The first day after he left the train at the station-and it had bumped at the end of the rails just as it had on his previous trip-he walked to the Centre and there encountered Merrivale.

“Well, stranger,” the old man inquired, “whar yer goin’, if it ain’t askin’ too much?”

And Truedale expansively explained.  He was tramping through the mountains for pure enjoyment; had heard of the hospitality he might expect and meant to test it.

Merrivale was pleased but cautious.  He was full of questions himself, but ran to cover every time his visitor ventured one.  Truedale soon learned his lesson and absorbed what was offered without openly claiming more.  He remained over night with Merrivale and stocked up the next morning from the store.

He had heard much, but little to any purpose.  He carried away with him a pretty clear picture of Burke Lawson who, by Merrivale’s high favour, appeared heroic.  The storm, the search, Lawson’s escape and supposed carrying off of Nella-Rose, were the chief topics of conversation.  Merrivale chuckled in delight over this.

The afternoon of the second day Truedale reached Lone Dome and came upon Peter, sober and surprisingly respectable, sunning himself on the west side of the house.

The first glance at the stately old figure, gone to decay like a tree with dead rot, startled and amazed Truedale and he thanked heaven that the master of Lone Dome was himself and therefore to be relied upon; no one could possibly suspect Peter of cunning or deceit in his present condition.

Greyson greeted the stranger cordially.  He was in truth desperately forlorn and near the outer edge of endurance.  An hour more and he would have defied the powers that had recently taken control of him, and made for the still in the deep woods; but the coming of Truedale saved him from that and diverted his tragic thoughts.

The fact was Marg and Jed had gone away to be married.  Owing to the death of the near-by minister in the late storm, they had to travel a considerable distance in order to begin life according to Marg’s strict ideas of propriety.  Before leaving she had impressed upon her father the necessity of his keeping a clear head in her absence.

“We-all may be gone days, father,” she had said, “and yo’ certainly do drop in owdacious places when you’re drunk.  Yo’ might freeze or starve.  Agin, a lurking beast, hunting fo’ food, might chaw yo’ fo’ yo’ got yo’ senses.”

Something of this Greyson explained to his guest while setting forth the evening meal and apologizing for the lack of stimulant.

“Being her marriage trip I let Marg have her way and a mind free o’ worry ’bout me.  But women don’t understand, God bless ’em!  What’s a drop in yo’ own home?  But fo’ she started forth Marg spilled every jug onto the wood pile.  When I see the flames extry sparkling I know the reason!”

Greyson chuckled, walking to and fro from table to pantry, with steady, almost dignified strides.

“That’s all right,” Truedale hastened to say, “I’m rather inclined to agree with your daughter; and-” raising the concoction Peter had evolved-“this tea-

“Coffee, sir.”

“Excuse me!  This coffee goes right to the spot.”

They ate and grew confidential.  Edging close, but keeping under cover, Truedale gained the confidence of the lonely, broken man and, late in the evening, the hideous truth, as Truedale was compelled to believe, was in his keeping.

For an hour Greyson had been nodding and dozing; then, apologetically, rousing.  Truedale once suggested bed, but for some unexplainable reason Peter shrank from leaving his guest.  Then, risking a great deal, Truedale asked nonchalantly: 

“Have you other children besides this daughter who is on her wedding trip?  It’s rather hard-leaving you alone to shift for yourself.”

Greyson was alert.  Not only did he share the mountain dweller’s wariness of question, but he instantly conceived the idea that the stranger had heard gossip and he was in arms to defend his own.  His ancestors, who long ago had shielded the recreant great-aunt, were no keener than Peter now was to protect and preserve the honour of the little girl who, by her recent acts-and Greyson had only Jed’s words and the mountain talk to go by-had aroused in him all that was fine enough to suffer.  And Greyson was suffering as only a man can who, in a rare period of sobriety, views the wrecks of his own making.

Ordinarily, as White truly supposed, Peter lied only when he was drunk; but the sheriff could not estimate the vagaries of blood and so, at Truedale’s question, the father of Nella-Rose, with the gesture inherited from a time of prosperity, rallied his forces and lied!  Lied like a gentleman, he would have said.  Broken and shabby as Greyson was, he appeared, at that moment, so simple and direct, that his listener, holding to the sheriff’s estimate, was left with little doubt concerning what he heard.  He, watching the weak and agonized face, believed Greyson was making the best of a sad business; but that he was weaving from whole cloth the garment that must cover the past, Truedale in his own misery never suspected.  While he listened something died within him never to live again.

“Yes, sir.  I have another daughter-lil’ Nella-Rose.”

Truedale shaded his face with his hand, but kept his eyes on Greyson’s distorted face.

“Lil’ Nella-Rose.  I have to keep in mind her youth and enjoying ways or I’d be right hard on Nella-Rose.  Yo’ may have heard, while travelling about-o’ Nella-Rose?” This was asked nervously-searchingly.

“I’ve-I’ve heard that name,” Truedale ventured.  “It’s a name that-somehow clings and, being a writer-man, everything interests me.”

Then Greyson gave an account of the trap episode tallying so exactly with White’s version that it established a firm structure upon which to lay all that was to follow.

“And there ain’t nothing as can raise a woman’s tenderness and loyalty to a man,” Greyson went on, “like getting into a hard fix, and sho’ Burke Lawson was in a right bad fix.

“I begin to see it all now.  Nella-Rose went to Merrivale’s and he told her Burke had come back.  Merrivale told me that.  Naturally it upset her and she followed him up to warn him.  Think o’ that lil’ girl tracking ’long the hills, through all that storm, to-to save the man she had played with and flouted but loved, without knowing it!  Nella-Rose was like that.  She lit on things and took her fun-but in the big parts she always did come out strong.”

Truedale shifted his position.

“I reckon I’m wearying you with my troubles?” Greyson spoke apologetically.

“No, no.  Go on.  This interests me very much.”

“Well, sir, Burke Lawson and Jed Martin came on each other in the deep woods the night of the big storm and Burke and Jed had words and a scene.  Jed owned up to that.  It was life and death and I ain’t blaming any one and I have one thing to thank Burke for-he might have done different and left a stain on a lady’s name, sir!  He told Jed how he had seen Nella-Rose and how she had scorned him for being a coward, but how she would take her words back if he dared come out and show his head.  And he ’lowed he was going to come out then and there, which he did, and he and Nella-Rose was going off to Cataract Falls where the Lawsons hailed from, on the mother’s side.”

“But-how do you know that your daughter kept her word?  This Lawson may have been obliged to make away with himself-alone.”  Truedale grew more daring.  He saw that Greyson, absorbed by his trouble, was less on guard.  But Greyson was keenly observant.

“He’s heard the gossip,” thought the old man, “it’s ringing through the hills.  Well, a dog as can fetch a bone can carry one!” With that conclusion reached, Peter made his master stroke.

“I’ve heard from her,” he half whispered.

“Heard from her?” gasped Truedale, and even then Greyson seemed unaware of the attitude of the stranger.  “How-did you hear from her?”

“She wrote and sent the letter long of-of Bill Trim, a half-wit-but trusty.  Nella-Rose went with Lawson-she ’lowed she had to.  He came on her in the woods and held her to her word.  She said as how she wanted to-to come home, but Lawson set forth as how an hour might mean his life-and put it up to lil’ Nella-Rose!  He-he swore as how he’d shoot himself if she didn’t go with him-and it was like Burke to do it.  He was always crazy mad for Nella-Rose, and there ain’t anything he wouldn’t do when he got balked.  She-she had ter go-or see Lawson kill himself; so she went-but asked my pardon fo’ causing the deep trouble.  Lawson married her at the first stopping place over the ridge.  He ain’t worthy o’ my lil’ Nella-Rose-but us-all has got to make the best o’ it.  Come spring-she’ll be back, and then-I’ll forgive her-my lil’ Nella-Rose!”

From the intensity of his emotions Greyson trembled and the weak tears ran down his lined face.  Taking advantage of the tense moment Truedale asked desperately: 

“Will you show me that letter, Mr. Greyson?”

So direct was the request, so apparently natural to the old man’s unguarded suffering, that it drove superficialities before it and merely confirmed Greyson in his determination to save Nella-Rose’s reputation at any cost.  Ignoring the unwarrantable curiosity, alert to the necessity of quick defense, he said: 

“I can’t.  I wish to Gawd I could and then I could stop any tongue what dares to tech my lil’ gal’s name.”

“Why can you not show me the letter?” Truedale was towering above the old man.  By some unknown power he had got control of the situation.  “I have a reason for-asking this, Mr. Greyson.”

“Marg burned it!  It was allus Marg or lil’ Nella-Rose for Lawson, and Nella-Rose got him!  When Marg knew this fur certain, there was no length to which she-didn’t go!  This is my home, sir; I’m old-Marg is a good girl and the trouble is past now; her and Jed is making me comfortable, but we-all don’t mention Nella-Rose.  It eases me, though, to tell the truth for lil’ Nella-Rose.  I know how the tongues are wagging and I have to sit still fo’-since Marg and Jed took up with each other-my future lies ‘long o’ them.  I’m an old man and mighty dependent; time was when-” Greyson rose unsteadily and swayed toward the fireplace.

“Gawd a’mighty!” he flung out desperately, “how I want-whisky!”

Truedale saw the wildness in the old man’s eyes-saw the trembling and twitching of the outstretched hands, and feared what might be the result of trouble and enforced sobriety.  He pulled a large flask from his pocket and offered it.

“Here!” he said, “take a swallow of this and pull yourself together.”

Greyson, with a cry, seized the liquor and drained every drop before Truedale could control him.

“God bless yo’!” whined Greyson, sinking back into his chair, “bless and-and keep yo’!”

Truedale dared not leave the house though his soul recoiled from the sight before him.  He waited an hour, watching the effect of the stimulant.  Greyson grew mellow after a time-at peace with the world; he smiled foolishly and became maudlinly familiar.  Finally, Truedale approached him again.  He bent over him and shook him sharply.

“Did you tell me-the truth-about-Nella-Rose?” he whispered to the sagging, blear-eyed creature.

“Yes, sir!” moaned Peter, “I sho’ did!”

And Truedale did not reflect that when Greyson was-drunk-he lied!

Truedale never recalled clearly how he spent the hours between the time he left Greyson’s until he knocked on the door of White’s cabin; but it was broad daylight and bitingly cold when Jim flung the door open and looked at the stranger with no idea, for a moment, that he had ever seen him before.  Then, putting his hand out wonderingly, he muttered: 

“Gawd!” and drew Truedale in.  Breakfast was spread on the table; the dogs lay before the blazing fire.

“Eat!” commanded Jim, “and keep yer jaws shet except to put in food.”

Conning attempted the feat but made a pitiful showing.

“Come to stay on?”

White’s curiosity was betraying him and the sympathy in his eyes filled Truedale with a mad desire to take this “God’s man” into his confidence.

“No, Jim.  I’ve come to pack and go back to-to my job!”

“Gosh! it can’t be much of a job if you can tackle it-lookin’ like what you do!”

“I’ve been tramping for-for days, old man!  Rather overdone the thing.  I’m not so bad as I look.”

“Glad to hear it!” laconically.

“I’ll put up with you to-night, Jim, if you’ll take me in.”  Truedale made an effort to smile.

“Provin’ there ain’t any hard feeling?”

“There never was, White.  I-understood.”

“Shake!”

They got through the day somehow.  The crust was forming over Truedale’s suffering; he no longer had any desire to let even White break through it.  Once, during the afternoon, the sheriff spoke of Nella-Rose and without flinching Truedale listened.

“That gal will have Burke eatin’ out o’ her hand in no time.  Lawson is all right at the kernel, all he needed was some one ter steady him.  Once I made sure he’d married the gal, I felt right easy in my mind.”

“And you-did make sure, Jim?  There was no doubt?  I-I remember the pretty little thing; it would have been damnable to-to hurt her.”

“I scrooged the main fact out o’ old Pete, her father.  There was a mighty lot o’ talk in the hills, but I was glad ter get the facts and shut the mouths o’ them that take ter-ter hissin’ like all-fired scorpions!  Nella-Rose had writ to her father, but Marg, the sister, tore the letter up in stormin’ rage ’cause Nella-Rose had got the man she had sot her feelin’s on.  Do you happen to call ter mind what I once told you ’bout those two gals and a little white hen?”

Truedale nodded.

“Same old actin’ up!” Jim went on.  “But when Greyson let out what war in the letter-knowin’ Burke like what I do-I studied it out cl’ar enough.  Nella-Rose was sure up agin blood and thunder whatever way yo’ put it-so she ran her chances with Burke.  There ain’t much choosin’ fo’ women in the hills and Burke is an owdacious fiery feller, an’ he ain’t ever set his mind to no woman but Nella-Rose.”

That night Truedale went to his old cabin.  He built a fire on the hearth, drew the couch before it, and then the battle was on-the fierce, relentless struggle.  In it-Nella-Rose escaped.  Like a bit of the mist that the sun burns, so she was purified-consumed by the fire of Truedale’s remorse and shame.  Not for a moment did he let the girl bear a shadow of blame-he was done with that forever!-but he held himself before the judgment seat of his own soul and he passed sentence upon himself in terms that stern morality has evolved for its own protection.  But from out the wreck and ruin Truedale wrenched one sacred truth to which he knew he must hold-or sink utterly.  He could not expect any one in God’s world to understand; it must always be hidden in his own soul, but that marriage of his and Nella-Rose’s in the gray dawn after the storm had been holy and binding to him.  From now on he must look upon the little mountain girl as a dear, dead wife-one whose childish sweetness was part of a time when he had learned to laugh and play, and forget the hard years that had gone to his un-making, not his upbuilding.