Two days later Lynda came down from her workshop by the back stairs, and passed through William Truedale’s bedchamber on the way to the library.  It was only ten o’clock in the morning but Truedale had a habit, if he happened to be in the neighbourhood, of dropping in for a moment at this hour.  If he should to-day Lynda wanted to confer with him about some details concerning the disrobing of the Saxe infants.  She was particularly light hearted and merry.  A telephone call from Betty had put her in the sunniest humour.

To her surprise, as she entered the library, she saw a small, most peculiar-looking woman sitting quite straight on the edge of a chair in the middle of the room.

It was a cast-iron rule that Lynda must not be disturbed at her morning work.  Thomas generally disposed of visitors without mercy.

“Good morning!” Lynda said kindly.  “Can I do anything for you?  I am sorry you had to wait.”

She concluded it was some one connected with the Saxe Home.  That was largely in her mind at the moment.

“I want to see”-and here the strange little figure came to Lynda and held out a very dirty, crumpled piece of paper on which was written Truedale’s name and address.

“Mr. Truedale may not be home until evening,” Lynda said.  And now she thought that this must be one of the private and pet dependents of Con’s with whom she would deal very gently and tactfully.  “I wonder if you won’t tell me all about it and I will either tell Mr. Truedale or set a time for you to see him.”

Glad of any help in this hour of extremity, the stranger said: 

“I’m-I’m Nella-Rose.  Do you know about me?”

Know about her?  Why, after the first stunning shock, she seemed to be the only thing Lynda did know about-ever had known!  She stared at the little figure before her for what seemed an hour.  She noted the worried, pitiful child face that, screened behind the worn and care-lined features, looked forth like a pretty flower.  Then Lynda said, weakly: 

“Yes, I know about you-all about you, Nella-Rose.”

The pitiful eyes brightened.  What Nella-Rose had been through since leaving her hills only God understood.

“I’m right glad!  And you-you are-

“I’m Conning Truedale’s-wife.”

Somehow Lynda expected this to be a devastating shock, but it was not.  Nella-Rose was past reservations or new impressions.

“I-I reckoned so,” was all she said.

“You must sit down.  You look very tired.”  Lynda had forgotten Truedale’s possible appearance.

“I am right tired.  It’s a mighty long way from Pine Cone.  And I was so-so frightened, but folks was certainly good and just helped me-to here!  One old lady came to the door with me.”

“Why-have you come, Nella-Rose?” Lynda drew her own chair close to the stranger’s and as she did so, she could but wonder, now that she was herself again, how exactly Nella-Rose seemed to fit into the scene.  She was like a recurrence-like some one who had played her part before-or were the scene and Nella-Rose but the materialization of something Lynda had always expected, always dreaded, but which she had always known must come some day?  She was prepared now-terribly prepared!  Everything depended upon her management of the crucial moments.  Her kindness did not desert her, nor her merciful justice, but she meant to shield Truedale with her life-hers and Nella-Rose’s, if necessary.  “Why-have you-come?” she asked again, and Nella-Rose, taking for granted that this pale, strange woman did know all about her-knew everything and every one pertaining to her-fixed her sweet eyes, tear-filled but not overflowing, upon her face.

“I want-to tell him that I’m right sorry I hated him.  I-I didn’t know until Bill Trim died.  I want to ask him to-to forgive me, and-then I can go back.”

“What-did-Bill Trim tell you?” Lynda tried with all her strength to keep her mind cool, her thoughts steady.  She wanted to lead Nella-Rose on and on, without losing the way herself.

“That he burned-he didn’t mean to-he burned the letter I sent-asking-

“I see!  You wrote-a letter, then?”

“Yes.  He told me, if I wanted him-and I did-Godda’mighty! how I wanted him then!” Nella-Rose clasped her poor little work-hardened hands close, and her small white teeth showed through the parted lips while she struggled to regain her calm.

“You see-when I gave the letter to Bill Trim, I-I told him-I had to-that it was Miss Lois Ann’s, so he didn’t think it mattered to me; but when he was dying-he was hurt on the big road they are making in the hills-he was brought to us-all, and Miss Lois Ann and I took care of him, and he grew right sorry for hating her and not telling about the letter-and then-he spoke it out!”

“I see.  I see.  And that was-how long ago-that you wrote the letter?”

Nella-Rose looked back over the weary way she had travelled, to this moment in the warm, sun-filled room.

“It was befo’ lil’ Ann came that I sent the letter,” she faltered.

“Little Ann?” Lynda repeated the name and something terrible rose within her-something that would kill her unless she conquered it.  So she asked quickly, desperately: 

“Your-your child?  I see.  Go on-Nella-Rose.”

“I wrote the letter and-sent it.  I was hid in Miss Lois Ann’s cabin-it was winter-and no one found out!  Miss Lois Ann wouldn’t believe what I told; she said when him and me was married under the trees and God understood, it didn’t make me-right!  She-helped me, but she hated-him!  And then when he-didn’t come, she taught me to-to hate, and it was right black hate until lil’ Ann came.  When God let her down to me-He took the hate away.”

Lynda was blinded by her tears.  She could hardly see the small figure crouching in the low chair by the fire.

“And then-Miss Lois Ann went and told my folks-told Marg, my sister.  Marg was married to Jed and she was mighty scornful of me and lil’ Ann.  She wouldn’t tell Jed and my father-she came alone to me.  She told me what folks thought.  They-all thought I’d gone away with Burke Lawson and Marg felt sorry to see me alive-with lil’ Ann.  But Miss Lois Ann wouldn’t let her sting me with her tongue-she drove her away.  Then-Burke came!  He’d been a right long way off-he’d broken his leg; he came as soon as he could, and Marg told him and-and laid lil’ Ann to him!”

“And you-never spoke?  You never told?” Lynda had drawn very close-her words were barely above a whisper.

“No.  It was this-er-way.  First, love for him held my tongue mighty still; then hate; and afterwards I couldn’t!”

“But now, Nella-Rose, now-why have you spoken-now?”

“I haven’t yet.  Not to them-all.  I had to come here-to him first.  I reckon you don’t know about Burke and me?”

Lynda shook her head.  She had thought she knew-but she had wandered sadly.

“When Marg laid my trouble to Burke he just took it!  First I couldn’t understand.  But he took my trouble-and me!  He took lil’ Ann and me out of Miss Lois Ann’s cabin into-peace and safety.  He tied every one’s tongue-it seemed like he drove all the-the wrong away by his big, strong love-and set me free, like he was God!  He didn’t ask nothing for a right long time, not ’til I grew to-believe him and trust him.  Then we went-when no one knew-and was married.  Now he’s my man and he’s always been lil’ Ann’s father till-till-

A log fell upon the hearth and both women started guiltily and affrightedly.

“Go on! go on!” breathed Lynda.  “Go on!”

“Till the twins came-Burke’s and mine!  Then he knew the difference-even his love for me couldn’t help him-it hindered; and while I-I feared, I understood!”

“Oh! oh! oh!” Lynda covered her aching eyes with her cold hands.  She dared not look at Nella-Rose.  That childish yet old face was crowding everything but pity from the world.  Truedale, herself-what did they matter?

“He-he couldn’t bear to have lil’ Ann touch-the babies.  I could see him-shiver!  And lil’ Ann-she’s like a flower-she fades if you don’t love her.  She grew afraid and-and hid, and it seemed like the soul of me would die; for, don’t you see, Burke thinks that Marg’s man is-is the father, and Marg and Jed lays the trouble to Burke and they think her-his!  And-and it has grown more since the big road brought us-all closer.  The big road brought trouble as well as good.  Once”-and here the haggard face whitened-“once Burke and Jed fought-and a fight in the hills means more fights!  Just then Bill Trim was hurt and told me before he died; it was like opening a grave!  I ’most died ’long with Bill Trim-’til I studied about lil’ Ann!  And then-I saw wide, and right far, like I hadn’t since-since before I hated.  I saw how I must come and-tell you-all, and how maybe you’d take lil’ Ann, and then I could go back to-to my man and-there’ll be peace when he knows-at last!  Will you-oh! will you be with me, kind lady, when I-tell your-your-man?” Nella-Rose dropped at Lynda’s feet and was pleading like a distraught child.  “I’ve been so afraid.  I did not know his world was so full of noise and-and right many things.  And he will be-different-and I may not be able to make him understand.  But you will-you will!  I must get back to the hills.  I done told Burke I-I was going to prove myself to his goodness-by putting lil’ Ann with them as would be mighty kind to her.  I seemed to know how it would turn out-and I dared to say it; but now-now I am mighty-’fraid!”

The tears were falling from the pain-racked eyes-falling upon Lynda’s cold, rigid hands-and they seemed to warm her heart and clear her vision.

“Nella-Rose,” she said, “where is little Ann?”

“Lil’ Ann?  Why, there’s lil’ Ann sleeping her tire off under your pillows.  She was cold and mighty wore out.”  Nella-Rose turned toward the deep couch under the broad window across the room.

Silently, like haunted creatures, both women stole toward the couch and the mother drew away the sheltering screen of cushions.  As she did so, the little child opened her eyes, and for a moment endeavoured to find her place in the strangeness.  She looked at her mother and smiled a slow, peculiar smile.  Then she fixed her gaze upon Lynda.  It was an old, old look-but young, too-pleading, wonder-filled.  The child was so like Truedale-so unmercifully, cruelly like him-that, for a moment, reason deserted Lynda and she covered her face with both hands and swayed with silent laughter.

Nella-Rose bent over her child as if to protect her.  “Lil’ Ann,” she whispered, “the lady is a right kind lady-right kind!” She felt she must explain and justify.

After a moment or two Lynda gained control of her shaken nerves.  She suddenly found herself calm, and ready to undertake the hardest, the most perilous thing that had ever come into her life.  “Bring little Ann to the fire;” she said, “I’m going to order some lunch, and then-we can decide, Nella-Rose.”

Nella-Rose obeyed, dumbly.  She was completely under the control of the only person, who, in this perplexed and care-filled hour, seemed able to guide and guard her.

Lynda watched the two eat of the food Thomas brought in.  There was no fear of Truedale coming now.  There was safety ahead for some hours.  Lynda herself made a pretext of eating, but she hardly took her eyes from little Ann’s face.  She wanted familiarity to take the place of shock.  She must grow accustomed to that terrible resemblance, for she knew, beyond all doubt, that it was to hold a place in all her future life.

When the last drop of milk went gurgling down the little girl’s throat, when Nella-Rose pushed her plate aside, when Thomas had taken away the tray, Lynda spoke: 

“And now, Nella-Rose, what are you going to-to do with us all?”

The tired head of little Ann was pressed against her mother’s breast.  The food, the heat, were lulling her weary senses into oblivion again.  Lynda gave a swift thought of gratitude for the momentary respite as she watched the small, dark face sink from her direct view.

“We are all in your hands,” she continued.

“In my hands-mine?”

“Yes.  Yours.”

“I-I must-tell him-and then go home.”

“Must you, Nella-Rose?”

“What else is there for me?”

“You must decide.  You, alone.”

“You”-the lips quivered-“you will not go with me?”

“I-cannot, Nella-Rose.”

“Why?”

“Because”-and with all her might Lynda sought words that would lay low the difference between her and the simple, primitive woman close to her-felt she must use ideas and terms that would convey her meaning and not drive her and Nella-Rose apart-“because, while he is my man now, he was first yours.  Because you were first, you must go alone-if go you must.  Then he shall decide.”

Nella-Rose grasped the deep meaning after a moment and sank back shivering.  The courage and endurance that had borne her to this hour deserted her.  The help, that for a time had seemed to rise up in Lynda, crumbled.  Alone, drifting she knew not where, Nella-Rose waited.

“I’m-afraid!” she repeated over and over.  “I’m right afraid.  He’s not the same; it’s all, all gone-that other life-and yet I cannot let him think !”

The two women looked at each other over all that separated them-and each comprehended!  The soul of Nella-Rose demanded justification-vindication-and Lynda knew that it should have it, if the future were to be lived purely.  There was just one thing Lynda had to make clear in this vital moment, one truth that must be understood without trespassing on the sacred rights of others.  Surely Nella-Rose should know all that there was to know before coming to her final decision.  So Lynda spoke: 

“You think he”-she could not bring herself, for all her bravery and sense of justice, to speak her husband’s name-“you think he remembers you as something less than you were, than you are?  Nella-Rose, he never has!  He did not understand, but always he has held you sacred.  Whatever blame there may have been-he took it all.  It was because he could; because it was possible for him to do so, that I loved him-honoured him.  Had it been otherwise, as truly as God hears me, I could not have trusted him with my life.  That-that marriage of yours and his was as holy to him as, I now see, it was to you; and he, in his heart, has always remembered you as he might a dear, dead-wife!”

Having spoken the words that wrung her heart, Lynda sank back exhausted.  Then she made her first-her only claim for herself.

“It was when everything was past and his new life began-his man’s life-that I entered in.  He-he told me everything.”

Nella-Rose bent over her sleeping child, and a wave of compassion overflooded her thought.

“I-I must think!” she whispered, and closed her lovely eyes.  What she saw in the black space behind the burning lids no one could know, but her tangled little life must have been part of it.  She must have seen it all-the bright, sunlit dream fading first into shadow, then into the dun colour of the deserted hills.  Burke Lawson must have stood boldly forth, in his supreme unselfishness and Godlike power, as her redeemer-her man!  The gray eyes suddenly opened and they were calm and still.

“I-I only wanted him-to remember me-like he once did,” she faltered.  She was taking her last look at Truedale.  “So long as he-he didn’t think me-less; I reckon I don’t want him-to think of me as I am-now.”

“Suppose”-the desperate demand for full justice to Nella-Rose drove Lynda on-“suppose it were in your power and mine to sweep everything aside; suppose I-I went away.  What would you do, Nella-Rose?”

Again the eyes closed.  After a moment: 

“I-would go back to-my man!”

“You mean that-as truly as God hears you?-you mean that, Nella-Rose?”

“Yes.  But lil’ Ann?”

Now that she had made the great decision about Truedale, there was still “lil’ Ann.”

Lynda fought for mastery over the dread thing that was forcing its way into her consciousness.  Then something Nella-Rose was saying caught her fevered thought.

“When I was a lil’ child I used to dream that some day I would do a mighty big thing-maybe this is it.  I don’t want to hurt his life and-yours; I couldn’t hurt my man and-and-the babies waiting back there for me.  But-lil’ Ann!”

The name came like a sob.  And somehow Lynda thought of Burke Lawson!  Burke, who had done his strong best, and still could not keep himself in control because of-lil’ Ann!  The helpless baby was-oh! yes, yes-it was Truedale’s responsibility.  If she, Lynda, were to keep her life-her sacred love-she, too, must do a “big thing”-perhaps the biggest a woman is ever called upon to do-to prove her faith.

For another moment she struggled; then, like a blind woman, she stretched out her hands and laid them upon the child.

Nella-Rose, will you give-me little Ann?”

“Give her-to-you?” There was anguish, doubt, but hope, in the words.

“I want-the child!  She shall have her father-her father’s home-his love, God willing!  And I, Nella-Rose, as I hope for God’s mercy, I will do my duty by little Ann.”

And now Lynda was on the floor beside the shabby pair, shielding them as best she could from the last wrench and renunciation.

“Are you doing this for-for your man?” whispered Nella-Rose.

“Yes.  For my-man!” They looked long into each other’s eyes.  Then solemnly, slowly, Nella-Rose relinquished her hold of the child.

“I-give you-lil’ Ann.”  So might she have spoken if, in religious fervour, she had been resigning her child to death.  “I-I-give you lil’ Ann.”  Gently she kissed the sleeping face and laid her burden in the aching, strained arms that had still to learn their tender lesson of bearing.  Ann opened her eyes, her lips quivered, and she turned to her mother.

“Take-lil’ Ann!” she pleaded.  Then Nella-Rose drank deep of the bitter cup, but she smiled-and spoke one of the lies over which angels have wept forgivingly since the world began.

“Lil’ Ann, the kind lady is going to keep yo’ right safe and happy ’til mother makes things straight back there with-with yo’-father, in the hills.  Jes’ yo’ show the lady how sweet and pretty yo’ can be ’til mother comes fo’ yo’!  Will yo’-lil’ Ann?”

“How long?”

“A mighty lil’ while.”

All her life the child had given up-shrunk from that which she feared but did not understand; and now she accepted it all in the dull, hopeless way in which timid children do.  She received her mother’s kiss-gave a kiss in return; then she looked gloomily, distrustingly, at Lynda.  After that she seemed complacent and obeyed, almost stupidly, whatever she was told to do.

Lynda took Nella-Rose to the station, saw to her every comfort, put a sum of money in her hand with the words: 

“You must take it, Nella-Rose-to prove your trust in me; and it will buy some-some things for-the other babies.  But”-and here she went close to Nella-Rose, realizing for the first time that the most difficult part, for her, was yet to come-“how will it be with-with your man-when he knows?”

Nella-Rose looked up bravely and something crept into her eyes-the look of power that only a woman who recognizes her hold on a man ever shows.

“He’ll bear it-right grateful-and it’ll wipe away the hate for Jed Martin.  He’ll do the forgiving-since I’ve given up lil’ Ann; and if he doubts-there’s Miss Lois Ann.  She’s mighty powerful with men-when it’s women that matters.”

“It’s very wonderful!” murmured Lynda.  “More wonderful than I can understand.”  And yet as she spoke she knew that she did understand.  Between her and Burke Lawson, a man she was never to know, there was a common tie-a deep comprehension.

Late that afternoon Lynda drove to Betty’s with little Ann sitting rigidly on the seat beside her.  The child had not spoken since she had seen the train move out of the station bearing her mother away.  She had not cried or murmured.  She had gone afterward, holding Lynda’s hand, through amazing experiences.  She had seen her shabby garments discarded in dazzling shops, and fine apparel replace them.  Once she had caught a glimpse of her small, transformed self in a long mirror and her dark eyes had widened.  That was all.  Lynda had watched her feverishly.  She had hoped that with the change of clothing the startling likeness would lessen, but it did not.  Robed in the trappings of her father’s world, little Ann seemed to become more wholly his.

“Do you like yourself, little Ann?” Lynda had asked when, at last, a charming hat was placed upon the dark curls.

There was no word of reply-only the wide, helpless stare-and, to cover her confusion, Lynda hurried away to Betty.

The maid who admitted her said that “Mrs. Kendall was upstairs in the nursery with the baby.”

Lynda paused on the stairs and asked blankly:  “The baby?  What baby?”

The maid was a trusted one and close to Betty.

“The little boy from the Home, Mrs. Truedale,” she replied, “and already the house is cheerfuller.”

Lynda felt a distinct disappointment.  She had hoped that Betty would care for little Ann for a few days, but how could she ask it of her now?

In the sunny room upstairs Betty sat in a low rocker, crooning away to a restless bundle in her arms.

“You, Lyn?” Lynda stood in the doorway; Betty’s back was to her.

“Yes, Betty.”

“Come and see my red-headed boy-my Bobilink!  He’s going to be Robert Kendall.”

Then Lynda drew near with Ann.  Betty stopped rocking and confronted the two with her far-reaching, strangely penetrating gaze.

“What a beautiful little girl,” she whispered.

“Is she beautiful, Betty?”

“She’s-lovely.  Come here, dear, and see my baby.”  Betty put forth a welcoming hand to the child, but Ann shrank away and her long silence was broken.

“I jes’ naturally hate babies!” she whispered, in the soft drawl that betrayed her.

“Lyn, who is she?  Why-what is the matter?”

Lynda came close and her words did not reach past Betty’s strained hearing.  “I-I’m going to-adopt her.  I-I must prepare, Con.  I hoped you’d keep her for a few days.”

“Of course I will, Lyn.  I’m ready-but Lyn, tell me!”

“Betty, look at her!  She has come out of-of Con’s past.  He doesn’t know, he mustn’t know-not now!  She belongs to-to the future.  Can you-can you understand?  I never suspected until to-day.  I’ve got to get used to it!” Then, fiercely:  “But I’m going to do it, Betty!  Con’s road is my road; his duty my duty; it’s all right-only just at first-I’ve got to-steady my nerves!”

Without a word Betty rose and laid the now-sleeping baby in a crib; then she came back to the low chair and opened her arms to little Ann with the heaven-given gesture that no child resists-especially a suffering, lonely child.

“Come here, little girl, to-to Aunt Betty,” she said.

Fascinated, Ann walked to the shelter offered.

“Will you kiss me?” Betty asked.  The kiss was given mutely.

“Will you tell Aunt Betty your name?”

“Ann.”

“Ann what?”

“Jes’ lil’ Ann.”

Then Betty raised her eyes to Lynda’s face and smiled at its tragic suffering.

“Poor, old Lyn!” she said, “run home to Con.  You need him and God knows he needs you.  It will take the big love, Lyn, dear, the big love; but you have it-you have it!”

Without a word Lynda turned and left Betty with the children.