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Among the notes and suggestions sprinkled through the old manuscript were lines that once had aroused the sick and bitter resentment of Truedale in the past: "Thy story hath been written long since. Thy part is to read and interpret." Over and over again he read the words and pondered upon his own change of mind.
Then, from out the unexpected, he asked: "Lynda, when did you break your engagement to John Morrell?" The girl started, but she did not change her position. She never lied or prevaricated to Truedale she might keep her own counsel, but when she spoke it was simple truth. "About six months ago." "Why didn't you tell me?" "There was nothing to tell, Uncle William."
I've done the best I could for you all; I never let any one know; I dared not give a sign, but I want you by and by to go to William Truedale! You need not explain just go; you will be my gift to him my last and only gift." Startled and horrified, Lynda had listened, understood, and grown old while her mother spoke.... Then came the night when she awoke and found no mother! She was never the same.
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.
It was a perilous moment, for conscience, on Truedale's part, seemed drugged and sleeping and Nella-Rose was awakening to that which she had never known before. Gone, for her, were caprice and mischief; she seemed about to see and hear some wonderful thing that eluded but called her on. And after that first day they met often. "Happened upon each other" was the way Truedale put it.
One November evening she and Con were sitting in the library, Truedale at his desk, Lynda idly and luxuriously rocking to and fro, her hands clasped over her head. She had learned, at last, the joy of absolute relaxation. "There's a big snow-storm setting in," she said, smiling softly. Then, apropos of nothing: "Con, we've been married four years and over!" "Only that, Lyn?
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.
You know his disease developed just before you came into his life. Con, he lived all through the years just for you just to stand by!" From out the shadow where he sat, Brace spoke unevenly: "Too bad you don't smoke, old man!" It was the only suggestion he had to offer in the tense silence that gripped them all. "It's all right!" Truedale said heavily. "Go on when you can, Lynda."
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.
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!
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