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Truedale looked at Lynda who explained Betty's charming foolery. "I see. Well, yes, Ann, you must teach me to be a father." And so they began their lives together. And after a few days Lynda saw that during the child's stay with Betty the crust of sullen reserve had departed the little creature was the merriest, sweetest thing imaginable, once she could forget herself.
Kendall asked from across the hearth. "Yes. Dead tired." "You'll travel easier when you get the gait." "Undoubtedly." "Take a bit of a nap," Lynda suggested. "Thanks, Lyn, I will." Then Truedale, safe from intrusion, tried to make his way out of the maze into which he had been thrown.
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.
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.
"Father, it's Nella-Rose!" Truedale continued to look at Ann. Like a dying man or one suddenly born into full life he gradually understood! As Ann looked at that moment, so had Nella-Rose looked when, in Truedale's cabin, she turned her eyes to the window and saw his face!
Half-consciously Truedale recognized some of his property near by his clothing, two or three books, and yes it was his manuscript! The white roll was safe! How she must have worked while he slept. Once only did she speak until danger was past. Nestling close in his arms, her head upon his shoulder, she breathed: "If they-all shoot, we'll die together!"
For a moment the man Lynda Kendall knew and loved seemed hiding behind this monster the confession had called forth. A lesser woman would have shrunk in affright, but not Lynda. "No. That is not all," she whispered hoarsely, putting her hands out as though pushing something tangible aside until she could reach Conning. "I demand the rest." "What matters it?" Truedale spoke bitterly.
I'm going to tell you a secret I'm tremendously religious! I believe God knows, better than men, about women; I want well, I don't want to seem flippant but truly I'd like to hear God speak for himself!" Truedale smiled. "That's a common-sense argument, anyway," he said. "But I suppose we men are afraid to trust any one else; we don't want to lose you." "As if you could!"
He asked for some medicine that it seems he always had in case of need; he took too much and " "So it was suicide!" Truedale broke in desperately. "I feared that. Good God!" The tragedy and loneliness clutched his imagination he seemed to see it all, it was unbearable! "Con!" Lynda laid her firm hand upon his arm, "I have learned to call it something else.
But during that hour Truedale led Nella-Rose from the house. Silently they made their way to a little hilltop from which they could see an open space of dull, leaden sky. There Truedale took the girl's hands in his and lifted his eyes while his benumbed soul sought whatever God there might be. "In Thy sight," he said slowly, deeply, "I take this woman for my wife.
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