what it all meant. I am sure that it
comes and goes but never really is answered--here, Betty."

"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.

"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 _me;_ what _I_ wanted; _when_ 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--"

"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."

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.

"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."

"My--darling!"

Arms stronger than Betty's held her close--held her with a very human,
understanding strength.

"You've done the one big thing, Lyn!"

"Not yet, not yet, Con, dear."

"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."

"Oh, Con! And have you been lonely, too?"

"Sweet, I should have died of loneliness had something not told me I
was still travelling up toward you. That has made it possible."

"Instead"--Lynda drew his face down to hers--"instead, I've been
struggling up toward _you!_! Dear, dear Con, it isn't men and women;
it's _the_ man--_the_ 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
t