eal 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 he