yn,
love her as you never have before."

"If I thought that, Betty!" Lynda was aghast. "Oh! Betty--the poor
darling! I cannot believe she could be so strong--so--terrible."

"It's more or less subconscious--such things always are--but I think Ann
will some day prove what I say. In a way, it's like the feeling I have
for--for my own baby, Lyn. I see him in Bobbie; I feel him in Bobbie's
dearness and naughtiness. Ann holds what went before in what is around
her now. Sometimes it puzzles her as Bobbie puzzles me."

About this time--probably because he was happier than he had ever been
before, possibly because he had more time that he could conscientiously
call his own than he had had for many a well-spent year--Truedale
repaired to his room under the eaves, sneaking away, with a half-guilty
longing, to his old play! So many times had he resurrected it, then cast
it aside; so many hopes and fears had been born and killed by the
interruption to his work, that he feared whatever strength it might once
have had must be gone now forever.

Still he retreated to his attic room once more--and Lynda asked no
questions. With strange understanding Ann guarded that door like a
veritable dragon. When Billy's toddling steps followed his father Ann
waylaid him; and many were the swift, silent struggles near the portal
before the rampant Billy was carried away kicking with Ann's firm hand
stifling his outraged cries.

"What Daddy doing there?" Billy would demand when once conquered.

"That's nobody's business but Daddy's," Ann unrelentingly insisted.

"I--I want to know!" Billy pleaded.

"Wait until Daddy wants you to know."

Under the eaves, hope grew in Truedale's heart. The old play had
certainly the subtle human interest that is always vital. He was sure of
that. Once, he almost decided to take Ann into his confidence. The child
had such a dramatic sense. Then he laughed. It was absurd, of course!

No! if the thing ever amounted to anything--if, by putting flesh upon
the dry bones and blood into the veins, he could get it over--it was to
be his gift to Lynda! And the only thing that encouraged him as he
worked, rather stiffly after all the years, was the certainty that at
times he heard the heart beat in the shrunken and shrivelled thing! And
so--he reverently worked on.

CHAPTER XXII

Among the notes and suggestions sprinkled through the old manuscript
were lines that once had aroused the sick and bitter resentm