u!"

"Oh! this is beyond endurance! How could you be so cruel, Uncle
William?" The hot, passionate tears were burning the indignant face.

"He will not know. The years will test and prove him."

"But I shall know! If you thought best to do this thing, why have you
told me?"

"There have been hours when I myself did not know why; I understand
to-night. Your mother led me!"

"My mother could never have hurt me so. Never!"

"You must trust--her and me, Lynda."

"Suppose--oh! suppose--Con does not ... Oh! this is degrading!"

"Then the fortune will--be yours. McPherson and I have worked this
out--most carefully."

"Mine! Mine! Why"--and here Lynda flung her head back and laughed
relievedly--"I refuse absolutely to accept it!"

"In that case it goes--to charities."

A hush fell in the room. Baffled and angry, Lynda dared not trust
herself to speak and Truedale sank back wearily. Then came a rattle of
wheels in the quiet street--a toot of a taxi horn.

"Thomas has not forgotten to provide for your home trip; but the man can
wait. The night is mild"--Truedale spoke gently--"and you and I are
rich."

Lynda did not seem to hear. Her thoughts were rushing wildly over the
path set for her by her old friend's words.

"Conning would not know!" she grasped and held to that; "he would be
able to act independently. At first it had seemed impossible. Her
knowledge could affect no one but herself! If"--and here Lynda breathed
faster--"if Conning should want her enough to ask her to share his life
that the three thousand dollars made possible, why then the happiness
of bringing his own to him would be hers!--hers!"

Again the opposite side of the picture held her. "But suppose he did
_not_ want her--in that way? Then she, his friend--the one who, in all
the world, loved him the best--would profit by it; she would be a
wealthy woman, for her mother's sake or"--the alternative staggered
her--"she could let everything slip, everything and bear the
consequences!"

At this point she turned to Truedale and asked pitifully again:

"Oh! why, why did you do this?"

There was no anger or rebellion in the words, but a pathos that caused
the old man to close his eyes against the pleading in the uplifted face.
It was the one thing he could not stand.

"Time will prove, child; time will prove. I could not make you
understand; your mother might have--I could not. But time will show.
Time is a strange revealer. All my life I have