th her
own.

"That's right. I'll teach you how to tell your thoughts without words.
Now, how came you to find us the other day?"

"I don't know myself. It was a strange way. First I rode down to
Teasley's Mill to--to try to persuade them--Giles Teasley--to allow him
to go free." She paused and put her hand to her throat, as her way was.
"I think, Doctor Thryng, I'd better build up the fire and get you some
hot milk. Doctor Bartlett said you must have it often--and--to keep you
very quiet."

"Not until you tell me now--this moment--what I ask you. You went to the
mill to try to help Frale out of his trouble. Cassandra, have you loved
that boy?"

Her face assumed its old look of masklike impassivity. "I reckoned he
might hold himself steady and do right--would they only leave him
be--and give him the chance--"

"Cassandra, answer me. Was it for love of him that you gave him your
promise?"

Her face grew white, and for a moment she bowed her head on his hand.

"Please, Doctor Thryng, let me tell you the strange part first, then you
can answer that question in your own way." She lifted her head and
looked steadily in his eyes. "You remember that day we went to Cate
Irwin's? When we came to the place where we can see far--far over the
mountains--I laughed--with something glad in my heart. It was the same
this time when I got to that far open place. All at once it seemed like
I was so free--free from the heavy burden--and all in a kind of light
that was only the same gladness in my heart.

"I stopped there and waited and thought how you said that time, 'It's
good just to be alive,' and I thought if you were there with me and
should put your hand on my bridle as you did that night in the rain, and
if you should lead me away off--even into the 'Valley of the shadow of
death' into those deep shadows below us I would go and never say a word.
All at once it seemed as if you were doing that, and I forgot Frale and
kept on and on; and wherever it seemed like you were leading me, I went.

"It seemed like I was dreaming, or feeling like a hand was on my
heart--a hand I could not see, pulling me and making me feel, 'This way,
this way, I must go this way.' I never had been where my horse took me
before. I didn't think how I ever could get back again. I didn't seem to
see anything around me--only to go on--on--on, and at last it seemed I
couldn't go fast enough, until all at once I came to your horse tied
there, and I heard