a tragic cuss that I never can think things are as bad with you as
you imagine."

"Sand, this is a--hell of a thing! I don't know what you will say.
Fellows like you with their hands always on their tillers, fellows with
cool heads and calm passions never can understand us who fly off at
every spark that's set to us. All I can promise you is this--help me
now and, by God! I'll let your hand rest on my tiller till I get into
smooth waters again and--I've learned my lesson! What I've got to tell
you sounds like a yarn, Sand. All the time I was coming up The Way I
kept repeating 'it's not true!' but good Lord--it is! Morley, I'm
married. I was married early this morning!"

The little woman struggling with her problem up North came to Sandy's
mind. She had not been able to keep up the fight; she had followed
Lans and--but no! If there had been a wedding then the husband must
have died! Sandy looked puzzled.

"If it was the best, the only way, old man," he said, "I don't see why
you should take it this fashion. You--loved her; you cannot have
changed in so short a time."

And now it was Lans's turn to stare blankly. With his temperament,
time and place had no part. He was either travelling through space at
a thundering speed or stagnating in a vacuum. He had almost forgotten
Marian Spaulding and his present affair took on new and more potent
meanings.

"I--I married Cynthia Walden!" he gasped. "I married her--this
morning. We were out alone all last night. The--storm--you--know!
She didn't understand--I tried to--to shield her--she doesn't
understand--now. Good God! Morley, stop staring! Say something, for
heaven's sake!"

But Sandy could not speak, and his brain whirled so dizzily that he
dared not shut his eyes for fear of falling. Like a man facing death
with only a moment in which to speak volumes, he groped among the
staggering mass of facts that were hurtling around him, for one, one
only, that would save the hour. He remembered vividly the old story of
Cynthia's mother which Ann Walden had proclaimed, but he remembered,
also, the hideous belief that lay low in Lost Hollow. Dead and buried
was the doubt, but now it rose grim and commanding. Sandy tried to
form the words: "She is your sister!" But the words would not come
through the stiff, parted lips. Honesty held them in check; they must
not become a living thought unless absolute proof were there to
substantiate them.

The two me