man died a few days ago. Among his papers was a
notebook in which was recorded the marriage of Queenie Walden and
Theodore Starr! The man was a--a magistrate, the thing was
legal--Little Cyn is--my niece!"

An empty room never seems so still as one in which living, wordless men
and women are held by breathless silence. Treadwell dared not speak.
He seemed a stranger; one who had no right to be there. Cynthia's eyes
were lifted to Sandy Morley's face and did not fall away. Having said
what she had come to say, Marcia Lowe held out her written words of
proof and waited. After a long pause Cynthia spoke and her voice was
electrical in its effect.

"Sandy," she said, going close to him and holding him with her clear
gaze and slow, brave smile, "you know I did not mean--to do wrong?"

"Yes, little Cyn."

"I'm right glad I'm--I'm my dear father's child. All my life he's been
a happy name to me--and I'm mighty proud to be his, really. I'm going
to be brave for him and my mother! Sandy--I am not afraid--I am not
afraid!" The words came slowly, drawlingly but unbrokenly.

"My aunt," and for an instant the eyes rested on the bowed head of
Marcia Lowe, "has told me many things--I understand right many things,
now! I know you-all want to help me; want the best for me--but what's
done, is done, Sandy Morley, and I can do my part. If--if--my husband
wants me--I am ready--to go to him. Sandy, I am not afraid!"

Then they waited. Sandy stood with his back to the fire, motionless
and white; Marcia Lowe had sunk into a chair and bending forward hid
her face in her hands; Cynthia drew back from Sandy and stood alone in
the middle of the room.

What emotions and thoughts swayed Lans Treadwell, who could know? But
looking from one to the other of the little group the craven distrust
died from his face and an uplifted expression took its place. He stood
straight and tall and good to look upon as he realized that he was at
last the final judge.

"Cynthia!" he said calmly, and his voice was low and firm; "I do--want
you! you are my wife! You are not afraid?"

Slowly he stepped over to her; he forgot the others--he and she were
all! He put out his hands and Cynthia laid hers in them.

"I am not afraid," she whispered. And before the light in her upraised
eyes Lans Treadwell did not flinch.

"I, too, wish to help you--in my own way. Can you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Will you leave the hills with me--me alone?"

F