"I'm coming home, to my own home a little later. I'll see you often
then."

Slowly they were advancing and retreating, this woman and girl, but
each venture brought them a little nearer. Like the incoming waters of
a rising tide a slight gain was made, moment by moment. Then suddenly
and unexpectedly a rushing current bore them to the high mark.

"You poor, homesick child! Come cry it out and have done with it!"

It was not like Matilda Markham to so assert herself; it was not like
the dear, brave Madam Bubble to succumb as she now did; but, in another
instant she was kneeling where Sandy had knelt a few nights before, and
clinging to the dear hands which had, then, rested upon his bowed head.

The wall of suppression that Cynthia had raised, during the past weeks,
between her mountain life and this artificial one of the city, crumbled
at the message from the hills. Her part in the strange drama sank to
insignificance, and in her weakness she was able to view it clearly and
dispassionately with this plain little woman who had come to serve her.

"I did not understand," she sobbed; "I was tired--there had been the
night in the storm, you know. I did not want to make trouble and--oh!
how can I tell you, but it was only when the little doctor--my
aunt--explained everything that I saw myself standing alone in the
confusion with something I must say and do! I couldn't let them do my
work for me, dear lady,"--the quaint expression caused Matilda Markham
to draw in her breath sharply--"I was no longer a child and I had to
bear my part. When we-all stood in Sandy's cabin and the truth came to
us-all, at once, I reckon for the first time in my life, I realized I
was a woman. I couldn't take my chance and leave Lans out. They-all
wanted to save me from myself, but they forgot him and then when he
said"--the girl gasped--"that he wanted me--I had to go! I did not go
because any one compelled me--I just had to go! I was led like when I
married Lans. More and more I see it now; I feel it in the night. It
did not _happen_, dear lady; it all leads up to something God wants me
to do; something no one can do as well as I. Sandy had his call--you
know how he responded? Well, I have my leading. We-all, of the hills,
get near God, dear lady. We are lonelier; we need Him more and He
speaks more plainly to us, I reckon."

The superstition and mysticism of Lost Hollow held every thought and
fancy of this girl, but Matil