ed and rose unsteadily to her feet, then with
outstretched arms, she staggered toward Lans. Over her pitiful, wan face
a flood of passion and love surged--her lonely, desperate soul claimed
its own at last!

"Lans! Lans!" she cried, falling into his arms; "you will understand!
you must understand--and there is--our child!"

Lansing Treadwell held the little form close, but his wide, haunted eyes
sought Cynthia's over the head pressed against his breast. Cynthia
smiled at him; smiled from a far, far place, helpfully, bravely. She
demanded his best of him with confidence, and the unreality of it all
held no part in the thought of either.

"I must take her--away!" Lans found words at last to say.

"Yes," Cynthia nodded, still smiling her wonderful smile at him.

"I will return--soon. Come--Marian!"

Cynthia saw them depart, heard the lower door close upon them and then
she awoke from her spell. Sitting down in a deep chair before the fire
she took the incidents of the past few moments, one by one, and set them
in order. Like an ignorant child selecting block after block and asking
some wiser one what they meant, she demanded of her new self the answer
to all she had witnessed.

The travail was long and desperate--and when Lans Treadwell found her, an
hour later, he was shocked at the sight of her face.

"My God!" was all he could say.

"We must--talk it over," Cynthia said gravely. "I can understand now.
You see, dear, I couldn't have her hurt--her and--and the child."

Lans dropped in the chair Marian Spaulding had sat in and bowed his head
in his hands.

"Was there ever such a cruel situation?" he groaned. Cynthia came to him
and knelt beside the arm of his chair. She had never come to him so
before and the touch of her body thrilled the man.

"You did not tell her--about me, big brother? did you? You let her
believe I am your sister."

"Good God! how could I tell the truth? I was afraid of killing her."

"And--the child. Of course you must not tell--now."

"Cynthia, in heaven's name, don't be too hard upon me--you are my wife!"

Fiercely Lans proclaimed this as if, by so doing, he could find refuge
for her as well as himself. But Cynthia shook her head and drove him
back upon his better self again.

"Those little words spoken by that man in the hills," she whispered,
"couldn't count, I reckon, against--all the rest."

"They can! They shall, Cynthia. I can make the past clear to you,