she had been
coming to--Sandy! He had cut down every barrier but one! He must
crush that! How strong he looked, how fine!

A tap as gentle as the touch of a bird's wing fell upon the frosty
glass and Sandy turned sharply. He waited a moment, then came to the
window. Cynthia, frightened at her daring, shrank into the shadow and
breathed hard. Sandy waited a moment longer and then drew the heavy
curtains together close, leaving the outer world in darkness.

A moment later Cynthia, regaining courage, crept close to the glass and
tapped again. This time Sandy strode to the door, flung it wide and,
standing in the panel of warmth and light with uplifted head, said
sternly:

"Who is there? What is wanted?"

Who he expected he hardly knew himself, but the answer he received
caused him to reel backward.

"It's--it's lil' Cyn, Sandy, and she wants--you!"

Then he drew her in, closed the door upon the world and, holding her
before him by the shoulders, looked deep and searchingly into her eyes
which met his unflinchingly and trustfully.

"Thank God!" was all he said, but in that moment poor Lans Treadwell
passed unscathed before his last judge.

"How thin you are, little Cyn!"

Sandy had drawn the big leather chair to the hearth and seated her in
it. He took off the cloak and hood and then stood back.

"I reckon the longing for home did it, Sandy."

"You have--been homesick?"

"Oh! mighty homesick. I have wanted the mountain until my soul hurt."

"Poor lil' Cyn."

"Say it again, Sandy, say it again!" The dimmed eyes implored him.

"Poor lil' Cyn."

No suggestion of impropriety had entered with Cynthia. Sandy was too
fine and self-forgetful to be touched by worldliness. Cynthia had come
to him; he and she were safe!

"And Lans, Cynthia?"

"Come close, Sandy. There, sit so, on the stool. I want to touch you,
I want to see you near while I go back--go away from our mountain for a
time. Come with me, Sandy, down to Lans!"

Then she told him. The red firelight played on her pale, sweet face;
her hand sometimes reached out and lay upon the shoulder by the arm of
her chair; once the fingers touched his cheek--but Sandy did not move
and his eyes never looked up from the heart of the glowing log.

"It was a long journey to the day when I understood, Sandy. It was a
hard path for ignorant feet and blind eyes--but God was very good to
me. The South is slow with us-all, dear, but up there in the N