orth--I
awakened! I think it came--the truth, dear, when she--the girl, ran to
Lans. In the mighty times of a woman's life she can only run that
way--to one man! And like the mists, clearing from Lost Mountain, the
shadows left me and I knew right well that come what might, Sandy dear,
in all the time on ahead, in joy or sorrow, pain or--death it would be
to you I would want to run."

The log fell apart in rich glory and then Sandy looked up into the
drooping, flower-like face.

"Don't, lil' Cyn," he whispered, "you do not understand, but--you must
not speak so to me."

Then she laughed.

"Oh! I reckon I know what you mean, Sandy. I've been through it all
and--run away from it! Sandy, tell me true; before the good and great
God, doesn't that poor girl belong to Lans more than I do?"

"Yes!"

"Isn't his duty to her?"

"Yes, yes, lil' Cyn."

"Then what is left? Just--you and me, I reckon, Sandy."

Sandy gripped his clasped hands close as if by so doing he could better
control the rising passion of his love for the girl beside him. Her
ignoring of stern fact turned his reason. She was right--but she was
wrong! He must protect her and never fail her; he must not be less
than Lans.

Then her words came to him in the chaos of his emotions; a new thought
had claimed her. She had finished, at last, with the story of her
exile; she was back among her hills.

"And the factory, Sandy, it is coming on right fast, I reckon?"

"It is nearly done."

"And--the Home-school?"

"That, too, is nearly ready."

"You haven't forgotten the lil' room, off in the corner, have you,
Sandy? The lil' room where the baby-things are to come to me to
be--cuddled?"

Sandy shivered.

"You--haven't left _that_ out, have you, Sandy?"

"I had, lil' Cyn, but I am going to put it aback--to-morrow."

"I'm right glad, Sandy, for I've learned some mighty sweet lil' tunes,
and I've bought some pictures and books with stories that will make
them-all laugh when we've taught them how. My trunk is full of things
for the babies."

Sandy permitted himself one look at the dear face so close to his own.
It wore the white rapt look he remembered so well; the wonderful,
brooding tenderness as fancy held it. It was so she had looked upon
him when, as a ragged boy, he sat beside her. She had awakened
imagination within his starved soul and given his ambition wings with
which to soar.

He and she were now bent forward toward the s