The pulse of a city throbs faster in the winter.  All the vitality of well-nourished men and women is at its fullest, while for them who fall below the normal, the necessity of the struggle for existence keys them to a high pitch.  Not so in the deep, far mountain places.  There, the inhabitants hide from the elements and withdraw into themselves.  For weeks at a time no human being ventures forth from the shelter and comparative comfort of the dull cabins.  Families, pressed thus close and debarred from the freedom of the open, suffer mentally and spiritually as one from the wider haunts of men can hardly conceive.

When Nella-Rose turned away from Truedale that golden autumn day, she faced winter and the shut-in terrors of the cold and loneliness.  In two weeks the last vestige of autumn would be past, and the girl could not contemplate being imprisoned with Marg and her father while waiting for love to return to her.  She paused on the wet, leafy path and considered.  She had told Truedale that she would go home, but what did it matter.  She would go to Miss Lois Ann’s.  She would know when Truedale returned; she could go to him.  In the meantime no human being would annoy her or question her in that cabin far back in the Hollow.  And Lois Ann would while away the long hours by story and song.  It seemed to her there was but one thing to do—­and Nella-Rose did it!  She fled to the woman whose name Truedale had barely heard.

It took her three good hours to make the distance to the Hollow and it was quite dark when she tapped on the door of the little cabin.  To all appearances the place was deserted; but after the second knock a shutter to the right of the door was pushed open and a long, lean hand appeared holding a lighted candle, while a deep, rich voice called: 

“Who?”

“Jes’ Nella-Rose!”

The hand withdrew, the shutter was closed, and in another minute the door was flung wide and the girl drawn into the warm, comfortable room.  Supper, of a better sort than most hill-women knew, was spread out on a clean table, and in the cheer and safety Nella-Rose expanded and decided to take the old woman into her confidence at once and so secure present comfort until Truedale came back to claim her.

This Lois Ann, in whose sunken eyes eternal youth burned and glowed, was a mystery in the hills and was never questioned.  Long ago she had come, asked no favours, and settled down to fare as best she could.  There was but one sure passport to her sanctuary.  That was—­trouble!  Once misfortune overtook one, sex was forgotten, but at other times it was understood that Miss Lois Ann had small liking or sympathy for men, while on the other hand she brooded over women and children with the everlasting strength of maternity.

It was suspected, and with good reason, that many refugees from justice passed through Miss Lois Ann’s front door and escaped by other exits.  Officers of the law had, more than once, traced their quarry to the dreary cabin and demanded entrance for search.  This was always promptly given, but never had a culprit been found on the premises!  White understood and admired the old woman; he always halted justice, if possible, outside her domain, but, being a hill-man, Jim had his suspicions which he never voiced.