“So now, honey, what yo’ coming to me fo’ this black night?” said Lois Ann to Nella-Rose after the evening meal was cleared away, the fire replenished, and “with four feet on the fender” the two were content.  “Trouble?” The wonderful eyes searched the happy, young face and at the glance, Nella-Rose knew that she was compelled to confide!  There was no choice.  She felt the power closing in about her, she found it not so easy as she had supposed, to explain.  She sparred for time.

“Tell me a right, nice story, Miss Lois Ann,” she pleaded, “and of course it’s no trouble that has brought me here!  Trouble!  Huh!”

“What then?” And now Nella-Rose sank to the hearthstone and bent her head on the lap of the old woman.  It was more possible to speak when she could escape those seeking eyes.  She closed her own and tried to call Truedale to the dark space and to her support—­but he would not come.

“So it is trouble, then?”

“No, no! it’s—­oh! it’s the—­joy, Miss Lois Ann.”

“Ha! ha!  And you’ve found out that the young scamp is back—­that Lawson?” Lois Ann, for a moment, knew relief.

“It—­it isn’t Burke,” the words came lingeringly.  “Yes, I know he’s back—­is he here?” This affrightedly.

“No—­but he’s been.  He may come again.  His maw’s always empty, but I will say this for the scoundrel—­he gives more than he takes, in the long run.  But if it isn’t Lawson, who then?  Not that snake-in-the-grass, Jed?” Love and trouble were synonymous with Lois Ann when one was young and pretty and a fool.

“Jed?  Jed indeed!”

“Child, out with it!”

“I—­I am going to tell you, Miss Lois Ann.”

Then the knotted old hand fell like a withered leaf upon the soft hair—­the woman-heart was ready to bear another burden.  Not a word did the closed lips utter while the amazing tale ran on and on in the gentle drawl.  Consternation, even doubt of the girl’s sanity, held part in the old woman’s keen mind, but gradually the truth of the confession established itself, and once the fact was realized that a stranger—­and such a one—­had been hidden in the hills while this thing, that the girl was telling, was going on—­the strong, clear mind of the listener interpreted the truth by the knowledge gained through a long, hard life.

“And so, you see, Miss Lois Ann, it’s like he opened heaven for me; and I want to hide here till he comes to take me up, up into heaven with him.  And no one else must know.”

Lois Ann had torn the cawl from Nella-Rose’s baby face—­had felt, in her superstitious heart, that the child was mysteriously destined to see wide and far; and now, with agony that she struggled to conceal, she knew that to her was given the task of drawing the veil from the soul of the girl at her feet in order that she might indeed see far and wide into the kingdom of suffering women.

For a moment the woman fenced, she would put the cup from her if she could, like all humans who understand.