And now Truedale breathed hard and the muscles of his face twitched.  He was about to lay bare the inscrutable, the holy thing of his life, fearing that even the woman near him could not be just.  He had accepted his own fate, so he thought; he meant not to whine or complain, but how was he to live his life if Lynda failed to agree with him—­where Nella-Rose was concerned?

“Will you—­can you—­do what I ask, Con?”

“Yes—­in a minute.”

“You—­loved her?  She loved you—­Con?” Lynda strove to smooth the way, not so much for Truedale as for herself.

“Yes!  I found her in my cabin one day when I returned from a long tramp.  She had decked herself out in my bathrobe and the old fez.  Not knowing anything about me, she was horribly frightened when I came upon her.  At first she seemed nothing but a child—­she took me by storm.  We met in the woods later.  I read to her, taught her, played with her—­I, who had never played in my life before.  Then suddenly she became a woman!  She knew no law but her own; she was full of courage and daring and a splendid disregard for conventions as—­as we all know them.  For her, they simply did not exist.  I—­I was willing and eager to cast my future hopes of happiness with hers—­God knows I was sincere in that!

“Then came a night of storm—­such as this.  Can you imagine it in the black forests where small streams become rivers in a moment, carrying all before them as they plunge and roar down the mountain sides?  Dangers of all sorts threatened and, in the midst of that storm, something occurred that involved me!  I had sent Nella-Rose—­that was her name—­away earlier in the day.  I could not trust myself.  But she came back to warn me.  It meant risking everything, for her people were abroad that night bent on ugly business; she had to betray them in order to save me.  To have turned her adrift would have meant death, or worse.  She remained with me nearly a week—­she and I alone in that cabin and cut off from the world—­she and I!  There was only myself to depend upon—­and, Lynda, I failed again!”

“But, Con—­you meant to—­to marry her; you meant that—­from the first?” Lynda had forgotten herself, her suffering.  She was struggling to save something more precious than her love; she was holding to her faith in Truedale.

“Good God! yes.  It was the one thing I wanted—­the one thing I planned.  In my madness it did not seem to matter much except as a safeguard for her—­but I had no other thought or intention.  We meant to go to a minister as soon as the storm released us.  Then came the telegram about Uncle William, and the minister was killed during the storm.  Lynda, I wanted to bring Nella-Rose to you just as she was, but she would not come.  I left my address and told her to send for me if she needed me—­I meant to return as soon as I could, anyway.  I would have left anything for her.  She never sent for me—­and the very day I left—­she—­”