David came out a little later, his eyes reddened with tears, his hair rumpled, his face flushed.  He seemed like a man awed by an entirely new experience.  He could not speak, he could only stammer brokenly:—­

“As God is my witness, Letty, there’s been something wrong with me up to this moment.  I never thought of them as my children before, and I can’t believe that such as they can belong to me.  They were never wanted, and I’ve never had any interest in them.  I owe them to you, Letty; you’ve made them what they are; you, and no one else.”

“If there hadn’t been something there to build on, my love and care wouldn’t have counted for much.  They’re just like dear mother’s people for good looks and brains and pretty manners:  they’re pure Shirley all the way through, the twinnies are.”

“It’s lucky for me that they are!” said David humbly.  “You see, Letty, I married Eva to keep my promise.  If I was old enough to make it, I was old enough to keep it, so I thought.  She never loved me, and when she found out that I didn’t love her any longer she turned against me.  Our life together was awful, from beginning to end, but she’s in her grave, and nobody’ll ever hear my side, now that she can’t tell hers.  When I looked at those two babies the day I left you, I thought of them only as retribution; and the vision of them—­ugly, wrinkled, writhing little creatures—­has been in my mind ever since.”

“They were compensation, not retribution, David.  I ought to have told you how clever and beautiful they were, but you never asked and my pride was up in arms.  A man should stand by his own flesh and blood, even if it isn’t attractive; that’s what I believe.”

“I know, I know!  But I’ve had no feeling for three years.  I’ve been like a frozen man, just drifting, trying to make both ends meet, my heart dead and my body full of pain.  I’m just out of a hospital—­two months in all.”

“David!  Why didn’t you let me know, or send for me?”

“Oh, it was way out in Missouri.  I was taken ill very suddenly at the hotel in St. Joseph and they moved me at once.  There were two operations first and last, and I didn’t know enough to feed myself most of the time.”

“Poor, poor Buddy!  Did you have good care?”

“The best.  I had more than care.  Ruth Bentley, the nurse that brought me back to life, made me see what a useless creature I was.”

Some woman’s instinct stirred in Letty at a new note in her brother’s voice and a new look in his face.  She braced herself for his next words, sure that they would open a fresh chapter.  The door and the window were closed now, the shades pulled down, the fire low; the hour was ripe for confidences.

“You see, Letty,”—­and David cleared his throat nervously, and looked at the coals gleaming behind the Hessian soldiers,—­“it’s a time for a thorough housecleaning, body, mind, and soul, a long illness is; and Miss Bentley knew well enough that all was wrong with me.  I mentioned my unhappy marriage and told her all about you, but I said nothing about the children.”