“And I want to thank you, Mrs. Marian, for your bravery and goodness on the night I was assaulted here.” Fenneben was a gentleman to the core and his courtesy was charming. “I meant to find you long ago, but my brother's death, with my own long illness, and your absence, and my many duties--” He paused with a smile. “Oh, Lloyd, Lloyd, on an evening like this, why do you come here?” The woman stood in the light now, a tragic figure of sorrow. And she was not yet forty. Dr. Fenneben caught his breath and the light seemed to go out before him. “Marian, oh, Marian! After all these years, do I find you here? They said you were dead.” He caught her in his arms and held her close to his breast. “Lots of folks spoons round the Saxon House, so I went away and lef 'em,” Bug explained to Vic once afterward. And that accounted for little Bug sitting lonely on the flat stone by the bend in the river where Dennie and Burgess found him later. “So you have stood between me and that assassin all these years, even when the lies against me made you doubt my love. Oh, Marian, the strength of a woman's heart!” Fenneben declared, as, side by side, black hair and the gray near together, these long-separated lovers rebuilt their world. “And this little child brought you here at last. 'A little child shall lead them,'” the woman murmured. “Yes, Bug is a gift of God.” Lloyd Fenneben was bending over her. “He is Victor Burleigh's nephew, who found him in a deserted place--” A shriek cut the evening air and she who had been known as Mrs. Marian lay in a faint at Fenneben's feet. “Tell me, Marian, what this means.” Lloyd Fenneben had restored her to consciousness and she was resting, white and trembling, in his arms. “My little Bug, my baby, Burgess!” she sobbed. “Bond Saxon, in a drunken fit, killed his father. Then Tom Gresh carried him away to save him from Bond, too, so Tom declared, but I did not believe him. Bond never harmed a little child. Tom said he meant no harm and that Bug was stolen from where he had left him. It was then that my hair turned white. Tom tried once, a year ago in December, to make me believe he could bring Bug back to me if I would care for him--for that wicked murderer! Oh, Lloyd!” She nestled close in Dr. Fenneben's protecting arms, and shivered at the thought. “And you named him Burgess for your own name. Does Vincent know?” Fenneben questioned, tenderly smoothing the white hair as Norrie had so often smoothed his own. “Is this Vincent my own brother? Will he really own me as his sister? I've tried to meet him many times. I left his picture on my table that he might see it if he should ever come. My father separated us years ago. After we came West he sent me just one letter in which he said Vincent would never speak to me nor claim me as his sister again. A brother--a lover--and my baby boy!” And the lonely woman, overcome with joy, sat white and still beneath the white moonbeams.