"Well! I reckon this is about the worst confusion that was ever brought about. Without being positively bad, Lans, you've managed to create a mighty lot of trouble for a good many innocent people." "Yes, Aunt Olive." Lans was standing by the window looking down into the empty street. "What are you--going to do about it?" Then Lans turned. "Aunt Olive, I'm going to untangle the snarl--somehow! And I'm going to stand by--Marian!" "Marian? You talk like a madman, Lans, or a fool--and a depraved one at that. You owe everything to Cynthia--you'll be held to it, too, by law!" "Aunt Olive," and then Lans laughed a mirthless, cold laugh, "I wonder if either you or I ever really seriously thought we could--hold Cynthia? There is no law that could keep her here. She is of the hills. She came into our lives just long enough to purify our air and--clear my vision. She'll go back now. We--cannot keep her!" "Go back--to whom?" This practical question took the smile from Lans's lips. "To Sandy Morley, I reckon," he said grimly; "most of every noble thing I might have had--gets to him--sooner or later. He always loved her; she has just confessed to me that she loves him." CHAPTER XXVII There was a crust of glistening snow upon The Way; every branch of the tall, bare trees was outlined with a feathery whiteness which shone, as one looked deep into the woods, like the tracery of some fantastic spirit going where it listeth without design or purpose. From Lost Mountain the shadows had long since fled, and the gaunt peak rose clear and protectingly over The Hollow, which, somehow, had undergone a mysterious change in a few short months--or, was the change due to the magic touch of love that dwelt in the eyes of a young girl who had left the early train at The Forge and, on foot and alone, was wandering up The Way with a song of joy trembling upon her lips? So quietly and quickly had she run from the station, that Smith Crothers, standing by the door of the saloon opposite, had been the only one to notice the passenger in the long coat, rich furs, and quaint little velvet hat. "Who's that?" he asked of the bartender inside. The man, on his knees, scrubbing the floor, rose stiffly and came to Crothers. "Ole miss from The Holler?" he ventured vaguely. "Ole miss--be damned!" Crothers was in an ill humour. "Company, maybe, for the Morley cabin. It's mighty 'mazing how many folks, first and last, do tote up The Way these days. But I don't see--nobody!" Neither did Crothers, now, for the stranger was hidden from sight. Then he began to wonder if there really had been any one. The night's revel had been rather wilder than usual, and Crothers was not as young as he once was. The bell of his factory was ringing, however, and he unsteadily made his way thither. It was Cynthia who was treading lightly up The Way, but not the Cynthia who a few months before had gone so blindly to do the bidding of that inner voice of conscience.