"You haven't forgotten the lil' room, off in the corner, have you, Sandy? The lil' room where the baby-things are to come to me to be--cuddled?" Sandy shivered. "You--haven't left _that_ out, have you, Sandy?" "I had, lil' Cyn, but I am going to put it aback--to-morrow." "I'm right glad, Sandy, for I've learned some mighty sweet lil' tunes, and I've bought some pictures and books with stories that will make them-all laugh when we've taught them how. My trunk is full of things for the babies." Sandy permitted himself one look at the dear face so close to his own. It wore the white rapt look he remembered so well; the wonderful, brooding tenderness as fancy held it. It was so she had looked upon him when, as a ragged boy, he sat beside her. She had awakened imagination within his starved soul and given his ambition wings with which to soar. He and she were now bent forward toward the smouldering fire; he on the stool, she in the deep chair. "Do you remember, Sandy, lil' Madam Bubble?" "I reckon I remember nothing else so--clearly." He looked away, he could trust himself no farther. "And the 'Biggest of Them All'--you remember him?" "I--I have forgotten him, Cynthia." "No--you have not forgotten him, Sandy!" "He--he does not seem to have any place, lil' Cyn." "Oh! yes and yes he does! I reckon he is bigger than even you or I--know!" Did she suspect the terrible weakness of desire that was overpowering him? At this thought Sandy gripped his hands closer; he felt her deep, true eyes upon him and a rush of blood dyed his dark face to crimson. Cynthia saw this and laid her cool hand upon his shoulder while she asked bravely, daringly: "Do you love me--Sandy?" What other woman on earth could have put that question at such a time? He and she were alone in the empty woods and the night held them. Sandy turned to her. "As God hears me--yes, lil' Cyn, with all my heart and soul. I have loved you all my life." "In this bag," Cynthia touched the bag at her waist, "are the letters I wrote to you, Sandy, while you were away. I hid them in an old tree by Stoneledge. The tree kept them safe for--me. There are a right many--all answers to the one you sent me. Do you want them, Sandy?" "Yes." "Here--Sandy!" The letters, more precious than any other gift, lay in his keeping at last. "God bless you, lil' Cyn." She smiled divinely. "I wandered far down in the valley, Sandy, and I had a hard lesson to learn; a hard thing to do, and I've come home to find you waiting for me. Oh! tell me, dear, isn't there one law, just one in our land to set a lil' girl free who has made a mistake?"