There was awful silence. Cynthia stared, unable to utter a word. She may have doubted the fairness of her mother's version, but the grim picture painted there in the darkness by a woman in seeming readiness to take her own life on account of it fairly chilled her young life's blood. Suddenly a sound broke the outside stillness. There was no mistaking it. It rang out as shrilly on the girl's quaking consciousness as the shriek of a locomotive dashing through a mountain gorge. “There he is now,” said Mrs. Porter. “Pick up your valise and hurry, hurry to him; but before you go hand me that gun. Before you and he get in that buggy you'll hear my death-knell, and you may know, too, that you fired the shot into the withered breast that nursed you. Go! I'm not keeping you!” Cynthia swayed visibly in the darkness, and then she sank to her knees and put her head in her mother's lap. “I won't go,” she groaned, softly. “Mother, I'll do anything you say--anything!” “Now you are joking, I know,” Mrs. Porter said, harshly. “No, I mean it--God knows I mean it, mother! Only give me a chance to prove that I mean it. I'll never see him again, if that will suit you--never on earth! I'll stay and nurse you and make you well.” “If I thought you meant that, Cynthia--Lord, Lord, what a load it would take off of me! Don't--don't say that unless you mean it; the--the joy of saving you would almost kill me.” “Oh, mother, God knows I mean it!” “Then”--Mrs. Porter seemed to squeeze her words from her frail body as she stiffly rose to her feet--“then you must let me go, myself, out there and send him off.” Cynthia, still on her knees, glanced up, her startled eyes wide open. “Would you ask that, mother?” “Yes, for in my present condition I'm afraid I'd never believe it was absolutely settled. I--I'm not as clear-headed as I used to be. I've got deep-rooted suspicions, and I'm afraid they would prey on my mind.” “Then go, mother--go send him away. I'd rather never see him again on earth than to cause you to--to contemplate--but go, mother!” “Well, you stay here then.” Mrs. Porter was moving towards the door. “I'll be easy with him. I'm so happy over this release that I feel grateful even to him. I'll be gentle, Cynthia.” As she stood in the door-way of the chamber and glanced back, Mrs. Porter saw Cynthia throw herself face downward on the bed. The old woman was in the hall making her way towards the front-door when she heard Cynthia call her. Retracing her steps, she found her daughter sitting up. “Mother,” the girl said, “let me go with you. You can hear all that passes between us. That ought to be satisfactory.” “No, that won't suit me,” Mrs. Porter said, firmly. “I've set my heart on your never facing that man again. For you to go, it would look like you are crazy after him, and he'd hang around here no telling how long.” “Then go on, mother.” Cynthia fell back on the bed, and, covering her face with her hands, lay still. XXXV