"Then came a night of storm--such as this. Can you imagine it in the black forests where small streams become rivers in a moment, carrying all before them as they plunge and roar down the mountain sides? Dangers of all sorts threatened and, in the midst of that storm, something occurred that involved me! I had sent Nella-Rose--that was her name--away earlier in the day. I could not trust myself. But she came back to warn me. It meant risking everything, for her people were abroad that night bent on ugly business; she had to betray them in order to save me. To have turned her adrift would have meant death, or worse. She remained with me nearly a week--she and I alone in that cabin and cut off from the world--she and I! There was only myself to depend upon--and, Lynda, I failed again!" "But, Con--you meant to--to marry her; you meant that--from the first?" Lynda had forgotten herself, her suffering. She was struggling to save something more precious than her love; she was holding to her faith in Truedale. "Good God! yes. It was the one thing I wanted--the one thing I planned. In my madness it did not seem to matter much except as a safeguard for her--but I had no other thought or intention. We meant to go to a minister as soon as the storm released us. Then came the telegram about Uncle William, and the minister was killed during the storm. Lynda, I wanted to bring Nella-Rose to you just as she was, but she would not come. I left my address and told her to send for me if she needed me--I meant to return as soon as I could, anyway. I would have left anything for her. She never sent for me--and the very day I left--she--" "What, Con? I must know all." "Lynda, before God I believe something drove the child to it; you must not--you shall not judge her. But she went, the very night I left, to a man--a man of the hills--who had loved her all his life. He was in danger; he escaped, taking her with him!" "I--I do _not_ believe it!" The words rang out sharply, defiantly. Woman was in arms for woman. The loyalty that few men admit confronted Truedale now. It seemed to glorify the darkness about him. He had no further fear for Nella-Rose and he bowed his head before Lynda's blazing eyes. "God bless you!" he whispered, "but oh! Lyn, I went back to make sure. I had the truth from her own father. And with all--she stands to this day, in my memory, guiltless of the monstrous wrong she seemed to commit; and so she will always stand. "Since then, Lynda, I have lived a new piece of life; the past lies back there and it is dead, dead. I would not have told you this but for one great and tremendous thing. You will not understand this; no woman could. A man could, but not a woman. "As I once loved--in another way--that child of the hills, I love you, the one woman of my manhood's clearer vision. Because of that love--I had to speak." Truedale looked up and met the eyes that searched his soul.