"Lil' Ann? Why, there's lil' Ann sleeping her tire off under your pillows. She was cold and mighty wore out." Nella-Rose turned toward the deep couch under the broad window across the room. Silently, like haunted creatures, both women stole toward the couch and the mother drew away the sheltering screen of cushions. As she did so, the little child opened her eyes, and for a moment endeavoured to find her place in the strangeness. She looked at her mother and smiled a slow, peculiar smile. Then she fixed her gaze upon Lynda. It was an old, old look--but young, too--pleading, wonder-filled. The child was so like Truedale--so unmercifully, cruelly like him--that, for a moment, reason deserted Lynda and she covered her face with both hands and swayed with silent laughter. Nella-Rose bent over her child as if to protect her. "Lil' Ann," she whispered, "the lady is a right kind lady--right kind!" She felt she must explain and justify. After a moment or two Lynda gained control of her shaken nerves. She suddenly found herself calm, and ready to undertake the hardest, the most perilous thing that had ever come into her life. "Bring little Ann to the fire;" she said, "I'm going to order some lunch, and then--we can decide, Nella-Rose." Nella-Rose obeyed, dumbly. She was completely under the control of the only person, who, in this perplexed and care-filled hour, seemed able to guide and guard her. Lynda watched the two eat of the food Thomas brought in. There was no fear of Truedale coming now. There was safety ahead for some hours. Lynda herself made a pretext of eating, but she hardly took her eyes from little Ann's face. She wanted familiarity to take the place of shock. She must grow accustomed to that terrible resemblance, for she knew, beyond all doubt, that it was to hold a place in all her future life. When the last drop of milk went gurgling down the little girl's throat, when Nella-Rose pushed her plate aside, when Thomas had taken away the tray, Lynda spoke: "And now, Nella-Rose, what are you going to--to do with us all?" The tired head of little Ann was pressed against her mother's breast. The food, the heat, were lulling her weary senses into oblivion again. Lynda gave a swift thought of gratitude for the momentary respite as she watched the small, dark face sink from her direct view. "We are all in your hands," she continued. "In _my_ hands--_mine_?" "Yes. Yours." "I--I must--tell him--and then go home." "Must you, Nella-Rose?" "What else is there for me?" "You must decide. You, alone." "You"--the lips quivered--"you will not go with me?" "I--cannot, Nella-Rose." "Why?"