In short, she had got Truedale's play over the footlights! He knew it; every one knew it. And when the climax came and the decision was made--leaving the man-who-had-learned-his-lesson unaware of the divine renunciation but strong enough to take up his life clear-sightedly; when the little heroine lifted her eyes and her empty arms to the trail leading up and into the mysterious woods--and to all that she knew they held--something happened to Truedale! He felt the clutch of a small cold hand on his. He looked around, and into the wide eyes of Ann! The child seemed hypnotized and, as if touched by a magic power, her resemblance to her mother fairly radiated from her face. She was struggling for expression. Seeking to find words that would convey what she was experiencing. It was like remembering indistinctly another country and scene, whose language had been forgotten. Then--and only Lynda and Truedale heard--little Ann said: "It's Nella-Rose! Father, it's Nella-Rose!" Betty had been right. The shock had, for a moment, drawn the veil aside, the child was looking back--back; she heard what others had called the one she now remembered--the sacreder name had escaped her! "Father, it's Nella-Rose!" Truedale continued to look at Ann. Like a dying man--or one suddenly born into full life--he gradually understood! As Ann looked at that moment, so had Nella-Rose looked when, in Truedale's cabin, she turned her eyes to the window and saw his face! This was Nella-Rose's child, but why had Lynda--? And with this thought such a wave of emotion swept over Truedale that he feared, strong as he was, that he was going to lose consciousness. For a moment he struggled with sheer physical sensation, but he kept his eyes upon the small, dark face turned trustingly to his. Then he realized that people were moving about; the body of the house was nearly empty; McPherson, while helping Betty on with her cloak, was commenting upon the play. "Good stuff!" he admitted. "Some muscle in that. Not the usual appeal to the uglier side of life. But come, come, Mrs. Kendall, stop crying. It's only a play, after all." "Oh! I know," Betty quiveringly replied, "but it's so human, Dr. McPherson. That dear little woman has almost broken my heart; but she'd have broken it utterly if she had acted differently. I don't believe the author ever _guessed_ her! Somewhere she _lived_ and played her part. I just know it!" Truedale heard all this while he watched the strained look fading from Ann's face. The past was releasing her, giving her back to the safe, normal present. Presently she laughed and said: "Father, I feel so queer. Just as if I'd been--dreaming." Then she turned with a deep, relieving sigh to Lynda. "Thank you for bringing me, mommy-Lyn," she said, "it was the best play I've ever seen in all my life. Only I wish that nice actress-lady had gone with the man who didn't know. I--I feel real sorry for him. And why didn't she go?--I'd have gone as quick as anything."