"I want to ask you, Lynda, why do you come here--you of all the world? I have often wondered." "I--I like to come, generally, Uncle William." "But--other times, out of the general? You come oftener then. Why?" And now Lynda turned her clear, dark eyes upon him. A sudden resolve had been taken. She was going to comfort him as she never had before, going to recompense him for the weeks just past when she had failed him while espousing Con's cause. She was going to share her secret with him! "Just before mother went, Uncle William, she told me--" The hand holding the cigar swayed--it was a very frail, thin hand. "Told you--what?" "That you once--loved her." The old wound ached as it was bared. Lynda meant to comfort, but she was causing excruciating pain. "She--told you that? And you so young! Why should she so burden you--she of all women?" "And--my mother loved you, Uncle William! She found it out too late and--and after that she did her best for--for Brace and me and--father!" The room seemed swaying, as all else in the universe was, at that moment, for William Truedale. Everything that had gone to his undoing--to the causing of his bitter loneliness and despair--was beaten down by the words that flooded the former darkness with almost terrifying light. For a moment or two he dared not speak--dared not trust his voice. The shock had been great. Then, very quietly: "And--and why did she--speak at the last?" Lynda's eyes filled with tears. "Because," she faltered, "since she could not have come to you without dishonour--she sent me! Her confidence has been the sacredest thing in my life and I have tried to do as she desired. I--I have failed sadly--lately, but try to forgive me for--my mother's sake!" "And you--have"--the voice trembled pitifully in spite of the effort Truedale made to steady it--"kept silence--since she went; why? Oh! youth is so ignorant, so cruel!" This was said more to himself than to the girl by his knee upon whose bowed head his shrivelled hand unconsciously rested. "First it was for father that I kept the secret. He seemed so stricken after--after he was alone. And then--since I was trying to be to you what mother wanted me to be--it did not seem greatly to matter. I wanted to win my way. I always meant to tell you, and now, after these weeks of misunderstanding, I felt you should know that there will always be a reason for me, of all the world, to share your life." "I see! I see!" A great wave of emotion rose and rose, carrying the past years of misery with it. The knowledge, once, might have saved him, but now it had come too late. By and by he would be able to deal with this staggering truth that had been so suddenly hurled upon him, but not now while Katherine Kendall's daughter knelt at his side!