Why? Why? his yearning pleaded. Why should he destroy his own future happiness and that of this sweet, innocent woman for a whim--that was what he tried to term it--of conscience? Why, there were men, thousands of them, who would call him by a harsher name than he cared to own, if he followed such a course; and yet--then Truedale looked across at Lynda. "A woman should have clear vision and choice," his reason commanded, and to this his love agreed. But alone with Lynda, in the library later, the conflict was renewed. Never had she been so sweet, so kind. The storm beat against the house and instead of interfering, seemed to hold them close and--together. It no longer aroused in Truedale recollections that smarted. It was like an old familiar guide leading his thought into ways sacred and happy. Then suddenly, out of a consciousness that knew neither doubt nor fear, he said: "You and I, Lyn, were never afraid of truth, were we?" "Never." She was knitting again--knitting feverishly and desperately. "Lyn--I want to tell you--all about it! About something you must know." Very quietly now, Lynda rolled her work together and tossed it, needles and all, upon the glowing logs. She was done, forever, with subterfuge and she knew it. The wool curled, blackened, and gave forth a scorched smell before the red coals subdued it. Then, with a straight, uplifted look: "I'm ready, Con." "Just before I broke down and went away, Brace once told me that my life had no background, no colour. Lynda, it is of that background about which you do not know, that I want to speak." He waited a moment, then went on: "I went away--to the loneliest, the most beautiful place I had ever seen. For a time there seemed to be nobody in the world but the man with whom I lived and me. He liked and trusted me--I betrayed his trust!" Lynda caught her breath and gave a little exclamation of dissent, wonder. "You--betrayed him, Con! I cannot believe that. Go on." "Yes. I betrayed his trust. He left me and went into the deep woods to hunt. He put everything in my care--everything. He was gone nearly three weeks. No one knew of my existence. They are like that down there. If you are an outsider you do not matter. I had arrived at dark; I was sent for a certain purpose; that was all that mattered. I began and ended with the man who was my host and who had been told to--to keep me secret." Truedale was gripping the arms of his chair and his words came punctuated by sharp pauses. "And then, into that solitude, came a young girl. Remember, she did not know of my existence. We--discovered each other like creatures in a new world. There are no words to describe her--I cannot even attempt it, Lynda. I ruined her life. That's all!" The bald, crushing truth was out. For a moment the man Lynda Kendall knew and loved seemed hiding behind this monster the confession had called forth. A lesser woman would have shrunk in affright, but not Lynda.