"Don't, Cass," he cried. For a moment she stood regally before him, her babe resting easily in the hollow of her arm. Then she slowly lowered her hand and spoke again, in quiet, distinct tones. "Now, for that lie they have told you, I am going to my husband. I start to-morrow. He has sent me money to come to him. You tell that word all up and down the mountain side, wherever there bides one to hear." She lifted her baby, pressing his little face to her cheek, and turning, walked slowly toward her cabin door. "Cass," he called. She paused. "Well, Frale?" "Cass, you hev cursed me." "No, Frale, it is the curse of Cain that rests on your soul. You brought it on you by your own hand. If you will live right and repent, Christ will take it off." "Will you ask him for me, Cass? I sure hev lost you now--forever, Cass!" "Yes, Frale. I'll ask him to cover up all this year out of your life. It has been full of mad badness. Be like you used to be, Frale, and leave off thinking on me this way. It is sin. Go marry somebody who can love you and care for you like you need, and come back here and do for mother like you used to. Giles Teasley can't pester you. He's half dead with his badness--drinking his own liquor." She came to him, and, taking his hand, led him toward the laurel path. "Go down to mother now, Frale, and have supper and sleep in your own bed, like no evil had ever come into your neart," she pleaded. "The good is in you, Frale. God sees it, and I see it. Heed to me, Frale. Good-night." Slowly, with bent head, he walked away. Trembling, Cassandra laid her baby in the cradle Hoke Belew had made her, and, kneeling beside the rude little bed, she bowed her head over it and wept scalding, bitter tears. She felt herself shamed before the whole mountain side. Oh, why--why need David have left her so long--so long! The first reproach against him entered her heart, and at the same time she reasoned with herself. He could not help it--surely he could not. He was good and true, and they should all know it if she had to lie for it. When she had sobbed herself into a measure of calmness, she heard a step cross the cabin floor. Quickly drying her tears, she rose and stood in the doorway of the canvas room, with dilated eyes and indrawn breath, peering into' the dusk, barring the way. It was only her mother. "Why, mothah!" she cried, relieved and overjoyed. "Have you seen Frale?" "Yes, mothah. He was here. Sit down and get your breath. You have climbed too fast." Her mother dropped into a chair and placed a small bundle on the table at her side. "What-all is this Frale say you have told him? Have David writ fer you like Frale say? What-all have Frale been up to now? He come down creepin' like he a half-dade man--that soft an' quiet." "I'm going to David, mother. You know he sent me money to use any way I choose, and I'm going." She caught her breath and faltered.