Crothers bade the garrulous woman a pleasant good night, and then set himself busily to the task of mastering a pile of correspondence on his desk. Cynthia went to the little table by the window that served as her writing-desk and asked quietly what she should do. Crothers handed her a list of names and a package of envelopes and told her to address them. The old clock on the wall ticked away comfortably; the warmth and the late hearty meal combined to drive away fear and apprehension of, she knew not what, and Cynthia was soon absorbed in the task set her.

Presently the kerosene lamp on her table flickered and went out; then glancing over at Crothers' back she asked timidly:

"Please, may I sit by your desk, sir? The light's failed."

Crothers turned about and smiled at the pale little creature in the shadows.

"Come right along, little miss! Here, let me fetch your chair. There, now!"

Seated at the end of the flat-topped desk, Cynthia tried to resume her work, but the unrest of the early afternoon possessed her and she felt a tear roll down her cheek--the cheek nearest the man at her left side.

What happened after that Cynthia never could tell clearly; she only knew that a large, hot hand wiped the tear away and a burning kiss fell upon her cheek!

Horrified, and shaking with fear, the girl sprang to her feet and reached the opposite side of the desk near the window looking out toward The Way. She had but one thought: she would break the window and make a dash for safety! But Crothers was upon his feet also. He did not offer to come nearer, but he leaned over the desk and said quietly:

"What you afraid of, lil' girl?"

"You!" The word was like a hiss.

"Of me? Can't you give me a kiss? I don't want to hurt you; I'm your best friend; why, see here, I'll give you a right smart new coat and hat and dress--for a kiss; just a little kiss."

Cynthia's eyes seemed fastened to the smiling, cruel face, but she did not tremble now. Calmly, clearly, she was thinking what she could take with which to defend herself.

"Just--one--more--kiss--lil' girl," and now Crothers was coming around the corner of the desk. It seemed like some fearful nightmare, but Cynthia was ready!

"Just one--more--kiss right on the pretty mouth!" The large, white hands were extended and the teeth showed through the red lips. At that instant Cynthia seized the lighted lamp which stood near, and with desperate strength flung it toward the reaching body! There was a crash, a curse, a fall, and then the room was blotted out by darkness.

For a moment there was a deathlike stillness and in it the girl crept toward the door, unfastened it and gained the open. There were feathery snowflakes in the air and they touched Cynthia's face like holy kisses, wiping away the evil one that had burned there but a moment before. Groping and running she reached The Way and, from behind a tree, paused to take breath. Never had she felt more self-possessed or secure; her mind was clear and sane. If Crothers came out, she could outstrip him in a race for the boarding-house, and she meant to go to the boarding-house that night! Something within her guided her now; something was protecting her and saving her--it was the Woman Cynthia was by and by to be!

As the girl by the tree panted and reasoned, she saw, from the factory window--the window of Crothers' office--a darting tongue of light; another followed and in a moment the glass was ruddy--and smoke was issuing from the door left open when she ran out.

"The place is on fire!" Then--"why does he not come out?"

For a moment only a madness seized Cynthia while hate and revenge had their way:

"Let him die!" she muttered, setting her teeth close and gripping her hands; "let him!"

But even as the words were spoken she was running back to the factory.

She rushed into the smoke-filled hallway and, by the light of the fire, she saw Crothers lying full length where he had fallen. The flames were feasting on the rug by the desk and the unconscious man's head lay upon that rug!

Cynthia knelt beside Crothers and called his name, but the ugly smiling lips made no motion of reply. Then she seized him under the arms and frantically tugged and tugged at the heavy body. The flames were almost at her feet, the wool of the carpet had caught first and the licking tongues followed the burden she bore, greedily. At last she was at the door; outside, and the safe, black night surrounded them!

She lay Crothers down and breathed fast and hard. The snowflakes were larger; thicker now, and there was a harshness in their touch.

Presently Cynthia began to call louder and louder, and the fire gaining power lighted the night and crackled merrily.

"Help! help! help!"

And help came. First on the scene were the boarding-house mistress and her sons; then followed others of The Forge, and soon a group had gathered and were aimlessly running about, giving orders and foolishly bemoaning the havoc that was spreading.

Quite calm and uncaring Cynthia answered the questions put to her. She defended herself without once realizing that she was doing so.

"Crothers got up suddenly--and fell!" she said to the mistress of the boarding-house who was working over the man on the ground, bathing his face with snow and slapping his hands with her own rough ones.

"Yes, the lamp overturned--and the fire was so quick!"

"Yes, I could not let Crothers die; I had to pull him out!"

Then a man near by said:

"Plucky little devil." The words rang in Cynthia's ears strangely.

Why did they praise her? What had she done? She wanted Crothers to die. Now that he was out of the fire, she did not want to see his eyes open again, and yet she was straining her own to get the first sign in his. Of a sudden Crothers looked full at her wonderingly, dazedly, and at that sight Cynthia fled, and, in the confusion, no one missed her.

She did not go to the shed for her mule, she made for The Way uncloaked and unhooded and ran for her life until, overcome by weariness, she paused to take breath. Looking back she saw only a dull glow where the factory had stood and black smoke was rolling thick up into the pure, falling snow.

It was fear of Man that haunted Cynthia as she toiled up the hillside; Man as he had loomed first on her horizon, cruel, seeking, and selfish.

When the hard branches of the tree touched her she stifled a scream, for they felt like the demanding hands of Man; when a hungry animal darted across her path she recoiled, remembering another animal with face and form of Man.

It was three o'clock in the morning when Cynthia left The Forge--though how the hours had passed from nine till three she was never able to explain;--it was eight o'clock when she passed Andrew Townley's cabin and saw smoke curling from his chimney. Sensation was slowly returning to her; she felt cold, weak, and hungry, but with the senses aroused she realized that she could not go home! She could not face Ann Walden's vacant stare, or Sally Taber's coarse cheerfulness. In all her world she was alone, alone! But even as she thought this her weary feet were bearing her to Theodore Starr's little church which was never locked by day or night. She reached the door at last, and with all her remaining strength pushed it open and staggered up to where the steps led to the small raised altar. Dropping down she bent her aching head upon her arm and sobbed:

"Father! Mother!" simply because in all God's world no other words came to her relief.

Theodore Starr's little daughter had come to him quite naturally in her first great sorrow!

CHAPTER XIV

And there Marcia Lowe found her. Fortunately the little doctor went early to the church, for she had conceived of a Christmas such as The Hollow had never known, and it seemed fitting that Theodore Starr should be the host!

Quite merrily she entered and went directly to the stove to start a fire. As she drew near, the outstretched form of Cynthia Walden caught her eyes and she cried aloud in astonishment and fright. At first she thought the girl was frozen to death, for she lay so still and her thin clothing was evidence of the danger run.

"Dear heart! dear heart!" whispered Miss Lowe, overcoming her desire to take the girl in her arms until she had made a fire. Once the genial heat began to spread Marcia Lowe set a kettle of water on the stove and then gave her maternal instincts full play. She gathered the slight form close and kissed again and again the thin oval cheek and close shut mouth.

"Poor little, little girl!"

The warmth and sound stole into Cynthia's far place and summoned her back. Her first look was full of terror; her second was one of unearthly joyousness, and then because the woman of Cynthia had no need to battle longer for her, the child made its claims and, clinging and sobbing to the little doctor she moaned again and again:

"I am so afraid; so afraid!"

It was long before Miss Lowe could quiet her. She wrapped her heavy coat about her and forced some drops of hot water between the stiff, chilled lips. Then she bathed the face and hands gently with water cooled with snow, murmuring tenderly meanwhile:

"Dear little girl; poor little Cynthia! It's all right now."

When the girl was soothed and comforted she went to the store to buy food--anything to be had, for she knew instinctively that whatever was the cause, Cynthia had tasted no food that day.

"Come back soon!" moaned the girl crouching by the stove, "I am so afraid."

After she had eaten some stale crackers, soaked in diluted condensed milk, Cynthia sat up, still and pale, and faced Marcia Lowe dumbly, imploringly.