"Nella-Rose" (and now Marg fell on her knees beside her sister), "tell me where he is. Tell me and as sure as G.o.d lives I'll bring him back!

I'll make him own you and--and the baby or he'll--he'll--"

And then Nella-Rose laughed the laugh that drove Lois Ann to distraction.

"Send Marg away, Miss Lois Ann," Nella-Rose turned to her only friend, "she makes me so--so tired and--I do not want any one but you."

Marg got upon her feet, all the tenderness and compa.s.sion gone.

"You are--" she began, but Lois Ann was between her and Nella-Rose.

"Go!" she commanded with terrible scorn. "Go! You are not fit to touch them. Go! Dying or mad--the girl belongs to me and not to such as has viper blood in their veins. Go!" And Marg went with the sound of Nella-Rose's crooning to her child ringing in her ears.

Things happened dramatically after that in the deep woods. Marg kept the secret of the Hollow cabin in her seething heart. She was frightened, fearing her father or Jed might discover Nella-Rose. But she was, at times, filled with a strange longing to see her sister and touch that wonderful thing that lay on the guilty mother-breast.

Was Nella-Rose forever to have the glory even in her shame, while she, Marg, with all the rights of womanhood, could hold no hope of maternity?

For one reason or another Marg often stole to the woods as near the Hollow as she dared to go. She hoped for news but none came; and it was late August when, one sunny noon, she confronted Burke Lawson!

Lawson's face was strange and awful to look on. Marg drew away from him in fear. She could not know but Burke had had a terrific experience that day and he was on the path for revenge and any one in his way must suffer. Freed at last from his captivity, he had travelled across the range and straight to Jim White. And the sheriff, ready for the recreant, greeted him without mercy, judging him guilty until he proved himself otherwise.

"What you done with Nella-Rose?" he asked, standing before Burke with slow fire in his deep eyes.

Lawson could never have been the man he was if he were not capable of holding his own council and warding off attack.

"What makes you think I've done anything with her?" he asked.

"None o' that, Burke Lawson," Jim warned. "I've been yo' friend, but I swear I'll toss yo' ter the dogs, as is after you, with as little feelin' as I would if yo' were a chunk o' dead meat--if you've harmed that lil' gal."

"Well, I ain't harmed her, Jim. And now let's set down and talk it over. I want to--to bring her home; I want ter live a decent life 'mong yo'-all. Jim, don't shoot 'til yo' make sure yo' ought ter shoot."

Thus brought to reason Jim sat down, shared his meal with his reinstated friend, and gave him the gossip of the hills. Lawson ate because he was well-nigh starved and he knew he had some rough work ahead; he listened because he needed all the guiding possible and he shielded the name and reputation of Nella-Rose with the splendid courage that filled his young heart and mind. And then he set forth upon his quest with these words:

"As Gawd A'mighty hears me, Jim White, I'll fetch that lil' Nella-Rose home and live like a man from now on. Wipe off my sins, Jim; make a place for me, old man, and I'll never shame it--or G.o.d blast me!"

White took the strong young hand and felt his eyes grow misty.

"Yo' place is here, Burke," he said, and then Lawson was on his way.

A half hour later he encountered Marg. In his own mind Burke had a pretty clear idea of what had occurred. Not having heard any suggestion of Truedale, he was as ignorant of him as though Truedale had never existed. Jed, then, was the only man to hold guilty. Jed had, in pa.s.sion and revenge, wronged Nella-Rose and had after, like the sneak and coward he was, sought to secure his own safety by marrying Marg. But what had they done with Nella-Rose? She had, according to White, disappeared the night that Jed had been tied in the cave. Well, Jed must confess and pay!--pay to the uttermost. But between him and Jed Marg now stood!

"You!" cried Marg. "You! What yo' mean coming brazen to us-all?"

"Get out of my way!" commanded Burke, "Where's Jed?"

"What's that to you?"

"You'll find out soon enough. Let me by."

But Marg held her ground and Lawson waited. The look in his eyes awed Marg, but his presence enraged her.

"What you-all done with Nella-Rose?" Lawson asked.

"You better find out! You've left it long enough."

"Whar is she, I say? And I tell you now, Marg--every one as has wronged that lil' girl will answer to me. Whar is she?"

"She--she and her young-un are up to Lois Ann's. They've been hid all winter. No one but me knows; you've time to make good--before--before father and Jed get yo'."

Lawson took this like a blow between the eyes. He could not speak--for a moment he could not think; then a lurid fire of conviction burned into his very soul.

"So--that's it!" he muttered, coming so close to Marg that she shrank back afraid. "So that's it! Yo'-all have d.a.m.ned and all but killed the po' lil' girl--then flung her to--to the devil! You've taken the leavings--you! 'cause yo' couldn't get anything else. Yo' and Jed" (here Lawson laughed a fearless, terrifying laugh), "yo' and Jed is honourably married, you two, and she--lil' Nella-Rose--left to--" Emotion choked Lawson; then he plunged on: "He--he wronged her--the brute, and you took him to--to save him and yourself you--! And she?--why, she's the only holy thing in the hills; you couldn't d.a.m.n her--you two!"

"For the love o' Gawd!" begged Marg, "keep yo' tongue still and off us!

We ain't done her any wrong; every one, even Jed, thinks she is with you. Miss Lois Ann hid her--I only knew a week ago. I ain't told a soul!"

A look of contempt grew upon Burke's face and hardened there. He was thinking quick and desperately. In a vague way he realized that he had the reins in his hands; his only concern was to know whither he should drive. But, above and beyond all--deep true, and spiritual--were his love and pity for Nella-Rose.

They had all betrayed and deserted her. Not for an instant did Lawson doubt that. Their cowardice and duplicity neither surprised nor daunted him; but his pride--his sense of superiority--bade him pause and reflect before he plunged ahead. Finally he said:

"So you-all depend upon her safety for your safety! Take it--and be d.a.m.ned! She's been with me--yo' followin' me? She's been with me, rightful married and happy--happy! From now on I'll manage lil'

Nella-Rose's doings, and the first whisper from man or woman agin her will be agin me--and G.o.d knows I won't be blamed for what I do then!

Tell that skunk of yours," Lawson glared at the terrified Marg, "I'm strong enough to outbid him with the devil, but from now on him and you--mind this well, Marg Greyson--him and you are to be our loving brother and sister. See?"

With a wild laugh Burke took to the woods.

CHAPTER XIV

Two years and a half following William Truedale's death found things much as the old gentleman would have liked. Often Lynda Kendall, sitting beside the long, low, empty chair, longed to tell her old friend all about it. Strange to say, the recluse in life had become very vital in death. He had wrought, in his silent, lonely detachment, better even than he knew. His charities, shorn of the degrading elements of many similar ones, were carried on without a hitch. Dr. McPherson, under his crust of hardness, was an idealist and almost a sentimentalist; but above all he was a man to inspire respect and command obedience. No hospital with which he had to deal was unmarked by his personality.

Neglect and indifference were fatal attributes for internes and nurses.

"Give the youngsters sleep enough, food and relaxation enough," he would say to the superintendents, "but after that expect--and get--faithful, conscientious service with as much humanity as possible thrown in."

The sanatorium for cases such as William Truedale's was already attracting wide attention. The finest men to be obtained were on the staff; specially trained nurses were selected; and Lynda had put her best thought and energy into the furnishing of the small rooms and s.p.a.cious wards.

Conning, becoming used to the demands made upon him, was at last dependable, and grew to see, in each sufferer the representative of the uncle he had never understood; whom he had neglected and, too late, had learned to respect. He was almost ashamed to confess how deeply interested he was in the sanatorium. Recalling at times the loneliness and weariness of William Truedale's days--picturing the sad night when he had, as Lynda put it, opened the door himself, to release and hope--Conning sought to ease the way for others and so fill the waiting hours that less opportunity was left for melancholy thought. He introduced amus.e.m.e.nts and pastimes in the hospital, often shared them himself, and still attended to the other business that William Truedale's affairs involved.

The men who had been appointed to direct and control these interests eventually let the reins fall into the hands eager to grasp them and, in the endless labour and sense of usefulness, Conning learned to know content and comparative peace. He grew to look upon his present life as a kind of belated reparation. He was not depressed; with surprising adaptability he accepted what was inevitable and, while reserving, in the personal sense, his past for private hours, he managed to construct a philosophy and cheerfulness that carried him well on the tide of events.

It was something of a shock to him one evening, nearly three years after his visit to Pine Cone, to find himself looking at Lynda Kendall as if he had never seen her before.

She was going out with Brace and was in evening dress. Truedale had never seen her gowned so, and he realized that she was extremely handsome and--something more. She came close to him, drawing on her long, loose, white gloves.

"I cannot bear to go and leave you--all alone!" she said, raising her eyes to his.

"You see, John Morrell is showing us his brand-new wife to-night--and I couldn't resist; but I'll try to break away early."