"
"Yes, that would be her way." Truedale's voice broke a bit.
"But, Con, I kept in touch with her through that wonderful old
woman--Lois Ann. I--oh! Con, I made life easier, brighter for them all;
just as--as you would have done. Lois Ann has told me of the happiness
of the little cabin home, of the children--there are three--"
A sharp pause caused Truedale to turn and look at Lynda.
"And--now?" he asked.
"Con, Nella-Rose died last year!"
The stillness in the room pressed close; even the clock's ticking was
unnoticed. The spark upon the hearth had become a flame; it had found
something upon which to feed. Like a radiant hope it rose, faded, then
leaped higher among the white ashes.
"She went, Con, like a child tired of its play. She was with Lois Ann;
it was the hill-fever, and she was mercifully spared the knowledge of
suffering or--renunciation. She kept repeating that she saw beautiful
things; she was glad--glad to the last minute. Her children and husband
have gone to Nella-Rose's old home. Lois Ann says they are saving
everybody! That's all, Con--all."
Then Truedale, his eyes dim but undaunted, leaned and drew Lynda up
until, kneeling before him, her hands upon his shoulders, they faced
each other.
"And this is the way women--save men!" he said.
"It is the way they try to save--themselves," Lynda replied.
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