"Then, why—why don't you bring—him to me?"
"I will, if you'll sit down and let me tell you something." He knelt beside her and spoke tenderly:
"Sweetheart, our children have been near us for months. They came to Ann and Horace—"
Fledra Vandecar gave a glad little cry.
"It was he, then, the pretty boy that prayed! Oh, Floyd, something told me! But you said he was here alone. Where is my girl?"
"That's what I want to tell you, Fledra. Look at me, dear heart."
The eyes, wandering first from his face, then to the door, fell upon him. They seemed to demand the truth, and he dared not utter a lie to her.
"By some crooked work, which Everett and the squatter—"
His words brought back Horace's story. A strange horror paled her cheeks and widened her eyes.
"That man, the one who called himself her father, took her back to Ithaca. Is that what you wanted to tell me?"