Without doubt her designs were bad. But stay, now you talk of her, methinks I either have seen her, or have read some story of her.… Doth she not speak very smoothly and give you a smile at the end of a sentence?
The book fell from Cynthia's hands and lay motionless on her lap. Her fair face raised itself rigidly and the clear eyes looked, not at the cheerful, home-room, but back through the years: the sombre, shabby years—until they caught and held a girl of twelve demanding something—something so tremendous!—from a poor, trembling boy but a little older than herself! Then the old, half-doubting promise sounded and—a kiss fell upon Madam Bubble's lifted mouth!
"Oh!" The word came on a shuddering sigh and the fixed eyes faltered in their rapt look. A flood of rosy colour spread from brow to chin, and shame—not joy—claimed Cynthia Walden. Understanding rushed upon her, a blind, hideous, wrong understanding, but none the less terrible. Cynthia had forgotten the shadow of her parentage—for many years it had sunk into insignificance. The years had ignored it, no call had come for its recognition, but now—she understood. She had always been more the daughter of her bad father than of her sad mother! That was why she, a little girl, had spoken so to Sandy and brought that strange look to his face! She had not comprehended it then, but she remembered it now! It confronted her like a tangible thing. Because she was her father's daughter Smith Crothers had—kissed her! Men wanted to kiss her! On that fearsome night of the fire Crothers had only shocked and wounded the outer fold of Cynthia's soul; the innermost shrine had been guarded by the woman Cynthia was by and by to become; but now Cynthia felt she was that woman and all subterfuge was denied.
Sandy understood. He had not forgotten. Out in his big, free world he had learned what Madam Bubbles were and still he had come back and been kind to her! Sandy never forgot. Big, brave, and tender, he had set himself to the task of keeping his word and fulfilling his vision. He had shielded poor Molly—he had told her the pitiful story without its gruesome details! He had come back to Lost Mountain to help the men and women and save the baby-things! He had come home to—keep his word with her, with Madam Bubble! That was why he was so gentle, so thoughtful.
"Oh! oh!" The moan was almost a wail, but no tear dimmed the large eyes.
"The Biggest of Them All!" Then the strained face relaxed and a glory touched it.
"But I—I can be next biggest," she faltered. "You are right noble—but I can help you, Sandy!"
Then very reverently the book was replaced upon the desk and a pencil taken from the gargoyle's mouth. Clearly, distinctly, another passage was traced by a wavering mark:
The man in the cage, the man and his dream, the man that cut his way through his enemies—the biggest of them all!
Sandy was to read those words by and by with varied emotions!