"Oh! Sandy!" and now the white, white face turned scarlet—"you think that of me?"
"It's in the blood of us all, Cynthia, but you and I, by forgetting it—can do so much."
"It is not that, Sandy."
"I know, dear, that I am old beside you—I know that I dare much when I say I am willing to take you, child as you are, and run the risk of making you love me while the woman of you—grows! I will help it grow—God help me! How I will glory in the task and if I fail——"
Sandy had drawn her hands from his shoulders and now held them fast and close.
"I will make you free, set you as free as you are to-day, my white blossom girl! You cannot understand; but God hears me and I swear it!"
Cynthia did not understand, but his fine passion flooded her soul with white light.
"How wonderful you are," she whispered. "You stand out big and high like our mountain——"
At that word Sandy closed his eyes, for he dared not look upon the dear, slow-smiling lips.
"But, Sandy, you are covered with—with mist like Lost Mountain sometimes is. Let me find you, Sandy, not as you would help me find you, but in my own way. Will you do this for—lil' Cyn?"