A faint colour stole into the whiteness of the fair face.
"From Lost Mountain?" Oh! if Sandy could have heard her say that word how it would have rested his soul! "From Lost Mountain?"
"Yes, my dear. Come and sit here beside me."
Matilda could not stand longer. Her knees shook beneath her for, like a blinding light, the knowledge came to her that poor Lans, with all his faults, was exonerated from any wrong to this young girl! The innocent old eyes and the radiant young ones had no veil between them. Sitting side by side they smiled bravely at each other and then Cynthia reached out her hands.
"You are"—she whispered—"you are Sandy Morley's fairy godmother! Oh! I know all about you. Lans has told me. I am right glad—oh! mighty glad to see you!"
The voice shook with emotion and Matilda Markham could not answer for a moment. Never in her life had she been so moved. She longed to take this girl to her heart and hold her there, but instead she found herself, presently, telling the homely news of the hills to the hungry soul whose yearning eyes never fell from her face.
"And the little doctor is my own aunt, you know?"
"Yes, child. They told me all about it."
"It's right good to have one's own—at last;" this was plaintively whispered; "and my dear, dear father. You know his story, too?"
"Yes. It lives in the hills and speaks for him even to-day."