The wall of suppression that Cynthia had raised, during the past weeks, between her mountain life and this artificial one of the city, crumbled at the message from the hills. Her part in the strange drama sank to insignificance, and in her weakness she was able to view it clearly and dispassionately with this plain little woman who had come to serve her.
"I did not understand," she sobbed; "I was tired—there had been the night in the storm, you know. I did not want to make trouble and—oh! how can I tell you, but it was only when the little doctor—my aunt—explained everything that I saw myself standing alone in the confusion with something I must say and do! I couldn't let them do my work for me, dear lady,"—the quaint expression caused Matilda Markham to draw in her breath sharply—"I was no longer a child and I had to bear my part. When we-all stood in Sandy's cabin and the truth came to us-all, at once, I reckon for the first time in my life, I realized I was a woman. I couldn't take my chance and leave Lans out. They-all wanted to save me from myself, but they forgot him and then when he said"—the girl gasped—"that he wanted me—I had to go! I did not go because any one compelled me—I just had to go! I was led like when I married Lans. More and more I see it now; I feel it in the night. It did not happen, dear lady; it all leads up to something God wants me to do; something no one can do as well as I. Sandy had his call—you know how he responded? Well, I have my leading. We-all, of the hills, get near God, dear lady. We are lonelier; we need Him more and He speaks more plainly to us, I reckon."
The superstition and mysticism of Lost Hollow held every thought and fancy of this girl, but Matilda Markham realized that they gave her strength and purpose as they had poor Sandy before her.
"Oh! my dear, my dear!" was all she could say, but she freed one of her cool hands from Cynthia's hot one, and laid it like a benediction on the girlish head.
"I am waiting, dear lady, for the thing I am to do, and Lans is mighty kind. He is my big brother and I am his little sister—until I can read my way plain. You did not know he was so good?"
"I thank God that he is!" breathed Matilda Markham devoutly.
"I wish I could make—Mrs. Treadwell understand. She—laughs!"
Matilda felt her ire rise. The laugh of Olive Treadwell could be brutal and cruel in its sweetest ripple!
"It seems right long and wearying waiting, waiting for the meaning."
Cynthia's slow words flowed on. She had ceased crying and was looking up now with brave, clear eyes, "and part of me is there—in Lost Hollow. That part of me comes to comfort this part of me—can you understand, dear lady?"