"I must take her—away!" Lans found words at last to say.
"Yes," Cynthia nodded, still smiling her wonderful smile at him.
"I will return—soon. Come—Marian!"
Cynthia saw them depart, heard the lower door close upon them and then she awoke from her spell. Sitting down in a deep chair before the fire she took the incidents of the past few moments, one by one, and set them in order. Like an ignorant child selecting block after block and asking some wiser one what they meant, she demanded of her new self the answer to all she had witnessed.
The travail was long and desperate—and when Lans Treadwell found her, an hour later, he was shocked at the sight of her face.
"My God!" was all he could say.
"We must—talk it over," Cynthia said gravely. "I can understand now. You see, dear, I couldn't have her hurt—her and—and the child."
Lans dropped in the chair Marian Spaulding had sat in and bowed his head in his hands.
"Was there ever such a cruel situation?" he groaned. Cynthia came to him and knelt beside the arm of his chair. She had never come to him so before and the touch of her body thrilled the man.
"You did not tell her—about me, big brother? did you? You let her believe I am your sister."