“And you—never spoke? You never told?” Lynda had drawn very close—her words were barely above a whisper.
“No. It was this-er-way. First, love for him held my tongue mighty still; then hate; and afterwards I couldn’t!”
“But now, Nella-Rose, now—why have you spoken—now?”
“I haven’t yet. Not to them-all. I had to come here—to him first. I reckon you don’t know about Burke and me?”
Lynda shook her head. She had thought she knew—but she had wandered sadly.
“When Marg laid my trouble to Burke he just took it! First I couldn’t understand. But he took my trouble—and me! He took lil’ Ann and me out of Miss Lois Ann’s cabin into—peace and safety. He tied every one’s tongue—it seemed like he drove all the—the wrong away by his big, strong love—and set me free, like he was God! He didn’t ask nothing for a right long time, not ’til I grew to—believe him and trust him. Then we went—when no one knew—and was married. Now he’s my man and he’s always been lil’ Ann’s father till—till—”
A log fell upon the hearth and both women started guiltily and affrightedly.
“Go on! go on!” breathed Lynda. “Go on!”
“Till the twins came—Burke’s and mine! Then he knew the difference—even his love for me couldn’t help him—it hindered; and while I—I feared, I understood!”
“Oh! oh! oh!” Lynda covered her aching eyes with her cold hands. She dared not look at Nella-Rose. That childish yet old face was crowding everything but pity from the world. Truedale, herself—what did they matter?