"Why didn't you tell me?"

"There was nothing to tell, Uncle William."

"There was the fact, wasn't there?"

"Oh! yes, the fact."

"Why did you do it?"

"That--is--a long story." Lynda looked up, now, and smiled the rare
smile that only the stricken man understood. Appeal, confusion, and
detachment marked it. She longed, helplessly, for sympathy and
understanding.

"Well, long stories are welcome enough here, child; especially after the
dearth of them. Ring the bell; let's have dinner. Pull down the shades
and" (Truedale gave a wide gesture) "put the live stock out! An early
meal, a long evening--what better could we add than a couple of long
stories?"

In the doing of what Truedale commanded, Lynda found a certain relief.
These visits were like grim plays, to be sure, but they were also sacred
duties. This one, after the lapse of time filled with new and strange
emotions, was a bit grimmer than usual, but it had the effect of a tonic
upon the ragged nerves of the two actors.

The round table was set by the fire--it was the manservant who attended
now; silver and glass and linen were perfect, and the simple fare