to recompense him for the weeks just past when she had failed him while
espousing Con's cause. She was going to share her secret with him!

"Just before mother went, Uncle William, she told me--"

The hand holding the cigar swayed--it was a very frail, thin hand.

"Told you--what?"

"That you once--loved her."

The old wound ached as it was bared. Lynda meant to comfort, but she was
causing excruciating pain.

"She--told you that? And you so young! Why should she so burden you--she
of all women?"

"And--my mother loved you, Uncle William! She found it out too late
and--and after that she did her best for--for Brace and me and--father!"

The room seemed swaying, as all else in the universe was, at that
moment, for William Truedale. Everything that had gone to his
undoing--to the causing of his bitter loneliness and despair--was beaten
down by the words that flooded the former darkness with almost
terrifying light. For a moment or two he dared not speak--dared not
trust his voice. The shock had been great. Then, very quietly:

"And--and why did she--speak at the last?"

Lynda's eyes filled with tears.