and started toward the door. Then he paused, and broke forth with
passionate incoherence, telling amidst sobs and tears the story of
the woodland's munificence to him, and how he had flung the gift
away.

In recounting the hopes that had deluded him, the fears that had
gnawed, and the despair in which they were at last merged, he did
not notice, for a time, her look as she still knelt motionless
before the embers on the hearth.

He faltered, and grew silent; then stared dumbly at her.

She seemed as one petrified. Her face had blanched; its lines were
as sharp and distinct as if graven in stone; only her eyes spoke, an
eloquent anguish. Her faculties were numbed for a moment. But
presently there was a quiver in her chin, and her voice rang out.

And yet did she understand? did she realize the loss of the mine?
For it was not this that she lamented

"Birt Dicey!" she cried in an appalled tone. "Did ye hide it from
yer MOTHER--an' tell NATE GRIGGS?"

Birt hung his head. The folly of it!

"What ailed ye, ter hide it from me?" she asked deprecatingly,
holding out her worn, hard-working hands. "Hev I ever done ye
harm?"

"Nuthin' but good."