"Yes, Lyn, a great deal!" Truedale was sitting by the tiny hearth in his
diminutive living room. He and Lynda had demanded, and finally
succeeded in obtaining an open space for real logs; disdaining, much to
the owner's amazement, an asbestos mat or gas monstrosity. "I really put
blood in the thing."

"And when may I hear some of it? I'm wild to get back to our beaten
tracks."

Truedale raised his eyes, but he was looking beyond Lynda; he was seeing
Nella-Rose in the nest he was preparing for her.

"Soon, Lyn. Soon. And when you do--you, of all the world, will
understand, sympathize, and approve."

"Thank you, Con, thank you. Of course I will, but it is good to have you
know it! Let me see, what colour scheme shall we introduce in the living
room?"

"Couldn't we have a sort of blue-gray; a rather smoky tint with sunshine
in it?"

"Good heavens, Con! And it is a north room, too."

"Well, then, how about a misty, whitish--"

"Worse and worse. Con, in a north room there must be warmth and real
colour."

"There will be. But put what you choose, Lyn, it will surely be all
right."

"Suppose, then, we make it golden brown, or--dull, soft reds?"

Truedale recalled the shabby little shawl that Nella-Rose had worn
before she donned her winter disguise.

"Make it soft dull red, Lyn--but not _too_ dull."

Truedale no longer meant to lay his secret bare before departing for the
South. While he would not acknowledge it to his anxious heart, he
realized that he must base the future on the outcome of his journey.
Once he laid hands upon Nella-Rose, he would act promptly and hopefully,
but--he must be sure, now, before he made a misstep. There had been
mistakes enough, heaven knew; he must no longer play the fool.

And then when the little gilded cage was ready, Truedale conceived his
big and desperate idea. Two weeks had passed since Jim White's letter
and no telegram or note had come from Nella-Rose. Neither love nor
caution could wait longer. Truedale decided to go to Pine Cone. Not as a
returned traveller, certainly not--at first--to White, but to Lone Dome,
and there, passing himself off as a chance wayfarer, he would gather as
much truth as he could, estimate the value of it, and upon it take his
future course. In all probability, he thought--and he was almost gay now
that he was about to take matters into his own hands--he would ferret
out the real facts and be back with his quarry before another week. It
wa