he past was releasing her, giving her back to the safe,
normal present. Presently she laughed and said: "Father, I feel so
queer. Just as if I'd been--dreaming."

Then she turned with a deep, relieving sigh to Lynda. "Thank you for
bringing me, mommy-Lyn," she said, "it was the best play I've ever seen
in all my life. Only I wish that nice actress-lady had gone with the man
who didn't know. I--I feel real sorry for him. And why didn't she
go?--I'd have gone as quick as anything."

The door had closed between Ann's past and her future! Truedale got upon
his feet, but he was still dazed and uncertain as to what he should do
next. Then he heard Lynda say, and it almost seemed as if she spoke
from a distance she could not cross, "Little Ann, bring father."

He looked at Lynda and her white face startled him, but she smiled the
kind, true smile that called upon him to play his part.

Somehow the rest of the plan ran as if no cruel jar had preceded it. The
supper was perfect--the guests merry--and, when he could command
himself, Truedale--keeping his eyes on Lynda's face--confessed.

For a moment every one was quiet. Surprise, delight, stayed speech. Then
Ann asked: "And did you do it behind the locked door, father?"

"Yes, Ann."

"Well, I'm glad I kept Billy out!"

"And Lyn--did you know?" Betty said, her pretty face aglow.

"I--I guessed."

But the men kept still after the cordial handshakes. McPherson was
recalling something Jim White had said to him recently while he was with
the sheriff in the hills.

"Doc, that thar chap yo' once sent down here--thar war a lot to him
us-all didn't catch onter."

And Brace was thinking of the night, long, long ago, when Conning threw
some letters upon the glowing coals and groaned!

CHAPTER XXIII

They were home at last in old William Truedale's quiet house. Conning
went upstairs with Ann. Generally Lynda went with him to kiss Ann
good-night before they bent over Billy's crib beside their own bed. But
now, Lynda did not join them and Ann, starry-eyed, prattled on about the
play and her joy in her father's achievement. She was very quaint and
droll. She ran behind a screen and dropped her pretty dress, and issued
forth, like a white-robed angel, in her long gown, her short brown curls
falling like a beautiful frame around her gravely sweet face.

Truedale, sitting by the shaded lamp, looked at her as if, in her true
character, she stood revealed.

"Little Ann,"