Skinner was sleeping, his laboring breath heard
plainly through the shanty, a red-brown head bent over the kitchen
table. Around the flickering light fluttered the summer moths, and once
in a while one of Tessibel's beloved night things dashed in at the
window, took a zig-zag course about the lamp, and flew out again into the
shadowy weeping willows. A long, sobbing sigh from the girl brought the
dwarf's eager face to the hole in the ceiling.

"Air ye sick, brat?" he whispered.

Tess lifted her eyes from the table.

"Nope, Andy, I were thinkin', that's all," she answered, low-toned.

And perhaps fifteen minutes later, when she had written a name on
several envelopes and had torn them up in seeming disapproval, Andy
ventured again.

"Ye act awful sad, brat dear. Can't ye tell me about it?"

Tessibel rose to her feet, the gleam of the night light radiating upon
the red-brown of her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat before
she could speak.

"I air a little sad, Andy dear," she murmured.

"What were ye doin', honey?" asked the dwarf.

Without answering at that moment, Tess took up the envelope she'd
sealed. Two steps took her to the mantel, where she placed the letter
against the clock, standing a minute to gaze at it. The next instant she
explained to the little man leaning above her.

"I were writin' a little, Andy, darlin'."

Then she went softly into Daddy Skinner's room and closed the door.

CHAPTER XIX

ITS ANSWER

While Tessibel Skinner, lonely and despondent, was grieving in the
squatter country, Frederick Graves arrived in Paris with his young wife.
There had been for him but few hours since that last evening upon the
ragged rocks, during which Tessibel's face had not haunted him, the
brown eyes, sometimes smiling, more frequently shadowed with tears.
Impotent remorse possessed his days and filled his wakeful nights with
anguish. At such times when life seemed intolerable, the thought of the
comfort he had supplied for his mother and sister was balm to his
troubled soul.

He regretted, too, that he had not gone to the squatter settlement to
see Tess again before his marriage to Madelene. He had thought, then,
that the sight of her pleading pain would be more than he could bear. He
had already vowed to himself over and over with clenched teeth that he
would stay but a short time away from America. He must see Tess. He did
not worry over her keeping the secret of their clandestine