etfully
with a hatred against Brimbecomb for bringing all this misery upon them.

"I'm not going to promise you that I won't lie to Sister Ann; but I'll
tell you the truth, always--always--"

Because he did not understand a woman's heart, Horace opened the door,
white and angered.

"It is beyond my comprehension that you should treat a woman as you have
my sister. You take advantage of her generosity, and expect me to uphold
you in it!"

There was a catch of genuine sorrow in his voice. Slowly Fledra looked
back over her shoulder at him.

"You've promised me that you'd never tell anybody what I told you."

Horace supplemented his last rebuke with:

"Nor will I! But I insist that you come to me the next time you are
tempted to lie. Do you hear, Fledra?"

"Yes," she answered.

Suddenly she began to sob wildly, and in another instant fled down the
hall.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Not more than two weeks after Lon had demanded the twins from Horace,
Everett Brimbecomb sat in his office, brooding over the shadow that had
so suddenly darkened his life. The dream he had dreamed of a woman he
could call Mother, of some man--his father--of whom he had striven to be
worthy, had dissolved into a specter with a shriveled face and shaggy
hair, into a woman whom he had left in the cemetery to die. Although he
was secure in the thought that he would not be connected with the
tragedy, he shuddered every time he thought of her and of the coming
spring, when the body would be discovered. He did not repent the crime
he had committed; but the fear that the secret of his birth would be
brought to life tortured him night and day. He remembered that Scraggy
had said his father wanted him; that she had come to Tarrytown to take
him back. Did his father know who and where he was? If so, eventual
discovery was inevitable.

Everett's passion for Fledra only heightened his misery, and the girl's
face haunted him continually. In his imagination he compared her with
Ann, and the younger girl stood out in radiant contrast. He had daily
fostered his jealous hatred for Horace, and, because of her allegiance
to her brother, he had come to loathe Ann, although he was more than
ever determined to marry her. The home in which he had been reared
repelled him, and he could now live only for the fame that would rise
from his talent and work, and for the pleasures that come to those
without heart or conscience. Almost the entire morning had b