n and helpless in her
loneliness that the despair was overpowering. It was then, at last,
that the inspiration came to her: She would confess everything to her
grandfather!

Though she quailed before the prospect, she rejoiced as well. The old
man was strong and resourceful. He would know how to meet and overcome
the outlaw's villainy. Moreover, now that her decision had been made,
Plutina was surprised to find her alarm over such confession greatly
lessened from what she had supposed possible. She began to realize
that some intangible change in her grandfather himself was responsible
for this. She became convinced that the new gentleness had had its
origin in the unselfish abandonment of his marital hopes. It was as if
that renunciation had vitally softened him. Perhaps, in this strange
mood, he would be less intolerant of her fault in turning informer.
His prejudice could find no excuse for her treachery, she knew, yet
the peril in which she had involved herself, and him, might arouse his
pity. Assuredly, he would be moved to instant action for both their
sakes. For that reason alone, if for no other, she must tell him her
story without a moment of unnecessary delay.

In the course of the morning, Plutina took advantage of an
opportunity, whilst her sister was busy in the garden, and went to her
grandfather, who was taking his ease on the porch. She was encouraged
by the mild and benignant expression on the old man's face, which had
been more often fierce, as she remembered it through the years. She
seated herself quietly, and then proceeded immediately to confession.
There was no attempt at palliation of her offense, if offense it were.
She gave the narrative of events starkly, from the moment when she had
first seen Hodges descending Luffman's Branch to the time of her
separation from him at the clearing, on the yesterday.

Throughout the account, the listener sat sprawled in the big willow
rocker, his slippered feet resting on the porch rail. The huge body
was crumpled into an awkward posture, which was never changed, once
the history was begun. The curved wooden pipe hung from his lips,
black against the iron gray cascade of beard, but he did not draw at
it again, after the opening-sentences from his granddaughter's lips.
Plutina, looking down, perceived that the folded hands, lying in his
lap, were clenched so strongly that the knuckles showed bloodless.
Yet, he made no movement, nor offered any word of commen