that broke
off almost at once, either to run into another, or into silence.

"Choppy," muttered Doctor Ledyard as he sat across the hearth from his
hostess and looked now at her fair, tranquil face and then at the
cheerful fire of hemlock boughs.

"He's always happiest when he's--choppy." Helen Travers smiled. "I wonder
why I take your words as I take your pills, without question?"

"You know what's good for you."

"And so you really think there is no doubt about Dick? He can enter
college this fall?"

"As sure as any man can be. He'll always be a trifle lame probably,
though that will be less noticeable when he learns to forget the cane and
crutch periods; as for his health--it's ripping, for him!"

"How wonderful you have been; what a miracle you have performed. When I
recall----"

"Don't, Helen! It's poor business retracing a hard road unless you go
back to pick something up."

"That's why--I must go back. Doctor Ledyard, I must tell you something!
Now that Dick's semi-exile and mine are to end in the common highway, he
and--you must know why I have done many things--will you listen?"

From under Ledyard's shaggy brows his keen eyes flashed. There had been
a time when he had hoped Helen Travers would love him; he had loved
her since her husband's death, but he had never spoken, for he knew
intuitively that to do so would be to risk the only thing of which he
was, then, sure--her trusting friendship. He had not dared put that to
the test even for the greater hope. That was why he had been able to
share her lonely life in the Canadian wilds--she had never been disturbed
by a doubt of him. And this comradeship, safe and assured, was the one
luxury he permitted himself in a world where he was looked upon as a
hard, an almost cruel, man.

"I do not want you to tell anything in order to explain your actions
now, or ever. I am confident that under all circumstances you would act
wisely. You are the most normal woman I ever knew."

"Thank you. But I still must speak--more for Dick than for you. I need
your help for him."

Outside, the fiddle was repeating again and again a nocturne that Helen
particularly loved.

"Dick is not--my son!" she said quickly and softly from out the shadows.
She was rarely abrupt, and her words startled Ledyard into alertness. He
got up and drew his chair close to hers.

"What did you say?" he whispered, keeping his eyes upon her lowered face.

"I said--Dick is not my son."

"