cred secret. The flood
of repression and denial came in full force now.

"I want to know all!" That was the demand, and straightway Cynthia
sprang to her feet and ran from the room. She was still running when
she came into Ann Walden's presence.

"What's the matter, Cynthia?"

"Aunt Ann, tell me about my father and mother!"

The sudden question, the sight of the flower-decked head, set Ann
Walden into a trembling fit. Since the day of Marcia Lowe's call she
had never been the same. She slept badly, ate poorly, and feared
greatly. Day after day she had expected the late visitor to return or
send a representative. When she heard that the stranger had gone away
she breathed more freely for the respite, but dreaded the reason for
the going. She had passed through such torture as she had never known
or undergone before. Something, unsuspected, rose and reproved her;
pride, self-esteem, and faith had perished when many readings of the
letter had driven truth home. Finally nerves refused to suffer longer
and a kind of revenge took its place.

"Very well!" she had concluded desperately; "Queenie and I will keep
the child--at last! You and yours shall have no part in her or for
her."

Thus she had decided regarding Cynthia. She meant to break forever
with Theodore Starr and all who were connected with him. She would
resent, not only for herself, but for the poor sister who had
mistakenly, and for love of her, kept silence and left the memory of
Starr unclouded as the only gift she could give the woman they both had
wronged!

Yes, Ann Walden had thought it all out. When Marcia Lowe came again
she would tell her that she believed there had been no marriage! That
would end it. No proof could be found--did not Ann Walden know the
shiftless mountain ways? Marcia Lowe would never press dishonour upon
them all--and the money was no lure to the proud, poverty-stricken
woman. She meant to revenge herself upon Theodore Starr by keeping
Cynthia even at the price of proclaiming the girl's dishonour to
Starr's niece.

From much thinking through wakeful nights and torturing days Ann Walden
had evolved a very sincere hatred and bitter resentment. She almost
believed that Starr had betrayed her sister, and poor Cynthia, who had
always been a duty--not a joy--was to pay the penalty!

"Tell me about my father and mother!"

The strong young voice repeated the commanding words; the lovely
flower-twined head bent for