“She ain’t dead, Mister—­I thought she were!  Take back yer brat, and keep yer boy—­and God forgive me!”

So tender was his last petition, that it seemed but a breath whispered into the infinite listening ear of the God above.  Katherine, like Fledra, had lapsed into unconsciousness.

“She’s fainted!” cried Ann.  “Oh, Katherine, poor, pretty little Katherine!”

“Help her, Ann!” urged Vandecar.  “Do something for her!”

He did not wait to see Ann comply; but turned to Fledra, who, still wrapped in unconsciousness, lay crouched on the floor, her dark curls massed in confusion.  Granny Cronk’s blouse had fallen away, leaving the rounded shoulders bare and gleaming in the faint yellow light.

The father gathered the daughter into his arms with passionate tenderness.  At first he did not try to revive her; but sat down and held her close, as if he would never let her go.  Tears, the product of weary ages of waiting, fell on her white, upturned face, and again he murmured thanksgivings into her unheeding ear.  For many moments only the words of Ann could be heard, as she tried to reason with Cronk to release Katherine for a moment.

“Lay her down, won’t you?  She’s ill.  Please, let me put water on her face!”

“Nope,” replied Lon; “she won’t git away from me ag’in.  She’s Midge, my little Midge, my little woman, and she’s mine!”

“Yes, yes,” answered Ann, “I know she’s yours; but do you want her to die?”

With his great hands still locked about Katherine, Cronk looked down on her lovely face, crushed against his breast.  She was a counterpart of the woman who had lived in another hut with him, and his dazed mind had lost the intervening years.  Midge had come out of the prison shadows, and the big squatter had turned back two decades to meet her.

“She’s only asleep,” he said simply; “she allers slep’ on my breast, Missus.  She’d never let me put her off’n my arm a minute.  And I didn’t want to, nuther.  She were allers afeared of ghosts—­allers, allers!  And I kep’ her close like this.  She ain’t dead, Ma’m.”

His voice was free from anger and passion.  By dint of persuasion, at length Ann forced him to release Katherine and to aid her while she bathed the girl’s white face with water.

Katherine was still limp and bewildered when, ten minutes later, Fledra opened her eyes and looked up into her father’s face.  The past hour had not returned to her memory, and she drew quickly away.  Of late she had become timid, always on the defensive; and when Ann spoke to her she held out her arms.

“I’m afraid!” she whimpered.  “I want to go to Sister Ann.”

But Vandecar held her fast as Miss Shellington knelt on the hut floor at his side.

“Fledra, listen to me!  This is your own father, Dear.  Don’t draw away from him.  He came with me for you.  We’re going to take you back to your mother and little Floyd.”