“But is it right and decent—­that this imposition should be put upon innocent people?  That girl—­may turn out to be——­”

But Joan was not heeding.  She paused and looked at the unfinished but perfect work upon the loom!

“It is too late now to consider that,” she whispered, brokenly.  Then:  “Aunt Doris has saved Nancy.  You need have no fear.

“Oh! can you not see what a chance you have to—­to help this wonderful thing Aunt Doris did?”

“Help?  How?” Thornton sunk back in his chair.  He was crushed—­but in the depths of his soul something was stirring; something that he believed had died when he heard of the birth of the girl across the table who was pleading with him for those who had made her what she was!

“How?”

“Why—­by simply—­going away!”

Thornton almost broke again into that maddening laugh, but caught himself in time.

“That sounds—­devilish easy!” he said, furiously, but the flare of passion died at birth, for Joan was saying: 

“I have some money of my own—­I will send it all to you.  I will get money for you—­as long as you need it—­but after a time you will—­not need it!  And then”—­here Joan stretched out her clasped hands—­“I know it sounds almost impossible—­but it can be made true—­you can come back to us all; help us keep the secret, and—­watch with us.  You and I owe this—­to Aunt Doris; to my mother!  It may be your—­your—­recompense.”

Thornton got upon his feet.  He held to the table to steady himself, and a subtle dignity grew upon him.

“I am going away,” he said, slowly, “until I can think over this infernal business by myself.  The time to act hasn’t come yet—­that’s certain.  I don’t want—­your money; not now.  If I do, I’ll send for it.  If I ever come again it will be to—­” he paused, flung his head up—­“to see you; to look on at the working out of the damned mess.”

He reached out for the locket and case.

“Good-bye,” he said, gruffly.  “You need not be afraid—­not now.”

“I am not afraid.”  Joan rose weakly.  “I shall wait for you.  I am sure you will come.

“Good-bye; good-bye!”

Outside Thornton stumbled against old Jed.

“The Ship’s sailing!” the quavering, foolish words startled Thornton; “you best get aboard, sir, anchor’s lifting!” Jed staggered away, grinning and muttering.

Thornton stared after the swaying figure.  Then he thought of the Philippines, his old battle ground—­he would go back!  The idea caught and held him.

On the river road his horse stood nibbling the grass; a woman was beside it—­a lean, stooping woman with a home-spun shawl clutched over her sunken breasts by one hand, in the other was a massive, rusty gun!

She turned and confronted Thornton.  She knew him at once, but he merely frowned at her as he eyed the weapon uneasily.

“Who are you?” he asked.  The place, the experience were getting to be too much for his shaken nerves.