when the boat is in. Oh, what a pity to be no longer a child! A year ago
I would have run down to the wharf, and now--"

Her face was scarlet at the thought. What made this great difference,
this sense of reticence, of waiting for another to make some sign? The
frank trust was gone; no, it was not that,--she was overflowing with
trust to-day. All the world was loveliness and love. But it must come to
her; she could not run out to it. There was one black shadow; and then
she shivered.

She told Pani the story of the morning.

The Indian woman shook her head. "She is not a true mother. She could
not have left thee."

"But she thought she was dying. And if I had died there in the woods!
Oh, Pani, I am so glad to live! It is such a joy that it quivers in me
from head to foot. I am like my father."

She laughed for very gladness. Her mercurial temperament was born of the
sun and wind, the dancing waters and singing birds.

"He will take thee away," moaned the woman like an autumnal blast.

"I will not go, then," defiantly.

"But fathers do as they like, little one."

"He will be good to me. I shall never leave you, _never_."

She knelt before Pani and clasped the bony hands, looked up earnestly
into the faded eyes where the keen lights of only a few years ago were
dulling, and she said again solemnly, "I will never leave you."

For she recalled the strange change of mood when she had repeated her
full name to Miladi of the island. She was her father's true wife now,
and though Jeanne could not comprehend the intricacies of the case, she
could see that her father's real happiness lay in this second marriage.
It took an effort not to blame her own mother for giving him up. That
handsome woman glowing with life in every pulse, ready to dare any
danger with him, proud of her motherhood, and, oh, most proud of her
husband, making his home a temple of bliss, was his true mate. But
though Jeanne could not have explained jealousy, she felt Miladi would
not love her for being the Sieur Angelot's daughter. It would be better
for her to remain here with Pani.

The Sieur had a deeper gravity in his face when he returned to the
cottage.

The interview with Sister Veronica had been painful to both, yet there
was the profounder pity on Angelot's side. For even before her husband
had gone to the North she had begun to question the religious aspect of
her marriage. If it was unholy, then she had no right to live in sin.
And