she remembered that hard by her own gate was a man, the
man to whom she owed all this, all her troubles and all her annoyance
and shame, but a man who would fight for and protect and stand by her.
Her heart swelled, the tears gathered for a moment in her eyes.

He had not answered the letter she had sent him a couple of days ago.
She had looked for an answer, and had felt disappointed at not receiving
one, though she had told herself that she expected none.

For long Joan hesitated, pride fighting against her desire for help and
support. But pride gave way; she felt terribly lonely, even though she
was soon to be married to a man who loved her. To that man ought she to
turn, yet she did not, and hardly even gave it a thought. She had made
no false pretences to Johnny Everard. She had told him frankly that she
did not love him, yet that if he were willing to take her without love,
she would go to him.

So now, having decided what she would do, Joan went to her room to write
a letter to the man she must turn to, the man who had the right to help
her. She flushed as the words brought another memory into her mind; the
flush ran from brow to chin, for back into her mind came the words the
man had uttered. Strange it was how her mind treasured up almost all
that he had ever said to her.

_"You gave me that right, Joan, when you gave me your heart!"_

That was what he had said, and she would never forget, because she
knew--that it was true.

She went to her own room, where was her private writing-table. She found
the room in the hands of a maid dusting and sweeping.

"You need not go, Alice," she said. "I am only going to write a letter."
The girl went on with her work.

"I did not think to appeal to you, yet I find I must appeal for help
that I know you will give, because but for you I should not need it.
I--"

She paused.

"Funny, miss, Mrs. Bonner's lodger going off like that in such a hurry,
wasn't it?" said the girl on her knees beside the hearth.

Joan started. "What do you mean, Alice?"

"The gentleman you gave our Bob a letter for--Mr. Alston," said Alice
Betts. "Funny his going off like he did in such a hurry."

"Then you--you mean he is gone?"

"Thursday night, miss."

Gone! A feeling of desolation and helplessness swept over Joan.

Gone when she had counted so on his help! She remembered what she had
written: "I ask you earnestly to leave Starden," and he had obeyed her.
It was her own fault; sh