It was years since she had really let herself think of him, but now strange barriers of thought had broken down, and she seemed to go to and fro quite easily into the past. Whether it was her love for Bertie whom in her blindness she had thought like him, or her meeting with Lawrence, or the new hope within her, she did not trouble to ask--but that strange, long forbidding was gone. She was free to remember all their going out and coming in together, his sweet fiery kisses, the ways of the Marsh that he had made wonderful. Throughout her being there was a strange sense of release--broken, utterly done and finished as she was from the worldly point of view, there was in her heart a springing hope, a sweet softness--she could indeed go softly at last.

The tears were in her eyes as she climbed out of bed and knelt down beside it. It was weeks since she had said her prayers--not since that night when Bertie had come into her room. But now that her heart was quite melted she wanted to ask G.o.d to help her and forgive her.

"Oh, please G.o.d, forgive me. I know I been wicked, but I'm unaccountable sorry. And I'm going through with it. Please help my child--don't let it get hurt for my fault. Help me to do my best and not grumble, seeing as it's all my own wickedness; and I'm sorry I broke the Ten Commandments.

'Lord have mercy upon us and write all these thy laws in our hearts, we beseech thee.'"

This liturgical outburst seemed wondrously to heal Joanna--it seemed to link her up again with the centre of her religion--Brodnyx church, with the big pews, and the ha.s.socks, and the Lion and the Unicorn over the north door--she felt readmitted into the congregation of the faithful, and her heart was full of thankfulness and loyalty. She rose from her knees, climbed into bed, and curled up on her side. Ten minutes later she was sound asleep.

--37

The next morning after breakfast, Joanna faced Ellen in the dining-room.

"Ellen," she said--"I'm going to sell Ansdore."

"You're what?"

"I'm going to put up this place for auction in September."

"Joanna!"

Ellen stared at her in amazement, alarm, and some sympathy.

"I'm driving in to tell Edward Huxtable about it this morning. Not that I trust him, after the mess he made of my case; howsumever, I can look after him in this business, and the auctioneer, too."

"But, my dear, I thought you said you'd plenty of money to meet your losses."

"So I have. That's not why I'm selling."

"Then why on earth ..."

The colour mounted to Joanna's face. She looked at her sister's delicate, thoughtful face, with its air of quiet happiness. The room was full of sunshine, and Ellen was all in white.

"Ellen, I'm going to tell you something ... because you're my sister.

And I trust you not to let another living soul know what I've told you.

As I kept your secret four years ago, so now you can keep mine."

Ellen's face lost a little of its repose--suddenly, for a moment, she looked like the Ellen of "four years ago."

"Really, Joanna, you might refrain from raking up the past."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rake up nothing. I've no right--seeing as what I want to tell you is that I'm just the same as you."

Ellen turned white.

"What do you mean?" she cried furiously.

"I mean--I'm going to have a child."

Ellen stared at her without speaking, her mouth fell open; then her face began working in a curious way.

"I know I been wicked," continued Joanna, in a dull, level voice--"but it's too late to help that now. The only thing now is to do the best I can, and that is to get out of here."

"Do you know what you're talking about?" said Ellen.

"Yes--I know right enough. It's true what I'm telling you. I didn't know for certain till yesterday."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Certain sure."

"But--" Ellen drummed with her fingers on the table, her hands were shaking, her colour came and went.

"Joanna--is it Albert's child?"

"Of course it is."

"Then why--why in G.o.d's name did you break off the engagement?"

"I tell you I didn't know till yesterday. I'd been scared once or twice, but he told me it was all right."

"Does he know?"

"He doesn't."

"Then he must be told"--Ellen sprang to her feet--"Joanna, what a fool you are! You must send him a wire at once and tell him to come down here. You must marry him."

"That I won't!"

"But you're mad--really, you've no choice in the matter. You must marry him at once."

"I tell you I'll never do that."

"If you don't ... can't you see what'll happen?--are you an absolute fool? If you don't marry this man, your child will be illegitimate, you'll be kicked out of decent society, and you'll bring us all to ruin and disgrace."

Ellen burst into tears. Joanna fought back her own.

"Listen to me, Ellen."

But Ellen sobbed brokenly on. It was as if her own past had risen from its grave and laid cold hands upon her, just when she thought it was safely buried for ever.

"Don't you see what'll happen if you refuse to marry this man?--It'll ruin me--it'll spoil my marriage. Tip ... Good G.o.d! he's risen to a good deal, seeing the ideas most Englishmen have ... but now you--you--"

"Ellen, you don't mean as Tip ull get shut of you because of me?"

"No, of course I don't. But it's asking too much of him--it isn't fair to him ... he'll think he's marrying into a fine family!"--and Ellen's tears broke into some not very pleasant laughter--"both of us ... Oh, he was sweet about me, he understood--but now you--you!--Whatever made you do it, Joanna?"