The two sat still for some minutes, Martha gazing
into vacancy, Jane lying back in her chair, her
eyes closed. One emotion after another coursed
through her with lightning rapidity--indignation
at the charge, horror at the thought that any of her
friends might believe it, followed by a shivering fear
that her father's good name, for all her care and
suffering, might be smirched at last.

Suddenly there arose the tall image of Doctor
John, with his frank, tender face. What would he
think of it, and how, if he questioned her, could she
answer him? Then there came to her that day of
parting in Paris. She remembered Lucy's willingness
to give up the child forever, and so cover up all
traces of her sin, and her own immediate determination
to risk everything for her sister's sake. As this
last thought welled up in her mind and she recalled
her father's dying command, her brow relaxed.
Come what might, she was doing her duty. This was
her solace and her strength.

"Cruel, cruel people!" she said to Martha, relaxing
her hands. "How can they be so wicked?
But I am glad it is I who must take the brunt of
it all. If they would treat me so, who am innocent,
what would they do to my poor Lucy?"