service of God, the soul
she was answerable for, not the ardor of human love.

The father made a slow inclination of the head.

"They were upon her that night she was dropped in the Pani's lap, and
the card pinned to her. Then two letters curiously wrought upon her
thigh."

"Jeanne, Jeanne, I am your mother."

It was the woman who was the suppliant, who felt a strange misgiving
about this spirited girl with resolute eyes and poise of the head like a
bird who would fly the next moment. And yet it was not the entreaty of
starved and waiting love, that would have clasped arms about the slim,
proud figure that stood almost defiant, suspicious, unbelieving.

The others had heard the story and there was no surprise in their
countenances.

Jeanne seemed at first like a marble image. The color went out of her
cheeks but her eyes were fixed steadfastly upon the woman, their blue so
clear, so penetrating, that she shrank farther into herself, seemed
thinner and more wan.

"Your mother," and Father Rameau would fain have taken the girl's hand,
but she suddenly clasped them behind her back. There was incredulity in
the look, repulsion. What if there were some plot? She glanced at Father
Gilbert but his cold eyes expressed only disapprobation.

"My mother," she said slowly. "My mother has been dead years, and I owe
love and gratitude to the Indian woman, Pani, who has cared for me with
all fondness."

"You do not as yet understand," interposed Father Rameau. "You have not
heard the story."

She had in her mind the splendid motherhood of Miladi as she had seen it
in that beautiful island home.

"A mother would not desert her child and leave it to the care of
strangers, Indian enemies perhaps, and send a message that she was
dead," was the proud reply.

Jeanne Angelot's words cut like a knife. There was no sign of belief in
her eyes, no dawning tenderness.

The woman bowed her head over her clasped hands and swayed as if she
would fall.

"It is right," she answered in a voice that might have come from the
grave. "It is part of my punishment. I had no right to bring this child
into the world. Holy Mother, I accept, but let me snatch her soul from
perdition!"

Jeanne's face flamed scarlet. "I trust the good Father above," she
declared with an accent of uplifted faith that irradiated her with
serene strength. "Once in great peril he saved me. I will trust my cause
to him and he will clear my way."

"Thou ignorant