me from low and beastly
things. I've run from him knowing I wasn't fit to be found by him, but
I've run clean and free." She began to tremble. "Will you say anything
more to me and to my man?"

Prosper's face wore its old look of the winged demon. He was cold in
his angry pain.

"Just one thing to your man, perhaps, if you will allow me, but
perhaps you'll tell him that yourself. That his method is the right
one, I admit. But in one respect not even a brand will altogether
preserve property rights. Morena could say something on that score. So
could I...."

"Hush!" said Joan; "I will tell him myself. Pierre, I left you for
dead and I went away with this man, and after a while, because I
thought you were dead, and because I was alone and sorrowful and weak,
and because, perhaps, of what my mother was, I--I--" She fell away
from Pierre, crouched against the side of the door, and wrapped the
curtain round her face. "He told me you were dead--" The words came
muffled.

Pierre had let her go and turned to Prosper. His own face was a mask
of rage. Prosper knew that it was the Westerner's intention to kill.
For a minute, no longer, he was a lightning channel of death. But
Pierre, the Pierre shaped during the last four difficult years, turned
upon his own writhing, savage soul and forced it to submit. It was as
though he fought with his hands. Sweat broke out on him. At last, he
stood and looked at Prosper with sane, stern eyes.

"If that's true what you hinted, if that's true what she was tryin' to
tell, if it's even partly true," he said painfully, "then it was me
that brought it upon her, not you--an' not herself, but me."

He turned back to Joan, drew the curtain from her face, drew down her
hands, lifted her and carried her to the couch beside the fire.

There she shrank away from him, tried to push him back.

"It's true, Pierre; not that about Morena, but the rest is true. It's
true. Only he told me you were dead. But you weren't--no, don't take
my hands, I never did have dealings with Holliwell. Indeed, I loved
only you. But you must have known me better than I knew myself. For I
am bad. I am bad. I left you for dead and I went away."

He had mastered her hands, both of them in one of his, and he drew
them close to his heart.

"Don't Joan! Hush, Joan! You mustn't. It was my doings, gel, all of
it. Hush!"

He bent and crushed his lips against hers, silencing her. Then she
gave way and clung to him, sobbing.