The Branding Iron

He did not notice the hand. "It will come out right, Jane. Don't

worry," he said with absent gentleness. "Keep your mind on your work.

I'll look out for your best interests. Be sure of that." He came near

to her, his hat in his hand, ready to go. "Try to forget all about it,

will you?"

"Oh, I can't do that. I feel sort of--burnt. Betty thinking--that! But

I'll do my work just the same, of course."

She sighed heavily and sat, the unnoticed hand clasped in its fellow.

When he had gone she called nervously for her maid. She had a hitherto

unknown dread of being alone. But when Mathilde, chosen by Betty, came

with her furtive step and treacherous eyes, Joan invented some duty

for her. It occurred to her that Mathilde might be one of Betty's

witnesses. For some time the girl's watchfulness and intrusions had

become irritatingly noticeable. And Morena was Joan's only frequent

and informal visitor.

"Mathilde thinks I am--that!" Joan said to herself; and afterwards,

with a burst of weeping, "And, of course, that is what I am." Her past

sin pressed upon her and she trembled, remembering Pierre's wistful,

seeking face. If he should find her now, he would find her branded,

indeed--now he could never believe that she had indeed been innocent

of guilt in the matter of Holliwell. Her father had first put a mark

upon her. Since then the world had only deepened his revenge.

There followed a sleepless, dry, and aching night.