"But fathers do as they like, little one." "He will be good to me. I shall never leave you, _never_." She knelt before Pani and clasped the bony hands, looked up earnestly into the faded eyes where the keen lights of only a few years ago were dulling, and she said again solemnly, "I will never leave you." For she recalled the strange change of mood when she had repeated her full name to Miladi of the island. She was her father's true wife now, and though Jeanne could not comprehend the intricacies of the case, she could see that her father's real happiness lay in this second marriage. It took an effort not to blame her own mother for giving him up. That handsome woman glowing with life in every pulse, ready to dare any danger with him, proud of her motherhood, and, oh, most proud of her husband, making his home a temple of bliss, was his true mate. But though Jeanne could not have explained jealousy, she felt Miladi would not love her for being the Sieur Angelot's daughter. It would be better for her to remain here with Pani. The Sieur had a deeper gravity in his face when he returned to the cottage. The interview with Sister Veronica had been painful to both, yet there was the profounder pity on Angelot's side. For even before her husband had gone to the North she had begun to question the religious aspect of her marriage. If it was unholy, then she had no right to live in sin. And during almost two years' absence her morbid faith had grown stronger. She would go to him and ask to be released. She would leave her child in her place to make amends for her sad mistake. Circumstances had brought about the same ending by different means. Her nurse and companion on her journey had strengthened her faith in her resolve. Arrived at Montreal she received still further confirmation of the righteousness of her course. She had been an unlawful wife. She had sinned in taking the marriage vow. It was no holy sacrament, and she could be absolved. So she began her novitiate and was presently received into the order. She fasted and prayed, she did penance in her convent cell, she prayed for the Sieur Angelot that he might be converted to the true faith. It was not as her husband, but as one might wrestle for any sinful soul. And that the child would be well brought up. She had known Berthe Campeau, sister Mary Constantia, a long while before she heard the story of the little girl who had come so mysteriously to Detroit, and who had been wild and perverse beyond anything. One day her name had been mentioned. Then she asked the Abbe to communicate with Father Rameau for particulars and had been answered. Here was a new work for her, to snatch this child from evil ways and bring her up safely in the care of the Church. She gained permission to go for her, and here again circumstances seemed to play at cross purposes.