*CHAPTER IX* *WOMAN AND WOMAN* It was early June when Mam’selle heard that the Walled House, the country place of some rich people from the States, was to be opened. It had been closed for many years, but recently the master had died and his wife, with a staff of servants and an old, blind, white-haired man, had returned. The moment Jo heard that, her spirits rose. Here was a most unlooked-for opportunity for advice and, perhaps, assistance. The Lindsays of the Walled House had always mingled freely with their neighbours; Mr. Lindsay was a Canadian. Jo, in her earlier days, had often served them; had sold her linens and wools to them at, what seemed to her, fabulous prices. Mrs. Lindsay, having taken a fancy to Mam’selle, often tried to annex her to her establishment, but to that the independent Jo would not consent. "Well, Mam’selle," Alice Lindsay had said during the last interview they had had, "if I ever can help you, please let me." "I’ll go to her now!" decided Mam’selle. A week later, dressed in her absurd best, she made the journey in her caliche. Her days of sitting on the shaft by Molly, her economies in clothes, were over, she was living up to her ambitions for Donelle and her defiance of Point of Pines’ morality. Outwardly, Jo was fairly awe-inspiring and even Dan Kelly was impressed; inwardly, Jo was a good deal chastened by her visit to Father Mantelle. There were doubts now in her heart as to the role she had assumed for Donelle’s sake. Perhaps it would be better to let the girl shoulder her father’s possible crime and her foolish mother’s wrongdoing, rather than the disguise which Jo had self-sacrificingly wrought for her. And yet, even now she could not bring herself to lay the dead Langley open to a charge she did not believe, but could not disprove, and the girl, herself, to danger. And so as she drove to the Walled House she was very quiet, very subdued, but her faith was strong. She meant to give as much as she dared of the past to the woman whose sympathies and assistance she was about to interest. She was ready to put all her future wools and linens at Mrs. Lindsay’s disposal in return for any help she could obtain for the betterment of Donelle. Poor Jo was ready to abdicate, if that were best. After her months of happiness with the girl, after living in the dear companionship and love of the sunny young nature, she was willing to stand aside for the girl’s future good. "She shall not be condemned to death!" Jo snorted, and Molly reared. "St. Michael’s shall not get her. But there must be a place for her, and I love her well enough to get out of her way. I only took her for the best, her best, and if I cannot keep her, I can let her go!" Jo found Mrs. Lindsay on the beautiful shaded porch, found her changed, but none the less lovely and kindly.