Thornton took small heed of the stricken girl near him. Hate and revenge for the moment swayed him, but not for an instant did Joan disbelieve what was burning into her consciousness. Truth rang in every word of the almost unbelievable story. And while she listened and shrank back she was conscious of inanimate things taking on human attributes that pleaded with her. The chair by the hearth where Doris had but recently sat smiling so happily because her ideals had been real to her! Nancy and she, Joan seemed to know, were the ideals--Nancy and she! For them Doris had done the one, big, daring thing in her life. The loom by the window suddenly cried out, too, as if Nancy were bending over it--working on her unfinished but perfect pattern. "Oh!" The word escaped Joan and found its way to Thornton's sympathy at last. He paused as he watched the suffering his words were causing. "It's a damned ugly thing she did to you," he said, "a damned ugly one. I warned her about the time when you would have to know. I've travelled a long distance to set you straight. She'll pay--now!" Joan tried to speak--failed--then tried again. "What are you going to do?" she asked, huskily, at last. Thornton regarded her with a dark frown. "Do?" he repeated, "claim my own--and let her pay." "What good--would that do--now?" Thornton stared. Where had he heard words like those before? Why should they seem to defy him? defeat him? "I'm going to have the truth known at last or----" "Or--what?" Shame held Thornton silent for a moment, but life had him at close grip--he was beaten unless help were given. "You think they will enjoy--the Tweksbury crowd--I mean--to know the parentage or--lack of it--of--the girl just palmed off on them as a Thornton? I may not be all that could be desired, but such as I am--I'm the saving clause." Thornton's coarseness was more and more evident. "I wonder if you can justify this mess?" he asked, suddenly, with a new interest. Joan was not trying to justify it--she was seeing it only as the beautiful thing Doris had accomplished by that power of hers to make real her ideal. It had been, still was, her one hold on life. "It's too late to talk about that now," she answered, slowly, and thinking fast and far, far ahead. "I imagine it will be expensive not to think of it; but she'll pay!" Thornton was braced for definite action. The girl opposite confused him. She looked so young; so agonized--so brave. She was so like---- At this Thornton turned away his eyes. Only by so doing could he hold to his course. Slowly, like one dragging a heavy load, Joan was reaching a place of clear understanding. Flashed upon her aching brain were blinding pictures.