"It's quite true," she faltered, "but of course you could not know. All my life has happened to me since yesterday morning. I've got used to it, but I forgot you did not know. Nothing is any use now, nothing need be hidden. I am going back to Mamsey and tell her everything—everything."
Marcel was reviving. She still lay on the young, protecting arm, her eyes fastened on the white, sad face above her.
"You better go slow, Donelle, when you tell Mam'selle. You don't want to stop her heart," she cautioned.
"No, I do not want to stop her heart. But I'm going to tell her everything, beginning from the time I came back from the Walled House, after Pierre Gavot told me—who I was! I can tell her now because it does not matter; nothing matters since I'm married to Tom Gavot."
"It will kill her, Donelle! Mam'selle brought you from the place where she hid you. She's had high hopes for you. It will kill her to know you're married to Tom. Whatever made this happen?"
"Why, whatever makes such things happen to any one?" Donelle sighed. Then: "If you are better, I'm going now to Mamsey."
"And I'm going with you!"
Marcel sprang to her feet.
"Come, I'm ready," she said, wrapping her rough shawl about her head and shoulders.
And together they went to Jo, followed by poor Nick.