By those words Joan took her stand with Thornton, not against him. He winced.
"Think—think what all this means," she faltered.
Thornton did think. He thought back of the girl confronting him with his mother's eyes. The backward path was black and wreck-strewn; it led—where?
"Aunt Doris has told me of—of my mother! You and I owe my mother——" here Joan choked and Thornton burst in:
"But is it right and decent—that this imposition should be put upon innocent people? That girl—may turn out to be——"
But Joan was not heeding. She paused and looked at the unfinished but perfect work upon the loom!
"It is too late now to consider that," she whispered, brokenly. Then: "Aunt Doris has saved Nancy. You need have no fear.
"Oh! can you not see what a chance you have to—to help this wonderful thing Aunt Doris did?"
"Help? How?" Thornton sunk back in his chair. He was crushed—but in the depths of his soul something was stirring; something that he believed had died when he heard of the birth of the girl across the table who was pleading with him for those who had made her what she was!
"How?"