The irony of chance burst like a storm on the woman, and mazes of
tangled thoughts made her brain whirl in a chaos of bewilderment. She sat
motionless, her face dark, and much mystery in her wonderful eyes, while
Mr. Chirgwin, with shaking head and scriptural quotation and tears, babbled
on, pleading for Joan with all his strength. Mary heard little of what he
said. She was occupied with facts and asking herself her duty. From the
storm in her mind arose a clear question at last, and she could not answer
it. The point had appeared unimportant to anybody but Mary Chirgwin, but no
question of conduct ever looked trivial to her. At least the doubt was
definite and afforded mental occupation. She wondered now whether it was
well or possible that she and Joan could live together under the same roof.
Why such a problem had arisen she knew not; but it stood in the path, a
fact to be dealt with. Her heart told her that Joan and her uncle alike
erred in the supposition that the girl's seducer would ever return. She
read the great gift of money as Thomasin had read it--rightly; and the
thought of living with Joan was at first horrible to her.
Mr. Chirgwin talked and Mary reflected. Then she rose to leave the room.
"'Tis tu gert a thing for me to say--no wummon was ever plaaced like what I
be now. I do mean to see passon at Sancreed, uncle. He'll knaw what's right
for me. If he bids me stay, I'll stay.
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