She had no tears for this new tragedy.  She leaned forward in her seat, her hands clasped between her knees, her eyes staring blankly at the carriage wall as if she saw there her future written ... herself and Albert growing old together, or rather herself growing old while Albert lived through his eager, selfish youth—­herself and Albert shut up together ... how he would scold her, how he would reproach her—­he would say “You have brought me to this,” and in time he would come to hate her, his fellow-prisoner who had shut the door on both of them—­and he would hate her child ... they would never have married except for the child, so he would hate her child, scold it, make it miserable ... it would grow up in an unhappy home, with parents who did not love each other, who owed it a grudge for coming to them—­her child, her precious child....

Still in her heart, alive under all the fear, was that thrill of divine joy which had come to her in the first moment of realization.  Terror, shame, despair—­none of them could kill it, for that joy was a part of her being, part of the new being which had quickened in her.  It belonged to them both—­it was the secret they shared ... joy, unutterable joy.  Yes, she was glad she was going to have this child—­she would still be glad even in the prison-house of marriage, she would still be glad even in the desert of no-marriage, every tongue wagging, every finger pointing, every heart despising.  Nothing could take her joy from her—­make her less than joyful mother....

Then as the joy grew and rose above the fear, she knew that she could never let fear drive her into bondage.  Nothing should make a sacrifice of joy to shame—­to save herself she would not bring up her child in the sorrow and degradation of a loveless home....  If she had been strong enough to give up the thought of marriage for the sake of Bertie’s liberty and her own self-respect, she could be strong enough now to turn from her only hope of reputation for the sake of the new life which was joy within her.  It would be the worst, most shattering thing she had ever yet endured, but she would go through with it for the love of the unborn.  Joanna was not so unsophisticated as to fail to realize the difficulties and complications of her resolve—­how much her child would suffer for want of a father’s name; memories of lapsed dairymaids had stressed in her experience the necessity of a marriage no matter how close to the birth.  But she did not rate these difficulties higher than the misery of such a home as hers and Albert’s would be.  Better anything than that.  Joanna had no illusions about Albert now—­he’d have led her a dog’s life if she had married him in the first course of things; now it would be even worse, and her child should not suffer that.