Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1916)

142 War Brides (Continued fro reputation. Even Joan had never been friendly toward her, for it was not possible. Conscious of her unpopularity, she had repulsed the advances of even the few kind souls who would have been glad to help her. Yet, lurking somewhere beneath the forbidding exterior, there beat the heart of a woman, and these were the days when a subtle realization of kinship thrilled sympathetically between all who had ever known the kiss of a lover or the caress of a son. It was inevitable that Joan and her jailer should have a few words of commonplace conversation, if only as a matter of routine. From that it was only a step to the discussion of mutual interests, and the subject uppermost in the minds of all the people. Joan, the mantle of prophecy on her shoulders, soon had made a disciple of the pariah. This, however, made little difference in her position. No visitors were permitted to enter the jail, and as the Captain came daily to see that she was still in her cell, there was nothing to be gained by an escape. It would only have meant selfimprisonment in some hiding place, perhaps less comfortable than the jail. For with this new friend she had made, now in perfect sympathy with her, the days did not drag as slowly as they might, and every possible comfort was provided. One day the jailer came excitedly back to the prison, after a trip to the military headquarters for supplies. "Joan, Joan," she whispered, breathlessly, "I've heard some interesting news. The King will pass through the village next week." "The King !" "Yes. Don't you think there's some way we could get your friends to ask him to pardon you?" Joan shook her head. "No, my offense is too great. I've told the truth to the women." "Well, if there's anything I can do — " and the jailer stopped short and turned awav. ashamed that she had betrayed her feelings, so strongly had her habit of aloofness fastened itself upon her. Far into the night Joan tossed upon her bed, pondering. The King was coming. Something should be made of that. It was an opportunity that might never return. Certainly the King should be received with m page 54) all due honor by the women to whom he had assigned this great duty of making future wars possible. At last the idea came. Unable to wait until morning Joan called to her jailer. The woman rubbed her eyes, yawned, grumbled, but at the first word she was wide awake. "No, no, no," she protested. "I dare not. They would kill me." Joan refused to have her plea set aside so easily, and poured her heart into the task of persuading this strange creature to redeem her life in one daring act. At length she saw the woman slowly bow her head. The battle was won. "They'll kill me, but I'll do it. Come," and the gaunt outcast unlocked the door of Joan's cell. When Bragg visited the jail the following morning, it was empty. Prisoner and keeper both had disappeared. A search was instituted, but no trace was to be found of either. Bragg suspected that some of the women who denied having seen the fugitives were not telling the truth, but there was nothing to be done. HP HE next few nights, if there had been vigilant sentries sufficient to have patrolled the entire village, they might have seen a slim, heavily cloaked figure darting from one house to another. But patrols were considered unnecessary, for the village was a long distance from the frontier, and they would have ample warning of the approach of an enemy. As for Joan. Bragg was not unwilling to abandon the search. If she only kept quiet, it made no difference where she was. Joan, however, was not keeping quiet. She never had been so active. Whatever she had done in the past was as nothing to the new task she had assumed. But she succeeded in so impressing upon all the women the necessity of absolute secrecy, that no solemn obligation of fraternal order was ever held more inviolate than their promise to Joan not to betray the plan. The day of the King's visit arrived, and the small troop which was quartered in the village rode out to meet him. Scarcely had the last man disappeared in the distance, than there poured from the houses a great stream of women, draped from head to foot in black. This, in itself, was in direct disobedience to the roval command.