diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225-8.txt | 11328 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 202486 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 556777 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225-h/19225-h.htm | 11439 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225-h/images/illus-076.jpg | bin | 0 -> 93907 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225-h/images/illus-114.jpg | bin | 0 -> 92761 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225-h/images/illus-188.jpg | bin | 0 -> 79873 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225-h/images/illus-fpc.jpg | bin | 0 -> 75778 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225.txt | 11328 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 19225.zip | bin | 0 -> 202454 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
13 files changed, 34111 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19225-8.txt b/19225-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d715799 --- /dev/null +++ b/19225-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11328 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Joyce of the North Woods, by Harriet T. Comstock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Joyce of the North Woods + +Author: Harriet T. Comstock + +Illustrator: John Cassel + +Release Date: September 9, 2006 [EBook #19225] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: "YOU'VE GOT THE WINNING CARDS, MY GIRL ... IT'S ALL IN +THE PLAYING NOW"] + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS + +BY + +HARRIET T. COMSTOCK + +AUTHOR OF JANET OF THE DUNES, TOWER AND THRONE, THE QUEEN'S HOSTAGE, ETC. + +ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN CASSEL + +GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN +LANGUAGES INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + +COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +TO + +EVELINA HEMINWAY SMITH + +"SISTER--FRIEND" + +Accept the dedication of this book of mine as a very slight recognition +of your encouragement in my work; your faith in me. + +To you I first read the story; from you I received my first approval; I +believe its chances will be brighter in the book-world if your name and +good-will go with it. + +HARRIET T. COMSTOCK + +Flatbush--Brooklyn, N. Y. February, 1910 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +CHAPTER I 3 +CHAPTER II 24 +CHAPTER III 46 +CHAPTER IV 65 +CHAPTER V 78 +CHAPTER VI 98 +CHAPTER VII 111 +CHAPTER VIII 134 +CHAPTER IX 154 +CHAPTER X 177 +CHAPTER XI 198 +CHAPTER XII 212 +CHAPTER XIII 231 +CHAPTER XIV 251 +CHAPTER XV 273 +CHAPTER XVI 301 +CHAPTER XVII 312 +CHAPTER XVIII 334 +CHAPTER XIX 350 +CHAPTER XX 369 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +PREFATORY NOTE + +"Love is the golden bead in the bottom of the crucible." And the +crucible was St. Angé. + + * * * * * + +Fifty years before this story began, St. Angé was a lumber camp; the +first gash in that part of the great Solitude to the north, which lay +across Beacon Hill, three miles from Hillcrest. + +When the splendid lumber had been felled within a prescribed limit, +Industry took another leap, left St. Angé scarred and blighted, with a +fringe of forest north and south, and struck camps farther back and +nearer Canada. + +Then Nature began to heal the stricken heart of the Solitude. A second +growth of lovely tree and bush sprang to the call, and the only +reminders of the camp were the absences of the men during the logging +season, and the roaring and rushing of the river through Long Meadow +every spring, with its burden of logs from the distant camps. + +In the beginning St. Angé had had her aspirations. A futile highway had +been constructed, for no other purpose apparently, than to connect the +north and south forests. A little church had been built--there had +never been any regular service held in it--and a small school-house +which promptly degenerated into the Black Cat Tavern, General Store, and +Post Office. A few modest houses met the highway face to face; a few +more turned their backs upon it and were content with an outlook across +Long Meadow and toward Beacon Hill, beyond which lay the village of +Hillcrest which grew in importance as St. Angé degenerated. There were +scattered houses among the clumps of maple and pine growths, and there +was a forlorn railroad station before which a rickety, single track +branch ended. Sometime during the day a train came in, and after an +uncertain period it departed; it was the only link with the outer world +that St. Angé had except what came by way of Hillcrest. + +Toward Hillcrest, as the years went on, there grew in St. Angé a feeling +of envy and distrust. Its prosperity and decency were a reflection, its +very emphatic regard for law and order a menace and burden. St. Angéans +sent their aspiring youths to the Hillcrest school--it was never an +alarming constituency--it was cheaper to do that than to support a +school of their own. There were emergencies when the Hillcrest doctor +and minister were in demand, so it behooved St. Angé to keep up a +partial show of friendliness, but bitterly did it resent the +interference of Hillcrest justice during that season immediately +following the enforced sobriety and isolation of the lumber camp. + +Were men not to have some compensation for the hardships of the +backwoods? + +And just at that point in the argument Beacon Hill received its name and +significance. From its top a watcher could view the road leading to +Hillcrest, and by a well-directed signal give warning to any chance +wrongdoer on the St. Angé side. Many a culprit had thus been aided in +his plans of escape before Justice, striding over the western hill, bore +down upon the town. + +Beautiful, unappreciated St. Angé! The trees grew, and the scar was +healed. The soft, pine-laden breezes touched with heavenly fragrance the +dull-faced women, the pathetic children, and the unambitious men. +Everything was run down and apparently doomed, until one day the endless +chain which encompasses the world, in its turning dropped the Golden +Bead of Love into St. Angé! Down deep it sank to the bottom of the +crucible. Jude Lauzoon was blinded by it and stung to life; Joyce +Birkdale through its power came into the heritage of her soul. Jock +Filmer by its magic force was shorn of his poor shield and left naked +and unprotected for Fate's crudest darts. John Gaston, working out his +salvation in his shack hidden among the pines, was burnt by the divining +rays that penetrated to his secret place and spared him not. And then, +when things were at their tensest, Ralph Drew came and tuned the +discordant notes into sweet harmony. St. Angé became in time a home for +many whom despair had marked for its own; a Sanctuary for devoted +service. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +"You've got the winning cards, my girl ... It's all in the +playing now" Frontispiece + + FACING PAGE + +"Once I went so far as to go up there with my gun" 76 + +That pictured Mother and Child were moulding Joyce's character 114 + +Presently he opened his eyes ... and there sat the girl of +his dreams near him 188 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS + +CHAPTER I + + +The man lying flat on the rock which crusted Beacon Hill raised his head +with a snake-like motion, and then let it fall back again upon his +folded arms. His body had not moved; it seemed part of the stone and +moss. + +The midsummer afternoon was sunny and hot, and the fussy little river +rambling through the Long Meadow was talking in its sleep. + +Lazily it wound around young maples, and ferny groups--it would crush +them by and by, poor trusting things--then it would stumble against a +rock or pile of loose stones, wake up and repeat the strain it had +learned at its mother's breast, far up in the North Woods. + +"I'm here! here! here! I'll be ready by and by, by, by, by." Then on +again, a little faster perhaps, but still dreamily. Children's laughter +sounded far below; a slouching man or woman making for the Black Cat +bent on business or pleasure, passed now and then; all else was still +and seemingly asleep. + +Again Jude raised his head and gave that quick glance around. + +Jude was awake at last. Little Billy Falstar had roused him two days +before and set the world in a jangle. The child's impish words had +struck the scales from Jude's eyes, and the blinding light made him +shrink and suffer. + +"Him and her," the boy had whispered, hugging his bruised and dirty +knees as he squatted by Jude's door; "him and her is sparking some." +Then he laughed the freakish laugh of mischief. + +Jude was polishing the gun which John Gaston had given him a year +before, and had trained him to use until he was second only to Gaston +himself for marksmanship. "Him and her--who?" he asked, raising his dull +eyes to Billy's tormenting face. + +"Joyce and Mr. Gaston. Him and her is beaux, I reckon. She goes to his +shack; I listened outside the winder once--he reads to her and tells her +things. They walks in the Long Medder, too, and once I saw him kiss +her." + +Again the teasing laugh that set every nerve tingling. + +Then it was that Jude awoke, and his hot French blood, mingled with his +canny Scotch inheritance, rose in his veins and struck madly against +brain and heart. + +He stared at Billy as if the boy had given him a physical blow--then he +looked beyond him at the woods, the sky, the highway and the dejected +houses--nothing was familiar! They all seemed alive and alert. Unseen +happenings were going on--he must understand. + +"You saw--him--kiss--her?" The gun fell limply across the man's knees. + +"Yep," Billy whipped his dramatic sense into action. He arose and strode +before Jude with Gaston's own manner. "This way. His arms out, and him +a-laughing like, and Joyce she kinder run inter his arms and he held +her, like this--." The close embrace of the childish gesture seemed to +strangle Jude, and he gave a muffled cry. This acted like a round of +applause upon Billy. + +"Yep, and he kept on hugging and kissing her like this--" Billy went +into an ecstasy of portrayal. Suddenly, however, he reeled into sanity, +for Jude had struck him across the cheek with the back of a hand +trembling with new-born emotion. + +"Take that, you impish brat," he had said, "and more like it if you +stand there another minute with your lying capers." + +"They ain't lies," wailed Billy, edging away and nursing his smarting +face; "he did! he did! It was in his shack--I saw 'em!" + +"Get out," yelled Jude, glowering darkly; "and you tell that to any one +else and," he came nearer to the shrinking child, "I swear I'll choke +yer till yer can't speak." So changed was Jude that Billy trembled +before him. + +"I won't," he whispered, "I swear I won't, Jude; don't--don't hit me +again; I won't tell." + +He was gone, but the old Jude was gone also. The new man finished the +gun cleaning, his breath coming hard and fast meanwhile, and then, +taking the gun with him, he went into the deep woods on the northern +edge of the village. + +All the rest of the day he watched Gaston's shack from a distance; as +the darkness drew on he crept closer. + +Joyce did not come near the place, and Gaston himself only returned when +the night was well advanced. + +Jude watched him light his lamp, and prepare his supper. Watched him, +later, go into the inner room, and then he crept close to the broad +window to see what Gaston was doing in there where no foot but Gaston's +own, so it was said, ever entered. As he had raised his eyes to the +level of the casement, Gaston's calm gaze met his with a laugh in it. + +"Hello, Jude," the voice was unshaken; "playing Indian Brave? Got your +gun, too? What you after, big game or--what?" Jude rose to his feet. He +was trembling violently. Gaston watched him closely. "Come in?" he asked +presently. + +"No. I was only passing--thought I would look in. I'm going now." + +"Hold on there, Jude, what's up?" Gaston leaned from the window. "Are +you alone?" + +"Yes. There ain't anything the matter." + +"All right." Gaston looked puzzled. "Good night." He watched Jude until +he was lost in the shadows, then he drew the heavy wooden shutters +close, bolted the door and placed his pistol near at hand. + +All the next day Jude haunted the vicinity of Joyce Birkdale's home, but +he kept hidden, for Joyce was safe within doors and a drizzly rain was +falling. Night again found him on guard; and now he lay on Beacon Hill +in the hot sun, napping by snatches (for he was woefully tired) and +scanning the Long Meadow, with his feverish eyes, in between times. + +In his dreams the scene Billy Falstar had so luridly described was +enacted again and again, until he felt as if he, Jude, had been the +onlooker. + +The people whom he had taken for granted in the past now assumed new +meaning and importance. Gaston had slipped in among them three years +before, and after the first few months of observation he had aroused no +interest. He had minded his business, paid his way, taken his turn in +camp at greenhorn jobs, accounted for his presence on the ground of +seeking health, and that was all. Life went on as usual, sluggishly and +dully--but on. + +Jude had, before Billy's illumination, been thinking that after the next +logging season he would annex Joyce Birkdale to his few belongings--the +cabin, his dog and gun. The idea had not roused him much, but it had +been a pleasurable conclusion to arrive at; and now? Every nerve was +aching and the boy's heart was thumping heavily. Again he dropped his +head, and he cursed everything his thought touched upon--even the girl +he meant, in some way, still to have. + +One, two, three hours passed. Jude's hilltop was touched by the sun, but +in the meadow the purpling shadows were gathering slowly. + +Suddenly Jude sprang up--something was happening down there below. +Something in him had warned him. + +From the southern edge of the meadow a tall man was swinging along with +easy strides. He carried his broad-brimmed hat in his right hand and +waved it as if in greeting. From the opposite direction a girl was +approaching. She wore a blue-checked gown, and her pale hair seemed to +shine in the dimming light. She wore no hat, and she walked with the +quick freedom of a child who longed to reach something precious. + +Midway of the meadow the girl and man met. He stretched out his arms, +and they closed about the slim form. + +Then he bent his head over the fair one on his breast--but he did not +kiss it! Jude was burning and palpitating. He strained his hearing, +forgetting time and space. They were talking, and he would never know +what they said. + +Presently the girl slipped from the enfolding arms, and, clinging to the +man's hands, looked up into his face. Sometimes she bowed her head, and +once she passed her hand across her eyes as if to wipe away tears. Then +the man drew her close again. He raised the face that was crushed +against his shoulder; he kissed the brow, the eyes, the chin--and then +the lips. + +Something blinded Jude. Something thick and hot like blood, and when he +could see again, the two had parted. The man stood with bared head +watching the slim, drooping figure as it retraced its steps with never a +backward turn. When it was gone he replaced his hat and took his +way--this time, toward the Black Cat. + +Jude stood alone on his hilltop and watched the lights spring to life in +cottage and tavern. The stars twinkled above him in the calm evening +gloaming. The little river trilled a vesper hymn as it felt its way +along the dark rocky path--and then tears came to Jude's relief, +impotent, boyish, weak tears, such tears as he had not shed since his +father and mother lay dead, and in childish fright and sorrow he had not +known what to do next. But now, as then, he pulled himself together and +set his teeth grimly. + +He did the wisest thing he could have done. He went down the hill and +strode toward the Birkdale house. + +But he did not walk alone. Almost forgotten memories rose sharply and +kept him company as he pushed on to meet his Fate. + +Womankind in St. Angé was monotonous. There was a shading of +individuality in the girls and newly-wed women, but it faded soon into +the dull drab that seemed the only possible wearing-colour of the place. +Occasionally, though, the sameness had been relieved by a vivid touch, +but only for a short hour. The Fate who snips the threads, had +invariably clipped such colouring from the St. Angé design, and tossed +it aside as useless. + +Jude remembered Marsena Riddall. What a woman she had been! What a +menace to man's rights and woman's position. + +She had demanded, and got her husband's wages as he returned from camp. +She met him at the edge of the North Wood, and held him up, morally and +physically. That she kept a clean and respectable house; that her +children were well fed, clothed and cared for, had not counted to her +credit one jot among the powers that be. Her husband was not safe on the +man's side of the Black Cat screen. At ten o'clock, did Riddall brave +his chances to that hour, Marsena would march boldly into the arena and +claim her quarry. If a man rose to expostulate, Marsena was equal to him +with tongue and wit. Masculine superiority trembled during Marsena's +reign, which lasted five years; then Fate downed her. + +Riddall was called away from his jailer by the command that even Marsena +could not defy, and she and her children faced life in a village where a +man was an absolute necessity unless there was money to take his place. +Jude grimly smiled as he recalled how the men and boys gave Marsena and +her brood a jeering send-off as the rattling train bore them away soon +after Riddall had been laid behind the disused church. + +So while Marsena was still in Jude's memory, he came upon the deserted +and decaying cottage where once Lola Laval had sung her pretty +French-Canadian song. + +It was odd how Lola came always with that song accompaniment. Try as he +might, even now, in this disordered moment, Jude heard the rippling +little lark song rise and fall in the fragrant darkness. + +Jude, while but a boy, liked to draw water for Lola and run her errands +when young Pierre, the husband, was in camp. When the logging season was +over, Lola's cottage vied with the Black Cat in popularity. Pierre was a +noted card player, but, oh! Lola's song sounded above the slap of +pasteboard and the click of glasses. How pretty she was--and how the +women hated her! The men were eager to serve her. She had no need to +command; her desires seemed granted before she voiced them--poor, pretty +Lola! + + Alouette, alouette, alouette, alouette. + Oh, alouette, chantez alouette, + Alouette, je te plumerai. + Alouette, chantez alouette, + Alouette, je te plumerai. + Je te plumerai le bec, + Je te plumerai le bec + A le bec, + A le bec, + Alouette, + Alouette. + +Lola had not lasted long; only nineteen she was when Pierre in his +jealousy struck the light from her eyes by a cruel blow, and the song +fled from her lips; then taking warning from a well-directed signal from +Beacon Hill, he had sought the Southern Solitude just before Justice, in +the form of the Hillcrest constable, came stalking into St. Angé. + +But the song was not dead. Again and again a man or woman would revive +it and so it had become a part of the place. To Jude, now, it was +painfully evident as he again plunged forward; it followed him sweetly, +mockingly as it used to when Lola sent it after him to keep him from +being afraid as he left her for his lonely home; he, a neglected little +boy. + +And now here was Joyce! With a stinging consciousness Jude realized this +new personality that heretofore he had not suspected. Even as jealous +anger spurred him on, a vague something he knew awaited him, calmed him +and made him cautious. + +While he longed to grip and command the situation, he was aware of a +power in Joyce--a power he had unconsciously, perhaps, sensed +before--that bade him stand afar until she beckoned him. + +As he neared her little house, before even he saw the lights, he heard a +song. It was that song! It met the rhythm in his own heated fancy--he +and Joyce seemed to be singing it together: + + Alouette, + Alouette. + +The light was streaming through open window and door. Inside Joyce was +preparing the evening meal, stepping lightly between table and stove as +she sang. Jude dared not enter unannounced, and his pride held him +silent. + +What was he afraid of? Was he not he, and Joyce but a girl? Still he +kept his distance. + +"Joyce!" The song within ceased, and the singer stepped to the open +doorway. + +"That you, father?" No answer came. "Father?" + +Then Jude came into the light. + +"You, Jude? Come in; father's late. I never wait for him and I am as +hungry as a wolf." + +Joyce had been one of the few girls who had gone to the Hillcrest school +as long as paternal authority permitted, and she showed her training. + +"I ain't come for no friendly call," muttered Jude, slouching in and +dropping on to a wooden chair beside the table. + +Joyce turned and looked at him, and the glow from the hanging lamp fell +upon her. + +She was tall and slim, almost to leanness, but there were no awkward +angles and she was as graceful as a fawn. + +Her skin was pale, clear and smooth, her eyes wide apart and so dark as +to be colourless, but of a wondrous softness. Her hair was of that shade +of gold that suggests silver, and in its curves, where the sun had not +bleached it, it was full of tints and tones. + +"What have you come for?" she asked, as a child might have asked it, +wonderingly and interestedly. + +"I want to ask you something, and I want the truth." + +"Oh!" Joyce sat opposite, and let her clasped hands fall upon the table +laid out for the evening meal with the brown bowl of early asters set in +the centre. She forgot her hunger, and the steaming pot on the stove +bubbled unheeded. + +"What you want to know, Jude? You look mighty upset." + +Jude saw with his new, keen vision that she was startled and was +sparring for time. "It's about," he leaned forward, "it's about you +and--and him. I saw you in the Long Medder. I saw him hold your hands +and--and kiss you." The words smarted the dry, hot lips. "I--I want to +know what it means." + +Jude was trembling visibly as he finished, but Joyce's silence, her +apparent discomfort, gave him a kind of assurance that upheld him in his +position. + +The girl across the table had been awakened several weeks ago in +Gaston's little shack among the pines. Since then she had been living +vividly and fervently. The question with her, now, was how best to voice +herself--the self that Jude in no wise knew. Womanlike, she did not want +to plunge into what might prove an abyss. She wanted to take her own +way, but with a half-unconscious coquetry she desired to drag her +captives whither she went. + +In the old stupid life before her womanhood was roused, Jude had held no +mean part in her girlish dreams. He was the best of the St. Angé boyhood +and Joyce had an instinctive relish for the best wherever she saw it. +Whatever the future held she was not inclined to thrust Jude from it. In +success or failure she would rather have him with her than against her. +Not that she feared him--she had boundless belief in herself--but, +hearts to the woman, scalps to the savage, are trophies not to be +despised. + +"I--I want to know what it means." Again Jude spoke, and this time a +tone of command rang through the words. + +The corners of Joyce's mouth twitched--she had a wonderfully expressive +mouth. Suddenly she raised her eyes. They did not hold the expression +Jude might have expected from her disturbed silence. His growing courage +took a step back, but his passion rushed forward proportionately. + +The witch-light danced in the steady glance she turned upon him; she +threw her head back and her slim throat showed white and smooth in the +lamp's glow. + +"Suppose he did hold my hand and--and kiss me, Jude Lauzoon, you'd like +to do the same yourself, now wouldn't you?" + +She was ignorantly testing her weak, woman's weapon on the man's metal. + +Jude felt the mist rising in his eyes that once before that day had hid +this girl and Gaston from his sight. Like a mad mockery, too, Lola's +lark song sounded above the rush of blood that made him giddy. He got to +his feet and staggered around the table. He held to it, not so much to +steady himself as to guide him, but as he neared the girl the blindness +passed, and the tormenting song stopped--he stood in an awful silence, +and a white, hot light. + +"Yes, by God, I do want to, and if yer that kind I'll take--my share and +chance along with the rest of 'em." + +It was his own voice, loud and brutal, that smote the better part of him +that stood afar and alone; a something quite different from the beast +who spoke, and which felt a mad interest in wondering how she would take +the words. + +"You go and sit down over there!" + +No clash of steel or dash of icy water could have had the effect those +quiet words had, combined with the immovable calm out of which they +came. + +The instinct of frightened womanhood was alive. If she could not down +the beast in the man by unflinching show of courage--she was lost. + +They eyed each other for an instant--then Jude backed away and dropped +into the chair across the table. + +Still, like animal and tamer they measured each other from the safer +distance. Presently the girl spoke, laying all the blame upon him for +the fright and suffering. + +"What right have you, Jude Lauzoon, to come here insulting me?" + +"What right had you," he blurted out, "to make me think you was +that--that sort?" + +"I didn't make you think it--you thought it because you--wanted to think +it--it was in you." + +The beast was quelled now, and a stifled sob rose to the boyish throat. + +"I--I didn't want to think it--God knows I didn't, Joyce, it was that +that drove me mad." + +"Can a man only think bad when he sees what he doesn't understand?" + +Revulsion of feeling was making Joyce desperate. While her new power +brought her a delirious joy, it also, she was beginning to understand, +brought a terror she had never conceived before. She wished the house +were nearer the other human habitations. + +"If you're that kind, Jude, you had better take yourself to the Black +Cat; you'll find plenty of your liking down there." + +Jude was visibly cowering now. + +"Why did he kiss you?" he pleaded. + +"Suppose I gave him the right?" + +"Then what am I to think? Have you given him the right? Does he want the +right? I mean the right first--and last?" Jude was gaining ground, but +neither he nor the girl to whom he spoke realized it yet. Joyce drew +back. + +"What is that to you?" she murmured hanging her head. For the moment she +was safe--but she felt cornered. + +Jude again bent toward her over his hands clenched close. + +"It means everything," he panted, "and you know it. I've always liked +you best of anything on earth--ever since I went to school, to please +you, over to Hillcrest; ever since I tried to keep from the Black Cat, +because you asked me to. I've gone following after you kinder +heedless-like till--till he gave me a blow twixt the eyes, with his +hand-holding and kissing. It drove me crazy. I never thought of any one +else with you--least of all John Gaston and you. He didn't seem your +kind--I don't know why, but he didn't. Howsomever, if it's all +right--God knows I ain't in it--that's all." + +A hoot of an owl outside made Joyce start nervously. She was unstrung +and superstitious--the fun of the game died in her, and she felt weak +and nauseated. She spoke as if she wanted to finish the matter and have +done with it forever. + +"Well, I didn't give him the right. He didn't want it. I guess it was +all foolish--everything is foolish. When he found out how I liked books, +and how I wanted to know about things, he just naturally was kind and he +let me go to his shack to read. Sometimes he was there, sometimes he +wasn't. He just thought about me as if I was a little girl--Maggie +Falstar used to go sometimes--he told her fairy stories--it was all the +same to him, until--" the wonderful colour that very pale people often +have rose suddenly to Joyce's face, and the eyes became dreamy--"one day +a week ago." + +"Well," Jude urged her on--he was sensing the situation from the man's +standpoint. + +"It was nothing. I had been reading a book there by myself. It was the +kind of story that makes you feel like you was the woman it tells about. +Then Mr. Gaston came in, and stood looking at me from the doorway; he +seemed like the man in the book too. We looked at each other, and--and I +was frightened and I guess he was--for I was grown up all of a sudden. +Jude"--the girl was appealing to the familiar in him, the comradeship +that would stand with her and for her--"he took me in his arms +and--and--kissed me. Then he begged my pardon--and he pushed me away; +then he led me to the door and said he--he didn't understand, but I--I +mustn't come again to the shack alone, but to meet him in the Long +Meadow to-day." + +"Curse 'im," muttered Jude; "curse 'im." But the move was a wrong one. +Joyce rose to her own defence and Gaston's. + +"If you feel that way," she cried, "you can take yourself off." + +"I--I don't feel that way," Jude returned illogically and meekly; "go +on." + +"He's a good man, Jude Lauzoon; better than any one here in St. Angé; +and he isn't our kind--not mine, yours, or any one else's around here. +He just made me feel ashamed of myself out in the Meadow to-day. I felt +as if I had been bold and--and all wrong, but he wouldn't let me feel +that way. He acted like I was a little girl to him again--only +different; and--I'm going to tell you something." The pink flush dyed +even the white throat now. "He said he wished I would get married--it +was for the best. That's the way he wanted me for himself!" Joyce +laughed with a bitterness that changed suddenly as she recalled the +subtle power she had felt over Gaston even while he was forcing her out +of his life. + +"He asked me about Jock Filmer." + +"Jock Filmer?" Jude's jaw dropped. Was all St. Angé hurtling around +Joyce? "Jock Filmer--why--why--" Words failed him and he laughed +noisily. + +"Oh, I don't know," Joyce tossed her head. "You seem to think nobody +would want me--I guess--they would--if I wanted them!" The girl was worn +out; racked by the emotions that were reflected from the new attitude of +others toward her. + +And now Jude came around the table again. This time he walked steadily, +and he was quite himself. The best self he had ever yet been. + +"I want you Joyce--God knows I do." + +"He said you did." + +"Who?" + +"He--Mr. Gaston." + +"He--said that? Then why in thunder did--he kiss you?" + +That rock Jude dashed against at every turn. + +"He didn't until--until I told him--I liked you." + +Poor Joyce! She was never to tell any one that that admission had been +wrung from her in order to make Gaston think he himself had not been +deeply in her thoughts. It had been a difficult fencing match that +afternoon. + +"You told him that?" A light came into Jude's handsome, heavy face, +which quickly vanished as the torturing jealousy, feeding upon a new +hope, rose, defiantly. "You told him you cared--and then he kissed you, +damn him! Maybe he thinks he'll get you to take me, and then he'll go on +with hand-holding and kissing all the safer." + +"Take that back," cried Joyce harshly. "Take that back, Jude Lauzoon." +Yet as she resented the implied insult, the primitive woman in her +admired Jude as it had never admired him before. + +"I didn't mean it against you, Joyce, I swear it. Can't you see how I +love yer and I don't want yer hurt? No one ain't going to hurt yer!" He +had clutched her to him roughly but tenderly. "Maybe he wouldn't want +ter, maybe I don't understand--but he can't, anyway!" + +She was sobbing hysterically against his breast. + +"You're mine, lass; you're just a little one; you don't know things. +You're no older than you was when you toted over to Hillcrest and--and +never felt afraid." + +Jude tried to kiss the tear-stained face, but she pressed it closer +against him. He had to be content with the satin softness of her thick +hair. + +Suddenly she sprang from him. A sickish odour was filling the room. + +"Everything's burned," she gasped; "everything!" She drew the pot from +the stove and ruefully carried it outside. "Nothing left, Jude;" she +laughed nervously. "Nothing but crusts and leavings." + +"You go to bed," commanded Jude authoritatively; "that's what you need +more than anything!" + +"Yes, yes, that's what I need--sleep. I'm almost dead, I'm so tired." + +Jude looked at her hungrily. The sudden happy ending of his torture gave +him an unreal, unsafe feeling. + +He wanted to touch her again in the new, thrilling way, but she was +forbidding even in her sweet yielding. + +"You go to bed," he said vaguely; "I'll go down to the Black Cat, and +see that your father gets home all right." + +Joyce stepped backward to the chamber door beyond. + +"Thank you," she murmured; "I certainly am dead tired." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +There was only a path leading from the highway to John Gaston's shack. A +path wide enough for a single traveller, and the dark pointed pines +guarded it on either side until within ten feet of the house. The house +itself sat cosily in the clearing. It was a log house built by amateur +hands, but roughly artistic without, and mannishly comfortable within. + +The broad door opened into the long living room, where a deep fireplace +(happily the chimney had drawn well from the first, or the builder would +have been sore perplexed) gave a look of hospitality to the otherwise +severe furnishings. The fireplace and mantel-shelf were Gaston's pride +and delight. Upon them he had worked his fanciful designs, and the +result was most satisfactory. There was a low, broad couch near the +hearth piled with pine cushions covered with odds and ends of material +that had come into a man's possession from limited sources. A table, +home-made, and some Hillcrest chairs completed the furnishings, except +for the china and cooking utensils that ornamented shelves and hooks +around the room. + +An inner door opened into Gaston's bedchamber and sanctum. No one but +himself ever entered there. + +There was a broad desk below the one wide window of that room and a +revolving chair before it. A boxed-in affair, filled with fragrant pine +boughs, answered for a bed. This was covered with white sheets and a +pair of fine, handsome, red blankets. An iron-bound chest stood by the +bed with a padlock strong enough to guard a king's treasure, and around +the walls of the room there were rows of books, interrupted here and +there to admit a picture of value and beauty out of all proportion to +the other possessions. + +Over the window hung a large-faced clock that kept faultless time, and +announced the fact hourly in a mellow, but convincing, voice. Just below +the window and over the desk, was a pipe-rack with pipes to fit every +mood and fancy of a lonely man. There were the short stumpy ones, with +the small bowls for the brief whiff when one did not choose to keep +company with himself for long, but was willing to be sociable for a +moment. There were the comfortable, self-caring pipes that obligingly +kept lighted between long puffs while the master was looking over old +papers, or considering future plans. Then there were the long-stemmed, +deep-bellied friends for hours when Memory would have her way and wanted +the misty, fragrant setting for her pictures that so comforted or +tormented the man who wooed them. + +By the rude desk Gaston was sitting on the evening that Jude and Joyce +were clinging to each other in the house under the maples. His hands +were plunged deep in the pockets of his corduroy trousers, his long legs +extended, and his head thrown back; he was smoking one of his +memory-filled pipes, and his eyes were fixed upon the rafters of the +room. + +He was a good-looking fellow in the neighbourhood of thirty-five; +browned by an out-of-door life, but marked by a delicacy of feature and +expression. + +The strength that was in Gaston's face might puzzle a keen reader of +character as to whether it were native, or the result of years of +well-fought battles. Once the will was off guard, a certain softness of +the eyes, and a twitching of the mouth muscles came into play; but the +will was rarely off guard during Gaston's waking hours. + +An open book lay upon the desk, and the student lamp cast a full light +upon the words that had caught the reader's thoughts after the events of +the day and their outcome. + +"In the life of every man there occurs at least one epoch when the +spirit seems to abandon the body, and elevating itself above mortal +affairs just so far as to get a comprehensive and general view, makes +this an estimate of its humanity, as accurate as it is possible, under +the circumstances, to that particular spirit. The soul here separates +itself from its own idiosyncrasy, or individuality, and considers its +own being, not as appertaining solely to itself, but as a portion of the +universal Ego. All important good resolutions of character are brought +about at these crises of life; and thus it is our sense of self which +debases and keeps us debased." + +Poe and Gaston were great friends. The living man knew that had he known +Poe in the body he would have feared and detested him, but there was no +doubt he had left trails of glory in his wake, for the comfort of +struggling humanity, if only one could lose sight of the man, in the +spiritual effulgence of his genius. + +Gaston, in his detached life, practised many arts upon his individuality +and character. He had time and to spare to "abandon the body," and he +was growing more and more confident, that in these self-imposed crises +he was gaining not only strength, but a keen and absorbing interest in +others. If the sense of self debased, then this detachment was his great +salvation. + +The rings of smoke curled upward, lost shape and formed a haze of +blueness. The heat became intense, and the noises of the summer night +magnified. The windows and doors were set wide, Gaston's wood-trained +senses were alert even in this abstraction. + +"What next?" That was the question. He had just come through a conflict +with flying colours. He was flushed with victory, but the after details +annoyed him. With the waning enthusiasm of achievement, from his point +of vantage of abandonment, he was trying to see beyond this confident +hour--see into the plain common days when a sense of self would control +him, tempt him, lure, and perhaps, betray him. What then? + +The realization of Joyce Birkdale's womanhood a time back had shaken him +almost as much as it had the girl herself. + +It had all been so peaceful, so elemental and satisfying before: that +companionship with the little lonely, aspiring, neglected child. She was +so responsive and joyous; so eager to learn, so childishly interested in +the fairy tales of another sort of existence that he kept from decay by +repeating to her. And then that sudden, upleaping flame in the +purple-black eyes. The fierce rush of hot, live blood to the pale face. +The grip of those small work-stained hands as they sought dumbly to stay +the trembling until he had taken them into his firm control. + +Well, confronted by the blinding flash, he had acted the man. That was +good. He had not acted thoughtlessly, either. He had sent the quivering +little thing away quietly, and with no sense of bitterness, until he had +threshed the matter out. And then in the Long Meadow, he had set the +girlish feet upon the trail he had blazed out for them during the +nights of temptation and days of lonely self-abnegation. + +It was a hard, stumbling way he had fixed upon. His heart yearned over +the girl even as he urged her on. But Joyce was demanding her woman's +rights. Demanding them none the less insistently, because she was +unconscious of their nature. He knew, and he must go before her; but +there was small choice of way. + +When he had held her in his arms out there in the open, he had bidden +her farewell with much the same feeling that one has who kisses the +unconscious lips of a child, and leaves him to the doubtful issue of a +necessary surgical operation. + +But the victory over self was his, and Joyce was on Life's table. There +was a sort of feverish comfort now in contemplating what might have +been. Many a man--and he knew this only too well--would have put up a +strong plea for the opposite course. + +What was he resigning her to at the best? There was no conceit in the +thought that, had he beckoned, Joyce would have leaped into the circle +of his love and protection. Not in any low or self-seeking sense would +the girl have responded--of that, too, he was aware; but as a lovely +blossom caressed by favouring sun and light, forgetting the slime and +darkness of its origin, she might have burst into a bloom of beauty. + +Yes, beauty! Gaston fiercely thought. Instead--there was honour! His +honour and hers, and the benediction of Society--if Society ever +penetrated to the North Solitude. + +Joyce would forget her soul vision, she would marry Jock Filmer--no; it +was Jude Lauzoon who, for some unknown, girlish reason, she had +preferred when she had been cast out from the circle of his, Gaston's +protection. + +Yes, she would marry Jude--and Jock might have made her laugh +occasionally--Jude, never! She would live in cramped quarters, and have +a family of children to drag her from her individual superiority to +their everlasting demands upon her. Perhaps Jude would treat her, +eventually, as other St. Angé husbands treated their wives. At that +thought Gaston's throat contracted, but a memory of the girl's strange, +uplifted dignity gave him heart to hope. + +Again the reverse of the picture was turned toward him. He saw her +flitting about his home--who was there to hold her back, or care that +she had sought dishonour instead of honour? + +He might have trained and guided that keen mind, and cultivated the +delicate, innate taste. Yes; he might have created a rare personality, +and brightened his own life at the same time--and the years and years +would have stretched on, and nothing would have interrupted the pure +passage of their lives until death had taken one or both. Gaston sat +upright, and flung the pipe away. Suppose he should choose to--go back? +Well, in that case it would have gone hard with Joyce. The soul he had +awakened and glorified would have to be flung back into the hell from +which its ignorance shielded it. + +That was it. In giving the girl the best--yes, the best, in one +sense--he must forego his own soul's good; forego the hope that he might +some day choose to go back--and in that hope, lay Joyce's damnation. + +Through dishonour--as men might have classified it--he might have lifted +Joyce up, but to save her soul alive from the hope he reserved for +himself--his open door--he must drive her back to squalor and even +worse. + +He had chosen for her and for himself. He had his hope; Joyce was to +have her honour; and now, what next? + +His renunciation had strengthened him. His good resolutions steadied +him; in the regained empire of his self-respect he contemplated the +loneliness of exile, self-imposed, but none the less dreary. He was so +human in his inclinations, so pitifully dependent upon his environment; +and since he had stepped from the train three years ago, these rough +people had taken him at his face value; desired nor cared for nothing +but what he chose to give. Desolate St. Angé was dear to him. + +No, he would remain. There was really no reason why he should abdicate +the little that was his own. All should be as it was, except for Joyce, +and even she, now that he was sure of himself and had the rudder in +hand, even she might claim his friendship and sympathy in her new life. + +He started. His quick ear detected the slow step outside. + +"Hello, Jude," he called without getting up. "Step in; I'll fetch a +light." + +"How did you know 'twas me?" Jude asked from the outer darkness. The +salutation made him feel anew the awe of constant supervision. + +"I thought you'd drop in," Gaston carried the lamp into the living room +and set it upon the table. + +Jude shambled in, drew a chair up to the table and sat down. Gaston took +his place opposite and kept his eyes upon his caller. Jude grew restless +under the calm inspection. He had come with a goodly stock of +self-assertion and sudden-gained dignity, but they withered under the +inquiring gaze. + +"You've come from Joyce Birkdale's? I congratulate you, Jude." + +So he knew that too! Jude felt a superstitious aversion to this man he +had but recently begun to have any feeling toward whatever outside the +ordinary give and take of village life. + +Over the ground he had come laboriously to discuss, Gaston strode with +unerring instinct. There were no words ready for this friendly advance, +so Jude halted. He had meant to approach the announcement of his +engagement to Joyce by telling Gaston what he had seen from the hilltop +that afternoon and what he had gained since, and then he had intended, +in man-fashion, to warn Gaston off his preserves. Instead, he sat +twirling his cap and foolishly staring. + +"Smoke?" Gaston felt his guest's discomfort and tried to ease the +strain. He pushed the tobacco-jar forward; no St. Angé man ever +travelled without his own pipe. + +"Given it up," muttered Jude, "and cards likewise, and--and drink; I'm +going to get married right away." + +This was rather startling. Gaston had expected some faltering on Joyce's +part, some dallying with the past. The smoke of his burning bridges was +still in Gaston's consciousness. He had lighted the fuse, to be sure, +but had not expected the demoralization to be so prompt. + +For a minute his gaze faltered, then he said cordially: + +"Good! And you won't drink to it--or smoke over it? Well, then, shake, +old man." + +For the life of him Jude could not decline. So their hands met over the +bare table. + +An awkward pause followed. Gaston took refuge in smoke. He drew the +inevitable pipe from his pocket, filled and lighted it, and during the +time of grace, got himself in hand. + +"Jude," he said between puffs, "I want to see her married." + +Jude's anger rose. The words and the tone brought back his suspicions +and jealousies. + +"I want that girl to have a chance at life." Gaston looked over Jude's +head, and drew hard upon his pipe. "She's never really waked up. Just +got the call, you know. Before this, she's been dreaming, and God alone +knows where she got her dream material. Like the rest of us, until she +finds out, she's going to expect her dream to come true. In heaven's +name, Lauzoon, help her to make it true." + +The import of all this touched Jude not at all, but the meddling of this +outsider did mightily stir him to depths he had never fathomed before. +Suddenly a kind of courage came to him, partly worthy, but wholly +unreasonable. + +"I ain't no wooden-head, as some thinks I am," he blurted out, while his +dull eyes flashed; "and, by gosh, I want that darn well understood +between you and me, Mr. Gaston! I don't want any interference in my +affairs; but as to what you're drivin' at, perhaps, I'll say this. I'm +going to let Joyce have her head--in reason." + +"You better," Gaston laughed unpleasantly. He rather liked Jude the +better for his uprising; but he had no intention of showing a flag of +truce now. + +"Why?" asked Lauzoon; the laugh irritated him. + +"Oh, it's plain common sense to be with her, instead of against her, +when she gets fully awake. Her kind goes well enough in harness if the +other one pulls a fair share--if he doesn't--why, the chances are--she'd +break the traces and--clip it alone." + +"Alone, hey?" It was Jude's turn to laugh now. "You ain't got the lay of +the country yet, Mr. Gaston, not so far as the women is concerned. How +in thunder is a woman to go alone, I'd like to know, in St. Angé? Once +she's married, she's married, and she knows it. Go alone? I'd like to +know where she'd go to?" + +A breeze was now stirring outside. Gaston felt it and he shivered +slightly. + +"Jude," he continued after a moment, "they sometimes go to the devil, +you know. Even St. Angé's ideals do not prevent that, judging from +things I've heard." + +"Not her kind," Jude muttered. He was harking back to Lola Laval. How +the girl rose and haunted him to-night! "Not her kind, Mr. Gaston." + +"No, you're right, Jude--not her kind as she is now. That's just the +point. It's poor work, though, to draw on your bank account without +noting how your balance stands. If you do, you'll get a surprise some +day. Joyce wants the best she can get out of life. She's had a vision, +poor little girl, and she's making for that vision, believing it a +reality. We all do that, old man, and it's up to you to give her as much +of what she wants as you can. She's been building a place for her +soul"--Gaston was thinking aloud. Jude had vanished from his +horizon--"and she's going up to take possession some day. God, how that +woman is going to love--something!" + +And just then Jude shifted into view again upon the line of Gaston's +perceptions. He had risen to his feet and was glaring at his companion. +There was an ugly look on his face, and his hands trembled with the +effort he made to restrain himself. + +"Say, Mr. Gaston," he blurted out, "all that talk is damned moonshine, +and I ain't such a fool but what I know it. Such gaff ain't nourishing. +Now as to Joyce, I'm going to do the square thing by her. Her +book-learning is all right if she keeps it to herself, and don't let it +get mixed up with her duties 'long of me. And right here, Mr. Gaston," +Jude choked miserably, "I guess her and me don't want no coaching from +you. No harm intended, understand, but just a clean showing." + +Indignation and a realization of his own insignificance, had hurled Jude +along up to this point, but he was suddenly landed high and dry by the +calm, amused look in Gaston's eyes. + +"Too bad you don't smoke, Jude," Gaston said quietly, refilling his +pipe. "But sit down, and loosen your collar. The room is infernally +close. I've been thinking some of leaving St. Angé--" + +"When are you going?" Jude broke in with an eagerness that intensified +the smile on Gaston's face, and bade the devil in him awake. The same +devil that in boyhood days had made him such an irritant to the bullies +of his class. + +"Oh, I'm not going," he replied, puffing luxuriously upon his pipe; +"I've changed my mind. All I wanted was new scenes and occupations. I've +decided to stay on awhile. But I've been thinking, Jude, you don't want +to take Joyce into your shack. Let's build her another up on the sunny +slope beyond the Long Meadow on the Hillcrest side. I'm gaining strength +each year; I like to keep myself busy and the work would be a godsend to +me. What do you say? I can lend you a little money, too, if you need +it." + +Need it? Unconsciously Gaston had touched the spring that unlocked the +evilest part of Jude's nature. Jealousy, love, hate, were blotted out by +this unlooked-for suggestion. His dark face flushed and his dull eyes +gleamed. Money! Money! To handle it, spend it and enjoy it without great +bodily effort in earning it. This had ever been a consuming passion +with Jude. A passion that had remained smouldering because no favouring +chance had ever fanned it. Lazy and hot-blooded, Jude, in a prosperous +community, might have developed criminal tendencies young; in St. Angé +there had been nothing to tempt him--until now. + +"Thank you," he said, and Gaston saw the change in him. "I--I may be +glad of a small loan--just at the start, you know, and before I get my +pay from the camp boss. It's almighty kind of you, Mr. Gaston, to think +of this here building and all. Me and Joyce will take it grateful, I can +tell you." + +"Going?" Gaston asked, for Jude had risen and was awkwardly shifting +from foot to foot. "Well, so long! Good luck--and a speedy marriage." + +Then the door closed upon the transformed Jude. + +"Now, what in thunder," mused Gaston in the hot, smoky room, "has got +into that fellow, I wonder!" Could they know of his money? The amount, +and manner of getting it? Was he, in offering Jude this assistance, +letting the leak in upon his own safety? + +A cloud gathered on Gaston's face. A sensation of coming evil possessed +him. He felt as if, in an unguarded moment, he had given an enemy a +power over him. + +The memory of the look in Jude's face when the money cast a gleam over +his hate, repelled him. Gaston was as fully alive to the possibilities +now as Jude was--perhaps more so; but there stood the pale, innocent +girl between them. He recalled her hurt, quivering face when he had +urged her into Jude's keeping. It had seemed her only salvation--hers +and his! But it began to look now like a hideous damnation. + +"Poor little devil," he murmured taking the lamp and going back into his +bedroom. + +The window of this room he closed carefully, and set the lamp upon the +rude desk. He drew the pistol from the drawer, and laid it conveniently +at hand, then he turned to the chest with the mighty lock and, having +unfastened it, drew forth a small package and went back to the chair +before the desk. + +The package contained a photograph and some letters. The letters were +tied together, and these the man placed beside the pistol. The +photograph he took from its various wrappings of tissue paper and braced +it against the lamp. + +The big clock hanging over the window frame struck one. The heat in the +little room became stifling, and the lamp flickered in its duty--for the +oil was running low. + +With arms folded before him Gaston gazed upon the pictured face. It +broke upon the senses like a revelation of womanhood. At the first +glance it seemed as if just that type had never been conceived before. +The artist had grasped that conception evidently, for with no shading or +background, with only a filmy scarf outlining the form from the +colourless paper, the compelling features started vividly upon the +vision, as the individuality of the girl did upon the imagination. An +irritation followed the first impression. Was this child, or woman? What +was she to become, or what had she become already? Was she a soul +reaching out for realization, or a well-developed personality, having +gained, with all its other attainments, a power of self-concealment from +the inquisitive eye? + +The brow, low and broad, bespoke gracious womanhood and a possible +radiant maternity, rather than intellectuality. The masses of hair were +braided and wound coronet-style about the small uplifted head. The eyes, +deep, dark, and mystical gave no clue to the inner woman; but the mouth, +while it was tender in its curves, had a rigidity of purpose in its +expression that fixed the attention. A pretty, rounded chin, a slender, +slightly tilted nose, an exquisite throat set off by the cloud of +lace--such was the face that Gaston beheld, and presently it wrung a +groan from him. + +"Ruth, Ruth, Ruth," he muttered, and then his mind took to the +memory-haunted highway that led back, back of the lonely years of St. +Angé; past a certain black horror that had stood, and would always +stand, as a thing that should not have existed; but which had been, and +would always remain, an object that cast a shadow before it and behind +it. + +"Did you do this thing?" + +"I did." + +Question and answer made up the vital happening in Gaston's life. +Everything before led up to them, and all that had occurred since was +the outcome. + +They had admitted--or so he once thought--of no shading nor explanation. +The questioner was not the type to deal unsteadily with a problem, and +Gaston had been too simple and direct to note fine points or shadings. +Perhaps neither of them had understood. Life had been so fair until the +terrible thing had loomed up. It had come like a cataclysm--how could +they, young and inexperienced as they had been, deal with the situation +justly? + +Suppose _now_ she stood before him, wonder-eyes raised, seeking his +soul's truth; hands resting in his until he should speak. Would he speak +again those two crude, fatal words? Would she drop her hands letting his +soul sink, by so doing, into the blackness which had engulfed it? + +That was the torturing problem that Gaston was working out up in the +lonely St. Angé woods; but he seemed no nearer the answer than when he +had come to the place, by mistake, a few years back, and decided to stay +there simply because it was as desirable as any other forsaken spot, +while he was debarred from the Paradise of life. + +The lamp flickered fretfully, and the spasmodic flare showed the rigid +face torn with the emotions that were racking the soul laid bare before +its God and its own consciousness. + +What had the dreary, desolated years done for him? He was a fool. Why +had he not taken what was possible, since the ideal was dashed from him? + +This girl, way off there behind the hideous shadow, had been wiser. She +had replaced his memory by living love; why should not he take the poor +substitute that the Solitude offered, and warm the barren places of his +heart and life with the faint glow? + +It was a bad hour for Temptation to assail John Gaston. + +The armour of self-wrought strength was off. Suffering was flaying the +naked despair and yearning; and just then Temptation knocked softly and +pitifully at the door of the outer room! + +Gaston had done more while he had hidden in the woods than he was aware +of. He had developed something akin to second sight. Loneliness and +empty hours had strengthened this as blindness intensifies other senses +to abnormal keenness. Gradually he had grown to believe that a man's +life, complete and prearranged, lies stretched before, and occasionally +some, when the circumstances are propitious and the soul has a certain +detachment that ignores the bodily claims, can leap over the _now_ and +here, and catch a glimpse of the future and what it holds. This vague +sense had come to Gaston more than once during the past year or two--the +seeing and hearing of that which had held no part in what was, at the +moment, occurring, but which he noted later had become a fact in his +life. + +That feeble knock dragged the man's consciousness away from the pictured +face; away from his wavering indecision; away from the darkening room +with its foul smell of oil: he knew who stood outside in the +moonlighted, fragrant summer night, and he wondered if he were going to +open that barred door to her. He waited for a glimpse of what was in +store for them both. + +But his spiritual sight was blinded by a firm, deadening blankness! +Whatever was to be the outcome must be of his own choosing. + +Again she knocked, that poor little temptress in the dark. What had Fate +decreed that he was to do? Gaston knew as well as if Joyce had told him, +_why_ she had come. Her soul had revolted from her concession to Jude. +In the bewitched hours of darkness, the primitive, savage instinct had +driven the girl to the only one who could change her future. Worn, +weary, defiant, she had come to him; not questioning further than her +despair and his power. + +Well, why not? Who would be the worse, and who the better--if he drew +her within and closed the door upon--St. Angé? + +Another tap--this time upon the wooden shutter of the bedchamber! + +Gaston shivered and trembled. He was not outside; he was stifling in the +dark room. The light had gone entirely, and he was struggling to free +himself from an intangible enemy or friend; a thing that had, unknown to +himself, evolved during those isolated years among the pines, and was +restraining his lower nature now. + +He battled to get to that little, insistent girl. He heard her sob, a +childish sob, half desire, half fear. The veins stood out on his +forehead and his hands gripped the edge of his desk as he got upon his +feet. + +The sob outside was echoed by a stifled groan from within--then all was +still. + +Slow retreating steps presently sounded without. She, that sad, broken, +little temptress, was going to meet the fore-ordained future that lay +before. There was nothing else left for her to do. All her reserves were +taken. + +Then Gaston, when all was beyond his power of recall or desire, opened +the window. + +Softly, sweetly, the fresh morning air entered. It was a young and good +morning. A morning cool and faintly tinted, a morning to soothe a hurt +heart, not to stimulate it too harshly. + +Gaston's lined face smoothed under the caress. His armour arose as if +unseen hands guided it, and placed it again upon him. Once more he was +the strong, quiet man that St. Angé had taken upon faith, and accepted +without question. + +As he looked at the scene, his self-respect giving him courage to meet +the day, Jude Lauzoon's soft-stepping figure materialized upon the edge +of the pine woods. + +The humour of the situation for a moment gripped Gaston's senses. Had +all St. Angé stayed awake and been on guard while the night passed? But +the smile faded. How long had Jude been there? Long enough to _know +all_, or just long enough to know half? + +What should he do? If Jude knew but half, no explanation could possibly +avail. If he knew all; if he had been on guard before Joyce came--been +camping out with no definite purpose, since his late talk in the +shack--why, then it was simply a matter to be settled between Lauzoon +and Joyce. God help her! He, Gaston, could serve best by retiring. This +he did physically. + +He put away his treasures and locked them fast; then, flinging himself +upon the pine-bough bed, dressed as he was, he soon fell into a troubled +sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Jared Birkdale, with a contemplative eye, looked at his daughter through +the haze of his tobacco smoke as if seeing her for the first time. In a +way this was so. He was not one to take heed of time or happenings. When +he was not obliged to work, he was enjoying himself in his own way, and +so long as nothing jarred him, life slipped by comfortably enough. + +When he worked he was away, as all St. Angé men were, in the camps. +Occupation, outside of Leon Tate's profession, was the same for all the +men after first boyhood was past. When the logging season was over +Jared, more temperate, perhaps more cruel for that reason, settled down. +When he was not occupying the chair of honour at the Black Cat--given +him by common consent because of his superior mental endowments--he was +lounging at home and idly appreciating the plain comfort for which Joyce +was responsible; a comfort Jared neither understood nor questioned. + +But little Billy Falstar, the day before, with the fiendish depravity of +a mischief-making child, had set the match to a fuse of gunpowder all +ready for it down at the Black Cat. + +Resenting the treatment Jude had given him when he had voiced his +observations about Gaston and Joyce, he had gone to the tavern to nurse +his wounded feelings where company and safety abounded. His fear of Jude +had departed. + +Several men, Birkdale among them, were sitting about when Billy, +sniffing and rubbing his knuckles in his eyes to such an extent that of +necessity notice must be taken, drew their attention. + +"What's up, Billy?" asked Jock Filmer good-naturedly; "shingle struck a +thin place in your breeches? Go around and buy a peppermint stick. +Here's a cent. Peppermint ought to be as good for a pain in your +hindquarters as it is for one in your first cabin. Let up, kid, and get +cheerful!" + +Billy accepted the coin, but turned a calculating eye on the others. If +his news had had power to rouse Jude, how would it act now? Billy, +freckled and sharp-eyed, was a born tragedian. + +"'Tain't Ma," he said. "No more was it Pa; it was that Jude what beat me +most to a jelly." + +This was startling enough to awaken a new interest. Jude was too lazy on +general principles to reduce any one to jelly unless the provocation had +been great. + +"What divilment was you up to?" Filmer asked with a leer. + +"I didn't do nothing! 'Pon my soul, I didn't. I swear!" + +This Billy did, fervently and fluently. The children of St. Angé swore +with a guileless eloquence quite outside the sphere of wickedness. The +matter was in them. It must, of course, come out. So Billy swore now +with only an occasional hitch where his indignation muddled +pronunciation. + +"Billy's got a fine flow of language," Birkdale put in amusedly. "For a +youngster, I don't think I ever heard it equalled." Birkdale was about +to urge Billy to renewed effort, when something the boy was wedging in +among his evil words caught his attention. + +"I was just a-telling him--" more lurid expressions--"'bout Joyce and +Mr. Gaston. It didn't seem like nothing; just them two being beaux like +all girls and fellers, but Jude he did me dirt, he did!" Billy stopped +rubbing his eyes. + +He was interested, himself, in the effect his words now had. For a +moment he feared all the men were going to rise up against him as Jude +had done. A silence fell upon the group. Filmer gave one keen glance at +the imp on the doorstep, and then refilled his pipe and leaned back in +his wooden chair. + +Tom Smith, the ticket agent of the Station, looked as if some one had +dashed water in his face, so startled was he; and Jared Birkdale simply +stared open-mouthed at the spy in their midst. Then Tate, the +proprietor, with the tact for which he was noted, went to the bar and +began filling glasses. + +St. Angé had received a shock; but St. Angé took its shocks in a +peculiar way. It reserved its opinion until it had drunk on them. + +Soon after the revelation Birkdale went home without a word having been +spoken by any one on the subject so suddenly thrust upon their notice. + +Jared had gone home to assure himself that Joyce had actually grown up +to the extent of making Billy Falstar's remarks possible. + +The afternoon's contemplation had caused him some astonishment. + +Joyce _was_ grown up! Then he had slept on the knowledge, and dreamed of +other days--a life apart, and beyond St. Angé. + +St. Angé was a young place; it had no antiquity; almost all who lived +there had had a setting in some other time and environment. + +Jared recalled, in his thoughts that night, the beginnings of things in +his life. Joyce's mother, and the babies who had come and gone like +little ghosts, each one taking more of the wife's and mother's beauty +and power. + +Then that flight to the St. Angé lumber camp--it was really that, +nothing less--the attending discomfort and paralyzing reality of what +lay before! + +Joyce was born the year after the settlement in the rough forest home, +and then poor Mrs. Birkdale gave up the struggle. + +She told Isa Tate that had the baby been a boy she would not have felt +the way she did, but to face the life of another woman in her own life +was more than she could bear. + +Isa had tried to hold her to her responsibility: Isa had more than her +own share of trouble--but Jane Birkdale had slipped away in the middle +of the severest winter St. Angé had known for many a year and Isa had +been obliged to have "an eye" to the baby Joyce. The small girl +responded in health and joyousness, and Jared, when he was himself, had +had the grace to be grateful. + +As the years slipped by the fire of Jared's own little private hell +aroused him to a consciousness that he deserved anything but a happy +future. + +He hoped, in due season, that he would forget the wrongs he had done his +wife, but they gathered strength with time. His sins walked with him +through the sober lumber season; their memory drove him to the Black +Cat; but his keener wit evolved a desire to "make good," as he termed +it, in his relations with his daughter. + +He would so conduct himself with her that she, at least, should have +nothing against him; and when age, sickness or accident befell him, he +might turn to her and find refuge. Jared had always had some kind of +sanctuary to flee to when overtaken by the results of his own evil +nature. + +And now, by the impish words of Falstar's Billy, he was brought face to +face with a possibility that staggered and unnerved him. + +Joyce and Jude, or Joyce and Jock Filmer, had been possibilities in +Jared's distant future. But Joyce, already a woman, and that silent man +Gaston who had come from a Past that he rigidly reserved for his own +contemplation--Gaston, who lived among them as a traveller who might +depart with the day into a Future Birkdale instinctively knew would hold +no possible connection with St. Angé--Joyce and Gaston! Here was a +situation indeed. + +Astonishment, anger, a dull fear and a determination to grip something +out of it all for himself, swayed Jared as he sat tilted back, eyeing +his daughter after the night's travail. + +He had come from his troubled thought imbued with a forced strength and +singleness of purpose that made themselves felt by the quiet girl at the +window. + +Joyce had brought no strength from her disturbed night. She was +ill-fitted for the encounter. + +"By Jove," Jared suddenly ejaculated, "it's just struck me all of a +heap, Joyce, that you're more than ordinary handsome." + +The girl raised her eyes with a dull show of surprise, then went on with +her sewing. + +"With the learning I've given you over and above the other girls of the +place, you _ought_ to do pretty good for yourself--and me--and no +mistake. You always was a real grateful child, and you ain't one ever +to forget the fifth commandment, Joyce--the only one with a promise." + +"The only one needing it," Joyce returned, with a bitterness for which +she was sorry the moment after. But when Jared turned to quoting +Scripture the girl grew rebellious. It was always distasteful to her to +see, or hear, her father parade his superior knowledge. For some reason +she always felt more ashamed of him then than at any other time. + +"You've got a nasty bit of a temper, Joyce." Jared's eye gleamed. "I +hope you ain't going to take the first chance you get to shirk your duty +to me." + +"I guess not, father, but I hate to be dragged to my duty; and I have a +headache." + +"What give you that, Joyce?" + +"I don't know." Again the fair head bent above the coarse sewing in the +trembling hands. + +She had seen the light in the chinks of Gaston's shutter. She had felt +his nearness, but rigid aloofness. The memory of these things had +tortured her and left their trace in worn-out nerves and hurt pride. She +felt that she hated Gaston and in revolt her thought now clung to Jude. +She forgot her father. + +"Joyce!" + +"Oh, yes, father." How the insistent invasion of paternal intimacy +jarred. + +"I've been thinking lately how you and me might do better than stick +here in St. Angé." + +A sudden illumination flashed into the pale face. Was there a +possibility of escape that did not include Jude? + +"Where could we go, father?" Joyce was all attention. + +"Oh! there are several places. I wasn't always here by a long shot. I've +always meant to tell you some day, Joyce. It has sometimes struck me as +singular that you never asked." + +"I never cared. I was here--and the rest didn't matter--or it never did, +until now." + +"Well I was a handsome young buck once, my girl." Jared glanced at the +mirror hanging over Joyce's head, and smirked. "I ain't a bad looking +feller now. A little trimming of the beard, fashionable clothes, refined +surroundings and you'd have a father that any girl might be proud of!" + +Joyce noted now, as she had more than once before, since Hillcrest +training had given her a certain power of discrimination, her father's +style of speaking. + +"What happened, father, before you came here?" she asked quickly. Her +directness, and the slight she paid to his personal reflections, ruffled +Jared's complacency. He was not ready to confess more than was +absolutely necessary. + +"Just one of them misunderstandings," he replied, slipping into St. +Angé's carelessness of speech, "that happens now and again to any young +man with a fine taste and slim purse. A matter of business! I always +calculated to go back and make it straight, after the first flash had +passed and I had money enough. I never give up or got discouraged. It +was your mother losing grip sort of set me back; and then your raising +and expenses here, kinder held me down. But the spirit in me has soared +nevertheless." + +"Sometimes it seems to me," Joyce's eyes grew dreamy, "that every one in +St. Angé has something to keep still about. Every one seems to be here +because he has to, not because he wants to. People seem to drift in here +like logs after a spring freshet--and they get jammed." + +Jared laughed. The idea caught his fancy. + +"You've hit it, Joyce!" he said, "You've hit it all right. Jammed, by +damn! that's it; but to carry the simile further, when the jam is +loosened up, there's going to be some logs as gets away." + +"_Where_ could we go, father, and how?" + +The pleading intensity of the girl encouraged Jared. He refilled his +pipe, imagined himself in the mirror trimmed up and fashionably attired, +and then drove his axe to the heart of the matter. + +"When all's said and done, girl," he began, "I've been a pretty good dad +to you. Given you years of schooling and stood by you when I might have +skipped and led my own life. Many a man with his wife dead, and a kid +on his hands, _has_ done it. I've worked for you, and given you the best +home in St. Angé; and now if you let me play the cards that you've got +in your hands, we'll get out of this and live in clover to the end o' +time." + +"I don't know what you mean," Joyce gasped. + +This was no idle talk. She was fascinated and frightened. It seemed as +if her father had his fingers on the rope that was strangling the life +out of her. + +"You've got the winning cards, my girl, if I don't miss my guess. It's +all in the playing now. I've had one eye on you all along, Joyce. I've +seen, like any kind father might, that there ain't a young feller +between here and Hillcrest but would be glad to have you. But like a rap +on the _shut_ eye it has just been sprung on me that Myst. has had his +mind on you as well!" + +Joyce's eyes dilated and the colour rose through her soft paleness, but +she did not speak. + +"It's always the way. Them most concerned gits wind of scandal last. +Even the brats have caught on before me. But once your father has both +eyes open, folks better watch out." + +"Who do you mean by Myst.?" asked Joyce, and her strained voice sounded +unnatural. + +"Gaston, to be sure! I've got a wit of my own, Joyce. Myst.--short for +Mystery. That's what Gaston is. No one knows a damned thing about him." + +"Well, that's to his credit, anyway." Joyce flung up a defence now. She +must fight, but she must keep herself out of sight. + +Jared glared angrily. He did not like the tone. + +"Oh! I ain't the one to object to you keeping your mouth shut," he +returned. "Jammed logs"--the phrase stuck in his mind--"jammed logs +don't creak any; but when it comes to joining forces, like two jams +together for instance, there's got to be, in the nature of things, some +demonstration. What I'm aiming at is this. Has this here Myst. meant +business or has he not? I'm a man of the world--so is Gaston--he ain't +never hoodwinked me. I had my reasons for coming here, and likewise, so +has he. That's my business and his, by thunder! but when _he_ meddles in +my affairs he's got to show his hand. Now is it, or ain't it, business +'twixt you and him?" + +"What kind of business?" Joyce's voice was low and even. She was +approaching her father cautiously and fearfully. + +"Honourable--or otherwise?" + +A silence followed. Something was born, and something died in the +sunlighted room while that silence lasted. + +The child's dependence upon its father fell, torn and quivering, before +the new-risen self-protection of the pitiful girlhood. + +For the first time, consciously, Joyce experienced the soul-loneliness +for which there is no aid. Her deep eyes pleaded for help and mercy +where there was no help, and alas! no mercy. Birkdale had his answer +now, though no word had been uttered by those quivering lips. + +"You can't be expected to act for yourself in these matters." Jared put +his pipe on the table and brought his chair to the floor. "You ain't the +first girl as has been game for such as Myst., but he's made a damned +mistake if he thought two couldn't play at his game here in St. Angé. +We'll make something out of him no matter which way you put it." + +"Make something--out--of--what?" Joyce bent forward and real horror +filled her eyes. Was even the security of Jude to be wrenched from her? + +"Out of Myst. He's got money, It comes in letters--checks. Tate has ways +of finding out. Myst. has a fat account over to Hillcrest. He thought we +took him on trust. We knowed what we wanted to know." + +"And so, and so," panted Joyce, "what next?" + +"Well, by the living God, if he wants to marry you, let him come out and +say so, and I won't hold back my presence nor my blessing." + +It was quite plain now. Gaston was the target at which Jared aimed. In +some way she must shield him and shield him so effectually that no harm +could reach him. There was no escape for her. Every path was closed +through which she had hoped to go free and happy. + +"I ain't going, though," Jared was whining in his semi-religious tone, +"to have my reputation smirched. Either he marries you, or he pays well, +and we'll get out. See?" + +"Oh, yes, I see!" Joyce shivered in the hot room; "I see what you think, +but _why_ do you suppose I'd marry Mr. Gaston if he _did_ want me? +Sometimes girls don't--marry--men even when they are asked. Books are +full of such things." A heavy sob came after the pitiful words. + +"Oh! that's your dodge, eh?" Jared laughed comfortably from the secure +position he had gained for himself from this misery. "Trying to shield +him, eh? It won't do, Joyce. Your daddy's too much a man of the world +for that. Now here it is in a nutshell: The boys at the tavern are back +of me. How do I know? You leave that to me. Now I calculate that Gaston +don't want any of the dust of his past stirred up by us. If he's been +playing with you, it's for _you_ to say whether you'd rather have him +forced to marry you, or have him pan out money enough to hush the matter +up. I'm willing to sacrifice something for you, Joyce. I'm willing to go +so far as to say I don't want the dust of _my_ past raised--I'm actually +willing to sacrifice--anything." + +"Even me!" The words were a moan of fear and misery. + +"Sure!" Jared did not catch the point. "This is an opportunity that +don't come often. Retribution for Myst., by thunder, and clear gain for +me and you! Out beyond the high trees, girl, there's better diggings for +us. God! how I've smothered, these long years. The end justifies the +means--you will say so, too, when you see what lies down to the south." + +Jared laughed wildly as if the ambition of all the desolated years had +been achieved. Joyce, compelled by his delirious words and excitement, +almost felt a responsive sympathy; but her words, slow and hard, brought +her and Jared down to the bleakness of St. Angé again. + +"You are wrong, terribly wrong. Mr. Gaston never wanted to marry me, and +I can take care of myself--I always have--taken care of myself! +Why--why, I'm engaged to Jude Lauzoon. I'm going to marry him right +away. We can't even wait for him to build a new shack. If a minister +doesn't happen this way, we're going over to Hillcrest. Oh, what a joke +we've played on you!" + +Jared stared idiotically, and Joyce's laugh rang wildly out. + +"Mr. Gaston and me! What an idea! Why, he's helping us"--the +inspiration to say this came from a blind belief in Gaston's quick +adaptability--"he's helping me and Jude--to what we want." + +"The devil he is!" It was all that Jared could clutch from the rout. +"I--I believe it's a thundering lie," he added as an after-thought, and +as a cover to his retreat. + +"It's no lie." Joyce had regained her calmness. She was panting, but she +had reached safety and she knew it. An unlovely, unhallowed safety, but +such as it was it was her salvation and Gaston's. + +When she had stolen to him the night before it was her last ignorant +impulse to gain her own ends. From now on she must be on guard, or her +world would come clattering about her heart and soul. It took Jared some +minutes to digest the information that had been flung at him so +unexpectedly, and then anger and baffled hope swayed him. Joyce married +to Jude would make _his_, Jared's, future no securer than it now was. +Indeed it might complicate matters, for Jared had no belief in Jude +rising above the dead level of St. Angé standards. + +"You're a durn fool!" he ejaculated at last, while the new impression of +his daughter's beauty stirred him painfully. "You are a durn fool to +fling yourself away on Jude when you might have done most anything with +yourself--if you was managed right." + +Then in an evil moment Joyce laughed. Her lips parted in an odd little +way they had showing the small white teeth and forming the dimples in +cheeks and chin. So great was the girl's relief; so appalled was she at +what might have been, that the conflict of emotions made her almost +hysterical. + +"Daddy," she said, between ripples of laughter, "you thought you had me +then, didn't you? But being your daughter, you know, I had wit enough to +take care of myself." + +Jared listened to this outburst in sheer amazement. Unable to +understand, in the least, what was passing over the girl before him, he +weighed her by his own low standard, and drew the worst possible +conclusion as Jude had done before him. + +He looked steadily at Joyce, and he saw the colour and fire come to +cheek and eye. The ringing laughter struck through his brutality and +hurt something in him that was akin to paternal love; but so long had +that protecting tenderness been ignored by Jared, that now when it was +called upon to act, it did so in a savage rage. + +"By heaven!" he thundered, "I catch your drift, you young divil. And if +that Myst. ain't a slick one! Going to use Jude is he, to pull his +chestnuts out of the fire?" + +Then Jared strode forward with arm upraised as if to strike and, by so +doing, again command the situation. In like manner had he downed and +controlled Joyce's mother. But he paused before the pale undaunted girl. +Her laugh died suddenly, to be sure, so suddenly that the gleaming +teeth and pretty dimples outlived the mirth long enough to give a +stricken, death-like expression to the face, but the change brought no +fear; it brought something worse. + +Joyce's moral sense was an unknown quantity in her present development. +Her father's true meaning affected her not at all; what she felt was--a +loathing disgust, and a conviction that if she was to hold even Jude for +herself against her father's anger and purpose, she must flee to other +shelter. + +She drew herself up and cast a look upon Jared that he never forgot to +his dying day. It was an added faggot to that hell of his. + +"Isa Tate," the even voice broke upon him, "Isa Tate said you killed my +mother. But I'm not afraid of you, and I'm going to live my life. You +can't kill me! I know when and where to go." + +With that she gathered up the work that had fallen to the floor, and +almost ran into the little bedchamber beyond the kitchen, closing the +door after her. + +Jared sat dumbly staring at the wooden barrier. He longed to call her, +but his tongue pricked with excitement. + +He dared not go to her--so he waited. He heard her moving about inside +the room. A half-hour passed, then an hour. Noon came and went. The fire +was out, and dinner, apparently, was as distant as it had been two hours +before. + +Jared fell asleep in his hard chair, his dishevelled head lying on his +arms folded on the bare table. When he awoke it was three o'clock and +Joyce stood before him. + +She was very white, and the drawn look was still in evidence. She wore a +blue-and-white checked gown; short and scant it was, but daintily fresh +and sweet. She had her poor little best hat on--a hat with a bunch of +roses on the side--and she carried a large basket in her hand. + +Jared stared at her as if she were part of a nightmarish dream. + +"Where are you going?" he asked hoarsely, a new fear gripping him. + +"It doesn't matter to you, father. I'm just--going." + +Jared experienced a shock as he realized how far this girl had already +gone from him. + +"Good-bye," she faltered; "good-bye, father." + +She turned from him and walked to the door. Then a latent power for good +roused Jared. + +"Joyce," he called after her; "there's twenty dollars left--take it all, +girl." + +"No." + +"Then for God's sake take half!" He was pleading, pleading with a woman +for the first time in his selfish, depraved life. + +Joyce turned and looked at him, and the tears filled her eyes. + +"No," she repeated, "I--I couldn't take it. I don't want it; but I'm +going to Isa Tate, father." + +How frightfully still and lonely she had left the little house. Jared +looked at the old furniture and found it strange and unnatural. The +summer day grew dim as he waited there among the ruins of all that he +thought had been his own. No dinner; no probable supper--Jared thought +upon the physical discomfort, too, but he was sober enough, and shocked +enough to give heed to the graver side of the situation. + +What he suffered as the afternoon faded and the ticking of the clock +thudded on his senses, no one could ever know. + +We may leave retribution for sin out of our scheme of +things-as-they-should-be for others. Each sin takes care of itself, and +burns and blisters as it strikes in. Men may suffer without giving +outward sign. Justice is never cheated, and we may trust her workings +alone. Jared suffered. Suffered until nerves and body could bear no +more, and then he went down to the Black Cat to face the situation Joyce +had created and deal with it in his own fashion. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +When Joyce went with bowed head from the only semblance of a home that +had ever been hers, she carried with her, in the rough basket, all that +she could rightfully call her own in personal effects. The load was not +heavy and she scarcely noticed it as she walked rapidly through the +maple thicket which divided her father's garden-place and the Long +Meadow. + +She felt like an exile, indeed. A friendless creature who had no real +hold upon any one. + +She thought of Gaston--but he no longer suggested safety to her. She +thought of Lauzoon, and a wave of fear and repulsion swept over her. She +knew she was driven to him. She knew she must accept whatever fate he +offered, but with the remnant of her intuitive belief in her personal +charm and beauty, she paused at the edge of the wood, to plan some sort +of attitude that would secure Jude's admiration as well as his +protection. She must not call upon him in a moment of weakness and +defeat. That would be putting a weapon in his hand that no St. Angé man +could be trusted to wield mercifully. + +She must hide all traces of outraged feeling; she must find a vantage +point from which Jude might take her. He must come to her; she must not +go to him. Thus she pondered. For one wild instant she turned her face +toward Hillcrest. There were those over the hill who might give her +work--what work? What could she do? But granting that she obtained work, +how long could she retain a position, with her father and Jude in +pursuit? No; she was a product of St. Angé and had all the faltering +distrust of other environments common to the shrinking childhood of the +poor village. + +Down beside the last tree of the thicket the girl crouched with her +shabby basket beside her. + +The elemental woman in her saw, as clearly as any cultivated sister +might have seen, that if she hoped for success in her married life, she +must not throw herself upon Jude crushed and downed. A brave front must +be the breastwork behind which she was to fight. + +When she had told her father she was going to Isa Tate, she had spoken +wildly; but the inevitable closed upon her. Every one went to Leon Tate +in trouble. Leon, like the old gods, first made mad whom he wished to +destroy; for the trust that all St. Angé put in Leon's bland generosity +was nothing short of madness. When any difficulty arose, private or +public, it was carried to the Black Cat for adjustment and final +settlement. By putting every individual under deep obligation to him, +Leon controlled money, loyalty and obedience. Every man in St. Angé was +in his debt, and every woman had accepted, in some form or other, his +wife's services. The difference between Isa and her husband was, +however, vital. Tate was a friend to man in order that he might draw his +victims into his net. Isa had a woman's soul hidden under her rough +exterior and, while she played the part assigned her by her diplomatic +lord, she found comfort for her own lonely nature in giving comfort. + +Joyce, in going to Isa for protection, would in no wise interfere with +her father's welcome at the tavern. Leon would arrange that, and bring +about a brilliant climax for himself; at least he always had done so in +emergencies. + +Crouching under the tree, as the sun went down behind Beacon Hill, Joyce +saw the future unfold itself. There was nothing to do but go to Isa. +Then Leon would, by his subtlety, make it seem that she had come there +to get ready for her marriage to Jude. He'd even arrange, perhaps, the +marriage, and so clutch Jude and her closer to his power. He'd smooth +the way for her father, too, and hush tongues and smile--oh, how he +would smile on them all!--and no one would ever know. + +The sun went down and the stars came out. Still the girl sat there; but +presently a healthy appetite was the call that roused her. She had not +eaten since noon of the day before. She was weak and suffering. She +thought with a kind of comfort that perhaps it was hunger alone that +was now causing her mental and physical agony. After she had eaten, all +would be well with her. She could control Jude and her own fate. She +would never let any one think--Gaston above all--that she was not +mistress of her own shabby little life. + +She got up dizzily, and was shocked to find how heavy the basket was; +still, with a constant shifting from hand to hand, she could manage it. + +Lola's giddy little lark song sprang to memory out of the ashes of her +hurt and pain, and rose and rippled in the fragrant darkness as she +entered the Long Meadow. + +Beacon Hill stood gloomily to the west, and above it gleamed a +particularly bright star. Across Long Meadow the lights in the houses +flickered from open windows, and the Black Cat's glare seemed to control +her motions. It drew her on and on. It was to play a part in her future +as it did in the futures of all--sooner or later. + +Wearily she mounted the steps of the tavern and went to the side door +that opened into whatever there was of privacy in Leon's establishment. +Isa was washing the supper dishes. She was a tall, gaunt woman with a +kindly glance that Nature had, for a safeguard, hidden under heavy black +brows. + +"You, Joyce?" she said, going on with her task. "I thought maybe it was +some one else." + +"Isa," the girl stepped cautiously forward, "I want to tell you +something." + +The gathering hilarity in the tavern made this moment secure. Isa put +down her dish and faced the girl. + +"What?" she asked bluntly. + +Quickly, breathlessly the truth, with all its hideous colouring, truth +bald, and yet with a saving clause for Gaston, was whispered in Isa's +ear. + +When the parting with Jared was confided, the woman put her arms about +the girl. + +"Now you hush, Joyce, I've heard enough. This is a man's world, God help +us! Us women, when we can, must cling together. Me and Tate pull in +harness because we find it pays--we'll help you out--Tate in _his_ way, +me in mine, but, Lord a-mighty, don't I hope there'll be a heaven just +for women, some day! + +"Sit down, you poor, little haggled thing, I don't believe you've eat a +morsel. You look fagged out. They ain't worth it, Joyce, men ain't. +Father, husband--not one of them. But since we've got to use them, we +must make out some kind of game. Here!" + +She set food before the wan girl, and the readjustment of life, in her +masterful hands, seemed already begun. + +It was comparatively easy, later on, to go into particulars with Isa. +With the roar and clatter growing hourly more deafening in the tavern, +Isa and Joyce, sitting on the back porch under the calm stars, spoke +freely to each other. + +Isa, like a dutiful wife, had, while Joyce satisfied her hunger, +confided as much of the girl's trouble to Leon as she thought advisable. +Leon had recognized the opportunity as one by which to capture what was +left of Jared's independence, and rose to the emergency. + +"Leave it to me," he said. "Everything will be blooming to-morrow +like--like a--garden--er--Eden." + +So now Isa had only Joyce's sore little heart to deal with. + +"Come, girl," she began at last; "tears never yet unsnarled a knot. Be +you, or be you not, going to marry Jude?" + +"Yes--I am." There must be no doubt upon that score and Joyce sat up +stiffly and faced her helper. + +"Well, then, look at the thing sensible. In a place like St. Angé, where +there ain't women to spare, you either got to be a decent married woman +or you ain't. Long as I've lived in St. Angé, and that's been more'n +twenty years, I ain't never yet seen a comfortable, respectable, +satisfied, old maid--they ain't permitted here, and you know it. In +season, of course, you'd marry--that's to be looked for. It chances to +be Jude--and after you get over the strangeness, he'll do as well as any +other. They are all powerfully alike when they have their senses. The +sameness lies in their having their faculties. The only man as was ever +different in St. Angé was Timothy Drake. He got smashed on the head by a +falling tree up to Camp 3, and his wits was crushed out of him. But do +you know, what was left of Tim was as gentle and decent and perticerlar +as you'd want to find in any human. He never drank again, never cussed +nor stormed, and I've laid it by as an item, that the badness and +sameness of men lies in their wits--if you want a companionable, safe +man, you've got to turn to sich as are bereft of their senses--and most +women is that foolhardy they prefer wits and diviltry, to senselessness +and decency." + +Joyce smiled feebly at this philosophy. + +"You are the one to decide," Isa went on. "Now see here, girl, I ain't +lived fifty years for nothing. I ain't been in and out of my neighbour's +houses, in times when all the closets are open, without learning a heap +about things. Men is men and there's no getting around that. So long as +you can, you better let them think they amounts to something even when +you own to yourself they don't. Private opinions ain't going to bring on +trouble; it's only when they ain't private. Now granting that man is +what we know he is--it's plain common sense to get as much out of him as +you can. Make the place you live in the best thing he's got; and just so +long as you can, keep yourself a little bit out of his reach--tantalize +him. There ain't nothing so diverting to a man as to claw after a woman, +when he's got the belief in himself that when he _wants_ to clutch her, +he can. + +"I know the kind of naked feeling you've got when you sense your power +with men first; but that wears off when you get your bearings and find +out that it's only a shuffle in the game, anyway. Land of love! if man +and woman was _all_, then when they came face to face with life they +would get smashed; but housework tempers the matter powerfully; and +man's work out among other men; and then when children come and you have +to contrive and pinch, why you just plod along and don't ever get +flustered. It's just the first dash of cold water in the face, child; +after that all lives is pretty much the same." + +Joyce had grown quieter as Isa's words droned on. It was, for all her +commotion, a very humdrum thing that had happened to her. + +As it was she, Joyce, was going to be very respectable. She'd manage, +and Jude would always find her worth his while to be decent for. She +would wrench what she could from him and St. Angé and be a commonplace +married woman. + +Now that all the fuss and fury were over, it seemed quite a silly +exhibition she had made of herself. She almost wished that she had +stayed at home. + +"The little loft room is yours, Joyce, for as long as you want it," Isa +was saying, through the sobering silence. "I ain't going to side with +Jared Birkdale when a woman's sense of right has been roused. Jared's +wits are the keenest and the cruelest round here, and the poison in his +tongue is the deadliest; I guess _I_ know. Are you coming in, child? The +bed's made, but you best carry a pitcher of fresh water up with you." + +"I'll be there in a minute, Isa, and the cracked pitcher's by the well, +isn't it?" + +"Yes," Isa replied; "and I'll leave a lighted candle for you, the ile is +pretty low in the lamp. Good night, child, and don't fuss. I never saw +fussing hurt any one but the fusser." + +Joyce rose stiffly and stood by the open door. She stretched her limbs +and winced at the pain in them. Then she clasped her aching hands above +her head and permitted her tired spirit one long, heavy sigh. + +She stood for some time in that relieved state. The chill of the +deepening night soothed her, and the late new moon looked down through +the pines at her--then she turned sharply. Some one was near! + +Her startled glance fell upon Jude Lauzoon. He was crouching upon the +step of the porch. + +"I thought you was sleeping, standing up," he whispered hoarsely. "I +didn't want to scare you none." + +"Why are you here?" Joyce's heart fluttered. Had he heard all? + +"Why are you?" Jude turned the tables. + +"Where else should I be--to--to--" she looked at him appealingly, "to +get ready to be married?" + +Jude was master of the situation in a way Joyce did not know. He could +afford to be condescendingly gracious. He, of all who had taken part in +this poor little drama, now held the centre of the stage, and the +knowledge gave him a certain manliness highly becoming. + +"Stay here until we get married--is that it?" + +Joyce nodded. + +Jude felt a pity for her that would have been contempt had not her +beauty and charm mastered him. He was going to clutch her once and for +all, but he was willing to let her see that he only meant, since he must +have her, to clutch close enough to bind her to him. He was not going to +strangle her: he meant only to stifle her. Jude was cool now, and alert. + +"I've got something to say to you, Joyce, and it better be said and done +with. I slept on it last night and most of to-day. I went to your +father's this evening to have it out, but you wasn't there. I met Jock +Filmer in the Long Medder and he told me where you was, and why. Your +father had aired his affair in the tavern." + +Joyce clasped her cold fingers nervously. There was nothing for her to +do but wait Jude's pleasure. Leon had not been able to overpower Jared's +personality evidently. + +"I saw you go to Mr. Gaston's shack night before last! I'd been there +before you, and I was lying off in the pine grove when you came +a-visiting." + +The widening eyes of the listener were the only sign that this +information was startling. + +"Do you know," Jude gave a chuckle, "up to that minute when I saw you +a-knocking, and him taking no heed, I had thought 'twas him as had been +shining up to you. I was actually hard agin him, and once went so far as +to go up there with my gun!" Joyce shivered. "Yes, by gosh! with my +gun. Just suppose I'd killed him, and him not to blame either? + +"Now there be some men, Joyce, that wouldn't have you after knowing what +I know, but I ain't one as goes off the handle without looking on both +sides. Since I know _he's_ all right, I can manage you proper +enough--and I own up to wanting you, and I'm willing to let bygones _be_ +bygones, only--and you might as well know this--once I've had my eyes +open, I ain't going to shut them again. I'll always be within call if +you should forget yourself, and take to attracting Mr. Gaston's +attention. He's my _friend_ now, by gosh! He's going to stand by me. +He's the real stuff and shows up to me in the finest colours, never once +hinting that your seeking him had made you cheap. He's a bigger feller +than I ever thought, and I ain't going to have no foolishness. You +understand?" + +"Yes; oh, yes; I understand!" Again the shivering seized Joyce. + +"I should think to have a man turn a deaf ear to you like that, would +end any nonsense without more fuss." + +"It--it will." The low voice shook. + +"But you see, protecting a young girl agin herself is one thing. He +might feel different if a married woman wanted to turn fool. Now, Joyce, +I ain't ever going to say anything more about this, 'less it's +necessary. I know you're pretty and maybe a bit more flighty along of +that, but being married and having your own work, may tone you down. If +you'll stick by me, I'll stick by you; and in time Mr. Gaston can be a +friend to both of us and no harm done. You understand, don't you? I +ain't hard, I'm only letting light in on the whole thing." + +"I--I understand, Jude." + +"And now, as to marrying. Mr. Gaston is going to lend me money, and I'm +going to put up an addition to my shack, and get some fixings over to +Hillcrest. If you want, we'll get married over there and rough it +together before the buildin's done." + +"I--I'd rather wait, Jude if you're willing. I want to get some--some +things." Joyce's teeth were chattering. "But if a minister should +happen in St. Angé in the meanwhile, I'd--I'd marry you." This seemed a +reasonable request--"I don't like the minister over at Hillcrest, he's +so fearful in his sermons, he makes me afraid." + +"Well," Jude rose, "when the house gets along, we'll see. Things are +tight and trim now. Good night! Go to bed--and forget it." + +He put his hands on her shoulders and bent and kissed the cold, upturned +face. Then he laughed: for he had got what he wanted, and she was very +sweet and pretty. + +"Go to bed now--trot on!" + +Joyce staggered indoors and hurriedly bolted the door behind her. She +took the spluttering candle and mounted the steep stairs. Once alone in +the small stifling room, she gasped, and put her hands to her throat as +if to remove a pressure that was there. + +Presently she blew out the light, set the shutters wide to the pale +moonlight, and undressed herself quietly and methodically. + +Already she seemed used to her lot. It was very ordinary, tame and +familiar. + +She had received the first dash of cold water in the face, and had +accepted the new situation. + +There was no longer even the excitement of trying to dangle a little +above Jude. He had her close in his grip. She must accept whatever he +doled out to her--and that was the fate of all respectable married women +in St. Angé. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The late September afternoon held almost summer heat as it flooded St. +Angé. The breeze gave a promise of crispness as it passed fitfully +through the pines; but on the whole a calmness and silence pervaded +space which gave the impression of a summer Sunday when a passing +minister had been prevailed upon to "stop over." + +However, it was not a summer Sunday, as St. Angé well enough knew, for +every able-bodied man in the place had that day signed a contract with +the Boss of Camp 7 for the lumber season; and the St. Angéans never +signed contracts on Sunday. + +The calmness was accounted for by the fact that Joyce Birkdale was to be +married. The circumstances leading up to this event had been +sufficiently interesting to demand sobriety. St. Angé did not believe in +putting on airs, but it had its own ideas of decorum; things had sort of +dovetailed lately, and, according to Leon Tate, "it was up to them to +spread eagle and plant their banner for knowing a good thing from a +rotten egg." + +Leon was above consistent figures of speech. He had power of his own +that controlled even language. + +[Illustration: "ONCE I WENT SO FAR AS TO GO UP THERE WITH MY GUN"] + +After Jared Birkdale had defied Leon in his own stronghold, and, instead +of agreeing with Tate that Joyce had come to Isa as to a mother, had +insisted upon bare, unglorified fact, he had betaken himself into +oblivion. Tate was confronted with the predicament of having a helpless +girl on his hands to do for--unless another man was forthcoming. + +Jude rose to the occasion. He confided to Jock Filmer his desire for +immediate marriage, and good-natured Jock, his system permeated by +gossip, consented to send down to the Junction--since Joyce objected to +the hell-fire minister at Hillcrest--and bring a harmless wayfarer of +the cloth, who Murphy, the engineer of the daily branch train, had said, +was summering there. + +"He's a lean, blighted cuss," Murphy had explained; "what God intended +for an engineer, but Nature stepped in and flambasted his constitootion, +and so he took to preaching--that not demanding no bodily strength. + +"He comes pottering round the engine, using the excuse of saving my +soul, and I don't let on that I see through him. I give him pints about +the machinery; and if I tell him he can ride in the cab with me +anywhere, he'd marry a girl, or bury a tramp, if he had to go to hell to +do it." + +So Jock detailed Murphy to decoy the side-tracked gentleman at the +Junction up to St. Angé. + +The stranger was expected on the afternoon train, and Tate had the +guest room of the Black Cat in readiness. + +Jock had lazed about the Station since noon. The wedding preparations +bored him, and the train's delay angered him. + +"See here!" he exploded to Tom Smith, the agent, "ain't it stretching a +point too far when that gol-durned train gives herself four hours' +lee-way?" + +Tom spat with dignity, and remarked casually: + +"Long as she ain't likely to meet any train going down, seems to me +there ain't any use to git warmer than is necessary." + +"If she keeps on," drawled Jock, "she'll have a head-on collision with +herself some day. Is that the dying shriek of the blasted hussy?" + +Tom stopped the imminent expectoration. + +"It be," he announced, and went out on the track to welcome the guest. + +"She do look," he contemplatively remarked, "like she had an all-fired +jag on." + +The train came in sight, swaying unsteadily on its rickety tracks. +Puffing, panting and hissing, it reached the platform and stopped +jerkily. + +Murphy sprang from the engine; the conductor strode with dignity worthy +a Pullman official, to the one passenger coach behind the baggage car, +and assisted a very young and very sickly man to alight. + +Tom Smith, with energy concentrated on this single activity of the +twenty-four hours, began hurling mail-bag and boxes about with the +abandon that marks the man whom Nature has fitted to his legitimate +calling. + +Filmer eyed the passenger with disapproving interest; Murphy, after +looking at some part of the machinery, lolled up to Jock. + +"Is that it?" Filmer nodded toward the stranger, who sat exhaustedly +upon a cracker-box, destined for the Black Cat, with his suit-case at +his feet. + +"It ain't, then," Murphy returned. "It got on the Branch 'stead of the +Mountain Special, by mistake. It's a lunger bound for the lakes, and +some one gave him a twist as to the track an' we caught 'im. But shure, +the rale thing, the parson, when I was after tellin' 'im of the job what +was at this end of the game, he up and balked--divil take 'im!--an' said +he wasn't goin' to tie for time and eternity, two unknown quantities. +What do ye think of that?" + +Jock thought hotly of it, and expressed his thought so fervidly that the +boy on the cracker-box gave attention. + +"Say," Murphy continued, "give it straight, Filmer; does it be after +meanin' life or death for Birkdale's girl? What's the almighty hurry, +anyway?" + +He leered unpleasantly. Jock squared himself, and faced the engineer. + +"Come off with that guff!" he drawled. "What hurry there be is _my_ +hurry, you blamed idiot! And my reasons are my own, confound you! I've +set my mind on having that affair come off to-morrow, gol durn it, and +I'm going to have a parson if I have to dangle down to the Junction on +that old machine of yours, myself." + +A few added words of luridly picturesque intent gave force and colour to +this declaration. + +The stranger on the cracker-box rose weakly and drew near. + +"Excuse me," he began, in a voice of peculiar sweetness and earnestness, +"I wonder if I can be of any service? I am a minister!" + +Filmer reeled before this announcement, took the stranger in from head +to foot, then remarked in an awed tone: + +"The hell you are!" + +"I am. My name's Drew, Ralph Drew." + +Murphy beat a rapid retreat. The scene was too much for him. Filmer, in +doubt as to whether this was a joke or not, stood his ground. + +The young fellow laughed good-naturedly. + +"I know what you think," he said, and coughed sharply; "I got my +credentials all right. I nearly finished myself in getting them, but +they're all right. Graduated last June, went under soon after, got on my +feet two weeks ago, and am making for Green Lake. I got side-tracked at +the Junction through my own stupidity, and landed here. Perhaps you can +direct me to a quiet place for the night, and I'll be glad to help you +out in any way along my line, if I can." + +This lengthy explanation was interrupted by short, hacking coughs, and +Filmer's eyes never dropped from the eager boyish face through it all. + +Presently he leaned down and took the dress-suit case from the other's +hand. + +"Drop that," he drawled, "and you follow me. There's the Black Cat +Tavern, but I guess that ain't your kind. Do you think you can make my +shack? It's a half-mile, and pretty uppish grade." + +The boy began to thank Filmer. + +"Hold on!" Jock commanded. "Keep your wind for the climb, and stop +gassing." + +The two started on, and the climb was a silent one. Filmer +appreciatively strode ahead, speechless. Drew, panting, accepted the +situation gratefully, and made the most of his position and his leader's +silence. + +Filmer's shack was a lonely place, standing on a little pine-clad knoll +facing the west. It had four small rooms, a broad piazza, and a thrifty +garden at the rear. + +The room assigned to Drew had a cot-bed and rough, home-made toilet +accommodations that suggested comfort and a sense of refinement. When +Filmer made him welcome to it, he said quietly: "Now kid, you make +yourself trim and dandy. Come out on the piazza when you get good and +ready, and we'll have supper out there later." It was evident that +Jock's sympathies had been touched. + +Once alone, Drew sank upon the low bed, and permitted the waves of +weakness and weariness to engulf him. + +The young face grew pinched and blue, a faintness rose and conquered +him. The eyes closed, and the breath almost stopped. But it was only +momentary, and with returning consciousness came renewed hope and sudden +strength. + +From the broad open window the boy could see the western hills, already +gay with glistening autumn colour, shining under the glowing sunset sky. +The tall pointed pines, standing here and there in clumps, rose sharply +dark in the early gloaming of the valley. + +"It's my chance," thought the boy, his eyes widening with enjoyment of +the beauty; "and, by Jove, I believe I've caught on!" + +He got to his feet. The giddiness was gone. He flung off his +dust-stained garments, as if they held all of his past weakness and +misery. He plunged his head into the clear, cold water in the big basin +on the pine table; when he emerged, colour had mounted to his pale face, +and depression was a thing of the past. + +"Hang it!" he exclaimed, rubbing his face and head with the rough towel +that he took from the back of a chair; "this is good enough for me. No +Green Lake in mine! I'll send for my trunk"--he had begun to whistle in +the pauses of his thought--"and put up my fight right here. Filmer's +good stuff; and there's a job ready-made for me, I bet! This is where I +was sent, and no mistake. What's that?" + +It was the odours of supper, and Drew stood still, inhaled the fragrance +and grinned broadly. + +"Gee whiz!" he cried; "I'm as hungry as a ditch digger." He dashed over +to his suit-case, opened it and pulled out the contents. A pair of +flannel trousers, a heavy flannel shirt and thick shoes were selected, +and soon Drew, radiant and revived, went forth from the disorder he had +created, eager for the meal that he heard Filmer placing on the piazza +table. + +Drew was to eat many of Filmer's meals in the future; he was to learn +that Jock was a master-hand at cooking, but he was never again to know +just the positive joy that he felt during that first meal; for he +brought to it an appetite made keen by the hope of recovered health--the +health he had squandered so foolishly, poor fellow, while he was making +for his goal at college. + +At last he tilted his chair back and laughed. + +"I haven't eaten like that," he said, "nor with such enjoyment, since I +went tramping up in the Maine woods when I was a youngster." + +Filmer was removing the empty dishes. There was a sense of delicacy +about his host that was compelling Drew's notice. He watched him +passing from kitchen to piazza, and he saw that he was big, strong and +handsome, but with a certain weakness, of chin, and a shyness of +expression that came and went, marring the general impression. + +Filmer's shyness was increasing. Never before in his life had he been +brought into close personal contact with "the cloth" as he termed it, +and even this "swaddling garment" was having a slow-growing hold upon +him. + +Presently Jock came timidly out, after his last visit to the kitchen, +with pipes and a tobacco-box. + +"I'm not certain," he began, "how your kind takes to tobacco, but if I +don't get my evening smoke, I get a bad spell of temper--so, if you +don't object--I'll light up." + +"If you'll wait a moment," Drew returned, "I'll join you. I always smoke +my own pipe--I've got sort of chummy with it--but I'll share your +tobacco." + +Filmer grinned, and the cloud passed from his face. + +"I calculated," he said, "that your kind classed tobacco with cussing +and jags. Light up, kid." + +They were soon lost in the fragrant smoke, the bliss of satisfied +appetite, and a peaceful scene. The sun went down, and left the hills +and valley in an afterglow of glory. The beauty was so touching that +even Filmer succumbed, shook the ashes from his pipe and delayed +refilling. Presently he looked at Drew's face. It had paled from +emotion, and shone white in the shadow of the porch. + +"You look peaked." Filmer's words brought the boy back to earth. "Been +through a long siege, maybe?" + +"Oh, overstudy and weak lungs!" Drew spoke cheerfully. "Bad combination, +you know, and I didn't pull in as soon as I should have. I crammed for +exams. Made them, and then collapsed. I'm all right now, though. All the +struggle's over. I've only to reap the reward. There was a big doctor +down in New York who told me that the air up here was my one chance. I'm +going to take it. A few months here, and a life anywhere else I may +choose, he said. + +"What do you say to letting me have your room and company--you needn't +give any more of the latter than you want to, you know--for a spell? +You'll find me easy to get on with, I fancy, no one has ever complained +of me in that way. I don't care what Green Lake is like, I like _this_ +better. I like this, way down to the ground. I've gone daffy over the +whole thing." He drew in a long, happy breath. "What do you say?" + +"I'd like to ask, if it ain't too inquisitive," Jock inquired, ignoring +the boy's eagerness, while he put forth his own claims, "why in thunder +a chap like you took to the preaching business? Somehow you look like a +feller that might want to enjoy life." + +Drew laughed heartily. + +"Why, I mean to enjoy life," he replied, "and I chose this profession +because I like it. I believe in it. You see, I was born to be a fighter. +If I'd had a big, lusty body like yours, I might have been--anything. As +it is, I had to choose something where I could fight with other weapons +than bone, muscle and bodily endurance. I'm going into the fight of +helping men and women in the best way I can, don't you see? I suppose I +must sound cheeky and brazen to talk this way, but I'm full of the joy +of it all, and I've made the goal, you see, and for all the breakdown +I've come out ahead. It's enough to stir one, don't you think? + +"The night I graduated, I don't mind telling this to you, I went down on +my knees when all the excitement was over and the lights were out, and I +said, 'I am here. I've got money; the good God need not have me on his +mind along that line; he can send me where he chooses, to do his work; +I'm ready.' + +"It was like consecrating myself, you know. Well, when the sickness +came, I thought perhaps he didn't want me or my money either; but I came +out of the Valley and here I am now, and I tell you--it seems good." + +Filmer folded his arms across his chest, and looked steadily ahead of +him. + +"Do you know," he said at length--"and I hope you'll excuse me--I think +you're the most comical cuss that ever happened." + +Drew met this frank opinion with the boyish laugh that was having the +effect of clearing up all the dull places in Filmer's character. He had +never heard that laugh equalled but once, and he rarely went back to +that memory--the path was too hard and lonely. + +The reserves were down between the two. Without reason or cause, +perhaps, they had fallen into a confident liking. + +"Have you done much marrying and burying yet?" The question startled +Drew, then he recalled the conversation on the Station platform. + +"Well, no," he said, "practical demonstration comes after graduation +generally. I've substituted for ministers--preached a Sunday, now and +then, you know; but of course, I _can_ perform the marriage ceremony, or +read the burial service." + +"You look pretty young," Jock spoke slowly; he was noting the strange +dignity of his guest. Any reference to his profession brought with it +this calm assurance that held levity in check; "but it's this way. +There's a wedding fixed for to-morrer. I've set my heart on it coming +off, and there ain't a durned parson to be had, that the girl favours. +Now under these circumstances, you can't afford to look a gift horse in +the mouth so to speak, and no offence intended. I can give you a tip or +two before you trot in, and as for you, why you know, there ain't +nothing equal to being thrown neck and crop into a job. + +"The first time I went logging I got one leg broke and my head smashed, +but I haven't ever regretted it. That accident, and the incidental +scare, did more for me than any two successful seasons could have done. +Now, your plunging right into a marrying may prove providential. Sermons +and infant christenings will seem like child's play after. What do you +say?" + +Drew was laughing and the tears stood in his eyes. + +"I'll--I'll do my level best," he managed to say through his spasms of +mirth. "This seems like a horrible approach to anything so serious, but +it is the way you put it, you know, and--and the air, and the supper. +The laugh comes easy, you see." + +"Oh! enjoy yourself." Filmer waved his pipe aloft. "I'm glad you _can_ +take life this way, with the handicap of your trade, I don't quite see, +by thunder, how your future parish is going to account for you, but so +far as I'm concerned you can laugh till you bust." + +Filmer was delighted. Not in years had he been so taken out of himself. + +"Now this here town," he explained, "likes to have its buryings and +weddings set off with a sermon with the principal actor as text. They +like to get their money's worth. See? This girl, what I want spliced, +is a devilish--" he paused--"you don't mind _moderately_ strong +language, do you?" he asked. "We all get flowery up here. What is +lacking in events, talk makes up. I'll hold back when I can--in reason." + +"Don't mind me!" Drew was trying to control his mirth. + +Filmer nodded appreciatively. + +"Well, as I was remarking--and I've got to be open with you--this here +girl will be safer married, and so will some other folks. I ain't much +of a reader of character, but I sense things like all creation, and I +_feel_ that getting the girl in harness as soon as possible is the only +plain common-sense method. She's mettlesome, you know, the kind that +kicks over the traces, and slams any one happening to be handy. She +ain't never done it yet--but she's capable of it." + +"Is--is the girl a relation or----?" + +Jock flushed. + +"Neither. Nor the man. The feller--Jude Lauzoon is his name--I don't +care a durn for, but he's all gone over this girl, and if any one can +steer him straight she can, and when she gets the reins in her hands, I +believe she's going to keep her head, in order to steer straight. + +"The girl's name is Joyce Birkdale. Mother dead; raised sort of +promiscuous on the instalment plan. Father an old buck who only keeps +sober because he want's to see what's going on. He lit out and made +himself scarce a time back, and this here Joyce took refuge after a hell +of--excuse me! after a row with the old man--up to the Black Cat. Leon +Tate acts the father-part to any one in a fix--it helps his trade--keeps +folks in his debt, you know, but he ain't going to hamper hisself past a +certain point, and if this here Jude Lauzoon should get a beckon from +old man Birkdale he'd skip as quick as thunder--that's what is troubling +Tate, and, by gosh! it's troubling me, but for another reason what +needn't enter into this here conversation. + +"If it was trusting you with a funeral or a christening," Filmer felt +his way gingerly, "I wouldn't care a durn. You can't hurt the dead and +the kid might outgrow it; but when it comes to tying folks together +tight, it's a blamed lot like trusting something brittle in a baby's +hand. It mustn't be broke, you see, or there'll be h--I mean trouble, to +pay." + +"See here!" Drew sat up straight, "I'm not much younger than you, if the +truth were known. So let us cut extreme youth out of the question." + +"Maybe you are about my age, kid," Jock gazed indulgently upon him, "and +don't let your necktie choke you; but you're pretty raw material, and +I'm seasoned. That's the difference. It ain't anything against you. It's +the way you've been handled. Burying is looked upon by young _and_ old, +solemn-like; but I didn't know how you looked upon--marrying." + +"It's the solemnest thing in life." Drew spoke clearly and impressively. +"I think death is a light matter in comparison. I've always thought +that--since, well--for several years." + +"Now you're talking!" Jock leaned over and gave Drew a friendly slap on +the shoulder. "Now you're getting on the right course, and I want to +give you this tip. Lay it on thick with Jude. Tell him he'll be +everlasting blasted in kingdom-come if he don't act clean and hold on. +Specially slap it on about holding on. Jude's intentions are good +enough. He's powerful promising at the start, but he's the d----, the +gol-durndest quitter anywhere around. + +"Every new boss bets on Jude when the season begins, but every man of +them would like to kick him out of camp before the spring sets in. All +the hell-fire threats that that religion factory of yours drilled in +you, you plank on Jude to-morrow, when you make him and Joyce man and +wife. How fervent was that factory of yours? There is a difference in +temperatures among them, I've heard." + +"Oh! mine was mild," Drew was again helplessly convulsed, "so mild that +I'm afraid you'd call it frigid. But that doesn't matter. Future +damnation is a poor threat when every man among us knows that a present +hell is a much worse affair. It's the awakening of a soul to _that_ +fact, that is going to save the world of men and women." + +A full moon was sailing high in the heavens now, and Drew's animated +face showed clear in the pale gleam. Jock hitched his chair nearer. + +"Do you mean to insinuate," he asked, "that you've been wasting your +time and health studying a line of preaching that hasn't got a red-hot +hell in the background for sinners?" + +"I mean just that." Drew threw back his head proudly. + +"What in thunder do you do with them, then?" + +"We try--by God's help _I'm_ going to try--to take fear from them. Make +them _want_ to be decent. Make them _want_ to use the powers they have +in themselves. Make them want to work _with_ God, not alone _for_ God." + +Jock's face was a puzzle. Admiration, pity, bewilderment, and a desire +to laugh, waged war. Finally he drawled: + +"Well, I'll be eternally durned, if I ain't sorry that a bright chap +like you has wasted his youth, and pretty nearly drowned the vital +spark, in arriving at such a cold-storage conclusion as this here one +you've been airing. Why any one with half an eye can see that if +hell-fire can't stir sinners, a slow call to duty ain't going to get a +hustle on them. I swear if it wasn't so late, I'd get Gaston over here +to listen to your views. Gaston is open to all kinds of tommy-rot that +has a new mark on it. I'll be jiggered if I don't believe Gaston will +want to pay you a salary to keep you here just for a diversion. But take +my advice, and keep to old-fashioned lines, to-morrer 'specially, when +you come to the marrying. Lord! Lord! But Jude would be having a picnic +if he grasped that rose-coloured streamer of yours." + +Drew made no reply. He was thinking, and his thoughts led where he knew +Jock could not follow. + +Presently a thin, blue-veined hand stole out in the darkness and found +Filmer's. + +"I--I--didn't know such men as you--such a place as this--existed," said +the low, eager voice. "It's like having died and awakened in a new +atmosphere, where even the people are different. It's--it's quite an +inspiration." + +Jock kept the hand, delicate as a woman's, in his strong, rough palm. + +"You're somewhat of an eye-opener yourself," he said. "I've always held +that mixing is learning on both sides. As long as you've got strength +and inclination to stretch out, you'll always find something stretching +out to you. + +"And now as to that proposition of yours a time back, about bunking here +for a time. I'm agreed, with this understanding: I've got a devil of a +disposition, but it ain't ever going to be no better and them as don't +like it can find new quarters. I came here over ten years ago to indulge +my disposition, and I'm going to indulge it. When I don't want folks, I +take to the forest, or, if the weather is bad, I shut and lock my door. +If, after knowing this, you care to take that room I gave you this +afternoon, it's yours for as long as you want it. I like you. I'm sudden +in my likes, but I don't like your hell-less doctrine. I advise you not +to turn that loose in St. Angé. We're none too good now, but if a +soothing syrup was poured out, them as valued their lives would have to +navigate to the Solitudes." + +"I don't believe it!" cried Drew. "As God hears me, I believe it is just +the place to try it." + +"Oh! Get to bed." Jock stood up and laughed good-naturedly. "Go to bed +and get up steam for to-morrer. When you see the whole collection you'll +warm up your ideas. You're a terrible plucky kid to trust your own soul +on a trifling little raft like this religion of yours. You better not +overload it with more souls, though; the risk's too tremendous. + +"Go sleep on your fairy story, boy. I don't see for the life of me how +your health could have broken studying such a mild mixture as that. You +must have been real run down at the start. But never mind, don't lay the +laugh up against me, kid, I ain't enjoyed myself so much in ten years as +I have to-night." + +The two parted the best of friends. Drew fell quickly into a deep, +undisturbed sleep, but Filmer tossed about till morning. The grim Past +gripped him; he pulled the flask, that stood ever ready, nearer; but +the cowardice of the act swayed him, and he flung the bottle to the +floor. + +Then he swore, and tried to sleep again, but the Spectre jeered him. + +"The powers they have in themselves." The words struck again and again +on Filmer's aching brain. + +What powers? Oh! he had had powers. He might have been--what? He might +have been where? If--if---- + +The sunrise of Joyce's wedding day was just breaking when Filmer's +Spectre gave up the struggle and sleep came. The only trophy of the +victory was the discarded flask, which lay untouched where the hand of +the master--for that time at least--had flung it. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The word had passed along, and all St. Angé knew that Jock Filmer had a +raw specimen of a parson up at his shack, in safe keeping for the Sunday +events. For Joyce's wedding-day fell upon a Sunday. + +"He's fattening him up," said Tom Smith, "and the Lord knows he needs +it! Such a spindling youngster I _never_ saw--a parson!" The contempt +was too deep for Smith's expression, so he gave up. "And to think," +added the train conductor, stretching his long legs in Tate's tavern, +"there he was on my car, and I never sensed his ideas. Talk about +entertaining angels unaware, it ain't in it! He even cussed mild when I +told him his ticket was punched for Green Lake, and he was headed for +St. Angé. I never would have took him for anything but a plain milksop +till he let forth his opinions." + +"I don't call it a proper attitude," broke in Tate, mixing a glass of +vile dilution for Murphy's consumption. "I don't call it a _proper_ +attitude for a parson to appear so much like other folks that you can't +tell 'im. It's suspicious, says I. How do we know as he _is_ a parson?" + +This suggestion caused the company a moment's pause. + +"He better be!" muttered Peter Falstar. "He'd better be what he claims +to be, even if it _is_ a parson. We don't stand for any tricks from +strangers." + +This lifted the spirits somewhat. Looked at _that_ way, they had the +matter in their own hands. + +"I wonder"--Tate's face assumed its cheerful placidity--"if his marrying +of Jude and Joyce would hold in any court o' law?" + +At this the listeners laughed. + +"Who ever heard of a marriage in St. Angé getting to a court o' law?" +asked Tom Smith. + +"But Jared ain't never had a daughter married before." Tate nodded his +head sagely. "Jared's a deep one, and, taken off his guard, shows he +knows more about law and order than any one man I ever let my eyes fall +on." + +"He must be all-fired off his guard," jeered Falstar, "when he talks +order of any kind. Where is he, anyway?" + +"Exactly." Tate held his own glass high and firm. "_Where_ is he? Here +is his daughter's wedding day--Where is he? I tell _you_ if that +marriage ain't hard and fast, it's _my_ opinion Birkdale will trifle +with it to suit his own ends. Jude's taking chances when he annexes +Jared to his responsibilities, and don't you forget it! If that marriage +ain't hide-bound, or if Jude don't provide for Birkdale, it's going to +be broke if Jared has to raise all damnation to do it. He's got his eye +to a knothole somewhere, you bet your life on that." + +By superhuman sacrifice St. Angé had kept itself sober the Saturday +night preceding the wedding but it did not sleep much. The male +population discussed the day's doings and the women searched their +meagre belongings for appropriate trappings for the next day's +festivities. + +Their resources were limited, and the day being Sunday, added to the +difficulty. + +"You can't," said draggled Peggy Falstar, "put on real gay toggings in a +church and on a Sunday." + +Isa Tate, as leading lady in the place, solved the problem. + +"We've got our mourning," she said to Peggy and the others gathered in +Peggy's dirty kitchen. "We always have that on hand. Now we can leave +off the long veils and put some false flowers on our bonnets--real +spruce ones. They will lighten up the black. Them as has black gloves +can wear them, but by carrying a clean handkercher real conspicuous, the +gloom will be brightened some." + +"I ain't had a pair of gloves in seventeen years," moaned Peggy. + +"Well, you can sort of wind yer handkercher around your hands," +comforted Isa. + +"My feelings may be overcome," said Peggy; "they generally is in +public, and then I'll have to use my handkercher and show my hands." + +"You'll have to control yourself." Isa looked grim. "And, land o' love, +a wedding ain't no place for wailing. Tate and me has given Joyce a real +smart white dress, and she's trimmed her old hat all up with little +frost flowers. She's a dabster at fixin' things. She's going to look +real stylish. You know her mother was that way, though it was sorter +knocked out of her, but the last thing she said to me was, 'Isa, I want +you to put my grandmother's specs on me when I'm gone. Specs is dreadful +stylish, and I've always looked forward to my eyes giving out so I could +wear them. My eyes,' says she, 'has lasted better than me, but I want to +be buried in my specs'; and so she was!" + +The women all wiped their eyes. + +"She was a powerful impressive corpse," whimpered Peggy, "but them specs +gave me a terrible turn when I saw them first. The second look sorter +took away the shock. I do hope," Peggy sighed, "I do hope them specs was +long-distance ones. The good Lord knows Mrs. Birkdale had favourable +reasons for seeing as far off as possible!" + +"They was," Isa nodded. "I tried 'em, and things was all blurred to me." + +And then the women parted gloomily, to meet again at Joyce's wedding. + +It was such a day as only the mountains know. A hushed, golden day with +a mysterious softness of outline on the distant hills. + +The little crumbling church was open to the beauty of the morning, and +John Gaston had decked it within with every flowering thing he could +gather from wood and meadow. + +Jock came early and stood in one of the narrow doors of the church, +opening upon the highway. His hands were plunged in his pockets, and a +look of concentration was on his handsome face. + +He was going to "set," so he thought, his baby parson on to Jude. There +was excitement in the idea. While he stood there Gaston came and took +his stand at the other narrow door. The architect of the St. Angé church +had had ideas of propriety in regard to established rules. + +"Looks--some! don't it?" Jock asked. + +"Yes," Gaston replied; "I was bound to have it look as wedding-like as +possible." + +"You did the decorating?" Jock asked, and a curious frown settled +between his eyes. "I thought it was the women." + +"They're thinking of themselves. Is your parson on to the game, Filmer?" + +"He's all right. Gone off to commune with Nater. There he is now." + +Drew had entered the rear door, and went at once to the small bare +pulpit. + +"Umph!" whispered Gaston. "Looks like a picture of John the Baptist." + +"He don't act like it." Jock was in arms at once against any suspected +criticism. "He's got more sand than many a blasted heavyweight. You +ought to hear his gab--it's the newest thing in soul-saving. Sort o' +homeopathic doctrine. Tastes good, but bitter as pisen under the +coating. Real stuff inside, and all that. Get's working after it's +taken, and the sweet taste lasts in your mouth while your innards are +acting like--" + +The people were gathering. They passed by Jock and Gaston without +recognition. Social functions in St. Angé ignored all familiar +intimacies. + +Jude and Joyce came through the rear door, and sat in the front pew. + +The girl moved with the absorption of a sleepwalker beside Jude whose +shufflings bespoke nervous tension. Every now and then he glanced +sheepishly at Joyce. Even to his senses, accustomed as they were to the +girl's beauty, there was a slight shock of surprise. + +The little round hat was gracefully wound with frost flowers until it +looked like a wreath upon the pale gold of the glorious hair. The face +was white and luminous, and the eyes looked as if they were expecting a +vision to appear. + +The white dress, home-made and cheap, had the unfailing touch that +innate taste always gives, and it fell in soft lines about the slim, +girlish figure. The little work-worn hands were folded loosely. They +were resting a moment before taking up the labour of the new, untried +life. + +Drew glanced down as the two came in, and when he saw Joyce he started, +and leaned forward. + +He tried to take his eyes from that pale, exquisite face, but could not. +It moved him powerfully not only by its beauty, but by its expression of +entranced expectation. + +Could the crude fellow at her side inspire such emotion? It was puzzling +and baffling, but it roused Drew's sympathy, and held him captive. The +rough faces of the men, the pitiable, worn faces of the women, the +sprinkling of freckled, childish faces were blotted out for him. Like a +star in blank space shone that one sweet, waiting face with its wreath +of fairy-like flowers. + + * * * * * + +She was waiting for something she expected him to give. Drew became +obsessed with this thought. Not the consecration of marriage--No! but +something she--the soul of her--wanted. + +Out among the pines in the early morning Drew had made a few notes, +these he clutched in his feverish right hand. When the hour fixed upon +arrived, he arose and stood beside the rickety pulpit stand. He made a +short prayer; he knew it was feeble and rambling. + +"Scared to death," thought Gaston, and he heard Filmer breathe heavily. +Then Drew lifted his notes to the desk; tried to fix his eyes and +attention upon them, failed and gazed helplessly at that one face in the +appalling vacancy. Presently the bits of paper fell from his nerveless +hand and fluttered to the floor. + +Back in his college days he had had his dream of the vital word he would +say to his people--_his_ people--on that first day when he was to come +to his own. Strangely enough he felt that his time had arrived. Called +only by God, to a people who would never think of desiring him, he must +say his word though only that pale, wonderful face thrilled to his +meaning. If only he could make _her_ understand, he would take it as a +sign from on high that his mission was not to be an unworthy one. + +Drew always had the power, even in his weakest moments, to utilize his +panic to more intense concentration. It was the faculty that had made +his college president point to him on more than one occasion as a +success. Now, with the anchor of his notes fluttering in the September +breeze, he put out to sea. + +"We brought nothing into this world, and it's certain we can carry +nothing out." + +"He's mistaking this for a funeral," thought Gaston, and he struggled to +conquer his inclination to laugh. + +But what was happening? The boy up aloft was refuting the statement. His +voice had a power wholly out of proportion to the frail body. He was +getting hold of the people, too, Peggy Falstar was crying openly, and +slow, hard-brought tears were dimming many eyes. + +They were being told, those plain, dull people, and by a mere boy, too, +that they had brought something into the world. A heritage of strength +and weakness; of good and evil, bequeathed to them by those who had gone +on. From these fragments their souls must weave what is to be taken with +them when Death comes. The effort, the struggle, the success or failure, +will be the part that they leave behind for them who remain, or who are +to come later. In words strangely adapted to his listeners, that frail +boy, with glorified face, was beseeching them, as they valued their +future hope, as they desired to make better the ones who must live +later, to gain a victory over their heritage of weakness and sin by the +God-given elements of strength and goodness, and to blaze the trail for +themselves, and to leave it so free behind them that weak, stumbling +feet might easier find the way. + +He was speaking to fathers and mothers for the sakes of their children. +He was urging the two about to marry to see to it that they prepare by +their own consecration, the _path on before_. + +A silence filled the little church. The boy, pale and exhausted, was +asking Jude and Joyce to come forward. + +Gaston saw them go, side by side, Jude shambling as usual, Joyce +stepping as if hastening to receive something long-desired. + +It was the briefest of services. Simple, unadorned, but dignified and +solemn. + +Amen! + +It was over. Jude and Joyce were married! The people were stirring; were +moving about. The sodden, familiar life was awaiting every one of them. +No; something had happened in St. Angé. Gaston knew it. Filmer knew it. +Peggy Falstar had hold of her little Billy's hand, and Peter followed +with his little daughter Maggie drawn close to him. + +Leon Tate was red in the face, and Isa looked stern and thoughtful. Yes; +something had happened in St. Angé. It would never be the same. + +Drew went outside the church and joined Filmer. He had seen the uplifted +expression on Joyce's face. He had had his answer from on high; and he +was strangely moved. + +He stood beside Filmer, motionless and flushed. Jock contemplated him +from his greater height as if he were a new and startling enigma. + +"Say, kid," he drawled presently, striving to hide the excitement that +was causing the perspiration to stand on his forehead; "what got into +you?" + +"I reckon it was something getting out of me," Drew replied with the +short cough. + +"I don't know as them few words you spoke are capable of holding Jude +and Joyce eternally. What you think?" + +"If they cannot, no others could." Again the quick, harsh cough. + +"But that sermon!" Jock shrugged his shoulders nervously; "that's what's +shook the foundations of this here town. Leaving out the fact of you +being _you_, standing up there handling folks's feelings as you did, I +want to know if you stand by them ideas you passed out?" + +"With all my mind!" + +"Not elocuting and acting?" + +"Surely not." + +"Why, see here, kid, if what you said is true--which, by thunder it +ain't!--don't you see that doctrine, 'bout coming with an outfit, adding +to it, and taking away what you want, and leaving what you must; blazing +trails, clearing away underbrush and what not; why, don't you see that's +worse, by a confounded lot, than the old-fashioned hell?" + +"Much, much more solemn." Drew leaned against a tree. His new strength +was exhausted. Jock was too absorbed to notice the weakness and pallor. + +"Why," he went on excitedly, "when you know you're going to frizzle at +the end--just you, yourself, you can see the justice of it, and respect +what sent you there, but to eternally be thinking of others, and messing +up their lives--why that's durn rot." + +"Filmer," the tone was low and faltering; "we're all one with God, no +matter how you put it. All working together; all bound on the same +journey. Think back; was there never one you loved who suffered with you +and for you? Have you ever considered how much of that one's life you +were hampering, when you dragged him--or her--down?" + +Filmer's face twitched. + +"Now, see here," he blurted out, and his eyes flashed, "the folks round +here ain't going to stand for this rot, and I don't blame 'em. When they +think it over, they'll get drunker than ever, and they'll even up with +you later. You've got to learn more than you've learned already. +Feelings are private property and outsiders better keep off. Come home +to dinner. You look like a pricked bladder. This here gassing 'bout +things what ain't worthwhile don't pay. Here, lean on me. It's all +gol-durned nonsense using yourself up so." + +He took Drew firmly by the arm, and led him away. + +Drew was too weak to continue, even had he desired to do so, the +conversation Filmer had forced upon him, but when they were smoking in +the late afternoon Jock returned to the subject. + +"I was just wondering," he said, through the haze; "ain't there never no +let up to that new-fangled idea of yours?" + +"None. That's the beauty of it." + +"Beauty? Huh! Well, we'll drop it. Feel like toddling down to Gaston's?" +Drew rose at once. + +They passed down the pine-covered path slowly, and as they neared +Gaston's shack, Filmer paused. + +"Wherever you be," he began slowly, "as occasion permits, you're going +to air them sentiments?" + +"I'm going to live them. I may never have a chance to preach them. I'm a +bit discouraged about the weakness that followed my first attempt." + +"Oh, thunderation! You're going to pick up flesh and strength fast +enough--it's that slush you've got on board that's getting my grouch. +I'd rather you had a natural death, kid. I've taken a liking to you; and +you don't know St. Angé." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Joyce stopped her wild little song, and stood still to listen. Then she +stepped to the window, drew aside the white muslin curtain, and looked +out upon the white, white world. + +She had thought she heard a step on the crisp snow, but probably it was +the crackling of the protesting trees, for the weight of ice was almost +more than they could bear. + +The lights in the scattered houses shone red and steady in the still +glitter. A full moon dimmed the stars, but a keen glance showed that +every one was in its place and performing its duty in the glorious plan. + +A white, holy night! Only such a night as comes to high, dry places +where the cold is so subtle that its power is disguised; where the +green-black pines stand motionless in the hard whiteness, and where the +silence is only broken by mysterious cracklings and groanings, when +Nature stirs in the heart of the seeming Death, while she weaves the +robe of Spring. + +Joyce was beginning to feel the wonders of her little world; she was +timidly feeling out the meaning of things. Sometimes the sensation hurt +and frightened her; often it soothed and thrilled her to deep ecstasy. + +Presently she left the window, and turned to the warmth and glow inside. + +Jude's old cottage had been transformed, and Joyce was developing into +one of those women who are inherent home-makers. Such women can +accomplish more with the bare necessities of life than others with the +world's wealth at their command. It is like personal magnetism, +difficult to understand, impossible to explain. + +Comfort, grace, colour and that sweet disorder which is the truest +order. Chairs at the right angles, tables convenient, but never in the +way. A roaring wood fire on a dustless hearth; pictures hung neither too +high nor too low, and no sense of emptiness nor crowding. A room that +neither compelled attention, nor irritated the nerves--a place to rest +in, love in, and go out from, with a longing to return. + +On the south side of the room, Jude, with Gaston's financial and +personal assistance, had added a bay window. + +That innovation had quite stirred St. Angé. Ralph Drew had designed it +and, through the summer, while the building was in process, the +inhabitants had watched and expressed their opinions freely and +enjoyably. + +"Up to Joyce's," Billy Falstar, that indefatigable gatherer and +scatterer of news, announced, "they are smashing a hole in the off side +of the house." + +An hour later, a good-sized audience was occupying the open space on +the south side of the garden. + +"Why don't you have it run _in_, instead of out?" Peter Falstar +suggested. "It's just tempting Providence to let out more surface to +catch the winter blasts." + +"And it's wasteful as thunder," added Tom Smith. "Just so much more +heating of out-door space enclosed in that there semi-circle." + +"There ain't nothing to see from that side, anyway," Leon Tate remarked, +as if possibly the others had not considered that. "If you want a more +extended, and rounded outlook, you'd better smash the north side out. +From that hole you could see the village, and what not." + +"And the Black Cat," Jock Filmer drawled. + +"It's no kind of an outlook at all that don't include the Kitty, eh, +Tate?" + +Tate scowled. He held a grudge against Filmer. It was he who had +discovered, sheltered, and abetted the young minister who had so +interfered with trade a time back. Tate held his peace, but he had never +forgotten. + +The laugh that followed Jock's interruption nettled the tavern-keeper. + +But the pretty window had been finished before Drew and the autumn went. +It was Joyce's sanctuary and pride. In it stood the work-basket, a gift +from the mystical sister of Drew, who lived off somewhere beyond the +Southern Solitude, a girl about whom Drew never tired of talking, and +about whom events seemed to cluster as bees round a hive. + +In that nook, too, hung the three wonderful pictures--Gaston's wedding +gift. + +There were spaces between the sides and centre of the window, and in the +middle place hung a modern Madonna and Child. This Joyce could +comprehend. Gaston knew the older, rarer ones would be beyond her. + +That pictured Mother and Child were moulding Joyce's character. Gaston +had wondered how they might affect her. + +To the left of the Madonna was an ocean view. A stretch of sandy shore, +an in-rolling, white-crested wave--with a limitless beyond. + +To the wood-environed mind of the girl this picture was simply a +breath-taking fairy fancy. + +It existed, such a thing as that. Gaston had sworn it, but it was +incomprehensible. However, it led the new-born imagination to expand and +wander, and when Joyce was at peace, and the sun shone, she went to that +picture for excitement and worship. + +To the right of the Madonna hung a photograph. Gaston had taken it +himself long ago. A foreground of rugged, cruel rock; black where age +had stamped it; white where snow traced the deep wrinkles of time. But +out of this rough light and shade, rose a glorious peak, sun-touched and +cloud-loved. A triumphant soul reaching up to heaven out of all the +time-racked rock. + +[Illustration: THAT PICTURED MOTHER AND CHILD WERE MOULDING JOYCE'S +CHARACTER] + +The dwarfish peaks, that had surrounded Joyce's outlook all her life, +made one understand the girl's love for this picture. As this was great, +compared to the small things she knew, so life held possibilities that +her life hinted--she might struggle with that ideal in mind. + +The ocean scene was her fancy's fairy space; the towering peak, her +philosophy. + +But Joyce knew nothing of all this, consciously. Marriage, as Isa had +foretold, brought its many cares and new interests. The strangeness and +importance dwindled. No one considered the matter different from any +other joining of St. Angé forces into a common life--the girl herself +grew to take it for granted and sometimes wondered why she _imagined_ +her lot different. + +She piled on more wood now, and laughed at the roar and glow. Then she +drew up the arm-chair that Jude liked; he would be cold and tired when +he returned. With a little laugh she pulled her own chair, a low, deep +rocker, from the bay window, out into the fire's warmth, opposite Jude's +spacious chair. Between them she placed a hassock--it was nearer her +rocker than Jude's chair. + +This she evidently noticed after a moment's contemplation, for the smile +faded, and with strict impartiality she moved the stool to a position +exactly between the two chairs, and directly in front of the fire's +full light and heat. + +"There!" she said, as if satisfied with her own sense of justice and +propriety. "That ought to suit everybody." + +The smile returned, and the little neglected song was taken up where the +imagined footsteps had interrupted it. + +The room was rosy and warm; even the window that was to tempt Providence +was cosily heated, and the box of plants that fringed its outer edge +stood in no danger of the frost's touch. + +A plate of deep-red apples on the table sent forth a homely fragrance, +and they were almost as beautiful as a vase of roses would have been. + +Presently there was no mistake--steps were approaching. The crusted snow +gave way under the heavy tread, the steps of the little porch creaked +under the weight of strong bodies. It was Gaston's voice that came first +to Joyce. + +"It's too late, Jude. Past nine." + +"Come in! Come in!" Jude was stamping noisily. "It ain't never too late, +when I say come. Maybe Joyce can tempt you with a mixture she's a +dabster at. After the walk you need it, and so do I." + +The outer door was pushed back, the waiting cold rushed in with the two +men, but the home glow killed it as the kitchen door swayed inward, and +Jude and Gaston stepped toward Joyce. + +She stood with her back to the fire, a pale straight figure against the +red light. + +"Hello! Joyce." Jude was energetically pulling off his short, thick +jacket. "Get busy at that 'mix' of yours. Put plenty of the real thing +in and don't be sparing with the tasties. Off with your coat and hat, +Mister Gaston. Make yourself comfortable. To folks as is already up, +what's an hour or two?" + +Gaston had taken Joyce's hands in welcome. + +"It's too bad," he said, "to set you to work after your stint's over. +The room looks as if you'd bewitched it. I tell you, Jude, there never +was a man yet who could juggle with a house and put the soul in it." + +Joyce flushed happily, and took Gaston's hat from him, as he pulled off +his coat. + +"I'll have everything ready in a jiffy," she said briskly. "Sit down, +and tell me about it, while I mix the brew." + +Jude sank, without giving Gaston a choice, into his own chair. Gaston +took Joyce's--he knew her fancy for the stool when he and Jude were both +present. + +"Well," said Jude, stretching his legs out toward the blaze, and putting +his heavy, snow-covered boots so near the fire that an odour of +scorching leather filled the room; "we got some men over to Hillcrest, +and we've bargained for lumber and other materials; we're going to begin +at once, clearing, and soon as the cold lets up, we'll start building." + +"Just think!" Joyce stirred the concoction in the jug jubilantly. "Just +think of Mr. Drew coming here and bringing folks with him. Isn't it +wonderful?" + +She was all aglow with interest, excitement and pleasure. Gaston looked +at her musingly. + +"I used to think," she went on, coming forward with the jug and setting +it on a low table near the hearth, "that nothing could ever happen here +in St. Angé. Nothing that hadn't already happened over and again. Isa +has always said the place would get a jog some day. She always seemed to +sense that," the girl smiled; "and she was right. Didn't you have to put +money down for men and things, Jude?" + +"Sure!" Jude spoke from the depths of his mug. + +"Did Mr. Drew send money?" + +"Send nothing." Jude laughed foggily from the depths. "That's how I got +the deal so prompt, I told him I'd undertake the job without any +settlement till he got here to boss the doings." + +"But where did you get the money, Jude?" + +"It's partnership, Joyce," Gaston broke in. He set down his own emptied +mug, and drew a little farther from the fire's revealing light. +"Lauzoon, Filmer and Gaston, Contractors and Builders.' How does it +sound?" + +"But the money?" There was a little line of care, now, between the +girl's deep eyes. + +"Oh, that's all right! When Drew planks down the dollars, Mr. Gaston +will get them back." Jude wiped his heavy lips on the back of his hand. + +"But--it must have taken--a good deal?" + +"Come, Joyce," Jude scowled, "you creep back to your corner. When women +get to tangling up money with their own doings, it's the devil. You keep +to your business, girl, and leave deeper matters alone." + +Gaston frowned. Something lay back of that care-traced line on Joyce's +forehead. Something lay back of her questioning--what was it? And Jude's +assumption of the male superiority over his young wife disturbed Gaston. +He had not noticed it so sharply before. + +Presently Joyce took the low stool, and clasped her knees in her +enfolding arms. The two men had filled their pipes, and now, through the +dim haze, looked at the fair, dreamy face between them. Then Jude laid +his pipe aside--and snored. The clock ticked softly. The logs fell apart +in a red glow. In drawing away from the flying sparks, Joyce placed her +stool nearer Gaston, and the pretty bent head came within easy distance +of the hand lying inert on the chair arm. + +"Jude gets awfully sleepy in the heat," Joyce whispered; "you don't +mind?" + +"No, why should I? But I ought to be going. You are tired, too?" + +"No." The sudden upward glance was all a-quiver with alertness. "I don't +ever seem tired now. Keeping one's own house--is great! and it seems +like everything is waking up every minute. Sometimes I hate to go to +sleep for fear I'll miss something." + +And now Gaston's hand touched the heavy curves of pale, gold hair. + +"You have made a _home_," he said; "I wonder if you know what a great +achievement that is? I wonder if Jude knows?" + +Joyce winced. + +"Oh! if he's a bit cross with me," she whispered softly, "don't you +mind. He thinks that's the way, you know. _I_ understand." + +"I suppose you do," Gaston smoothed the silken hair, "but make _him_ +understand, Joyce. It takes understanding on both sides, you know." + +"And, Mr. Gaston"--the girl changed the subject as adroitly as a more +worldly wise woman might have done--"you helped me make this home. I +ain't _ever_ going to let you forget that. These pictures," her loving +glance took them all in, "and the books coming and going just fast +enough to keep me nimble. It seems like you'd opened a gate and let some +of the big world in." + +"There's plenty of it on the other side of the two Solitudes, Joyce." +Gaston's hand fell gently along the warm throat and rested on the bent +shoulder. + +Jude gave another gurgling snore. The two did not change their +positions, but there was silence for an instant. + +"That mountain-top, all jagged and high--my! how it just makes me want +to climb; climb through my work all day long; climb to getting somewhere +out beyond. And that great empty picture with the awful white wave +coming from nowhere--it just makes me hold my breath. Sometimes it seems +as if it was going to swallow up everything and--me. It don't ever do +that, does it, Mr. Gaston?" + +"It has done damage of that kind in its time; but generally it obeys +orders and stops at the safety line." Gaston smiled into the wondering +eyes. + +"I like the--picture--I like it terribly," breathed the girl, "but I'd +_hate_ the real thing. I am sure it makes a terrific noise." Gaston +nodded, and old memories seemed beating in upon him. "It would wear me +out by its own----" + +"Restlessness." Gaston's thought ran along with the cruder one. "Its +restlessness is at times--unbearable, unless--one is very young and +happy." + +"But I am young--and happy." Joyce spoke lingeringly and her eyes grew +fixed upon the heart of the coals. "Still I would hate it--and be afraid +of it. It's beautiful--but it's awful. I don't like awful things. I +like to look up at that brave old mountain, and know--it will always be +the same no matter what happens down below." + +Suddenly Gaston felt old, very old, beside this girl near him with her +intuitive soul-stretches and her hampered life. + +"So the mountain is your favourite picture, Joyce?" + +A grandfatherly tone crept into his voice, and the caressing hand +touched the round, pale outline of cheek and chin with the assurance of +age and superiority--but the girl tingled under it. + +"No," she said, almost breathlessly, "I like _that_ best of all." And +she pointed a trembling finger toward the Madonna and Child. + +Gaston was conscious of a palpitating meaning in the words and gesture. + +"Why?" he asked softly. + +"Because," the fair head was lowered, not in timidity, but in deep +thought, "because I want it--my baby--to look like that one. I look and +look at the picture, and I dream about it at night. I know every little +dimple and the soft curls--and all. I pray and pray, and if God +answers--then--" a gentle ferocity rang through the hurried words--"I'm +going to _keep_ it so. It's going to be different from any other little +child in St. Angé. And it all fits in, now that Mr. Drew is coming back. +It's just wonderful! It was Mr. Drew that set me thinking about leaving +something better for them as come after. He said terrible strange +things--but you can't forget them, can you? I've been--well, sort of +weeding out my life ever since he was here--and there can't be so +much--for my baby to do--if I clear out my own faults. Can there?" + +The girl's absolute ignoring of any reason for withholding this +confidence from him at first staggered Gaston, and then steadied him. + +Never before had Joyce so appealed to him, but the sacredness of the +position she had thrust upon him for a moment appalled him. He looked +intently at the girlish, innocent face. What he saw was a blind woman, +groping through the child, seeking a reality that evaded it. + +Never greatly impressed with his own importance, Gaston became cruelly +aware, now, that in a marked way he still was the one being in the +girl's world to whom she looked for guidance. The knowledge made him +withdrawn for an instant. + +Drew had appealed to her spirit--but he was elected Father Confessor, +Judge and General Arbiter of her daily life. For a moment Gaston's sense +of the ridiculous was stirred. Suppose they--those--people who +inhabited the Past, and peopled the possible Future--suppose they should +know of this? The eyes twinkled dangerously, but the girl in the glow of +the red fire was terribly in earnest. + +"You are perfectly happy, Joyce?" It was an inane question, but like +some inane questions it touched a vital spark. + +"Why, if I get on the top of the things that might make me unhappy if +they conquered me; and if I shut my ears and eyes--why, then, I guess +I'm perfectly happy. I won't _let_ myself feel sad any more, and I make +believe a lot--about Jude. You have to when you've been married long; +and I guess he has to about me. So you see, living that way it comes out +all right. And then when you have beautiful things, like this house, and +the books and pictures, and some one ready to help--like you--why +_those_ things I just hold up in the light all the time. Isn't _that_ +being happy?" + +"What a philosopher!" Gaston bent forward and again pressed the slim +shoulder. The piteousness of this young wife getting her happiness, all +unknowingly, by self-imposed blindness of the inner soul, clutched at +his heart. + +"Hold hard to that, Joyce," he said. "Hold fast to that. Let all the +light in that you can upon your blessings, and as to other things, why, +don't acknowledge them! You're on the right track, though how you've +struck it so early in the game, beats me." + +"Well," Joyce was all aglow, "Mr. Drew helped. He was so funny and +jolly. Just a big boy, but he had the queerest ideas about things. When +I think of him, sick and weak like he was, and yet living out all his +brave thoughts just as if he was a giant--why, sometimes I go off and +cry by myself." + +Jude from his shadow and aloofness was staring dumbly at the pair +opposite while the low-spoken words sank into his drowsiness. Jude was +primitive. Actions were _things_ to him; things that admitted of no +shades of meaning. What the two were saying in no way modified the +situation. Gaston's hand was caressing his wife--his woman, Jude would +have expressed it--and the bald fact was enough. + +A hot anger rose in him--an anger calculated to urge a personal assault +then and there, upon the two who dared, in his own house, set his +rights--his alone--aside. + +The sleepy eyes widened and closed; the teeth showed through the rough +beard--and then, like a smarting blow, came the memory of all that +Gaston meant to him. Money! Gaston's money. There had been loans, +trifling, but many, and now Gaston stood ready to advance money for this +new building project. Money enough to make Jude master of the situation. +But with this thought came others that crushed and bruised him. + +He had been wrong. It was not his wife's folly alone that stood between +him and her. Gaston _had_ been using him. He was lending him money--hush +money! And while he had gone his stupid way, thinking he held the whip +hand over Joyce, the two had had their laugh at him. Money has done +much for good and evil in this world, but it saved Gaston that night +from a desperate attack. + +A low cunning crept into Jude's thoughts. Very well, two or three could +play at the same game. + +More money! More! More! and who knew? Why he might make a choice in the +future--a choice for himself. + +He settled back and snored long and deep. Then he stretched and yawned +and gave ample notice of his advance, in order that the conspirators +might cover their tracks. + +When he opened his eyes, Gaston was leaning forward with clasped hands +stretched out toward the fading glow, and Joyce, crouched upon her stool +with huddled knees, gave no sign that confusion held part in her +thoughts. + +"Say," Jude had already adopted the guise of the man with a purpose, +"you don't suppose, do you, that that young parson is coming up here +with any idea of saving souls?" + +"Only his own, I fancy." Gaston replied, without turning. "He wants to +keep his soul and body together. Seeking his lost health, you know." + +"What makes him fancy he lost it up here?" + +"He doesn't. He lost it down there among books, bad air, and foolish +living. His physicians tell him his only chance for life is up in this +region. Some day more of the big doctors will shut down on drugs and +give Nature a try." + +"Umph!" Jude shook himself. "Put a log on," he commanded Joyce. Then: +"He preached a durned mess of nonsense the last time he was visiting +us," he continued. "I didn't have any inclination to take his guff +myself, but I don't half like the idee, now that I've slept on it, of +his coming in here as a disturbing element, so to speak. Living and +minding your business, is one thing; interfering with other folks' +business is another. Filmer, he told me a time back that he ain't had a +comfortable spree since that young feller was here. He sort of upset +Jock's stomach with his gab. The women, too, was considerable taken with +him--he's the sort that makes fool women take notice. It ain't pleasant +to think of that sissy-boy actually setting up housekeeping here, and +reflecting upon old established ways, with any tommy-rot about clearing +trails and such foolishness." + +Joyce smiled. So that thought rankled in more lives than her own? + +"Going to retire from the contractorship, Jude?" Gaston got up and +crossed the room for his coat and hat. + +"Not much!" Jude rose also. "Only beginning right is half the battle, +and I say for one, and Tate he was saying the same this morning, that +we'd better stamp out any upraisings in the start, now that it's likely +to be a staying on, 'stead of a visit. When I select a teacher," Jude +was following his guest to the outer door, "I ain't going to take up +with no white-livered infant. See you to-morrow, Mr. Gaston?" + +"Oh, certainly. Good night, Jude. Good night, Joyce." Gaston looked back +at the little figure by the fire, and he saw that the upturned eyes were +fixed on the Madonna and Child. + +"Why don't you speak, Joyce? Mr. Gaston is saying good night." Jude's +words reached where Gaston's had failed. The girl rose stiffly. + +"Good night," she said slowly, and a great weariness was in her face. + +When Jude returned she still stood in the middle of the room, her hands +hanging limply by her side. + +Something had gone out from her life with Gaston's going. But she was +still thrilled and her soul was sensitive to impressions. + +"What's up?" + +Jude came close to her and stared boldly into the large, tired eyes. + +"Nothing, Jude." + +"You ain't so spry as when--there's company." + +"It's late--you've had a nap. I'm dead tired." + +"That's it," Jude laughed coarsely. "I've slept and kept out of +mischief--you've been too durned entertaining--you're feeling the +strain. See here, Joyce, maybe you better not be so--amusing in the +future. Maybe you better leave Gaston to me--business is business and I +guess we can do without petticoats in this camp." + +He was losing control of himself. + +"Jude," Joyce came close and tried to put her hands on her husband's +shoulders. "Jude, I want you to pay Mr. Gaston back as soon as you can. +It's been on my mind for quite a spell. We must owe him a lot. How much, +Jude?" + +"None of your--durned business." + +"And Jude--don't borrow any more. I know Mr. Drew would advance anything +for the building. His family is terribly rich. Mr. Gaston knows about +them. I'd rather owe Mr. Drew than Mr. Gaston. Please, Jude!" + +For a moment the sweet, quivering face put forth its appeal to the lower +nature of the man. The girl was young enough, and new enough to sway +Jude after a fashion, but the charm died almost at birth. + +"See here." Jude slipped from the clinging hands, and glared angrily. +"You ain't ever properly learned your place. You better let go any fool +idee that you can budge me with your wiles. I don't have to buy your +favours--they're mine. What I do, I do, and you take what I choose to +let you have. See? If you get more than what is rightfully yours, don't +get sot up with the notion I don't know what I'm permitting. I guess +I've got to let you see what you're up against a little plainer. I had +a kind of dim idee that your schooling and book-learning made you a bit +keener than most about the real facts of the case, but you're all alike. +Don't you question me in the future, girl, and you go your way--the way +I _let_ you go--and be thankful, but don't you forget you and me is +_man_ and _wife_, and that means just one durned thing in St. Angé and +only one." + +Joyce staggered back as if the man before her had dealt her a blow. + +What had happened? Then she remembered that Jude was always irritable +when he had been roused from sleep, or when he was hungry. + +The blindness was mercifully clouding her soul now; but its duration was +brief. It only gave her time to stand upright. + +"Did you think I was asleep to-night?" Jude almost hissed the words. + +The suddenness of the question had all the evil power of reducing the +girl to an appearance of guilt. + +"You were asleep," she whispered back. + +Jude laughed cruelly. + +"With my eyes opened," he snarled--"It pays to _seem_ asleep, when you +want to catch on to some kind of doings. Your old man, Joyce, ain't half +the fool you'd like him to be. I wasn't napping when Billy Falster +blabbed his warning. I wasn't napping when I saw that hand-holding and +kissing from the top of Beacon Hill. I wasn't snoozing that night when +you went crawling to Gaston's shack just after you'd given your word to +me, and"--Jude had worked himself into a quivering rage--"I wasn't +sleeping when you and him sat _there_ to-night, blast ye!" + +The convincing knowledge broke upon Joyce with full force. She would +never be able to ignore the fact again. Try as she might, dream as she +could, she was but a St. Angé woman, and he a St. Angé man. + +There was only one way. She must deal with the rudest of materials. + +"Jude," she said slowly, "you pay Mr. Gaston back all that you owe +him--I'll stint here in the house--and I'll promise never to speak to +him again. Could anything be fairer than that?" + +She was in deadly earnest; but Jude laughed in her face. + +A fear grew in the girl's heart at the sound. Not even an appeal to his +selfishness could move him. She had lost the poor little power she once +possessed. He did not care! And when that happened with a man like +Jude--well, there was reason for fear. + +"I'm the boss, girl, and you better hold to that knowledge. Keep your +books, your pictures and what not as long as I say you can, and let that +do you for what _I_ am getting out of it. See?" + +"Yes--I see!" And so she did, poor girl; and it was a long barren +stretch on ahead that she saw. A stretch with hideous possibilities, +unless luck were with her. + +"Don't you let on." Jude was striding toward the bedchamber beyond. "I +guess you're smart enough to hold your tongue, though. Pile on a log or +two, before you turn in; and you better draw the shutters to the north +window--it's getting splitting cold." + +Joyce turned to obey the commands. Not slavishly; after all it was but +part of her woman-task. Jude feeling it necessary to tell her was the +lash. It was cruelly superfluous--that was all. + +She laid two heavy logs on the red embers, and stooped to brush the +ashes from the hearth. Then she went to the north window and raised the +sash. Before she drew the shutters she stood and looked out into the +brilliant night. + +Black and white. Sharp, clean and magically glittering it all looked; +and the keen cold cleared the fear and fever from her head and heart. + +Yes, off there in the distance Gaston was entering the pine thicket +through which his private path ran. He must have walked slowly--or had +all this new knowledge come so rapidly? + +Gaston stood still at the entrance to the woods. Was he looking back? + +Then something occurred. Once or twice before Joyce had been conscious +of this. Something seemed to go out from her and follow Gaston. She, or +that strange something, escaped the fear and smothering closeness of the +little house. It was free and happy out there with Gaston in the night. +He was strong--stronger than anybody in St. Angé. Nothing could really +happen while _he_ was near. She saw his smile; felt his compelling +touch--no, not even Jude would dare hurt her, or go too far. + +Gaston passed into the dim thicket. Joyce, too seemed to be going on +quite happily and lightly, when---- + +"I say, Joyce, shut that winder, can't you?" + +A silence. As Joyce had followed a certain call the night she had +promised to marry Jude, and had gone to Gaston's house, so now she was +going on--and on--and---- + +"Joyce!" At last the real clutched the unreal. The girl, for the first +time, was conscious of the biting cold. She shivered and seemed to +travel back to that rough call over frozen distances. With stiff fingers +she drew the heavy wooden shutters together and lowered the sash. Then +feeling her way with outstretched hands, like a bewildered child, she +made her way to the inner chamber and Jude. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +The following June Joyce's little boy was born. It was a most +inconvenient time for him to make his appearance. + +The late spring had delayed the logging season. The winter had been a +long-continued, cold one; the men at the different camps had fretted +under the postponed ending of their jobs, and severe discipline had been +necessary in more than one camp. Hillcrest's ideas of decency had been +deeply outraged; its courts of justice had been kept busy by men, who, +unable to resist temptation after restraint had at last been removed, +carried lawlessness to an unprecedented excess. + +The river, too, with the depravity of inanimate things, had taken that +occasion to leap all bounds and run wild where never before it had +ventured. Not being content in carrying its legitimate burden of logs to +the lower towns, it bore away, one black night, more than half of the +lumber that Jude had piled near the clearing for Ralph Drew's new house. + +This occurrence sent Jude into one of the fits of sullen frenzy which +were becoming more and more common to him. He had been obliged to track +the stolen lumber many miles to the south, seize it there, and make +arrangements for bringing it back. This absence from the scene of his +life battle, turned Jude into a veritable fiend for the time being. He +had enough self-confidence to believe he could hold things in his own +hands, when his hands and eyes were on the spot, but with absence and +distance--bah! + +Many a horse and man suffered that spring from Jude's evil temper. + +Whether Gaston was aware of conditions or not, who could tell? He took a +keen delight in the manual labour of working on Drew's house. He and +Filmer, with or without Jude, hammered, sawed and made rough designs +that filled their days with honest toil and brought healthy sleep to +their tired bodies. + +And just when the early wild flowers were timidly showing themselves, +after the winter's long reign, little Malcolm Lauzoon opened his eyes +upon the scene. + +How could he know that the festivities at the Black Cat were interrupted +by Jude's necessary absences, and Isa Tate's voluntary visits to Joyce's +home? + +Leon Tate, good-naturedly reaping a belated prosperity, had insisted +that his wife serve Joyce how and as she might. + +Jude was becoming a man to be considered. He evidently had a future, and +the tavern's attractions had never held a sure power over Jude. Here +was Leon's opportunity for putting Jude under obligations. + +Tate thought fit to place himself and his wife on a social equality with +the Lauzoons. So Isa was in command when small Malcolm arrived. + +It was an early June morning, after a night of black horror, when Joyce +became aware of the singing of birds out of doors, and a strange, new +song in her heart. + +The latter sensation almost stifled her. She tried to raise her head and +look about the room, but the effort made her faint. She waited a moment, +then slowly turned her head on the pillow and opened her eyes. There by +the low, open window sat Isa Tate, swaying back and forth in the +old-fashioned rocker, with something on her lap. + +Again the strange faintness overpowered Joyce, and the big tears rolled +down her face. It had not, then, been all a hideous nightmare? Something +sweet and real had remained after the terror and agony had taken flight? + +"Isa!" So low and trembling was the call that Isa, drowsing luxuriously +as she rocked to and fro, took no heed. + +It was many a day since she, detached from the demands of home cares, +could make herself so comfortable. + +"Isa!"--and then Isa heard. + +"What is it?" she turned a steady glance toward the bed. She did not +intend that Joyce should be exacting. Women were apt to be unless the +nurse was rigid. "Do you want anything?" + +"Oh! Isa is that--my baby?" There was such a thrill in the voice that +Isa was at once convinced that Joyce was delirious. + +She was going to have her hands full. A mere baby, to Isa, was no cause +for that tone, and the glorified look. + +"I guess there ain't any one else going to put in a claim for him," she +replied with a vague sense of humorously calming the patient. + +"Him!" Joyce's tears again overflowed. "Did you say 'him' Isa?" + +"There, there! do be still now, Joyce, and take a nap. You won't have +any too much time for lazing. You better make the most of it." + +"It's a boy. Oh! It seems too, too heavenly. _My_ little boy! Isa, +is--is--he beautiful?" + +And now no doubts remained in Isa's mind. She must pacify this very +trying case. + +"'Bout as beautiful as they make 'em," she said slowly, and tried to +remember what was given to patients when they became unmanageable. + +"Does--does he look--like--" the words came pantingly--"like the picture +in the other room?" + +Isa was sitting opposite the door leading into the living room, and her +eyes fell, as Joyce spoke, upon the Madonna and Child. + +Then, in spite of her anxiety and weariness, Isa laughed. The entire +train of events since her arrival the day before had appealed to her +latent sense of humour. + +"Oh! exactly," she answered and rolling the baby in a blanket she strode +over to the bed, and placed him hastily beside Joyce. + +"There," she said soothingly; "now lay still or you'll hurt the little +beauty. I'm going to fix something comforting to drink." + +She was gone. In the mystery of the still room and the early morning, +Joyce was alone with her little son! + +As she felt, so all motherhood, as God designed it, should feel. Before +the acceptance of the wonderful gift, motherhood stood entranced. Fear +and awe hold even love in abeyance. Into poor, loving, human hands a +soul--an eternal soul--was entrusted. No wonder even mother-love held +back before it consecrated itself to the sacred and everlasting +responsibility. + +Joyce only dumbly felt this. All that she was conscious of was a fear +that her joy, when she looked upon the blessed little face, would kill +her, and so end what had but begun. + +A new and marvellous strength came to her. She raised herself upon her +elbow and reverently drew the corner of the blanket from the tiny head. + +Suddenly the birds ceased singing. The June morning was enveloped in a +black pall. The ominous stillness that precedes an outburst of the +elements held breath in check. + +Joyce was perfectly conscious. In the hideous blackness she saw her +baby's face clear and distinct, and with firm fingers she tore the +wrappings from the small body--she must see all, all. + +Misshapen and grim in its old, sinister expression of feature, the baby +lay exposed. The face was grotesque in its weazened fixity; the little +legs were twisted, and the thin body lay crooked among its blankets. The +big eyes stared into the horrified ones above them as if pleading for +mercy. The sight turned Joyce ill. + +"In spite of all," the stare seemed to challenge, "can you accept me?" + +In that moment when the bitter cup was pressed to motherhood's lips, +Joyce received the holiest sacrament that God ever bestows. In divine +strength she accepted her child. This little, blighted creature would +have no one but her to look to--to find life through. All that it was to +receive, until it went out of life, must come first through her. Should +she fail it? + +With fumbling and untrained hands she drew it to her, and pressed it +against her breast. With the touch of the small body at her heart, the +dawn crept back into the room, and from afar the birds sang. + +With all her striving, poor Joyce had not eliminated from the baby's +life the inheritance of others' sins. He had come, bearing a heavy load +of disease and deformity. All that was left for her to do now, was to +lift the cross as she might from this stunted and saddened life, and +walk beside him to the farther side. + +The poor, little wrinkled mouth was nestling against the mother-breast. +Instinct was alive in the child. Joyce laughed. At first tremblingly, +then shrilly. Suddenly she began to sing a lullaby, and the tune was +interrupted by laughs and moans. + +Higher and higher the fever rose. Isa Tate, beside herself with fright, +screamed for help, and for days Jude Lauzoon's house was the meeting +place of Life and Death; then Life triumphed, and people breathed +relievedly. + +"A homely young-un often makes handsome old bones," comforted Isa. Now +that Joyce was creeping back from the dangers that had beset her, Isa +felt a glow of pride and interest. She was an honourable diploma to +Isa's skill as nurse. In the future, Mrs. Tate was to feel a new +importance. She was assuming the airs of a woman who has learned the +market value of her services. Tate was to reap the effect of this later. + +"Oh! It doesn't matter much with boys," Joyce answered, indifferently. +"A girl would have been different." + +"That's a sensible way to look at it," Isa agreed. "I often think that a +man with good looks has just that much temptation to be a bigger fool +than what he otherwise would be. It's one agin 'em whichever way you +take it. They don't _need_ looks. They gets what they wants, anyway, and +if they are side-tracked by their countenances, it's ten to one they +will get distracted in their aims, and make more trouble than usual. + +"Now that I hark back, the only men as I can remember that amounted to +enough to make you willing to overlook their cussedness, was men as had +a handicap in looks. + +"There was Pierre Laval's brother Damon. He was born with twelve toes, +twelve fingers--two extry thumbs they was--and four front teeth. + +"He certainly was the most audacious ugly young-un I ever set eyes on. I +wasn't much more than a girl, to be sure, when I saw him first, but I +went into yelling hysterics, and took to my bed. Pierre was +handsome--and, you know how he ended? Damon, he gritted his teeth--and +in his case he could do that early--and made up his mind to make good +for his deficiencies--if you can say that 'bout one as had more rather +than less than Nature generally bestows. Land! the learning that child +was capable of absorbing! Hillcrest School just sunk into him like he +was a sponge. When he got all he could over there, he just walked off +as natural as could be, without a cent to his name--and they do say, so +I've heard, that down the state they set an awful store by his knowledge +of stars and moons and such-like. And Mick Falstar, cousin to Pete--" + +"Never mind, Isa." Joyce looked wan and nerveless. These tales only +accentuated the agony she felt whenever she was forced to concentrate +her thoughts upon actualities. + +When she was left to herself, she was beginning to regain the power of +ignoring facts and living among ideals. She was growing more and more +able to see a little spiritual baby at her breast--a beautiful child. +And with that vision growing clearer she felt her own spirit gaining +strength for flights into a future where this little son of hers, borne +aloft by her determined will and purpose, should hold his own among men. +Surely, she thought, God would not cripple mind, body and soul. God +would be content with testing her love by the twisted body. The mind and +soul would be--glorious! + +Day by day, the young mother, creeping back into the warm, summer life, +watched for intelligence to awaken in the grim little face; the first +flying signal of the overpowering intellect that was to make recompense +for all that had been withheld. + +The misshapen body was always swathed in disguising wrappings; even the +claw-like, groping hands were held under blankets when curious eyes +were near. Isa had won Joyce's everlasting gratitude by holding her +tongue regarding the child's bodily deformity; and the Hillcrest doctor, +who had been summoned when the fever grew, did not consider the +circumstance important enough to weigh on his memory when once the +payment for his services was, to his surprise, forthcoming. + +But the sad, little old face with its fringe of straight black hair! +That must be public property, and its piteous appeal had no power beyond +the mother, to stay the cruel jest and jibe. + +"Say, Jude," Peter Falstar had said in offering his maudlin +congratulations, "what's that you got up to your place--a baby or a +Chinese idol? That comes of having a handsome wife, what has notions +beyond what women can digest." + +Jude did not take this pleasantry as one might suppose he would. His own +primitive aversion to the strange, deformed child made him weakly +sensitive. He recoiled from Falstar's gibe with a sneaking shame he +dared not defend by a physical outburst. + +"He ain't a very handsome chap," he returned foolishly, "don't favour +either father or mother--hey?" + +Gaston overheard this and other similar witticisms, and his blood rose +hot within him. + +The cruelty and indelicacy of it all made him hate, where, heretofore, +he had but felt contempt. + +He realized most keenly that in his lonely life among the pines the few +interests and friendships that he had permitted himself were deeper than +he had believed. + +Jock Filmer, during the closer contact of daily labour, had become to +him a rude prototype of a Jonathan. They had found each other out, and +behind the screen that divided them from others, they held communion +sacred to themselves. They read together in Gaston's shack. They had, at +times, skimmed dangerously near the Pasts that both, for reasons of +their own, kept shrouded. After one of these close calls of confidence, +they would drift apart for a time--afraid of each other--but the growing +attraction they felt was strengthening after the three or four years +wherein an unconscious foundation had been laid. + +Then Gaston, too, realized that he had banked much upon the marriage he +had brought about between Jude and Joyce. In saving himself from +temptation, he felt he had sacrificed the girl, unless he could bring +into her life an element that would satisfy her blind gropings. + +To argue that in saving himself he had saved her, was no comfort. He had +not been called upon to elect himself arbiter of Joyce's future. No; to +put it baldly, in his loneliness he had dabbled in affairs that did not +concern him--and he must pay for his idiocy. + +To that end he had, at first, put himself and his private funds at +Jude's disposal. He had had hopes that by so doing he might help Jude to +decent manliness. But that hope soon died. Jude, lazy with the inertness +of a too sharply defined ancestry, became rapidly a well-developed +parasite. + +Even when he accepted the contract to build Ralph Drew's house, he had +done so from two motives. By this means he could, he found, command more +of Gaston's money than in any other way, and by assuming the +responsibility he placed himself on a social pinnacle that satisfied his +vanity. He became a man of importance. Gaston and Filmer, glad with the +intelligence of men who know the value of work, took the actual burden +upon themselves. Lauzoon had the empty glory; they had the blessing of +toil that brought their faculties into play, and gave them relief from +somberer thoughts. But Gaston was too normal a man not to consider the +gravity of conditions that were developing. His hopes of Jude had long +ago sunk into a contemptuous understanding of the shiftless fellow. He +had, however, believed that the hold he had upon him insured a +comparatively easy life for Joyce. This, too, he now saw was a false +belief. + +He knew the girl. He knew that mere housing and assured food were little +to her, if deeper things failed. + +It was this essentially spiritual side of Joyce that had interested him +and appealed to him from the beginning. + +One by one he gave up his hopes for her happiness. He saw that Jude was +impossible long before Joyce did; then he put his faith in the little +child--and now that had failed! Poor girl! he thought; and in the inner +chamber of his shack with the doors and shutters barred, the pistol +lying at hand upon his desk, he cursed himself for a fool who had tried +to enrich his own wasted life with an interest in the lives of others +that had brought about as bad a state of affairs as any meddler could +well conceive. + +Then he grew reckless. Things couldn't be much worse, anyway, and if he +might brighten that dull life in the little house, he'd brighten it and +Jude be--the laugh that Gaston laughed was perhaps better than the word +he might have used had he finished his sentence. + +There was the regular income from the outer world; as long as that was +at Gaston's command he felt he could control Lauzoon, and who else +mattered, except Filmer? Well, Filmer had sense to keep his opinions to +himself--although the look in his eyes when he disapproved of anything, +was unpleasant and--impertinent. + +A clam like Filmer had no right to personal opinions of other folks' +conduct. Unless he let light in upon his own excuse for being, he +should withhold condemnation. + +So Gaston spent his days' ends on Jude's little piazza, or in the bay +window of the sitting room when the air was too cool for the baby +snuggling against the young mother's breast. + +Gaston brought his fiddle along, and those were wonderful tunes he drew +from the strings. Sometimes he explained what they meant, his words +running along in monotone that yet kept time to the alluring strains. + +Joyce smiled, and her ready tears came, but the colour was coming back +into her beautiful face; the brooding eyes once again had the glint of +sweet mischief in them, and the lip curled away from the pretty teeth. + +She had never been so beautiful before. Living in the ideal where her +baby was concerned made it perilously easy for her to live ideally in +all other ways. + +Jude became a blurred reality. He was, when she thought of him at all, +endowed with the graces and attractiveness of Gaston. Joyce did not +consider Jude as he really existed. She smiled vaguely at him--his +personality now, neither annoyed her nor appealed to her. While living +with him outwardly, she was to all intents and purposes, spiritually +living with Gaston. For she gave to Jude the attributes that made Gaston +her hero, just as she gave to her poor, twisted baby the beautiful +contours and heavenly beauty of the Madonna's exquisite Child. + +The summer throbbed and glowed in St. Angé. + +Was it possible that things were as they always had been? Jared Birkdale +kept his distance and silence; and Joyce grew to forget him. + +The Black Cat flourished, and Jude made no attempt to curb his growing +desire for popularity there. He was developing a talent for instructing +his elders, and laying down the law. He was endeavoring to fill +Birkdale's place. Jared had always been the tavern orator. Some one has +to occupy that pedestal in all such places, while the others enjoy their +pipes and mugs in speculative contemplation. + +But nothing was as it _had_ been with Joyce. She had the look of one on +the threshold of big happenings. Her pale beauty had a new glow. The +thinness of girlhood had given place to a slender womanhood, all grace +and charm. + +She was rarely seen without her baby on her bosom. Even in her work she +managed to bear him on one arm. + +Away from her, he wailed pitifully and almost constantly; while pressed +against the warm, loving heart he sank into comfort and peace. When he +was awake his elfish eyes were fixed in solemn stare upon the +mother-face. Not knowingly nor indifferently, but intently, as if from +the depths of past experience he was wondering and endeavouring to +understand. + +One evening, and such an evening it was in late July, Joyce, in her low +rocker, the baby on her knees, sat on the piazza facing westward, when +Gaston came around the house, fiddle in hand. + +"Alone, Joyce?" It was an idle question, but it would do. + +"Yes; Jude seems to have a lot to do about Mr. Drew's house, you know." + +Joyce still kept up a pretty defence of Jude. Not that it was in the +least necessary, or even sensible, but it had its part in her detached +and dreamy life. + +"The house is about finished," Gaston replied, tuning up the fiddle. +"And then what?" he said, placing the instrument. + +"I wonder?" Joyce looked down happily upon her child. + +It did not greatly matter, for now Gaston had struck into one of those +compelling airs, so intensely sweet and melodious that it all but hurt; +and the red sunset trembled as the tear-dimmed eyes beheld it. + +The tune changed. It danced elfishly, and trippingly--for very joy it +made one laugh. The tear rolled down Joyce's face, as the smile replaced +it, and dropped upon the thin cheek of the baby. He did not flinch, and +the staring eyes did not falter, but something drew the mother's +attention. As the final tripping notes died away, she said softly. + +"Mr. Gaston, just look--at the baby." + +The child had rarely drawn them together. It was to make her forget the +child--and other things--that Gaston called so often. + +He came now, and bent over the two. + +"Does--he--look--just the same to you?" she asked. + +"Why, yes!" Gaston repressed the desire to laugh. "You see babies are +not much in my line. I don't think I ever saw such a little fellow +before. They look about the same for a long time, don't they?" + +"Oh! no. They change every day, and many times during the day. I weighed +baby to-day," she faltered, "and do you know, he weighs _less_ than when +he was born!" + +"The ungrateful little heathen!" + +"I'm afraid--I'm not a good mother." The sweet face quivered. "And I +want to be that more than anything else on earth. You see if I can get +him through--through this awful time when I can't tell just what might +be the matter--it will be easy enough. But young babies are +so--so--unreal. You don't know whether you've got them to keep or not. +They seem to be kind of holding on to another life, while they clutch +this. A good mother knows how to unloose them from that other hold." + +Gaston was touched by the yearning in the low voice, but the weazened +face of the child repelled him, even while it attracted him. + +"Would it be so--so terrible if he did not let go that--other hold?" + +It was a stupid thing to say, and Gaston despised himself for being so +brutal when he saw the look of horror on the upturned face. + +"Terrible?" Joyce gasped. "Why, if--if he should leave me, I couldn't +live. You don't know how it seems to have him warm and little and soft +against your heart. The whole world would be empty--empty, until it +would kill me with the emptiness--and I'd always think, you know, he'd +found out I wasn't fit to be his mother. It's a foolish fancy, but you +know, Mr. Gaston, I think they come to try us mothers--if they find us +out--not fit--they don't stay. Such a lot of babies don't stay!" + +"Why Joyce!" Gaston tried to turn his gaze from that awful baby-stare. +"Full of whim-whams and moonshine. You must get about more. You must +come up to Drew's house to-morrow. It's a palace of a place--and Filmer +had a letter from Drew to-day. He's coming before the autumn cold sets +in--he's going to bring an aunt and a sister--just get your idle fancy +on the doings, and let Master Malcolm jog along at his own pace. If he +doesn't like you for a mother, he isn't worth considering. Look at him +now--he sees the joke, the brazen little cuss, he's actually laughing in +our faces." + +"Oh!" Joyce sat rigidly up, and her own face became transformed. The +moment she had lived and waited for had come! The blank stare gave place +to a broken, crinkling expression; the thin shapeless lips trembled over +the toothless gums, and into the big eyes a wonder broke. A light seemed +to shine forth--and the baby smiled into the adoring face looking down! + +To Gaston, the sight was, in a sense, awful. The majesty of Joyce's +attitude toward the change in the child, was the only thing that saved +the occasion. + +"Is--it hungry?" he asked with the same dense stupidity he had displayed +before. + +"Oh, no!" Joyce laughed gleefully. "Don't you see, he--he knows me. +He--he--_does_ like--me--he's going to stay, and he takes this heavenly +way to show it." + +"The deuce he does!" and now Gaston laughed. "He's going to be a comical +imp, if I don't miss my guess. See, he's calming down now, and +regulating his features." + +"But--he--smiled!" And just then Jude came around the corner of the +house. + +Gaston saw the expression of his face, and something stifled him for a +moment. He wondered if money was always going to be a check to Jude, +after all. + +And if it should cease to hold him in leash--then what would happen? + +He went away soon after, but he sat up until toward daylight, just +outside his shack. He feared something was going to occur. But nothing +did; and the next thing in Joyce's life story that tugged at his +heart-strings, was the sickness and sudden death of little Malcolm. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +It was the evening of the day that the baby had been laid under a slim, +tall young pine tree back of the little house. + +Jude felt that he had borne himself heroically throughout the trying +episode. + +Never having cared for the child in life, he considered himself a pretty +good father to hide his relief at its early taking off. + +As a man of means--what mattered if they were Gaston's means?--he had +had a really impressive funeral for his son. + +The Methodist minister from Hillcrest had preached for full an hour over +the tiny casket. Not often did the clergyman have so good an opportunity +to tell the St. Angéans what he thought of them. + +He dealt with them along old and approved lines. He had heard of Drew's +religious views and he took this occasion to include a warning of the +damning influence that was about to enter the vicinity with the young +minister's return. + +"I warn you now," he thundered over the dead baby, "to make the life of +this infidel, this God-hater, a burden to him." + +Filmer from his rear corner, winked at Gaston at this. Gaston could see +nothing amusing in the service--it was all in the passing show--a +pitiful and added agony. + +In that the show was a little grimmer than usual he found his resentment +rising. So Gaston did not return the pleasantry of Jock's wink. + +After the service, Jude had insisted that there should be no unseemly +haste, and had instructed his chosen representatives to form a line and +walk from the house to the tavern and back twice with the tiny remains, +before they were finally laid to rest. This show of respect was talked +of in St. Angé for days. + +Through all the bitter day Joyce had followed dumbly whatever others +did. It was like walking in her sleep, and she was grateful that she +felt no sorrow. + +She had feared if the baby died it might kill her, and now that it was +dead she did not mind at all. + +Her arms ached a little at times. She thought that was queer; they had +never ached when they bore the baby. + +At last she and Jude were back in the awful, quiet house. It was more +awful now that Jude was there. For after the burial, and before the +evening meal, he had been lessening his tension with some boon +companions, down at the Black Cat, and Joyce had had the place to +herself. + +Jude, having relaxed to the state of geniality, was willing to let +bygones be bygones in the broadest sense of the word. He had big plans +afoot--he had had them the night he came home and found Gaston and Joyce +hanging over the baby. These plans had been set aside while the baby was +taking his pitiful leave of life after his one smile, but Jude must +hurry his case now. Nothing stood in the way--and, although many a woman +might get what she deserved, Jude was going to forgive Joyce again and +take her to his bosom in a new life, and they'd both forget what was +past. + +The hold of youth and beauty clutched the man's inflamed senses. The +evening meal, which Joyce had mechanically prepared, had been partaken +of--by Jude--until little but fragments was left. + +A black shower, which had passed over St. Angé in the late afternoon, +had changed the sultry heat to ominous chill. The wind among the pines +sobbed dismally as if it were a human thing and could understand. + +Jude got up and shut the door. It was quite dark outside, and the lamp +flickered in the breeze. + +At his action Joyce sprang from the chair, and the dull calm that had +possessed her for the past day or so was shattered. Her eyes blazed, and +the colour came and went in the stern, white face. + +"Don't--do--that!" she panted, springing to the door and flinging it +back. + +"What in thunder is the matter with you?" Jude stepped aside. Something +in this change and fury startled him. + +"Don't shut--the--door, Jude. We--we--can't leave him out there alone in +the cold. He's so little--our--baby!" + +Jude had a moment of doubt as to how he should deal with this foolery. +If he were quite sure it was just Joyce's nonsense--but perhaps she had +gone crazy. The thought stayed him. + +Then he considered that in either case he must get the upper hand, and +at once. All depended upon that. + +"Go and set down," he commanded, eyeing the girl as she stood in the +open doorway. "You don't 'spose we're going to live with open doors, do +you?" + +There was mastery in the tone, and, to gain her end, the woman resorted +to her only course. + +"Just--for to-night, Jude--just a little way open. I'd choke if I--shut +him away so soon--and he so little and--and--all." + +Fear of what he did not understand roused in Jude a brutish desire to +overcome this something that threatened. For a moment he decided to rush +from the house and leave the thing to work out its own way; but second +thought brought with it his plans, which must be set in motion at once. + +This attitude of Joyce's was a new obstacle, but if he conquered her, he +might overcome it. So by sheer force of weak will he strode over to the +woman who defied him, even while she pleaded, and grasped her roughly by +the shoulder. + +In that touch Joyce recognized what all suppressed and deprived +womanhood has always felt, and she recoiled to reconnoitre. + +"You do as I tell you, Joyce, and go and set down. The door is going to +be shut and you take that in, plain and quick." He drew her away, and +slammed the door with a crash. + +Joyce went quietly to her chair, but a new and terrible look came into +her eyes. + +Jude sat on the edge of the table, disregarding the spotless cover and +soiled dishes. He wanted to be near Joyce in case of an outbreak, and he +had much to say. + +"Are you listening to me?" he asked slowly, as if he were speaking to a +child. + +"Oh! yes," Joyce replied, and her tone reassured him; "I'm listening." + +"Do you think you've ever taken me in any?" + +The man's sullen black eyes held the clear, bluish-gray ones. + +"Oh, never, Jude! You're terribly smart. I've always known that--but +please--" the strained eyes turned for the last time toward the door. + +"Cut that out!" said Jude. "You're just acting. You can't pull me by the +nose, but it will pay you to calm down and listen to what I've got to +say. I've heard from your father!" + +"Have you?" The white impassive face did not change expression. + +"Yes; by thunder! I have; and as it concerns you as much as it does me, +you better take more interest. I heard from him more'n two weeks ago. I +met him, too, in the south woods, a few nights back." + +"What's he hiding for?" the monotonous tone jarred Jude more than any +outbreak of temper could have done. His recent restraint, and his +pent-up plans had worn his nerves to the raw edge. He was in the slow, +consuming stage of emotions that was likely to lead him to a desperate +move if he were balked. + +"Now look here," he blurted out; "you and me has got to get down to +business, and that to once! I've kept mum long of the kid's taking-off." +Joyce's eyes widened as she stared through the open window over which +the rose-vine was being lashed by a new storm. + +"I've bided my time, and it was more for you than for me, you can bet. + +"This is the big time of our lives, and I ain't going to hold back any +facts what can make things clear and reasonable. Me and your father want +you, maybe for different reasons, maybe not. You ain't the common sort, +and we know you can help us. If you was like most women, him and me +wouldn't have no compunctions about cutting, and leaving you to ways +what you seem to hanker after. But he's actually pining for a sight of +you, and even knowing what I do about you, I can't give you up! That's +the plain situation as far as you're concerned, and you can take it for +what it's worth. Are you listening?" + +"Oh! yes, yes, I'm listening, Jude." And so she was. She was listening +to the moan in the tree-tops. It sounded like the last plaintive cry her +child had made, and it hurt her cruelly. + +"I've got more money in hand, Joyce, than what I ever had--I've got +fifteen hundred dollars." + +Somehow this had power to reach the listener as nothing before had done. +Her aching eyes fell upon Jude, and a new fear contracted them. + +"Where did you get it--the money--Jude?" + +"That's my business. I'm only dealing with facts." + +"Yes, but I must know. It--it isn't yours, Jude." + +"Isn't it?" Jude laughed. "Well, then, we'll call it mine for argerment. +That pa of yours is a slick one!" The sudden change of subject relaxed +the brief interest Joyce had shown in the conversation. + +"Leaving here in the sulks about you, what does he do but go down to +what he calls civilization, and strikes a rich claim first thing. All +that was lacking was ready money. Back he comes, and finds out the lay +of the land here, without so much as showing his nose. He says he had +several plans to get money--but this plan of mine is the easiest, so +we're going to work it. All my life I've dreamed by day and night"--a +sudden glow illumined Jude's dark face,--"of the road and where it +leads. Always, as true as God hears me, Joyce, always, as boy and man, +when I've fancied myself on the road, and beyond the forests, I've +always seen you beside me. I don't care what you are, or what +temptations beset you--you've always been the one girl for me. We're +going to begin a new life now--with no back flings at each other. Give +me a kiss on it, girl." + +Jude came over to her, and she felt his hot, excited breath on her cheek +and throat. + +Dazed as she was by what he had said, she was frightened at his manner, +and drew back, warding him off with rigid hands. + +"Don't!" she cried, hoarsely. "Don't touch me. You're all wrong--I'm not +going anywhere with you. I'm going to stay right here--I swear it!" + +"You won't go?" Everything swayed and trembled before Jude. "But if I +promise to--to--pay it back? You know there was no time set." This was +the last concession Jude was to make. His horrible suspicions were +choking him. + +"I'm not going. I--I couldn't--I--couldn't leave--him." The white face +quivered and the big eyes overflowed with tears. + +Jude had only one thought--a thought lashed to the fore by his jealous +rage, and defeated hopes. And poor Joyce, distraught and grief-crazed, +realized not the terrible blunder he was making. + +"You're--staying--just--for him?" Jude was close to her now, and his +breath came short and hard. + +"Yes; I know you won't ever understand. If I was away, I couldn't bear +my life--this--this longing would be always tugging at me--and I could +never help it. If we stay here, Jude, I'll go on just the--same; it's +being--near--that counts!" + +"You--tell me this to my face--you fool!" + +For an instant Joyce's dull agony wavered, and an inkling of what Jude +meant rushed upon her. + +"Oh!" she gasped, and put her hands out to him. But it was too late. The +hot blood was surging in the weak brain. With a violence he had never +shown before, the man flung the outstretched hands from him, then he +struck viciously the white terrified face twice, leaving dull, red marks +to bear witness. + +His rage fed upon the brutality. Now that he had let himself loose, he +gave full rein to his hate and revenge. + +He gripped the slim, childish arm, and pushed the shrinking form before +him. + +"Go--you!" With one hand he drew the door back, and hurled the girl out +into the black storm. "Go to _him_!" + +Joyce kept her feet, but she staggered on until a tree stopped her +course. The contact was another hurt, but she gave small heed to it. + +Like a burning flash she seemed to see two things: Jude's true +understanding of her blundering words; and her possible future, after +she had made him understand. For, of course, she must go back and _make_ +him understand, and then--well, after such a scene, a woman's life was +never safe in St. Angé. It was like a taste of blood to a wild animal. +Still she must go back. In all the world there was nothing else for her +to do. + +Her face stung and throbbed, her arm ached where Jude had crushed the +tender flesh. She leaned against the tree that had added to her pain, +and wept miserably for very self-pity. She was downed and beaten. After +all she was to be like the rest of St. Angé women. + +Sounds roused her. Strange, terrific sounds. + +What was Jude doing? + +Trembling in every limb, she went forward and peered through the +rose-vine into the room. + +The rain was cooling her face and the wind was clearing the agonized +brain. + +Inside, the scene struck terror to the watcher's heart. + +Jude was crashing the furniture to pieces in a frenzy of revenge. + +The chairs were dashed against the chimney; the books hurled near and +far. One almost hit the white face among the vines, as it went crashing +outward. + +Then Jude attacked the pictures--her beautiful pictures! + +The mountain peak was shattered by a blow from the remnant of the little +rocker, then the ocean picture fell with the sound of splintered glass. +Last the Madonna! Joyce clutched her heart as the heavenly face was +obliterated by the savage blow. Then, maddened still further by his own +excesses, Jude laughed and struck with mighty force, the lamp from the +table--and the world was in blackness! + +How long Joyce stood clinging to the vine in abject terror, she was +never to know. + +Consciousness of the live, vivid sort, was mercifully spared her for a +space. She knew, but did not comprehend, the true horror of her +situation. + +No thought of explaining now to Jude occurred to her as she stood +cringing and trembling against the house in the darkness. Only one +thought possessed her vitally--Jude must never see her again. If he did, +he would kill her. Kill her as Pierre was said to have killed poor +little Lola, long, long ago. + +Joyce's teeth chattered and she gripped her shaking hands over them. +When her heart _did_ beat--and minutes seemed to pass when it made no +motion--it hurt her cruelly. + +What was he doing in there? The storm was gaining power, and no other +sound rose in the blackness. Then suddenly Jude rushed from the house. +He passed so close to Joyce that his coat touched her. By some power +entirely outside of ordinary hearing or seeing, Joyce knew that he was +making for the Black Cat with the tale of his wrongs. They all did that. +It was the finishing stroke for the woman. + +Alone, in the blackness and storm, reason reasserted itself in Joyce's +mind. It brought no comfort with its restored poise; rather, it brought +a realization of her true position. Her life was as utterly shattered +and devastated as was the little home. Everything was gone. The future, +with pitiful choice, was as densely black as the night that shut her in +with her dull misery. With Jude, there could be no possible +understanding. To confront him, even with the powers of the Black Cat at +call, would be the wildest folly. There was nothing to say--nothing. + +Still, Jude had money. It was quite plain to the keen mind now--it was +Gaston's money! Ralph Drew had probably sent the money in payment and +instead of passing the amount on to Gaston, who had advanced the +different sums, Jude was making off with it. She must stop that. For +herself, what did it matter? But still, if Gaston, who had such power, +could hold Jude and claim the money, he might find a way out of this +awful trouble. She must go to Gaston, and at once. + +Aching in every limb, and soaked to the skin, Joyce turned toward the +North Woods. The howling wind was with her, and it was the only help she +had. So she came at last to the lonely little shack among the pines. + +Gaston had built a roaring piney fire upon the hearth of his outer room. +He was luxuriating before this with a long-stemmed pipe between his +lips. + +The day had perplexed and touched him deeply. Never before in all his +St. Angé life had he seemed to get so close to the heart, the human +heart, of things. Joyce's white, still anguish over the death of her +baby had tugged at his feelings. + +So _that_ was what mother-love meant the world over? + +A sharp, quick knock startled him. Gaston rose at once. He knew upon the +instant who it was. He knew that from some dire necessity Joyce was +calling for his aid. + +There was no time nor inclination for him to fall back upon that inner +sense of his and seek to peer beyond the present and its need. He strode +to the door, flung it open, and Joyce and the terrific storm burst into +the room together! + +"He--he's driven me from the house." The girl's wild face made +unnecessary the idle question that Gaston spoke. + +"Who?" + +"Jude." Then Gaston shut and barred the heavy door. He could at least +exclude the rain and wind. + +"Look here! and here!" the girl pointed to her bruised face upon which +the storm's moisture rested, and the slender arm with its brutal mark. + +"Good God!" ejaculated Gaston, as he gazed in horror, "and on this day!" + +Rage against Jude, tenderness for Jude's victim, struggled hotly in +Gaston's mind; but presently a divine pity for the girl alone consumed +him. + +Her misery was appalling. Now that she was comparatively safe, bodily +weakness overpowered her. She swayed, and put her hands out childishly +for support--any support that might steady her as her world went black. + +Gaston caught her and placed her gently in his deep, low chair. + +"Poor girl!" he murmured, "Poor Joyce! You're as wet as a leaf. Here!" +He quickly brought one of the red blankets from the inner room. "Here, +let me at least wrap you in something dry. And now drink this, it will +do you good." + +He poured some wine into a glass and held it to her blue, cold lips. + +"Come, Joyce! We'll straighten things out. Trust me." + +She gulped the warming wine, and shivered in the blanket's muffling +comfort. + +"And now," Gaston was flinging logs on the blazing embers, "you're +coming around. Whatever it is, Joyce, it isn't worth all this agony of +yours." + +"I'm--I'm afraid they'll come and kill us." Joyce's eyes widened and the +old fear seized her again. The momentary comfort and thought of safety +lost their hold. + +"In God's name, Joyce, hush! You're safe and I'm not afraid. Come, don't +you see if you want me to help you, you must pull yourself together?" + +"Yes; yes; and we--I must hurry." + +Now that he had time to think, Gaston knew pretty well what had +occurred. The vulgar details did not matter. The one important and +hideous fact was, that for some reason, Jude, with the crazy brutality +that had long been gathering, had flung his young wife from his +protection on to Gaston's. + +Well, he would accept the responsibility. He was quite calm, and his +blood was up. A pleasurable excitement possessed him, and he laughed to +calm the fear he saw in Joyce's eyes. + +The clock struck nine. All that was respectable and innocent in St. Angé +was in bed at that hour. + +Gaston wondered what he was going to do with the girl. The thought did +not disturb him; but, of course, he must make arrangements. + +Long ago he had so shut out his own world that he could not, now, call +upon it for Joyce's protection. St. Angé was impossible as a working +basis--his thoughts flew to Filmer. Yes; as soon as Joyce could explain, +he would go for Filmer and together they would solve this riddle for the +poor, battered soul, shrinking before him. + +He must hurry her a little. St. Angé and nine o'clock must be +considered. + +The wine had brought life and colour into the white face. The glorious +hair, now rapidly drying in the warm room, was curling in childish +fashion above the wide eyes. + +She was certainly too young and pretty to run the risk that the night +might bring. + +A complication arose. Divine pity made way for a sense of the girl's +beauty and helplessness. The bruise upon the soft cheek cried out for +tenderness and protection. Gaston strove to detach himself from the +personal element. He strove to feel old and fatherly but he was still +young; Fate was tempting him in the subtlest manner. The best and the +worst of the man came to the fore. + +The wind howled outside; the warmth and comfort held them +close--together, and alone. + +What did anything matter? They had both done their parts. They had tried +to be what the world called good--and here they were tossed back upon +each other, and not a hope beyond. + +Then Gaston found himself speaking quite outside of the consciousness +that was almost stifling him with its allurement. + +"Joyce, I must take you home as soon as you can walk. I can straighten +this out. It shall not happen again. You forget I have a certain hold +over Jude." + +"There is no home." The words fell dully from the girl. "He--he broke +and destroyed everything before--he went to the Black Cat." + +Gaston started. + +"But he--did not know you came here? You see it will be in your favour, +if they find you there among the ruins. I'll see to it--that they go and +find you there. Can you walk now?" + +"Yes, but--but you do not understand. The money--it was that I came to +tell you about--Jude has a great deal of money--I think Mr. Drew has +just sent it. He's going to--get away--with my--father." + +Gaston now saw that no time must be wasted. If necessary he must carry +Joyce, and set her down near her fallen shrine--then he must stop Jude. +The money did not matter; but a frenzy of self-preservation, mingled +with his desire to save Joyce, rose within him. The money was his hold +on Jude; it was the only salvation for this critical moment. + +Now that he faced the grim possibility, he found that he was as eager to +preserve a clean future for himself as for her. + +He must get her back. He must find Filmer, and he must lay hold of Jude. + +"Come, Joyce, trust me, I swear to you that it will be all right." + +He took her hand and led her toward the door. Then a confused noise +outside stayed them. + +There was a crushing of underbrush as if a light wagon was being driven +over the narrow path; a mingling of voices rose excitedly. + +"You damned scoundrel!" It was Filmer's voice. "Don't you utter that lie +again until he's had a chance to fling it back in your teeth. Whatever +your cursed row has been, he's got nothing to do with it. Shut up!" + +"Hold on there, Filmer." It was Tate speaking. "This here wagon's got +wedged in the trees. I want to see this thing settled square. If +she's--" a bristling string of epithets followed, then Tate apparently +freed the vehicle he was in, for he jumped to the ground and joined the +knockers at the door. + +So the morality of St. Angé was at stake! Gaston showed his teeth in a +hard smile. There was but one conclusion for them all to come to, of +course. + +"Say, Gaston, old man!" Filmer shouted; "open up. I thought maybe you'd +like to bid Jude an affectionate farewell before he skipped. If he owes +you--_anything_, here's your chance!" Another knock shook the door. + +The two inside looked at each other--man and woman! They both knew with +what they had to deal. A dare-devil expression rose to Gaston's face. He +tossed precaution to the winds. + +Abject terror possessed Joyce and she reeled as she stood, clutching the +blanket closer. Gaston put an arm about her, strode to the door, +unbarred it, and flung it back. + +"Well," he said to the men on the threshold, "what are you going to do +about it?" + +Filmer staggered as if Gaston had struck him, and the look in his eyes +went scathingly to Gaston's heart. But while it hurt, it aroused +resentment. What right had Filmer to judge--Who knew _his_ past? But +Gaston knew Filmer was _not_ judging. He knew he was only bidding +farewell to his one friend of the Solitudes. The friend he had trusted +and revered. + +The effect upon Jude was quite different. No doubt swayed him--he was +merely debating in his mind whether he could now get away with the +money and the wagon he had hired. + +"Since you've got her--" he stammered, "how about--the--the money?" + +The question nerved Gaston. + +"Money?" he cried; "get out with it, you thief and would-be murderer. +Use it to get as far from here as you can, for as true as there is a +heaven above us, if you ever interfere with me or--mine--again, I'll +shoot you at sight. Get out--all of you!" + +He slammed the door violently shut, and with clenched hands and blazing +eyes, he faced his companion. + +He and she were the only ones in the new world. Stung by the memory of +the look of lost faith in the eyes of the one friend to whom he had +planned to turn in this emergency; recalling Jude's glance of triumph as +he turned away, Gaston's moral sense reeled, and the elemental passions +rose. + +Joyce stood shrinking before him. Beaten, bruised and trapped, she +awaited her doom. + +Her primitive love for this man held no part in her present condition. +Whatever he consigned her to, that must she accept. St. Angé standards +were well known to her. The people would be quick enough to spurn +personal responsibility for her, but if she were independent of +them--well, they were not the ones to hold resentment! + +No moral training had ever had part in this girl's life; nothing held +her now but a fear, born of her past experience with man's authority, as +to her future fate. + +She was abandoned and disowned. Her recent loss and grief had bereft her +of any personal pride and hope--like a slave before its master, she +faced Gaston--and mutely waited. + +The unexpected happened. Gaston laughed. Laughed in the old, unconcerned +way; but presently the rising awe and question in the lovely eyes +looking into his own, sobered him. He began to understand and to get her +point of view. He stood straighter, and a new expression passed over his +face. + +"Sit down, Joyce," he said, urging her gently toward the chair, "I must +mend the fire. Things look as if they had fallen to pieces, but they +have not. Believe me--they have not. For heaven's sake stop trembling; +every shudder you give is an insult to me. There, there, you don't +understand, but, it's coming out all right. It was only when others were +meddling that we got on the rocks. I've got the rudder in my hand now, +and by God's help," he was fiercely flinging on the logs, "we'll sail +out into the open with colours flying. When did you eat last?" + +She was watching him with alert, feverish eyes. Like an ensnared animal +she felt a frenzied eagerness to be ready for the snarer's next move. + +"Eat?" she faltered, "why, why, I have forgotten. +Yesterday--to-day--oh! does it matter? I'm not hungry." + +"Well, I am. I always wanted a snatch after the play." + +"The--the play?" Joyce leaned forward. + +"After an infernal row, if you like that better. They both play the +dickens with your digestion." + +Bringing out the food, and making coffee eased the tension of the +situation and after they had eaten, for Joyce struggled to follow his +example, the atmosphere was less electrical. + +The hands of the clock got around to ten-thirty; it was of no +consequence, however, and then Gaston cleared the table, kicked a +rebellious log back to its duty, and drew a chair beside Joyce. + +The little bruised arm lay stretched pitifully along the arm of the +chair. Gaston winced as he saw it, and he laid his strong, warm hand +over the cold fingers that did not draw away. + +"Joyce." His voice was almost solemn in its intensity. "I don't believe +there is anything I can say that you would understand now. God knows, I +pity you from the bottom of my soul and, God helping me, I'm going to +help you in the best way I can. You need rest more than any other little +woman in the world to-night, I reckon, go in there," he nodded toward +his own chamber, "and try your best to sleep. I want to smoke and think +it all out here by the fire. Remember, you are safe." + +She rose stiffly and stood before him. Fear was gone from her; weakness +remained; a horrible, sickening weakness, but no fear. Vaguely, +gropingly, she tried to understand what lay behind his slow, solemn +words, but the effort was too great. She sighed and looked down upon him +as if he had suddenly become a stranger to her, then, stepping backward, +with uncertain faltering movement, she gained the door of that room +where no foot but Gaston's had ever before stepped. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +It was mid-October when Ralph Drew, his pretty sister Constance and his +devoted maiden aunt--Miss Sally Drew--arrived in St. Angé and took up +their new life in the bungalow which, under Jude Lauzoon's +contractorship, had been made ready. + +During his first short stay in St. Angé young Drew had regained not only +his lost strength, but he had gained an insight into the needs of the +men and women of the small place. He had always intended doing something +for the village and its inhabitants after his return to town for they +had appealed strongly to his emotional and sympathetic nature. But what +St. Angé had vouchsafed in the way of restored health, she had +begrudgingly bestowed. To have and to hold what she had given, the +recipient must, in return, vow allegiance to her, and, forsaking all +others, cling to her pines and silent places. He must forswear old +habits and environment--he must give up all else and fling himself upon +her mercy. + +It had been hard. Back there in the town, where the pulse of things beat +high, he had fought the knowledge inch by inch. + +"Would a year be enough?" It would be useless. "If winters were spent +there--several winters?" The big specialist shook his head. + +High, dry mountains, somewhere, were the only hope. St. Angé was +comparatively near, she had given a hint as to what she could do--better +trust her. + +One after another the outposts of lingering hope were taken by the grim, +white Spectre. He must abdicate, and accept what terms the enemy +offered. + +Wan, and defeated, but still with the high courage that was his only +possession, Drew tried to get the new outlook. + +If there were to be--life, then there must be work, God's work; he was +no coward, he would do his part. + +Mingled with the many, dear, familiar things of the life that no longer +was to be his, was a slim, pretty, little girl whom he had enshrined in +his college days, and before whom he had laid his heart's sacredest +offerings since. She, and his splendid courage would make even St. Angé +a Paradise. + +Raising his eyes to her face, as she sat beside his bed the day the +specialist had given his final command, Drew whispered his hope to her. + +The soft, saintly eyes fell before the trusting, pitiful ones. + +"Dear," he said, a new doubt faced him--one he had never believed +possible; "they say I will be well--quite well, there if I stay. And +you and I--" but that drooping face drove him back among the shadows. + +"We--must--think of others." It was the voice of a self-sacrificing +saint, but the heart-touch was lacking, and Drew received his sentence +then and there. + +For a few, weak days he decided to remain and finish it all and forever. + +Then his manly faith bade him sternly to gather the poor remnant of his +strength together; grasp the broken blade that was his only weapon, and +finish the fight how and where he could. + +"We'll go with you, laddie," Aunt Sally whispered, hanging over this boy +whom she loved as her own. + +"And, dear," Constance sobbed on his pillow, "she wasn't worth your +love. I just knew it from the start. She's a selfish--egotistical--" a +thin, feverish hand stayed the girlish outburst. + +"Never mind, Connie, we'll fly to the woods, and try to forget all about +it." And taking advantage of the golden October calm, they came to St. +Angé. + +Lying upon his bed in the bungalow chamber, looking out over the hills +and meadows, gorgeous in autumn tints, Drew began slowly, interruptedly +to be sure, but perceptibly, to gain strength. + +Having relinquished finally the old ideal of life, it was wonderful, +even to Drew himself, to find how much seemed unimportant and trivial. +It was rather shocking, in a mild way, for him to realize that a certain +girl's face was growing less and less vivid. At first he attributed this +to bodily weakness; then to weakness of character; finally, thank God! +to common sense. With that conclusion reached, the present began feebly +to be vital and full of meaning. + +Had perfect health been his, a call to serve the cause to which he had +dedicated himself might have taken him farther than St. Angé from his +old life. It was the finality of the decree that had put him in that +panic. Well, he would not permit finality to hold part in his plans. He +would live as if all things _might_ come to him, as to other men. It +should be, day by day, and he would accept these people--if they would +accept him--not as minister and parishioners, but in the larger, deeper +sense--as brothers. With this outlook determined upon, a change for the +better began. Before it, while the old weakness possessed him, Jock +Filmer, sitting daily by his bed, was merely some one who was helping +nurse the fever-racked body; afterward, Jock materialized into the most +important and satisfying personality to be imagined. He was untiring in +his devotion and gentleness. Caught on the rebound from the shock Gaston +had caused him, Filmer went over to the new call to his friendship with +an abandon that proved his own sore need of sympathy. + +The family, grateful for the signs of returning health in the sick man, +thankful for Jock's assistance and enlivening humour, disregarded +conventions, and admitted the new friend to the holy of holies in their +bungalow life. + +Jock had not been so supremely happy in years. The companionship healed +the wound Gaston had given his faith, and he found himself shielding and +defending both Gaston and Joyce against his own crude judgments. + +Before coming to St. Angé, Drew had been kept in touch with all that the +men who were working for him considered his legitimate business. +Anything pertaining to his house was fully explained; village scandal, +however, had been ignored, and when Drew was able to be moved in a +steamer-chair to his broad porch facing the west, he had many astounding +things to learn. + +One morning, lying luxuriously back among his cushions and inhaling the +pine-filled air with relish, Drew electrified Filmer, who sat near him +on the porch railing, by observing calmly: + +"Filmer, I've a load of questions I want to ask." + +"Heave 'em out." Jock sighed resignedly. Of course, he had anticipated +this hour, and he knew that he must be the high priest. "Heave 'em out, +and then settle down 'mong facts." + +"Where is Jude Lauzoon?" This was hitting the bull's eye with a +vengeance. + +"Gone off for change of air and scene--somewhere." Jock presented a +stolid, blank face to his inquisitor. + +"Gone where?" + +"Now how in--how do you expect I know? Just gone." + +"Taken that pretty little wife of his to new scenes, eh? Well, she never +seemed to me to belong here rightfully. I hope they'll do well." + +Jock hitched uncomfortably. + +"Well," he broke in, feeling it was inevitable, "Joyce didn't, as you +might say, go with Jude. She's stopping on here." + +"With the baby? There was a baby, I recall. My sister talked of it a +good deal. She was interested in Joyce Lauzoon from what I told her." + +"Well," Filmer felt his way, "there was, as you say, a--a baby, at least +a kind of--a--baby. It was about as near a failure as _I_ ever saw; but +Joyce was plain crazy about it." + +"Was? Is--the child dead?" Drew's big eyes were full of sympathy. + +"Well, I should say so! And women is queer creatures, Drew. Now any one +with an open mind would have been blamed glad when that poor little cuss +cut loose. It never would have had a show in life; it was a big mistake +from the beginning, but after it went, and was comfortably planted +behind the shack, what do you think? Why, she came back one night and +dug him up and put him--" In his endeavour to keep Drew from more unsafe +topics, Filmer had plunged straight into an abyss. + +"Put him where?" Drew felt the gripping of life. It hurt, but it +stimulated him. He was suffering with his people--his people! Joyce's +lovely face, as he remembered it, pleaded with him for sympathy. It was +her face that had first given him assurance. She should not call in +vain. + +"Oh! back of where she is stopping now. They've made the spot quite a +little garden plot, and--" + +"Filmer, see here, tell me all about it!" + +"Well, by thunder, then, here is the yarn. You see in the first place, +you didn't marry Jude and Joyce as tight as an older and more +experienced hand would have done. I ain't blaming you, but I've used the +thought to help me to be more Christian in my views about what happened. +The knot you tied was a slipknot all right." + +A shadow passed over the sick man's face. + +"You mean--" he began. + +"I certainly do. There was a hell of a--excuse me--there was a rumpus of +some sort the night the kid was buried. It ended up with a general +smash-a-reen of furniture, pictures and such--and I guess Joyce came in +for a share of bruises, from what has leaked out since. But the outcome +was, she walked up to Gaston's shack that same evening, and what +happened there hasn't got into the society news yet; but when Jude and +me and Tate went up to straighten out what _I_ thought was a drunken lie +of Lauzoon's, there she was all right, wrapped up in Gaston's red +blanket, his arm around her, and him asking what we was going to do +about it?" + +"What have you--done?" the even words came slowly. + +"Nothing. Jude evaporated. I got a bit of a jog about Gaston; I ain't +over virtuous, but Gaston was a sort of pattern to me, and I'd got him +into my system while we was working on your house. He made me--believe +in something clean and big--and I didn't enjoy seeing him spattered with +mud of his own kicking up. But Lord! It ain't any of my business." + +"And the others here? Do they make her and him--feel it?" + +Filmer laughed. + +"You forget," he replied; "Gaston's got about all the floating capital +there is around here. Where he gets it, is his own affair, and him and +Joyce don't ask no favours. The whole thing has settled into shape. You +needn't get excited over it. Of course, the women folks have warned your +aunt and sister off. I believe they call Joyce the worst woman in the +place--when they're whispering--but they don't take any chances of +giving offence by speaking out loud." + +"Poor little girl!" Drew's eyes were misty. He shivered slightly and +pulled his fur coat closer about his chin. "How does she look, Filmer?" + +"As handsome as--well, a queen would give her back teeth to look like +Joyce. I never seen the like. Head up, back as straight as a pine +sapling, eyes shining and hair like--like mist with sunlight in it. +Gaston has taught her to speak like he does. You know he always kept his +language up-to-date and stylish? Well, she's caught the trick now. You'd +think she'd travelled the way she hugs her g's and d's. She trips over +the grammar rules occasionally--but I always said they had to be born in +your blood to make you sure, and even then--you have to exercise them +daily." + +"Poor little Joyce! I always felt she was only half awake, as she stood +that day before me. If I had it to do now--I would wake her up, before I +made the tie fast." + +"Lord help us!" Jock felt the relief of an unburdened mind; "is it in +your religion to tie anything fast?" + +"Yes; yes." Drew was looking over the sunlighted hills and thinking of +that lovely, dreaming face of a year ago. + +"And now," Filmer was drawling on, "while you and me are on this sort of +house-cleaning spell, let me drop another item of interest into your +think-tank. We-all up here ain't going to stand for any preaching +business. I say this outspoken and friendly, meaning no ill feeling; +just plain, what's what. You see them ideas of yours what you handed out +last year set folks thinking. They sounded so blasted innercent and easy +that we all chewed on 'em for a time, and some of us got stung. Now them +as is native here can't think without suffering; and them as came here, +came to get rid of thinking, and so you see none of us want to be riled +along that _line_. See?" + +"I see." Drew smiled, and stretched his thin white hand out to Filmer. +"Thanks. But if they'll let me live--that's all I want. It's my only way +of preaching, anyhow--and Filmer, I _am_ going to live. I feel the +blood running to my heart and brain. I feel it bringing back hope and +interest--a man can make a place for himself anywhere if there are men +and women about. _I_ thought first--back there--when I dropped +everything, that there never could be anything else worth while, but I +tell you old man, if you take even a remnant of life and love to Death's +portal you're always mighty glad to get the chance to come back and see +the game out. It's when you go empty-handed, that you long to slip in +and have done with it. Filmer, there's something yet left for me to +do." + +Jock was holding the boyish hand in a grim grip. He tried to speak, but +could not. He stared silently at the muffled figure in the long chair, +then with an impatient grunt, dropped his hold and actually fled in +order to hide the feelings that surged in his heart. + +Left alone, Drew sank wearily back and closed his eyes. The +lately-acquired strength proved often a deserter when it was tested, and +for the moment the sick man felt all the depression and inertia of the +past. He _felt_, and that was his only gain. Before, he had been too +indifferent to feel or care. + +"Poor, little, pretty thing!" he thought, with Joyce's face before him +against the closed eyelids. "She couldn't stand it. She didn't look as +if she could. I'm sorry she had to find her way out by such a +commonplace path. What was Gaston thinking of to let her? He knew--he +should have kept his hands off and not blasted what little hope might +have been hers." + +Half dreamily he recalled what Filmer had just told him. His weakened +body held no firm clutch on his imagination at that time of his life--it +ran riot, often giving him abnormal pleasure by its vivid touches; +occasionally causing him excruciating pain as he suffered, in an +exaggerated way, with suffering. + +He saw Joyce, bruised and shuddering as a result of Jude's cruelty; he +saw her poor little idols dashed to pieces before her eyes; he felt her +grief for the dead baby, and when he remembered Jock's account of her +taking the small casket to the only spot where she herself was safe, the +weak tears rolled down his cold, thin face. He was too exhausted and +full of pain to wipe them away. + +He heard his aunt and sister come out of the house. + +"Asleep!" whispered the older woman in a glad tone. + +"I'll go for a walk," Constance added, tip-toeing away. "Have the milk +and egg ready when he wakes, auntie. Did you ever see such a day? I feel +as if I had just been made, and placed in a world that hadn't been used +up by millions of people." + +They were gone, and Drew sighed relievedly. + +Presently he opened his eyes, if he had slept he was not conscious of +it, and there sat the girl of his dreams near him. + +"Mrs.--" he faltered, "Mrs. Lauzoon, how good of you to come and see me. +I hope you know I would have come to you as soon as I was able?" + +Joyce had been studying his face--nothing had escaped her: its wanness, +the sharp outline, and the tears congealed in the hollows of his cheeks. +She pulled her chair nearer, and took his extended hand. + +"I'm sorry you've been sick," she said simply. + +Then they smiled at each other. + +[Illustration: PRESENTLY HE OPENED HIS EYES ... AND THERE SAT THE GIRL +OF HIS DREAMS NEAR HIM] + +It was hard for Drew to readjust his ideas and fit this beautiful woman +into the guise of the Magdalene of his late thoughts. + +Vaguely he saw that whatever she had undergone, she had brought from her +experiences new beauty; a new force, and a power to guard her +possessions with marvellous calm. She was being made as she went along +in life. Her spiritual and mental architecture, so to speak, could not +be properly estimated until all was finished. This conclusion chilled +Drew's enthusiasm. He would have felt kinder had she been less sure of +herself. + +"You are looking--well, Mrs. Lauzoon." Drew felt the awkwardness of the +situation growing. + +"Please, Mr. Drew, I'm just Joyce again. Perhaps you have not heard?" +Her great eyes were still smiling that contented, peaceful smile. + +"I've heard. Need we talk of it, Joyce?" + +"Unless you're too weak, we must; now or at some other time. You see I +have been waiting to talk to you. I've been saying over and over, 'He'll +understand. He'll make me sure that I've done right.'" + +Drew, for the life of him, could not repress a feeling of repulsion. +Joyce noticed this, and leaned back, folding her hands in her lap. + +Drew saw that her hands were white and smooth. Then she gathered her +heavy, red cloak around her, and hid those silent marks of her new +refinement. + +"They call me"--the old, half-childish smile came to the face looking +full at Drew--"the worst woman in town. At least, they call me that when +they think I won't hear. You know they were always afraid of Mr. Gaston +a little. But I hear and it makes me laugh." + +The listener closed his eyes for a moment. He could better steady his +moral sense when that sweet beauty did not interfere with his judgment. + +"You see, if I had stayed on--with Jude, and lived--that--awful life": a +sudden awe stole into her voice--"then, if they had thought of me at +all, they would have thought of me as--good. It would have been--good +for me to have--poor, sad little children--like--like my--my +baby--You've heard?" Her lips were quivering. The play of expression on +her face, the varying tones of her voice unnerved Drew. He nodded to her +question. + +"It was such a--dreadful, little, crooked form, Mr. Drew--such--a +hideous thing to hold a--a--soul. Just once, the _soul_ smiled at me +through the big, dark eyes--it wanted me to know it _was_ a soul--then +it went away." + +Even while the smile trembled on the girl's lips the tears stood in her +eyes. + +"You see," she went on, "no one would have blamed me if I had gone on +like that--the misshapen children, and soon they would have stopped +having souls--and Jude's cruelty,"--again that fearsome catch in the +voice--"they would have called me good--if I had stayed on--but you will +understand?" She bent toward him with pleading and yearning in her face. +"Oh! how I have just hungered to talk it over with you--and to feel +sure! There isn't any one else in all the world, you know, to whom I +could say this." + +"How about Gaston?" Drew heard his own words, and they sounded brutal, +but they were forced from him. + +Joyce stared surprisedly. + +"Why--we never talk of--of that. How could we? But I read--and Mr. +Gaston has taught me to think--straight--and don't you notice how much +better I talk?" + +"Yes--and dress." All that was hard in Drew rose in arms. This girl was +like the rest of her kind for all her wood-setting and strange beauty. +The only puzzling thing in the matter was her desire to talk it out with +him. + +"I have lots of pretty things to wear." Joyce smoothed her heavy cloak. +"He's the kindest man I ever knew. That's another reason I had for +wanting to come to you. I want you to show him just _how_ you +understand. I begin to see how lonely he is--how lonely he has always +been up here--there is no one quite like him--but you. But Mr. Drew, do +you remember what you preached that day you--married us--Jude and me, I +mean?" + +"I'm afraid not--so many things have happened since." Drew tried to keep +his feelings in check. + +"Well, I remember every word." The glowing face again bent toward Drew. +"Can't you think back? It was about what we've brought into the world, +what we get here and shape into _our_ lives, and then what we leave when +we go--away. The blazed trail, you know, and clearing the way for +others. Oh, it was the sort of thing that when you thought about it you +didn't _dare_ go on being careless." + +"I do--recall." Her intensity was gripping Drew in spite of himself. "It +was an old fancy. But it has helped me to live." + +"It has _made_ me live. I tried it fair and honest with Jude, Mr. Drew, +but no one could do it with him. The trail got choked with--awful +things--and I only had strength enough to run away, after one year. If I +had stayed--I--I would have rotted as I stood." She breathed thick and +fast. Her old life, even in memory, smothered her. Drew caught a slight +impression of what it must have been for this strange-natured woman. He +began to think she was not yet awake, and the thought made him kinder in +his estimate of her. + +"But," he said gently, "was there no other way out of your difficulty?" + +She looked pityingly at him. + +"I didn't go to Mr. Gaston to--to stay," she whispered: "there was a +reason for my going--a reason about Jude--then things happened that I +guess were meant to happen. There was no other way out for me--but I had +not thought that far. I guess if God ever took care of any one, he took +care of me that night." + +This utterly pagan outlook on the proprieties positively stirred Drew to +unholy mirth. But it did something else--it made him realize that the +girl before him was quite outside the reach of any of his preconceived +ideas. He could afford to sit down upon her plane and feel no moral +indignation. Perhaps, after all, she had brought his work to him when +she came herself. + +"You see, after Jude and Mr. Tate and Jock Filmer found me there late at +night--there was nothing else for me to do. Jude would have killed +me--if I had gone away alone--he was--awful. Besides, where could I have +gone?" + +"Gaston should have acted for you. He knew what he was doing to you." + +The righteous indignation confused the girl. + +"Why, he did act for me." The fire sprang to the wondering eyes. "He is +the best man on earth. There are more ways of being good than one. The +people here can't see that--but surely you can. Mr. Gaston made my +life safe and clean. I could grow better every day. Why, look at me." +She flung her arms wide as if by the gesture she laid bare her new life. + +"He has taught me until I can see and think, wide and sure. He is always +gentle--and he never lets me work until--until I'm too tired to want to +live. + +"Isn't it being good when you are growing into the thing God meant you +to be? Ought you not to take any way God offers to reach that kind of +life?" Joyce flung the questions out fiercely. She was perplexed by +Drew's attitude. If he were as much like Gaston as she had believed, why +did he look and act as he was doing? + +"If--if you have, and if you are, all that you say, why do you question +me so?" Drew asked. He was feeling his way blindly through this new +moral, or unmoral, thicket. + +"Because sometimes a queer thought comes to me. I know it is because +these people can not understand; but _you_ can, and when you have told +me it is all right--I shall never have the thought again." + +"What _is_ the thought, Joyce?" + +"You see," she almost touched him now in her intensity, "I do not know +anything about Mr. Gaston--really. About what he was, what his life was +before he came here. I would not hurt him for anything God could give to +me--and sometimes I have wondered if--if in that life that was; the +life that _might_ come again to him, you know,--for for he is _so_ +different from any one here--I wonder if what he has done for me, could +hurt him? Could anything that is so heavenly good for me--hurt +him?--tell me, tell me!" + +And now Drew dropped his eyes and sent a swift prayer to God for +forgiveness. + +He had thought her without conscience, without soul. He felt himself in +a dim valley, and he hardly dared to raise his eyes to her. + +"I am perfectly happy." The words quivered to him, and belied +themselves. "And he says he--is--but would he be if he were back +there--where he came from? In my getting of _my_ life, am I taking from +_his_?" + +"Good God!" + +"You--you do not understand, either?" + +"Yes; I do, Joyce--I understand. I understand." + +"Am I hurting him?" + +"He must answer that, Joyce, no one else can. He must face that some +day, and also whether he is hurting you or not. We cannot any of us +choose a little sunny spot in life for ourselves and shut out the past +and future by a high wall. The present faces both ways, Joyce, and light +is let in from all sides. Light and blackest gloom, God help us! + +"What Gaston's other life was--he alone knows--he ought to tell you if +he hopes to help you really. If he's the good man he seems to you, +Joyce, he _will_ tell you, and give you a chance to play the game." +Suddenly an inspiration came to Drew. "Tell him," he said slowly, "that +I have friends coming here--friends who will probably build summer homes +and introduce a new life. It's none of my business, perhaps, but you've +come to me for help--and as God shows me, I must help you. Gaston has no +right to injure your future by playing a game with you that you in no +wise understand. It isn't fair--and he knows it, if he stops to think. +Perhaps there was no way for him to help you that night, but the way he +took. Perhaps he nobly did the only thing he could--I hope to God this +is true; but there are other ways now, Joyce--he must know and give you +a choice." + +"I--I--do not see--what you mean?" A frightened look spread over Joyce's +face, and she shivered even in the full glow of the autumn sunlight. "I +feel--you make me feel--as if I had been--as if I am--shut in a little +room, with the doors and windows about to be opened. What is coming in, +Mr. Drew? What am I going to see? You--you frighten me. I cannot--I will +not believe--anything dreadful could happen to him or me--when I am so +happy and safe." + +The excitement was wearing upon Drew frightfully. His ghastly face +appealed suddenly to Joyce as she looked at him through her own growing +doubt. + +"I'm going," she said, starting up; "I've made you worse. What can I +do?" + +Drew smiled wanly and held out a trembling hand. + +"Come again," he whispered. "It's all right, I'm much better--than when +you came." + +And so he was, spiritually, for he had retained his belief in God's +goodness, somehow. Just why, he could not have told, but had the girl +been what he had, for a moment, believed, it would all have seemed so +uselessly hopeless and crude. + +From the strange confession he had obtained but a blurred impression, +but that impression saved his faith in Joyce, at least. She was not a +bad, ignoble woman. Whatever she had done, had been done from the best +that was in her, and if Gaston had accepted her sacrifice he had, in +some way, managed to keep himself noble in her sight. + +It was a baffling thing all around. A thing that he must approach from a +new standpoint; the one, the only comfort was, the girl's own evolution. +It was not possible Drew thought, that all was evil which had produced +what he had just seen. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Gaston often took a trip to Hillcrest, remaining several days, at times, +and Joyce never questioned. Gradually she had accepted the place in +Gaston's life that he had allotted her without expectation or regret. To +live in the light and joy of his presence had become enough--almost +enough. She studied, and sought to be what he desired. She was, after +the very first, genuinely happy and full of quaint sweetness. As the +black interval of her life faded, she turned with grateful appreciation +to the present and played the part expected of her in an amazing manner. + +Sometimes that disturbing doubt, hardly strong enough to be classified, +made her pause, wide-eyed and still, but it fled before Gaston's laugh +and jest. + +With Drew's coming she grasped the subtle restlessness and comforted +herself with the thought that he who understood so much, he, who was, in +kind, like Gaston, he would clear away the elusive doubt forever. + +She had never forgotten that it was Drew who had first set her feet on +the upward path; he, above all others, would be glad of her better life, +and sympathize with her happiness. + +When she pondered upon Gaston's possible past, she felt guilty. What he +did not entrust to her, she had no right to consider--so she tried to +push the thought away. She was glad of so good an excuse for putting a +fretting thing aside. But it would not remain hidden. During Gaston's +absences it reared its hated head--with his return it slunk into shadow. + +Taking advantage of one of Gaston's brief visits from home, Joyce had +gone to Drew, timing her call when she knew his womenkind were away. She +had an instinctive aversion to her own sex. She had thought it was +contempt for St. Angé womanhood; she did not speculate about these +others. + +Her talk with the young minister, instead of clearing her sky of the +tiny cloud, had resulted in a general atmosphere of doubts and shapeless +fears that doomed her days to unhappiness, and her lonely nights to +actual misery. + +Things were _not_ right. That was the overpowering conviction that grew +apace. If she knew all--all what? Well, if she insisted upon knowing +all--what would happen? + +She caught her breath sharply, and frantically turned to bodily toil in +order to down the spectre which now confronted her with brazen +insistence. Things must go on as before. Ralph Drew was nothing but a +boy--what were his opinions compared to Gaston's? Gaston could do no +wrong. She was content to abide by his decree. + +She sang, and turned from one task to another with determined haste. At +one moment she vowed the subject should never be thought of again; the +next, she promised herself that she would put the whole matter before +Gaston as soon as he returned, and, by so doing, prove the unimportance +of the thing. But whichever way she looked at it, she hourly grew to +dread Gaston's return. Life was never going to be the same. Something +was going to happen! + +Oh, she had often had these premonitions before. Gaston laughed at them, +and called her funny names when she voiced them to him. + +Three days and nights dragged on, after that visit to Drew, before +Gaston came back. + +The house had been cleaned and recleaned until it shone. The fire was +kept brilliant, and Joyce donned, in turn, every pretty bit of adornment +that she owned. She decked the pictures with ground-pine, and, in the +act of preparing the dishes for supper that Gaston liked best, he found +her. + +"Hello, little girl," he called cheerily; "it look like Christmas. It's +lucky I have some presents in my pack. I believe you fixed up to catch +me, and make me feel like a tight-wad. But I'm one to the good. Don't +peek. After supper we'll have a lark. Have you a kiss by way of +welcome?" + +Joyce turned from the lamp she was lighting, and put both her hands on +his shoulders. + +"Oh, but it's good to have you back!" she said, and raised her lips to +his. + +This fond response to him was the greatest recompense the change in +their lives had brought to Gaston. It warmed the lonely places of his +heart. + +It was a jovial meal that followed. Gaston was hungry, the food was +excellent, and Joyce glowed and beamed in the atmosphere of regained +trust. + +It was, though, a fleeting peace. When the dishes were removed, Gaston +noticed how tired she looked. + +"Happy?" he asked, with a laugh. + +"Perfectly." Joyce was filling his pipe. + +"Perfectly _nothing!_" he exclaimed, drawing her down to the arm of his +chair. "Now own up, my lady, what have you been doing?" + +Gaston expected a rehearsal of daily tasks, more energetically +performed, perhaps, than was necessary. + +"I went to see Mr. Drew." The smile fled from Gaston's face. So it was +not housework! + +"How is the young D. D.?" + +"He looks very ill, but they say he is getting better." + +"Did you have a pleasant call?" + +Gaston was unreasonably annoyed, but he was curious also. + +Joyce dropped her eyes. In a subtle way Gaston felt a change in her. She +was never anything but direct and truthful with him, her attitude was +now, therefore, more significant. He had beaten his life, his personal +life, into a monotonous round outlined on that first night when Joyce +had been thrust into his care. He had grown to think that emotions were +dead and done with; this sudden realization that the first touch from +the outer world could disturb his calm, irritated him beyond measure. + +"Mr. Drew was very--kind," Joyce's voice fell dully upon Gaston's +impatience; "he's coming--to see us!" + +"The devil he is!" The outburst seemed so childish that Gaston laughed, +and his gloom passed. + +By persistent practice he had felled every circumstance to a dead +level--he would raze this new element, too, to the ground, and things +would assume the old placidity. + +"We'll welcome him when he comes, Joyce. I'm a selfish brute and don't +want to be disturbed; but of course any one who cares to come will be +welcome." + +She shot a swift glance at him, then her eyes fell. + +Gaston stared at her, and his face flushed. It had not been easy during +the past year to keep the man in him under control, but he had begun to +think, lately, the victory was assured. So confident was he of himself, +that he had planned a final test in order to make sure the future held +no danger for him--and her! + +He sometimes wondered, if she were placed in different environment, +surrounded by luxuries and admiration, how she would appear; and how she +would affect him. In a way he had educated her and refined her. He had +grown used to her and taken her for granted, but there were moments when +she perplexed him. + +His visit to Hillcrest was connected with his little plan to test, in a +fashion, this woman he had helped to form. + +Her announcement about Drew had diverted his thought, but he returned +now to his own interests. Again he wondered if, after all he had done +for her, she could rise above Jude and St. Angé to a degree that might +touch him--that part of him that he hoped he had conquered forever. + +If she could--then--but he would not anticipate. Drew's advent had +focussed his desire to put himself, and her, to the test. Joyce had +precipitated matters, that was all. + +"Joyce!" + +She was bending to place a log upon the fire. + +"None of that! When I'm at home, the big logs are for me." + +She laughed brightly. To be so guarded and cared for never ceased to be +exciting. + +"And now for my surprise! It's a corker this time, Joyce." + +Gaston walked to the lean-to room and brought out two boxes. + +"Take them to your room, and put them on," he said. + +There were always surprises when Gaston returned from Hillcrest. From +out the Somewhere, somehow there drifted marvellous things--books, +pictures, dresses, dainty slippers and home furnishings. Things that St. +Angé gaped silently upon. Joyce never asked questions. Like a child she +shielded this fairy-like mystery from her own curiosity. She was happier +not to know. + +But to-night the boxes seemed heavy. Not from what they held, but from +the weight of her unrest, which was returning with added force. + +She obeyed, however, with that quivering smile still upon her lips. +Almost staggering under the load, she turned and entered the chamber +that had once been Gaston's. It was a woman's room now in every sense. +Gone were the rough furniture, the pipes and books. In their places were +the white bed, the low rocker, the many trifles that go to meet the +endless whims of a woman's fancy and taste. It was an odd room for the +shack of a backwoodsman. It had taken Joyce long to settle into it +comfortably. Her brief apprenticeship in the home that Gaston had helped +Jude make for her was the only preparation she had had for ease among +these refinements. + +Once within the shelter now, Joyce almost flung the boxes from her. It +was dark and cold in the room, and the stillness soothed her. She +groped her way to the window and looked out at the little mound near the +pines, where all that was really her own--her very own--lay. It had +always been a comfort to have the little body so near her place of +safety. She had ceased to grieve when once the baby was brought away +from the ruin of the former home; but to-night the small oval, under its +crust of glittering snow, made her shudder. It was her own--but oh! it +was cold and dead like all the rest of her hope and joy. She knew it +now. Not even Gaston's coming had cleared the doubt. + +She had believed herself so good and happy--and here it was made plain, +horribly plain. Everything was wrong. It had always been wrong. + +But she dared not shrink into her pain. She must obey, and play her +part. Awkwardly she lighted her lamp; tremblingly she untied the +boxes--they bore the same mystic signs and the oft-repeated words, "New +York." It did not matter. New York or the New Jerusalem, one was as +unreal as the other to the backwoods girl. + +Oh, but here was surprise indeed! + +Joyce had not, as yet, sunk so far in doubt and apprehension, but that +the contents of the boxes moved her to interest and delight. + +A gown of golden silk, clinging and long. The daintiest of gloves, +silken hose, and satin slippers. Filmy skirts, and bewildering ruffles +of cobwebby lace. What wild imagination ever conceived of such +witcheries; and what power could command their materialization in the +North Woods? + +Joyce sank beside the boxes, gasping with delight. Then suddenly, as the +shock of pleasurable surprise passed, the mockery of the gift struck +her. Down went the humbled head, and the girl wept as if her heart would +break. + +Gaston was playing with her. She had not been keen enough to understand, +but all along he had amused himself at her expense. Having had her +thrust upon him by circumstances, he had accepted the situation in his +good-natured way, but underneath it was as cruel as--all else in her +life. + +She had been an ignorant, blind fool. Never had Gaston been so daring +with her. Other pretty gifts had found a place, and supplied a want, in +their common life; but this--this--oh! the incongruity was cruel +and--insulting. + +Joyce could not analyze all this--she merely felt it. But when it had +sunk to the depths of her aroused instinct, the reaction took place. Had +the girl been ugly physically, or had Gaston debased her, her doom would +have been fixed; but there was a--chance! + +In the death throes of her false position, she retraced the steps of her +life with Gaston. With a sickening shudder she recalled her mad fear +that first awful night when he had shut the door upon Jude and the +others. How he had made her feel, and at once, that from the high place +that was his, he could afford to help her, and only the low and vile +would misunderstand. It was because she was low and vile as Jude had +made her that she had feared--what? + +How the knowledge had stung, then stunned her! She might have known, had +she remembered, from the first Gaston had always driven her back upon +herself when her foolish passion for him reared its head. + +No one of his own kind would ever have been led into a misunderstanding +of his motives and goodness. + +Then in the days that followed that first terrible night, she had abased +herself and striven to fill the role Gaston prepared for her! + +Later she studied and silently prayed that, in a small way, she might +repay him for his divine kindness! + +But with the patient effort and the marvellous results of quickened +mentality, a clear space was left in the new woman for harrowing doubt. +She never again sank to the thought that Gaston could love her; but she +could not utterly blind herself to the fear that he might be hurting +himself through others _not_ realizing the difference between him and +her. Naturally she could not go to Gaston with this doubt--it would seem +an insult to him, and a shameless suggestion. + +Therefore she hailed Drew's advent with mingled apprehension and relief. +Had he taken for granted that all was well; had he seemed glad that +Gaston had saved her from her evil fate; then she would have known that +such people as Gaston and Drew would understand and think no evil. But +the effect of Gaston's training and influence had sunk deep. Joyce had +risen above the vile thing Jude and St. Angé had tried to make her. She +was, for all the wide difference between her and Gaston, a woman! A +woman beautiful and alive to the highest degree. She dared not any +longer ignore that. For Gaston's sake she must face the blinding truth. + +Crouching beside the boxes of finery that he had thought she could not +understand, Joyce clenched her hands in an agony of consecration and +renunciation. Then despair seized her, and for a wild moment she was +tempted to use Gaston's own weapon against him. + +Heretofore she had accepted his gifts with a child's delight--what a +fool she had been! Suppose now she should--well, take what she could get +from life in spite--yes, in spite of Gaston himself? + +Dare she? Could she? Would she be able to do anything when she faced +him, but fall at his feet, beg for mercy, and implore him to tell her +what her awakened conscience demanded? + +She would try. + +The colour rose and fell in the lovely face. She was beautiful, and she +loved him. She had never let him see how much; or how. He should see +now! She would try her meanest and basest weapon--and if--if--it +conquered, she would make--terms. She, poor, dependent Joyce of the +backwoods. Old Jared's girl. Jude Lauzoon's discarded wife. If she won a +victory, _what_ a victory it would be! + +It would prove to Drew--she rose defiantly, and snatched the finery from +the boxes. Her eyes were blazing and her blood ran hotly. Before her +little mirror she let the garments of her past life fall from her. She +unpinned her glorious hair, and thrilled as its convincing beauty gave +added power to her plans. + +Slowly, carefully, with a pictured ideal in her memory, she fashioned +the wonderful tresses into form. High upon her head the glistening mass +was fastened, then cunningly the little curls were pulled loose, and +were permitted to go free about the smooth brow and white neck. + +Then with an instinct that did not play her false, she donned the +marvellous garments. + +She was finished at last. The new, palpitating woman. All that belonged +to the old Joyce seemed to have fallen, with the discarded garments, to +the floor. + +She did not doubt her power now. She was not afraid. Something was going +to happen--again she experienced the sensation. It had come first in +this very shack, when her childhood had departed, and the woman in her +had been born. A poor, dull woman, to be sure; still, a woman. + +She had felt it, too, the Sunday of her marriage, when Drew had called +to her conscience and spirituality, and set the chords of suffering and +hope vibrating. From that hour to this she had been climbing painfully +to what was about to occur. + +Well, she was ready. The bewitching smile played over her face. +Tiptoeing across the bedroom floor, she noiselessly unfastened the door, +and silently reached Gaston's side. + +He had quite forgotten her. Weary from the day's work, perplexed by +later developments, with closed eyes, and hands clasped behind his head, +he was lost in thought. + +Joyce touched him lightly, and he looked up. + +She had taken him off guard. Her bewildering beauty attacked his senses +while his shield of Purpose was down. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed staring at her. "You--you glorious creature!" + +She laughed, and the sound thrilled the man as her beauty did. It was +new, and wonderful. He staggered to his feet and reached out to her like +a man blinded by a sudden glare. + +She evaded his touch, and gave that wild little laugh again. + +"You like it?" she asked, from across the table. + +"Like it? You--are--divine!" + +"Why--did--you--do it?" + +"I had a mad fancy to see just how great your--beauty was." + +"And--you see?" + +"Heavens! I do see." + +"And you think?" + +"What any man would think," Gaston's excitement was rising, "who had +been starved for--years--and then finds all he's hungered for--alone in +the North Woods. Think?" + +The breaking of a flaming log startled them, and it steadied Gaston for +a moment. Joyce had herself well in hand. The victory was hers if only +she could command this new power long enough. + +"Please," she pleaded, "please sit down. I have something to say to +you." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Gaston sank back in his chair, and Joyce sat down opposite. The table +was between them, and the light of the fire and lamp flooded over the +girl. + +She was wonderful in that gown, and with her splendid, pale hair framing +her face with its fair glory. + +The shock of surprise was passing, but Gaston still looked at the girl +as if he had never seen her before. + +"What is it, Joyce?" he asked presently; "what has changed you so?" Then +he smiled, for the question seemed crude and ill-advised. + +"The dress--isn't that what you wanted?" + +"I do not mean the dress--there is something else." + +"So there is--but it came with the dress. Perhaps you--did not order +that--well, then, it must be _your_ part of the surprise. Don't you +remember that story you read to me once--about the mantle of Elijah? You +know it made the humble wearer--great. Well, these pretty things,"--she +touched them lightly--"they make me--a woman. The sort of woman who +must--ask questions--and get answers--true answers." + +"Why, don't you trust--me?" + +The pained question was wrung from Gaston's lips. The steady look from +the big eyes went strangely to his heart. + +"I--do--not know--you--as you--are now," she said firmly. + +"It is not I who am changed, Joyce, it is you. Everything is just the +same except that I see you are more--wonderful than I dreamed." + +"Nothing is going to be the same again. I knew it while Mr. Drew was +talking the other day--I have thought it all out since." + +"Curse him!" Gaston broke in; "what did he say? Why did you go to him +Joyce? How could you?" + +There was pain in the words--pain and a dumb fear. + +"It only happened to be Mr. Drew. Some one would have made me know in +time." + +"Joyce;" he was actually pleading with her! The knowledge burnt into the +quickening soul. "Joyce, what did you trust in me, before you went to +Drew?" + +"Your goodness--your--unselfishness. I knew the goodness--I have only +begun to see the--unselfishness." + +"My unselfishness? Good heavens!" In spite of the strangeness of it all, +Gaston laughed. Then an impatience stifled him. A brute instinct drove +him on. Her beauty had captured his senses, and he meant to tear down +the pitiful wall he had upbuilded between her and him, and force her to +see the inevitable. + +He had wondered if she could stir him--well he knew now. What idiots +they had both been! + +He was through with the Past forever. The Past that had held him to a +false ideal. There should be no more imbecile philosophy in the North +Woods as far as he and she were concerned. + +"See here," he began, and his voice was almost hard; "don't you know +when I shut you away from what you knew as danger--Jude and all the rest +of the hell that went with him--I shut you away from what people--people +like Drew and his set--know as mercy?" + +Joyce's eyes widened, but she did not speak. Gaston rushed on--he wanted +the scene over. She was too heavenly beautiful sitting there, he must +bring her closer. + +"They would call you--well, they wouldn't call you a good woman. They +are very particular about their women. In a way, you must have known +this, Joyce. You've played the game like a thoroughbred, and when one +considers _how_ you've played it, the wonder grows--but they'd never +believe that--even if we told them. Great heavens! how could they, if +they saw you? + +"That there was no other way for me to help you then, that you had no +other shelter in God's world would not alter the case at all. And I've +been a fool, Joyce, a maudlin fool--all along!" + +The woman opposite was looking at him through tears, but the sweet mouth +was quivering pitifully. + +"Joyce"; the tone caused the tear-dimmed eyes to close; "let us face the +music--and--dance along to the tune." + +Gaston leaned toward her and when she dared to look at him she saw that +the future was in her hands! + +"You--you thought I knew this all along?" + +"In a way--yes!" + +Joyce's eyes dropped and a flush rose to her pale, still face. + +"Then those--those people--the good people, what would they have thought +about you?" + +"Oh! some would have thought me a--damned scoundrel; and they would have +been right had I ever intended to leave you to their mercy. +Others--well, others--" + +"Please tell me, you see I want to understand everything and that world +is not mine--you know." + +"The others,"--and now Gaston dropped his own eyes--"the others would +have forgotten all about it--had I chosen to go back!" + +"But they--would not have forgotten about me?" + +"No. That is their imbecile code." + +"And--and men know that and yet--" Her eyes widened in a dumb +terror--"why, they are worse than--the people of St. Angé!" + +Suddenly Gaston flung his head back and looked full at the beautiful +face. It was radiant, but the eyes were overflowing. It seemed to him as +if she, coming out from her shadows, were bringing all wronged womanhood +with her. + +"You know Joyce, you must have known no matter what else you thought, +and you must know now, I never meant to leave you to their--mercy?" + +He knew that he was speaking truth to her and it gave him courage. + +"Yes; yes!" she cried. "I know that above all and everything." + +Joyce saw that she was gaining power. She knew that, marvellous as it +seemed, she was to shape their future lives. But she must have the sky +clear. Gaston, she felt, recognized this as well as she. He expected but +one outcome; he saw her love, and was willing to show his own, now that +the barriers were down. + +"We need ask nothing!" he said softly; "and there are deeper woods to +the north, dear." + +"Can you--will you--tell me about yourself before--you came here?" + +The question was asked simply and it was proof, if any were needed, that +the past false position was utterly annihilated. + +Gaston accepted the changed conditions with no sense of surprise. He +acknowledged her right to all that she desired. + +"When I said, a time back"; he began slowly; "that they--those good +people we were talking about--would let me into their world if I--left +you"; his fingers closed firmer over her hands; "I did not tell you that +there is another reason why they would _not_ let me in. They could +overlook some things--but not others. Suppose I should tell you that I +had done a wrong that was worse, in their eyes, than almost anything +else?" + +"I would not believe it!" + +"But that is God's truth." + +She grew a little paler, but she did not withdraw her hands. + +With smarting recollection Gaston remembered how, back there in the old +life, two small hands had slipped from his at a like confession. + +"I've been a weak fellow from the start, Joyce. I haven't even had the +courage to do a big, bad thing for myself. I've let them I loved, use +me. I've lost my idea of right in my depraved craving for appreciation. +That sort of sin is the worst kind. It damns one's self and makes the +one you've tried to serve, hate you." + +He saw that she was trying to follow him, but could not clearly, so he +dropped all but brutal facts. + +"When I stepped off the train at St. Angé, a few years back, I took the +name of Gaston, because I dared not speak my own name, and I didn't +like to go by the number that I had been known by for--five years." + +"Number?" she whispered, and her frightened eyes glanced about. She was +not afraid of him, but _for_ him. Gaston saw that. + +"Never fear," he reassured her; "it was all worked out. I paid that +debt, but I wanted to forget the transaction. I thought I could, up +here--but I reckoned without you!" + +"Go on," she said hoarsely. The clock struck eleven, the logs fell +apart--she was in a hurry. + +"You know there is an odd little couplet that used to please me when I +was--paying up. It goes like this: + + Two men looked out of the prison bars, + The one saw mud, the other, the stars. + +"There were a lot of us who saw stars, for all the belief to the contrary; +and even the mud-seers had their moments of star-vision--behind the +prison bars. + +"Birthdays and Christmases played the deuce with them." Gaston was off +the trail now that he dared voice the memories of the past. They had so +long haunted him. They might pass if he could tell them to another. + +"Go on," Joyce said, impatiently glancing at the clock as if her time +were short. "Please go on. It doesn't matter about that. What was +before, and--and what must come, now?" + +"It does matter," Gaston came back. "It was that determination of mine +not to be finished by that phase of my life, that left strength in me to +be halfway decent since. I only meant to regain my health up here. I +meant to go back to the life I had deserted and make good before them +all--but something happened." + +"Yes." Gaston's face had clouded, and Joyce had to recall him. + +"You see it was this way. There were a lot of people--but only four +mattered. My mother, my brother, the girl and her father." + +The hands under Gaston's slipped away, but he did not notice. + +"My mother had a heart trouble, she could not bear much--and she always +loved my brother best. He had the look and way with him that made it +easy for her to prefer him. I believed the--girl cared most for me--that +was what kept things going all right for a time--her father liked me +best, I knew. + +"I had a position of trust, the control of much money, and my head got +turned, I suppose--for I felt sure of everything; myself included. Then +things happened all of a sudden. + +"My brother found that the girl cared for me, not him; it broke him up, +and that brought on an attack of sickness for my mother. She never could +bear to see him suffer. My own happiness was twisted out of shape by +what I saw was to be the result of my gain over his loss. + +"One night he came to me and told me that his investments had gone +wrong; our mother's fortune along with the rest. A certain sum of money, +right then, would tide over the critical situation. + +"There was no chance but that all would come out right. He had private +information that a few days would change the current. He would come out +to the good--if only--" + +"And you?" Joyce held him with her wide, terrified stare. + +"Oh, yes! I didn't think there was any danger, and it seemed a chance to +help when everything was about to come clattering around our ears. I +helped. Good God, I helped!" + +Gaston dropped his head on his folded arms. + +"What happened when they all knew? When you explained--couldn't they +help you?" Gaston flung his head back and looked at her. + +"But they didn't find out. At least, they found out that I took the +money--there wasn't anything else to tell. That damnable fact was +enough, wasn't it? No amount of whimpering as to why I'd done it would +have helped." + +"But your brother?" + +"He tried to get me to go away. He said in a few days all would be +right. He could then save everything. I could return and +repay--and--well! I wasn't made that way. I stayed." + +"And--the girl?" + +"She asked me if I had done it--she would believe no one else. I said +yes; and that ended it. Her father tried to get me to explain--he was +the Judge who was to have tried me--I refused and he begged to be +released from sentencing me--that's all he could do for either of us." + +"And--your--mother?" A sob rose in Joyce's throat. + +"I think, even in her misery, she thanked God, since it had to be, that +it was not my brother." + +The room was growing cold. Joyce shivered. + +"And then?" she faltered. + +"Oh! then--" Gaston's face twitched, and his voice was bitter, "then +came the star-gazing through the bars--and all the rest, until I came up +here. Only one stuck to me through thick and thin." + +"Your brother?" Joyce interrupted. + +"My brother? No! Just a plain friend. I told him I did not want to hear +a thing while I was shut away. I knew it would hold me back from getting +what I could out of the experience. It's like hell to have the outside +troubles and joys brought to you while you are bound hand and foot. I +saw enough of that--it did more to keep men in the mud than anything +else. I just kept that space of my life clear for expiation. When the +gates opened for me one day--my friend was there with all the news in a +budget. + +"You see the lash that had cut deepest when I went away was something my +mother said; 'You've broken the hearts of them who loved and trusted +you.' + +"Nothing had mattered so much as those words--and out of the disgrace, +the loneliness, the misery and deadly labour, I had worked out a plan to +make up to them for the wrong I had done. It was going to be about the +biggest job a fellow ever undertook; but, do you know, I had hoped that +I could do it? + +"Well, my friend's words drove me back upon myself. There was nothing +for me to do." + +"Why?" + +"The hearts were all mended--after a fashion, without my aid." + +"Your mother?" + +"She had died soon after I went away." + +"And your--brother--he surely--" + +"Oh! he had gone booming ahead like a rocket. The tide turned a bit too +late for me--but it carried him to a safe harbour. In a generous and +highly moral way he stood ready to repay me--but conditions had changed; +I must accept certain terms." + +"The--the--girl?" + +"She'd married my brother. She it was who changed the conditions, you +see. It had been a noble sacrifice for her to marry into _such_ a +family--so, of course, due consideration must be shown her. Would I live +abroad on an ample allowance?" + +Joyce flinched before the tone. Gaston stood up and flung his arms out. +"No! by God, I would not live abroad. I chose my own place of hiding. He +paid, though--I saw to that--he named no allowance, it was I; but he +paid and paid and paid all that _I_ thought he should. He bought me off +at my price--not his. I left all in the hands of the only friend I had +on earth--I never wanted to hear of the others again until I was ready +to go back--and I haven't. I wanted time to think out my way. I wanted +strength to go back, take my name and fortune, ask nothing of the +world--but a chance to defy it. I got as far as that--" He dropped back +into the chair and bowed his head. + +The hands of the clock were past midnight, the fire was nothing but +glowing embers; a chill was creeping through the room. Presently Gaston +was aware of a nearness--not merely bodily, but spiritually. He looked +up. He had forgotten Joyce and his thought of comfort in knowing that +she would stand by him. To see her close now, to gaze up into her +glorious face was like an awakening from a hideous dream to a safe +reality. + +"You got as far as that," she said in the saddest, softest tone that a +woman's voice ever held; "and then I came into your life. Oh! how hard +you tried to set me aside with Jude--but again and again I returned +to--hold you back." + +"Why, Joyce, what is the matter?" + +A paralyzing fear drove anguish before it. Gaston strove to recall +passion, but that, too, had deserted. He and Joyce were standing in a +barren place alone--nothing behind, nothing before! + +"Can't you see what is the matter?" + +The coquetry had left the girl, she stood fair, cold and passive like +some wonderful goddess. + +"Don't you think I see it all now? + +"When I came out of that room I was a--bad woman! You were mistaken, I +never understood before--about us! + +"You see when--when I came to you that night--after Jude--" she +struggled with her trembling--"I did not know such men as you--lived. I +was what Jude and St. Angé had made me. I was afraid of you--but," she +bent over him in divine pity pressing her wet cheek to his bowed head; +"but I grew to know! You were far, far above me, I soon saw how far. You +never thought about it, but it made it safe for you to help me. I can +see it all so plain now. + +"Then the evil that was in me, the evil that some might have made so +vile, slipped away. I tried hard to be what you wanted me to be for my +own sake. You did not think of the past and I tried to forget it, too; +and so we came along to this night. + +"In that room"--she looked quiveringly at the closed door--"for a +moment, I misunderstood again. I thought you were trifling with me. I +think I felt for the first time that perhaps I was _not_ what I had +been--when I came out of the old life! I wanted to make sure, and I +stooped to the meanest way." + +Gaston drew her close. Vaguely he feared that she was slipping farther +and farther from him for all her sweetness and nearness. + +"Joyce!" he cried wildly. "_You_ are not going to desert me--now?" + +She dropped beside him and clasped her hands over his knee. There was no +need of reserve, she knew that better than he. + +"Can you not see what sort of man you are?" she asked fiercely; while +the tears fell thick and fast. + +"Oh! I love you many, many ways. I can tell you this now and you must +not stop me. I love you for them who left you alone to suffer. I love +you just for myself, and I love you as I would have loved my poor baby +had God let me keep him. And that is the best way of all, for it holds +all other loves. + +"Oh, you must see! You shall see! The men out in your world--could any +of them have done what you have done--for me? Even Mr. Drew could not +understand. Even _he_ thought you must have harmed me--he felt sorry for +_me_! And knowing what _I_ know, do you, could any of those others, +think I would let you harm--yourself? + +"You have made me a stronger woman than even you tried to make me, and I +thank God for that--for you need me so very, very much!" + +The deep sobs choked her, and she buried her head against his arm. Out +of a desolation her words were creating, Gaston spoke desperately. + +"I do need you, and by heaven, I mean to have you!" + +"You're right. I did not know what you meant to me; I know now, and +since Fate has played us false, we'll--we'll turn our backs on her." + +"Joyce, are you willing to--trust me?" + +Almost roughly he raised her face and forced her to look at him. + +"I--trust you! You could never be anything but good and noble. I know +that. You never have been--but, there are going to be other days and +nights--just plain days and long black nights--and--I think we have +almost forgotten--but there is always--Jude!" + +Then like a bewildering flash the words lightened the dark place of +Gaston's character. + +This woman whom--he saw the fearful truth--this woman whom he had helped +to form, had outgrown him and left him far behind! + +Now that she understood; now that her womanhood could stand alone, she +rose pure and strong above his passion and the thing he called love. +She only thought he had forgotten, when God knew he did not even care +for the rough fellow who had all but strangled the life out of her. + +"Besides"--he heard her as from a distance--"besides, you must go back!" + +"Go back--good God! to what?" + +"To all that you had to go back to--when you turned to help me!" + +Then Gaston bent and raised the shrinking woman beside him. Face to face +they stood in the cold, still room. "Joyce," he said thickly, "what I am +going to say--you may never be able to forgive--but I must say it. + +"It is quite true, I gave no thought to what I was doing when I shielded +you from Jude. St. Angé did not matter; there seemed no other way--and I +never considered others coming to complicate things. + +"I was miserable and lonely; but I felt sure of myself and in helping +you I found an interest in life. Lately, almost unconsciously, I've felt +the change in you--the new meaning. I wanted to make sure and then be +guided, since others had entered this--this fool's paradise of mine. You +are very beautiful--the most beautiful woman, I think, that I have ever +seen--and I know now that you are--the best! + +"Joyce--your beauty crazed me, and I had not forgotten Jude; I did not +care!" + +"Stop!" The little cold hand was pressed against his lips, "you shall +not! It was I who tempted you--you would have remembered--everything. It +is you who must forgive me--I am going--now!" + +The slow, pitiful words fell lingeringly. + +"Going--where can you go?" Gaston stared dumbly at her. + +"I think Mr. Drew will help me. I am going to tell him everything--and +he will--find a way." + +"You shall not!" Gaston drew her to his breast. The primitive rose +within him. + +"There is another way. The only way. Drew shall not meddle in my +affairs--nor yours. You will stay right here in your home until I +return. I'm going to Filmer; he's the only one we need, he'll act for us +both." + +"But--what then?" Joyce felt her heart stand still. + +"Then? why I'm going to find Jude. I'm going to buy him off--if +necessary. He shall free you--and then--then!" + +Gaston held the pale face off from him and searched the wide, startled +eyes. + +"And then?" The words fell into a question. + +"But how"--Joyce panted; "how could I feel sure this great thing you +plan is not another--unselfish act? Suppose, oh! suppose--_she_, +that--that other girl--should come back--what then?" + +"Hear me, Joyce. There is never going to be any one else. We are going +back together--into that other life. Why, the possibility almost blinds +me. + +"They shall see what I've brought out of my experience. We'll make a +place for ourselves and redeem the past. They shall seek us, my darling, +and they shall see at last that I am master of my life!" + +His enthusiasm and exaltation carried Joyce along with him. + +"Dare I trust--not you--but myself?" she whispered. "After everything is +said--I am--what I am!" + +"Yes--you are what you are!" Gaston pressed his lips against her +trembling mouth. "And now, good-bye!" he released her, and led her +toward her door. "I must make a few preparations--then get to Filmer. +It's all very wonderful, but it is more true than wonderful. Until I +come, then--and it may take time, dear--you will remember?" + +"Always--until you come--and after!" + +Gaston bent again, but this time he only pressed his lips to the soft, +pale hair. + +When the door closed behind her; he stood for a moment dazed and +bewildered. Mechanically he turned to the first task that lay at hand. +He rebuilt the dead fire. It seemed symbolic, somehow, and he smiled. +Then holding to the fancy that touched him, he piled on log after log. + +There should be no lack of warmth and glow in the new reincarnation. + +An hour later he left the house, with the needful things for his +possible, long absence packed in a grip and flung across his shoulder. + +He had attended to so many small comforts for Joyce--the fire, the +writing out of directions, where to find money, etc.--that he had been +hurried in the details of his own affairs; he had forgotten to take the +key from the lock of the chest! + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Jock Filmer was coming to the belief that there was a Destiny shaping +_his_ ends _roughly_, smooth-hew them as he had ever tried to do. Jock +was pursued, there was no doubt of that. For reasons of his own he had +drifted into St. Angé when very young. Most conveniently and soothingly +memory and old habits dropped from him--they had clung tenaciously to +Gaston. Jock adapted himself to circumstances and new environment with +flattering promptness. + +The Black Cat felt no resentment toward him after the first few months. +His English became blurred with regard to grammar; the local speech was +good enough for him. When Jock's Past became troublesome, as it had done +from the very first, the Black Cat had consolation for its latest +recruit; and, while he did not sink quite so far as some of the natives, +the shortcoming was attributed more to youth than to the putting on of +airifications, as Tate said. + +In a boyish, off-hand way, Filmer had always regarded Gaston as a +sign-board in an unexplored country. If things ever pressed too close, +Filmer believed Gaston would point him to safety. + +A mystic something held them together. A common interest, consciously +cast into oblivion, but perfectly tangible and not to be denied, was the +unspoken passport in their intercourse. + +Later, during the building of Drew's bungalow and their joint sympathy +for, and with, Joyce, Filmer had acknowledged Gaston, as a superior and, +spiritually, regarded him as a leader in an interesting adventure. + +Gaston, the night when he faced Jude and him with the pointed question, +"What you going to do about it?" had fallen from Jock's high opinion, +and the crash had affected him to a painful extent. + +"Oh! what's the good?" he had finally concluded. + +Another friendship that had been formed in the lonely woods yet remained +to him, and he made the most of that. Drew's personality had stirred +Jock's emotions from the start. To look forward to a renewal of the +companionship was a distinct pleasure in the time when the dust of +Gaston's fallen image was blinding his eyes and smarting his heart. + +Drew came, sick but unconquered. All the chivalry in Filmer rose to the +call. He gave his time to the young minister. Using up the little money +he had earned as builder, resigning his chance to go into camp, he +devoted himself to Drew day and night. He became one of the family at +the bungalow and a jocose familiarity was as much a part of Jock's +liking for a person, as were his tireless patience and capacity for +single-minded service. + +Drew's maiden aunt, prim, proper and worldly-wise, was as much Aunt +Sally to Filmer as she was to her niece and nephew. Jock jollied the +aristocratic lady as freely as he did Drew, toward whom he held the +tolerant admiration that he had given him from the beginning. But poor +Jock was not to have his own easy planning of the new situation in all +directions. Constance Drew took a hand in the game, and Jock, with +trailing plume, plodded on behind her. + +If _he_ could gibe and tease, she could bring him about with her cool +audacity and comical dignity. + +The girl's splendid physique, her athletic tendencies, her endurance and +pluck, compelled Jock's masculine admiration. Her love for her brother, +her tenderness and cheerfulness toward him, won his heart; but her +mental make-up, her strange seriousness where her own private interests +were concerned, caused the young fellow no end of amusement and delight. +He had never seen any one in the least like her, and the new sensation +held him captive. + +Poor Jock! He was never again to walk through life without a chain and +ball; but little he heeded that while he had strength and spirit to drag +them. + +With Drew's partial recovery the bungalow household lost its head a +little. Aunt Sally's gratitude overflowed into every house in St. Angé. +She felt as if the natives, not the pine-laded air, had been +instrumental in this regained health and joyousness. + +"I can never thank you enough," was her constant greeting; and so +sincere was her gratitude that eventually the back doors of the squalid +houses opened to her unconsciously--and of true friendship there is no +greater proof in a primitive village. Sitting in their kitchens, it was +easy for her to reach down into their hearts, and many a St. Angé woman +poured her troubles into Aunt Sally's ears, and went forever after with +uplifted head. + +"Why, my dear," the old lady said to Ralph, after Peggy Falstar had +taken her into her confidence, "these people are much like others, only +they have the rough bark on. They are a great deal more vital--the bark +has, somehow, kept the sap richer." + +Drew laughed heartily. + +"The polishing takes something away, Auntie," he replied. "The bark is +hard to get through; it's tough and prickly and not always lovely, but +it's the sap that counts in every case, and that's what I used to tell +you and Connie. Every time I tapped these people up here, I saw and felt +the rich possibilities." + +"Now, you go straight to sleep," his aunt always commanded at that +juncture. + +She was not yet able to face the probability of a final settlement in +these backwoods, but she saw with alarm that her nephew was planting his +hopes deep and accepting the inevitable. + +"It's all such a horrible sacrifice of his young life," she confided to +Constance. + +"His young life!" the girl had returned with a straight, clear look. +"Why, I begin to think the only life he has, Auntie, is what St. Angé +offers--he must take that or nothing. Oh! if only that little beast down +there in New York had had the courage of a mouse, and the imagination of +a mole, she might have made Ralph's life--this life--a thing to go +thundering down into history! It's splendid up here! It's the sort of +thing that makes your soul feel like something tangible. My!" And with +that, on a certain mid-winter day, the young woman strode forth. + +A long fur-lined coat protected her from the deceiving cold. The dryness +of the air was misleading to a coast-bred girl. A dark red hood covered +the ruddy, curly hair, and skin gloves gave warm shelter to the slim, +white hands. + +Down the snow-covered road Constance walked. She was tingling with the +joy of her life--her life and the dear, new life given to her brother. + +The pines pointed darkly to a sky so faultlessly blue that it seemed a +June heirloom to a white winter. + +The snow was crisp and smooth; a durable snow that must last until +spring. It knew its business and what was expected of it, so it was not +to be impressed by mere footsteps, or the touch of prowling beast. + +Constance slid and tripped along. She sang snatches of old, remembered +songs, and talked aloud for very fulness of heart and the sense of her +Mission rising strong within her. + +Since coming to St. Angé she had not, until now, had time to think of +her Mission--her last Mission;--for Constance Drew was a connoisseur in +Missions. But now she must waste no more time. + +She patted her long pocket on the right-hand side--yes, the book and an +assorted lot of pencils were there. She preferred pencils to fountain +pens. The points were nicer to bite on, and she wasn't sure, in this +climate, but that ink might freeze just when a soul-flight was about to +land genius on a mountain-top. + +There was a beautiful log halfway between the bungalow and Gaston's +shack. It was a sheltered log, with a delectable hump on it where one +could rest the base of one's spinal column when victory, in the form of +inspiration, was about to perch. + +Constance sought this log when long, ambitious thoughts possessed her. +The snow had been removed, and a cushion of moss, also bare of snow, +made a resting place for two small feet, warmly incased in woollen-lined +"arctics." + +Constance sat down and drew the red-covered book from her pocket, and +placed the seven sharply-pointed pencils, side by side and near at hand. + +A sound startled the girl. Her brow puckered. Even in the deep woods +inspiration was not safe from intrusion. + +Well, since some bothering person must take this time for appearing, +Constance hoped it would be Joyce, for she wanted to see her and talk +with her. Joyce did not invite intimacy. Up there alone in her shack, +waiting for Gaston's return, she was grappling with matters too sacred +and agonizing to permit of curious interruption. That Drew's family +should overlook any little social shortcoming in her and seek to meet +her on an equal footing, did not interest her in the least--she wanted +to be alone, and for the most part she was. + +But it was not Joyce who appeared on the road. It was Jock Filmer and he +came, without invitation, to the log and put his foot on the end nearest +the girl. + +"Pleasant summer weather, hey?" + +Constance raised her eyes from the little book in which she had been +writing, and gave Jock the benefit of her honest inspection. + +"If you had ever lived where winter was meted out to you in the form of +frozen moisture," she said, "you'd know how to appreciate this nice, +clean, undisguised cold." + +"I know the other kind." Jock nodded reminiscently. "It is like being +slapped in the face with a sheet wet with ice water, isn't it?" + +"Ha! ha! so you haven't always lived here? I thought as much. Indeed I +have a note to that effect--here." The girl tapped the red-covered book. + +"No; I've travelled some," Jock confessed, "I've been to Hillcrest +several times." + +"I believe you are masquerading." Constance viewed him keenly. "I've +written to my married sister about you all up here; I call you and +that--that Mr. Gaston, the Masqueraders." + +"So!" Jock smoothed his chin with his heavily gloved hand. "That sister +of yours, doubtlessly, could spot us all on sight just by your +description. It ain't safe. How's your aunt and the Reverend Kid?" Jock +grinned amiably. The past weeks had given him time and opportunity for +broadening his views of life and enjoyment. + +"Ralph is fine"; the clear, gray eyes shone with the joy of the fact; +"and Auntie is having the time of her life. You know she never had her +lighter vein developed. Our city connection is awfully proper and +cultivated. I always knew auntie was a Bohemian, and up here--she's +plunging!" + +"Umph! And you?" + +"Oh! I'm getting--material." + +"Excuse me." Jock passed his hand over his mouth. "There are times when +I think you're a comicaller little cuss than your brother!" + +"Mr. Filmer!" + +"Oh, come down! Mr. Filmer don't go in the woods in the middle of +winter. What do you want for your Christmas?" + +"When you make fun of me"--the girl was trying hard not to laugh--"you +anger me beyond--expression." + +A guffaw greeted this. Then: + +"What was you making in your little book when I came up?" + +"Character sketches." + +"Sho! Let's have a look. I like pictures." + +"They're pen-pictures." + +"All the same to me. Pencil, pen, or paint-brush." + +"But you do not understand. They are _word_ pictures. Descriptions, you +know." + +"Well, now you have got me! Show up, anyhow." + +Constance opened the little book, and spread it out on her knee. + +"I am getting material for a novel," she said impressively. "The great +American novel has yet to be written. I do not want you to think me +conceited, Jock, but I have had exceptional advantages--I may be the +chosen one to write this--this great novel." + +"Who knows?" Jock's serious gaze was a perfect disguise for his true +inward state. + +"Yes; who knows? You see I can speak freely to you." + +"Sure thing," assented Jock. "Dumb animals can't blab, and once you turn +your back on St. Angé I'll be a dumb beast all right!" + +"My back will never be turned permanently on St. Angé, I think!" the +girl spoke slowly. "I agree with Ralph that for the future his home will +probably be here; and where Ralph is----" + +"The lamb will surely come. Go on, child, and hang up your pictures." +They both laughed now. + +"First," Constance folded her hands over the open pages of her book, "I +wonder, Jock, if you would like to hear--something of my life? It would +explain this--this--great ambition of mine." + +"Well," Jock drawled, "if you don't think me too young and innocent for +such excitement, fire away. Histories have always had a hold on me. Most +of 'em ain't true, but they tickle your imagination." + +"Jock! But I'm in earnest. I have felt that I must have a confidant. +Some one who will--sympathize. I'm going to have a woman friend in a day +or so--but a man--one who is disinterested, so to speak, is always such +a comfort to a girl when she faces a great epoch in her life." + +Jock swallowed his rising mirth and his face became a blank so far as +expression was concerned. + +"I have had wonderful advantages," Constance began, "that is what makes +me dare to hope. Advantages of wealth, society and--and a deep insight +into people's innermost souls." + +"Gosh!" Jock exploded; "excuse me; I always burst out that way when +I'm--moved." He sat down on the end of the log, and clutched his knees +in his strong arms. "Somehow you don't look like such a desperate +character," he added blandly, "known sin and conquered it, and all the +rest?" + +Constance sniffed, but a little jocularity was not going to deter her +from the luxury of confession. + +"Money should only be regarded," she went on, "as a sacred trust, and a +means of enriching one's life. And as for Society--that is a bore! +Dances, theatres, dinners and luncheons. Chaperons tagging around after +you, suggesting by their mere presence that, unless you're watched, +you'll do something desperate in the wild desire to break the monotony. +Well, I drank deep of _that_ life," Constance looked dreamily over the +stretch of meadow and pine-edged woods, all dazzling with a shimmer of +icy snow, "before I took to----" + +"Crime?" Jock suggested. "It would seem that that was the natural +sequence to such a career." + +"Jock Filmer--I took to philanthropy." + +"As bad as that?" Jock roared with laughter. + +"I only tell you this to explain my present position." Constance drew +her fur-clad shoulders up. "I became a Settlement worker; but," +confidently, "that was worse than Society. It _was_ Society with +another setting. 'Thanks be!' as Auntie says, I have a sense of humour +and a remnant of Scotch canniness. It made me laugh--when it didn't make +me ashamed--to put on a sort of livery--plain frock, you know, and go +down to the Settlement in the most businesslike way to 'do' for those +poor people. It cost an awful lot to run our Settlement, about +two-thirds of all the money. One-third went to the poor. We had plenty +of fun down there. All slummy outside and lovely things inside, you +know. It was like making believe. You see," she paused impressively, +"when you have a Mission like Settlement work, you don't have to have a +chaperon." + +"Ten to one, they're needed, though." Jock was keenly interested. +"Cutting loose from familiar ties and acting up sort of detached that +way, must have a queer effect upon some." + +"Well, I just got enough of it. Why, one Christmas, we at the Settlement +House had a tree and gifts that cost hundreds of dollars. We had a big +dance. Evening dress and all the rest. Young men and women who, had they +been in their own homes, would have been under some one's watchful eye, +were having a jolly, good fling down there that Christmas Eve, I can +tell you. + +"Right in the middle of the evening, a call came from a family in a +tenement around the corner. I knew all about them--or I thought I +did--so I went. I just flung a cloak about me and ran off alone. Somehow +I did not want any one with me." + +Constance's eyes grew dim, and her under lip quivered. + +"It was awful." Her voice sank low. "You see, with all the preparations +going on at the Settlement House, we had sort of forgotten this--this +family. They were not the noisy, begging kind, but there was a pitiful, +little sick girl whom I had taken a liking to and to _think_ that I +should have forgotten her--and at that time, too! There was no tree in +that home, Jock, there was nothing much, but the little dying girl and +her mother. + +"They didn't even blame me--oh, if they only had!" The honest tears ran +down Constance's cheeks. "But they didn't. The mother said--and she +apologized for troubling me, think of that!--that the baby wanted me to +tell her a Christmas story. She just wouldn't go to sleep until I did, +and she had been ailing all day. I--I forgot my dress, and tore off my +cloak in that cold, empty room and I took that poor baby in my arms. +Then--then the hardest part came--she--she didn't know me. She got the +queerest little notion in her baby head--she--she thought I was +an--angel. Oh! oh! and I wanted her to know me." + +Down went the girlish head in the open pages of the character sketches. + +"Well of all gol-durned nonsense!" Jock blurted out. "The whole blamed +show oughter been exposed. I reckon the best job the company ever had to +its credit was that happening of yours--the dress and the--the--rest of +the picter. Lord!" Jock's feelings were running over as he looked upon +the bowed head. The story had got hold of his tender heart. "Lord above! +Just think of that sort of rum suffering going on back there. It's worse +than what happens here. We've got wood to keep the kids warm in winter, +and there's clean air and coolness in summer. I'm durned glad I cut it +when"--he stopped short. Constance was looking at him with wide, +questioning eyes. + +"When I did," Jock added helplessly. "And now go on with that poor +little child what you took to your bosom." + +"That's all." Constance choked painfully. "The baby--died while I was +telling her about the wonderful tree, and Santa Claus and the other joys +she should have had, and never did have. I can see that hideous empty +room, and--and that poor baby every time I shut my eyes." + +"Here, look up now," Jock commanded, his feelings getting the best of +him. "When life's so empty that you can't find things to do by opening +your eyes, you better keep your eyes shut to all eternity. Calling up +the past is the rottenest kind of folly in a world where things is +happening." + +Constance rallied to the stern call. + +"And now," she said briskly, "I've given myself, heart and soul +to--literature. I'll _write_ of what I have seen, and lived! + +"Listen, I'll read you a sketch or so. But first I'll explain. The local +colour of my novel is drawn from--here." + +Jock pulled himself together. + +"Well, I'll be blowed!" he sympathetically ejaculated, "Here where there +ain't, what you might say, enough local color to more than touch up the +noses of the Black Catters." + +"Jock! Now, see if you'd know it." She read a scrappy description of the +village. "Would you recognize it?" + +"With a footnote, it would go." Jock was all attention. "But I have my +doubts as to whether Pete Falstar will take kindly to his place of +residence being classified as a human pig-sty. That's laying the local +colour on, with a whitewash brush, don't you think? A little dirt and +disorder don't seem to call for such language." + +"That is artistic license." Constance explained. + +"Well, you ought to pay high for that kind of license--but maybe you do. +Go on." + +"I handle my subject without gloves," Constance began again. + +"By gosh! I'd keep 'em on when I was tackling pig-stys and such; but +don't mind me." + +"And here; see if you can guess who this is? + +"'The sleek, fat proprietor looked oily within and oily without. He +oozed oil on the community that he was demoralizing with his poisonous +whiskey and doctored beer.'" + +"God bless and save us!" Jock rolled from side to side. "If you don't +beat all for gol-durned sass. Why, Tate will sue you for damages if that +great American novel ever strikes his vision. Oil! Thunderation; and +poisonous whiskey, and doctored beer. Was it Society or Settlement what +let light in on you, about such terms?" + +"Neither. It's--inspiration." + +"It's just plain imperdence, and it'll get you in trouble. Are you going +to use names in that novel of yours?" + +"Certainly not. Do you think I do not know my art? But you recognize +Tate? Then he lives!" + +"Good Lord! Know him? How under the everlasting firmament could I help +knowing him? What other proprietor is there in St. Angé, you comical +little bag of words? specially one as demoralizes the community with +poisoned whiskey and doctored beer? Balls of fire! but this beats the +band. Go on; go on." + +When a man of thirty steps out of a starved exile and comes in contact +with a girl like Constance Drew, it may be dangerous to "go on," but the +exile will certainly _want_ to. + +Nothing loath; all sparkling and radiant, Constance swept along. + +"And I've got--you, but maybe you will never forgive me. I took you at +your--your worst--for don't you see when I use you--later--I'm going to +redeem you and have you come out truly splendid." + +Jock's jaw dropped, and the laugh fled from his overflowing eyes. + +"Me?" he gasped. Constance nodded, and waved a pointed pencil toward +him. + +"Wait!" she ran her eye down the page. "'Beautiful woman--with +a--Past'--that's the girl up in the other Masquerader's shack, that girl +Joyce, you know, and Gaston--and here's Peggy Falstar--'woman sunk to +man's level and reproducing her kind'--brief note of Billy Falstar as +'impish child'--oh! here you are! + +"'Village Bacchus. Tall, handsome, but lost, apparently, to shame. +Swaggering criss-cross down the road, laughing senselessly and shouting +songs. Slave to appetite. Controlled by his brutal passions. When spoken +to in this state, assumes manner of gentleman. Subconscious self--study +in heredity.--Let a strong influence enter his life--handsome noble +girl--redemption at end--splendid character.'" + +"Good God!" + +Constance dropped the book. The eyes that met her own had a look in +them that drove the cold, which she had not felt before, to her very +heart. + +"What--what--is the matter?" she gasped. + +"Did you--ever see me--like that?" The words came hoarsely. + +"Yes. One day a few weeks ago. Ralph wanted you. I went to find +you--and"--the girl's eyes dropped. She felt a sudden humiliation as if +he had detected her reading his private letters. + +"And I talked--rot and all the rest?" + +"Yes. I never told Ralph; I knew it would hurt him--I had--no right to +tell you this--it is only--copy for me." + +"Copy?" + +"Yes; stuff to work into the--novel." + +"The novel? Ah, I remember. I'm going to be stuffed in with Tate +and--and the others?" + +"Yes; but don't you recall, _you_ are to be redeemed--you are to be +my--my hero--in the end you are to be--splendid." + +A deep groan was the only reply to this; the groan and the look of +growing misery on the man's face. + +"You're to go back--you see I feel you once belonged somewhere else--and +take up your life-work with----" + +"With?" Jock repeated the word hopelessly. + +"With her--the girl." + +"What girl?" + +"Why the girl I'm going to create. First I thought I'd have her--Joyce; +but that doesn't stand clear in my thought--I cannot quite see just the +sort of girl--that could rouse you to--to great things." + +Filmer was staring at the speaker with dazed and pitiful eyes. Then +Constance beheld a miracle. The stony misery melted as an infinite +sadness and pity overflowed. + +Jock stood up, plunged his hands in his pockets and looked down at the +dissecter who had bared every sensitive nerve in his heart and soul. + +"When--you write that book," the words drawled out the bitter thought, +"just omit--me--please--if you have any mercy." + +"Jock!" Constance sprang to her feet. "Jock--how could I know that you +would care?" + +"You--couldn't, of course." + +"Is it because I saw you so?" + +"No." + +"You know of course--that I'd never speak of that to any one--I only +used it for my book." + +"If that will help your book--take it; but leave out----" + +"What?" + +"The girl--the redemption--and----" + +"Why?" + +"Can't you--guess?" + +"No." But as the word passed her lips, she did guess--and what she +surmised sent the blood rushing through her body. + +"Don't be frightened, Miss Drew," Filmer was getting command of himself; +"there isn't going to be any redemption; nor any girl--that's all; don't +you see? There never is in such cases, and you want to be true to life +in that first, great American novel. You got your brush in the wrong pot +of local colour when you daubed me. No offence intended, or taken, I +hope. God bless you! strike your pencil through all that came after the +spree part. You're welcome to that, but I decline to let you ruin your +reputation by offering up the rest to the public." + +He was laughing again, and the agony had passed from his careless face. + +"And now?" he asked, "which way?" + +"I'm going--home." + +"Well, well, come along. I'm bound for the Reverend Kid myself. I've got +his mail in my pockets--and yours, too by thunder! You're too diverting, +Miss Drew, you took my thoughts off business. Come on." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Joyce, waiting in the solitude of the shack under the pines, heard and +saw little of what was going on in St. Angé. She was living at high +pressure, and she had not even the relief of companionship to divert her +from her lonely vigils. + +Naturally the exhilaration of the night that Gaston left her, passed and +the dull monotony of the daily tasks performed perfunctorily with no +charm of another's approbation and sharing, lost the power of holding +her thoughts. + +She ate, and made tidy the little house in quite the old way, but the +large dreaming eyes looked beyond the narrow confines, and grew pathetic +as they searched the white fields and hidden trails off toward the +Northern and Southern Solitudes. + +Which way had he gone? From which direction would he return? Everything +was ready for him--it always had been since the night he left--and she, +herself, once the daily routine was over, donned her prettiest garments, +not the golden gown! and waited either by the glowing fire or by the +little windows. + +Early in the day following Gaston's departure, she had discovered the +key in the lock of the chest! The sight for a moment, made her tremble. + +Had he left it by mistake? Had he left it designedly, now that he had +taken her completely into his confidence? + +But had he? Joyce flushed and paled at the thought. After all, what had +he really told her? She did not know, even, his true name nor the place +from which he had come. + +No; she knew very little. Shaken from his indifference by her beauty and +charm into a realizing sense of the woman he had helped to form, Gaston +had indeed broken his silence and voiced the one great tragedy of his +life to her--and she had superbly stood the test; but that was all! + +In the chest lay, perhaps the rest! His name; the name of those who had +taken part in all that had gone before the terrible time of his trouble. +For a moment a paralyzing temptation came to Joyce to solve for herself, +by the means at hand, the mystery which still surrounded the man she +loved with a completeness and abandon that controlled every thought and +act of her life. But it was only a momentary weakness. Her love shielded +her from any shortcoming that could possibly lower her. + +Bravely she walked up to the chest, and proved herself by trying the lid +to see if the chest were unlocked. It was. Gaston had not even taken +that precaution. + +Joyce smiled--all was now safe with her. She would never feel tempted +again. It became a comfort to sit near the chest. She deserted the +living room and made a huge fire upon Gaston's hearth. Evenings she took +her book or sewing there, and the chest with its secrets seemed like a +friend who, from very nearness of comradeship, had no need to speak its +hidden thoughts. + +In the desolation of the mid-winter loneliness, the pale woman grew to +feel, when in Gaston's room, a high courage and strength. Everything +would come out right. Details were not to be considered. Gaston had +always been all-powerful; he would conquer now. What did the waiting +count? He, meanwhile, was tracing Jude. Soon he would return, having +freed her from every evil thing of the past. He would find her as he had +left her--a woman fitted by a great love to follow whither he led. + +And then--as the long evenings pressed silently cold and dark around the +shack, her fancy ran riot. All that she had yearned for; all, all that +the books had suggested, she was to see. Mountain peaks and roaring +ocean; strange people like, yet so unlike, Gaston. To think that all +this was going to happen to her--old Jared's little Joyce. + +A few days after Gaston's departure Jock Filmer walked into the shack +quite as easily as if months had not passed without a sight of him; he +came almost daily afterward. It was like Jock to assume the new +relation in this easy, companionable way. + +Joyce was grateful. This was but another proof of Gaston's greatness. + +"Everything going straight, Joyce?" The question came one day while the +keen eyes were taking in the store of wood, water and other necessaries. + +"Everything, Jock; and the store-room is stocked. Sit down--and tell me +the news." + +Joyce was not particularly interested, but it would put Jock at ease. + +Jock gracefully flung himself into Gaston's chair. The two were, of +course, in the living room. + +"There's company up to the bungalow," he spoke from the fullness of his +heart; "a widder girl." + +"A--a widow?" Joyce was for a moment perplexed. + +"Yes. She don't look a day older than Drew's sister, and she's powerful +cheerful for an afflicted person. But maybe she ain't afflicted. They +ain't, always. She looks as if she was dressing up in them togs for fun, +and at first glimpse it strikes one as sacrilegious. Something like a +kid using holy words in its play." + +Joyce smiled. After all it was good to have the dear human touch, even +if the vital spark were lacking. + +"Is--the widow-girl pretty, Jock?" she asked in order to detain Filmer. + +"Well," a line came between Jock's eyes, "that's the puzzler. Now Drew's +sister--" Jock spoke in this detached way of Constance Drew for +self-defense--"Drew's sister stands for what she is; a good, honest, +handsome girl. You own up to that and that's the end of it. This one +sets you thinking. Is she, or ain't she pretty? you keep putting to +yourself. Do you like her, or don't you? Is she thinking about what +you're saying, or ain't she? That's the way your mind works when you are +with her, till it seems a plain waste of time, and riles you way down to +the ground. I like a woman what, having passed up her personality, lets +you alone as to further guessing 'less you have a mind to guess. Joyce!" + +"Yes, Jock." + +"They want you up to the bungalow to help along with the Christmas +doings. I never saw such happenings in all my life. All St. Angé is +going to see what's what for once. Presents for everybody; big party at +the bungalow Christmas night; the overflow is going even to reach up to +the camps. Boxes and barrels arriving every day from down the State. +Lord, but you should see Tom Smith's curiosity! There are big doings. +They call it a kind of thanksgiving for the Reverend Kid's recovery; and +they want you." + +Joyce started back. She was interested, but only as it was apart from +herself. + +"Oh, Jock!" she cried. "I couldn't. I just couldn't." + +"I thought you couldn't," Jock returned calmly; "and you shan't if you +don't want to." + +"Thank you. Don't let them feel hurt, but I could not go." + +Jock cast a sympathetic glance toward her; and changed the subject. + +"It's wonderful the grip that weak little Reverend has already got on +this town," he went on. "He's a sly one. Preaching ain't in it with the +undercurrent he's let loose here. It's just sapping the foundations of +society. It's setting free a lot of good stuff, but it's striking Tate +an all-fired blow." + +"Tell me about it, Jock. It seems as if I had been asleep a--long +while." + +"Well there are sermons _and_ sermons." Jock was flattered by the look +in Joyce's large eyes. "If the Reverend Kid had opened shop in the +regular way, Tate and his pals would have downed him in no time; but +what you going to do about sermons that are slipped in with talks to +women over their wash-tubs, and what not? + +"Him and me was going by Falstar's the other day, and Peggy was washing +uncommon hard. Drew, he steps close to the tubs and says he, 'I tell +you, Mrs. Falstar, I don't know no better religion than getting the +spots out instead of slighting them. It's like the little Scotch girl +who said she knew when she got religion, for she had to sweep under the +mats.' Peggy was all a-grin, and Lord! how she went at it. Later, she +attacked the mats. It had set her thinking. I saw 'em hanging out, and +she beating them as she must often feel like beating Pete." A real laugh +greeted this, and Jock glowed with approval. + +"And then what does that young lunger do, but gather in all the floating +population in the kid line, and play games with 'em, and read thrillers +to 'em up at the bungalow every evening. He's teaching them as wants to +learn, too. He's got Tate flamgasted. You see, the old man depended, for +the future, on them youngsters that haunted the tavern and got the +drippings that fell from within. The Black Cat Tavern Kindergarten is +busted, and the Bungalow stock is going up." + +"Kindergarten? What's that, Jock?" + +"Oh, it's a new-fangled idea in the way of schools. Sort of breaking up +the ground for later planting." + +"Who told you about it?" + +"Why--Drew's sister." Jock's face looked stern and he gazed into space. + +"It's a splendid idea, Jock." Joyce's interest was keen enough now. +"Some one, even St. Angé's folks, should have seen how fine it is to +keep the children away from the tavern. How we have let everything +drift! Why Jock, if the boys and girls learn to hate the Black Cat; if +they are given something good, why of course St. Angé is going to be +another kind of place. Does Miss Drew help in teaching?" + +"Does she?" Poor Jock smiled pitifully in his effort to appear +unconcerned. "They sit at her feet lost to everything but what she tells +'em. Billy Falstar, before he left to be a camp fiddler, was a reformed +brat. She had smote him hip and thigh, and finished him, as far as a +career of crime is concerned. Do you know, he went up to see her with +his red hair plastered down with lard until it was a dull maroon colour; +his square cotton handkercher was perfumed with kerosene, and I tell you +he was a sight and a smell to remember; but Drew's sister stood it +without a word. She told me afterward that it was a proof +conclusive--them's her words--of Billy's redemption. + +"I saw the brat the day he started for camp. I tell you the ginger was +all out of Billy. When he was obliged to swear he did it in whispers." + +"Poor Billy! He's pretty young to begin camp life. There's good in +Billy. I wish Mr. Drew would make Peter send him to school." + +"That's what he's planning to do." + +Soon after this, when Jock started to go, he said: "So everything's fit +for a spell?" + +"Everything Jock, until--" + +They looked at each other mutely. Then Jock put his hand out awkwardly +and took Joyce's. + +"Good-bye," he said quietly. His manner puzzled the girl. + +"Life's a queer jamboree," he laughed lightly. "It's a heap easier to +stand it if you give yourself the hope of cutting it if you find the +pace too fast. So 'good-bye' is always in order even if you're going to +drop in to-morrow. Good-bye." + +Joyce walked with him to the door. "Good-bye," she said with a growing +doubt in her heart; "good-bye, Jock--and I can never tell you how I +thank you." + +It was many a long day before Joyce was to see Filmer again, and she +always felt that she knew it as she saw him pass beyond the pines after +that "good-bye." + + * * * * * + +Perhaps it was the boyish longing for Christmas cheer that struck such a +deadly blow at the heart of Billy, the fiddler, in Camp 7. Perhaps it +was the arrow that smites all, sooner or later. Be that as it may, as +Christmas drew near the mournful tunes Billy managed to saw from his +fiddle got on to the nerves of the men. + +From remarks aimed at his efforts, pieces of wood and articles of +clothing were aimed at him, and Billy's life became a burden in the +dull, deep woods. + +"I can't make jigs come," he whined one evening, "when I'm chock full of +hymn tunes." + +"You'll be chock full of cold lead if you fill this hull camp with them +death dirges," warned one man who was bearing about all he could anyway. + +"I wish to--I just wish I was plugged full of lead--and done for," was +Billy's unlooked-for reply; and then, to the surprise of all, he bent +his red curls over the fiddle and wept as only a homesick youngster can +weep when the barriers of his fourteen years are down, and the flood has +its way. + +That night, Billy in his bunk, sleepless and consumed with longing for +home and the excitement of the bungalow element, planned desertion. At +midnight he crept to the larder and packed enough food to last for a +couple of days, at four o'clock he stole from the sleeping-shed, and, +cheered by the unanimous snores that rang in his ears, he turned his +freckled, determined face toward St. Angé and the one absorbing passion +of his life. + +The outlook of the Solitude at four in the morning was not an altogether +cheerful one even to ambitious youth. Indeed there was little, if any, +outlook. + +Blackness around; cold starlight overhead. Snow and ice everywhere +except on the trail that a "V" plow had made through the forest. + +It was cruelly still and lonely. "Gawd," said Billy raising his eyes to +the emptiness above him, "you see me to the end of this, and, by gosh! +I'll swear to go to Hillcrest to school." + +From irreligious depravity, Billy had risen to reverent heights, and +Hillcrest restraint was beautiful in his thought, as a method of +preparing him for--Her. + +A fear he had never known had birth in Billy's heart then as he slipped +and slid down the icy trail that had been flooded and frozen for the +passage of the logs. Even his unprotected boyhood had been shielded from +four-o'clock journeys in the wintry woods heretofore. + +The only help Billy could draw from the situation was, that so far he +could refrain from whistling. When in this tense state a boy is reduced +to whistling all hope for strength is gone. + +A distant groan; swish! ah! ah! and crash! rent the stillness. The boy +drew his breath in sharp. + +"D---- blast that tree!" gurgled he, "what did it have to fall for now?" + +Suddenly a deer darted across the trail and turned its wondering eyes on +the small brother of the woods. Billy's spirits rose. The wild things +were friends. The boy's depravity had always been redeemed by a lack of +cruelty. + +A little farther on the way, Billy seated himself on a fallen log, and +cheered his inner man by a "bite of breakfast." Presently a shy, wild +creature drew near; took note and courage and scurried to Billy's feet. +With generous hand the boy shared his early meal, and made a familiar +noise that further won the little animal's confidence. + +Billy had his plans well laid. There was a lumberman's hut a day's walk +from the camp; he must make that by night. There would be a rough bed +and chopped wood; he could sleep and rest and then, if all went well, he +ought to make St. Angé by the end of the following day, particularly if +he got a "lift," which was not impossible. + +Just then, for the morning was beginning to show through the gaunt +trees, a bird-note sounded. Billy rose quickly--there was no time to +waste. Sometimes a bird sounded that warning when a storm was near. It +would never do for him to face a storm so far from shelter. + +All that day Billy trudged on. Fortunately it was a constant, though +gradual, decline and the journey was made easier. He ate occasionally, +and gained courage and strength, but it was nearly nine o'clock--though +Billy was not aware of it--before the landmarks proved his hope +true--the woodman's hut was near at hand. + +The boy had all the keenness of his age and environment. He knew that +others besides himself might avail themselves of the shelter, and he had +reason for choosing his company; so, before he reached the house, he +took to tip-toeing, and keeping clear of the underbrush. + +The hut had one small window, before which hung a dilapidated shutter by +a rusty hinge. The door opened, Billy knew, into a little passage from +which the room door opened, and from which a rickety ladder led up to a +loft, unused and apparently useless. + +As the boy neared the house his trained senses detected the smell of +fire and the sound of muffled voices. He crept to the window, and +through the broken shutter saw two figures crouching by the blazing +logs, but the faces were turned away, and the gloom of the room made it +impossible for Billy to decide whether the men were familiars or +strangers. + +Meanwhile the wind was rising with a storm in its keeping; there was +nothing to do but seek refuge, for, until he could determine his further +course, Billy decided to take to the loft in order to reconnoitre. + +Cautiously he made his way to the door, lifted the latch and gained the +entry. There he paused, for the voices had ceased speaking and the boy +feared that he had been heard. After a moment he concluded it was safer +to be in the loft in case the men were suspicious, so he hurriedly +mounted the ladder and crawled along the dusty floor of the space +overhead. + +Gratefully, to his half-frozen form, the heat from below rose, and with +it came the odour of frying bacon, and the sound of sizzling fat. + +Fortune was still further with Billy. There was a pile of discarded +bedding and clothing on the floor. If worst came he could stay where he +was and be partially comfortable. + +As he reached this conclusion a voice from below caused his heart to +stand still. + +"I thought I'd seen the last of yer. You got all I had--what more do you +want with me?" + +It was Jude Lauzoon who spoke. + +"See here, son"; and the smooth tones filled Billy with an old fear; +"that was all a big mistake. My hand was out of the game. St. Angé had +taken the nerve out of me. I've got my steam up now." It was Jared +Birkdale! and Billy had hoped he was never to see the man again. From +his babyhood up, a look from Jared had had power to quell him when a +blow from another might fail. + +"Well, I ain't got nothing more to give you." Jude sounded sullen and +ugly. + +Through a crack in the floor Billy could see that it was Jude who was +preparing the evening meal, while Jared, as usual, was taking his ease, +and discoursing at his leisure. + +"You've got more to give than what you know Jude, my boy. What you doing +here, anyway?" + +"You see what I'm doing. Here, take this hunk of bread, and come nearer +so I can flip the bacon on." + +The sight and smell made Billy's mouth water, even while something in +him foretold danger. + +"Now, see here, Jude." Jared spoke through a full mouth. "You and me +can't afford to work at cross purposes. Where we failed once, we are +going to succeed next time." + +"You darsn't show your face down there beyond the woods again, and you +know it." Jude spoke doggedly. "They was after us both. Besides I can't +stand transplanting. It would be the death of me. It nearly was." + +"Don't be white-livered, Jude. You see the laws have changed more than +any one could have thought, while I was browsing away in St. Angé. +That's where I made my mistake. I ought to have taken time and got the +lay of the land 'fore I beckoned to you; but it looked safe enough, and +I had to take, or leave the Joint, sudden. How could any man know it was +spotted, and so had to be got rid of? It was one on us and no mistake. + +"Fill up my cup, Jude, you're a tasty one with cooking." + +Jude obeyed and muttered as he did so: "Luck or no luck, I ain't got +nothing, nor ever will have again, so that's an end of it." + +"Jude, where you going to?" + +"Where be you?" + +Up aloft Billy waited. + +"I'm going to St. Angé." There was defiance in Jude's tone--defiance and +a sort of shame; Jude had again lost his grip. + +"I've just come from there," said Jared. + +And now Billy could see through his peephole that Jude started into +life. + +"You been there?" + +Jared gurgled assent. + +"How is--she?" + +"That's it, Jude. Now let's get down to business. Having to hide +somewhere after that little unpleasantness down State, I ran up to St. +Angé. Knowing the way about, it was a better place than some others, and +I could keep from sight and find things out. I stopped at Laval's +haunted shack." Billy shivered. "I kept clear of my place." + +"Guess you wasn't disturbed none at Laval's," sneered Jude and he gave +an unpleasant laugh. + +"'Twas blasted cold, and I had the devil's time getting enough at night +to keep me going by day; but I learned a heap, and I struck your gold +mine all right, sonny." + +"What you mean? Spit it out." + +Billy crouched closer, and his breath came thick and fast. + +"He's--left her!" + +"Gaston?" An ugly oath escaped Jude. + +"Gaston. But not for what you think. Jude, he's after you." Jared paused +for effect. + +"After me?" The ugliness gave place to a dull fear. + +"You, my son. He wants you to free Joyce." Evidently this announcement +failed to reach Jude's intelligence. + +"Free her? Me? What's got you, old man? Didn't she cut, herself?" + +"You don't catch on, Jude. He wants to do the big, white thing by the +girl--marry her out of hand clean and particular, and he wants to get +your word that you won't make any trouble." + +A silence followed this. Jude was struggling to digest it; but the +result was simple. + +"Well, by thunder! Won't he have to pay high for it?" + +There was excitement and feverish energy in Jude's voice now. + +"Maybe he'll fling a bone to you--but don't you see, son, you can hold +off and make him pay, and pay and pay? + +"Now tell me, so true as you live, what was _you_ going down to St. Angé +for?" + +"I was going down to"--Jude hesitated. "Well, I was tired of being +hounded, and having to hide and starve. I was going down to get--what--I +could--and no questions asked." A foolish laugh followed. Beside Jared's +subtlety, Jude seemed a babbling infant with feeble aims. + +Jared was contemptuous. + +"Gosh darn it, Jude! It's good I fell across your path again. You might +have thrown away the one, great, shining opportunity of your life. +Listen to _my_ plans. You better stay where you are, and let me run this +here show. I got the tracks all laid out. I'm sort o' inspired where it +comes to plotting for them I love. I'm going to write a touching letter +to her. It's going to state that Gaston is laid up from an accident in a +hut, further up to the north. A lumberman is going to write the +letter--catch on? and she's wanted up to Gaston's dying bedside. The +lumberman is going to meet her at Laval's. When she's caught safe and +sure, Jock Filmer--he's the go-between in all this--will get that +information, or the part about her going away, to Gaston; then the +game's in our hands. If Gaston means business, he'll pay what _we_ say. +If he ain't sharp set as to a big figger, we've got Joyce; and by +thunder! who's got a better right? Then we'll make tracks, after the +spring freshet, to another place I know of where laws is stationary and +folks ain't over keen, and where a handsome woman like Joyce will help. +I've got money enough left from the wreck to tide us over, my +son--unless Gaston planks down." + +All this completed Billy's demoralization. His teeth chattered louder, +and for the life of him he could not control an audible sound, half sob, +half sigh. But Jude was evidently as much overpowered as Billy, for the +boy suddenly heard him emit an oath, and then a volley of questions +designed to clear the air after Jared's storm of eloquence. + +"She'll come, all right." Jared had his answers ready. "It's an +all-fired queer state of things down there to St. Angé. You and me ain't +never struck Gaston's kind before. Joyce'll go when he calls, and don't +you forget it--all I've got to do is to make the lumberman's letter real +convincing. + +"Sure! I'm the lumberman, all right. Camp up north? Nothing. I'll land +her here where her rightful and loving husband will be waiting for her +till further developments. How did I find out the lay of the land? Gosh! +that was a tight squeeze. I found out he was over to Hillcrest, Gaston +you know; and I run up, after dark to his shack, planning to get a haul +from Joyce. I got into the back kitchen while she was outside, and +before I could get away--in walks Gaston. What I saw and heard that +evening, Jude, ain't necessary here, but it blazed our trail, boy, and I +cut later--taking more than I planned for." Birkdale breathed hard. "You +leave Gaston to me, curse 'im! + +"Make trouble for us? How in thunder is a man to make trouble for a +husband who is taking his own wife to his dishonoured bosom? Lord! Jude, +you've got about as much backbone as an angle worm. + +"What?" Some muttered words followed that Billy could not catch. Then-- + +"Trust me! Does any one know to this day, you blamed fool, who shot that +government detective that was snooping into that clearing you and me +made--five years back? Gaston'll pay or you'll take one of them +never-failing shots of yours, and----" + +It had been a hard day for Billy, and he was only fourteen. + +The low, smoke-filled loft seemed to draw close about him, and it +smothered the life out of him. He thought he screamed, but instead, an +unseen power laid a kindly hand upon his trembling mouth, and a pause +came in his troubled life. It was not sleep, nor was it faintness that +struck like death the frightened boy--but an oblivion, from which he +issued clear-headed and strengthened. + +When he again realized his surroundings he was cramped and cold, and +hungry as a wolf. From below two deep, unmusical snores rose +comfortingly. There was but one thing to do--and Billy must prepare for +it. + +He ate every crumb of food that remained in his bag; then he rubbed +himself until his numbness lessened. At last he was ready to set forth +for St. Angé, and, be it forever to his glory, Billy the Redeemed, had +only Joyce in mind when his grim little freckled face once more turned +toward home! + +Christmas, the joys of the bungalow, all, all were forgotten. It was a +big and an awful thing he had on hand, but he must carry it out to the +end. Floating gossip gained strength in Billy's memory as he trudged +through the black morning of that second hard day. + +Childhood was not much considered in St. Angé, but childhood protects +itself to a certain degree, and Billy had never fully understood what +the gossip about Joyce had meant. All at once he seemed to have become a +man; and, oh! thank God, a man with a warm heart. A kinship of suffering +and hope with Joyce made him wondrous tender. He'd stand by her. They +should all see what he could do. And that hated Jared Birkdale should be +driven forever from St. Angé. + +It was a long, dreary journey which Billy took that day. The plentiful +morning meal had beggared the future, but it had given the boy power to +start well. + +With daylight and home in view, although at a dim distance, Billy felt +that he controlled Fate. + +It would be some days before Jared could possibly get the letter to +Joyce. Long before it came he, Billy, would be on the spot, and nothing +could pass unnoticed before his eyes. + +At eight o'clock of that second day, the boy, worn to the verge of +exhaustion, staggered into his mother's kitchen, and almost frightened +Peggy to death by simply announcing: + +"I've cut, and I'll be eternally busted if I ever go back, so there! And +I'm starved." + +With the latter information Peggy could deal; the former was beyond her. +She prepared a satisfying repast for her son; noting, as she hovered +over him, the change that had come. He was no longer a child, therefore +he was to be respected. An awe possessed Peggy. The awe of Man as she +had ever known him. Her Billy was a man! Then she noticed how thin he +was, and how his mouth drooped, and how black the circles were under his +big eyes. + +Had they been cruel to him in camp? They could be so cruel; but then, +Billy was a favourite. + +What had happened? + +It was proof of Billy's spiritual and physical change that Peggy did not +cuff him and demand an explanation. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Billy ate long and uninterruptedly. Peggy supplied his demands before +they were voiced, and Maggie, the small and unimpressed sister, eyed him +from across the table with keen, unsympathetic stare. Occasionally she +made known her opinions with a calm, sisterly detachment that roused no +resentment in the new being who had hurled himself upon them. + +"You eat like a real pig," Maggie remarked with a sniff. She was being +trained for the bungalow fête, and she had suffered in the process. + +Billy eyed her indifferently. + +"Push them 'taters nearer," was all he replied. + +"Your father'll kill you," Peggy ventured timidly, as she filled Billy's +cup for the fourth time with a concoction which passed in St. Angé for +coffee, because Leon Tate so declared it. + +"No, he won't, neither," Billy said; "nobody ain't ever going to kill +me, never!" + +He turned a tense, defiant face to his mother, but there was something +in his eyes that drew tears to Peggy's. She came behind his chair and, +half afraid, let her hand rest upon his thin shoulder. + +Wonder of wonders! Billy did not shake off the unfamiliar caress. On +the contrary he smiled into the work-worn face above him. + +"Ain't Billy terrible speckled when the tan's off?" Maggie broke in, +"and his hair's as red as my flannel petticoat." + +Peggy cast a threatening glance at her daughter. + +"Clear off the table!" she commanded, for Billy was at last finished. + +Maggie set about the task with relief. Something was afoot that she +could not understand. Maggie was not spiritually constructed, but she +was going to be a woman some day! + +"Mother!" Generally Billy addressed her as "say!" "Mother, I'm going +over to Hillcrest to school. I'm going to work when I can, and--make +somewhat of myself." + +Maggie dropped a cup, and, because she happened to be near her mother, +Peggy relieved her own feelings by boxing the girl's ears. Then she +turned again to her man-child and stared stupidly. + +Poor downtrodden Peggy! She was at a crisis of motherhood that is common +to high and low. Since Mary of Galilee found her son in the Temple +questioning Wisdom, and with awe beheld that he was no longer her little +child, the paralyzing question, "What have I to do with thee?" has set +maternity back upon itself over and over again, in order that the +suddenly arrived Man might be upon "his Father's business." + +"Going to--make--something of yourself?" + +Peggy's trembling hands groped feebly, and then, thank heaven! Billy +drew near and glorified this new, but lonely place of his own creation. + +"You've done your best, mother; I see it now, but I was--I ain't going +to say what I was--but I'm going to be something different; and you're +going to help me now, like you always have." + +A pain gripped Peggy's throat, and the room whirled about. Then the mist +cleared from the dim eyes and Hope lighted them. + +"Son," she said solemnly, "I am. I don't quite see how, but the way will +be opened. Go in, now, and rest; you look clean done for." + +It was humiliating, but Billy had to feel his way to the door of the +bedchamber beyond. + +Alone with her daughter, Peggy's Vision on the Mount faded. + +"Billy's aged terrible," she said to Maggie, who was still sulking +because of the boxed ear. + +"I know what's the matter with him." Maggie's lynx-eyes glittered. "I +found some po'try he writ on the back of the wood-shed door. He thought +nobody but him ever went there. It's grand po'try." + +Maggie struck an attitude, and drawled: + + My heart feels like a chunk of rock + When I am far from you, + But when you trip acrost my vision + My heart melts same as du. + +"I learned that in one morning!" Maggie proudly declared. "I don't care +if he is my brother, that's grand." + +Peggy dropped helplessly in her chair. She had never looked for glory in +her modest dream. That Billy should escape the degradation of the Black +Cat, and that Maggie might have a lighter cross than her own to carry, +had been the most she had plead for when she had had time to pray; and +now--why God had crowned her lot by children who were undoubtedly +geniuses! Maggie, too, had a circle of light about her head. And it had +all dawned upon Peggy in a flash of an eye. + +"You ain't sick to your stomach, are you, mother?" + +Peggy repudiated this with scorn. + +"Maggie," she said softly, "I want that you should write that out real +plain for me, in print. I'm going to take it up to the bungalow." + +"Billy'll cuss us." Maggie turned coward. + +"Oh! I ain't going to let Mr. Drew think Billy done it." Peggy was +waxing bold. "I'm going to tell him it was writ by a noted po'try-maker, +and I want to find out what his views is as to its fineness." + +Maggie looked dubious. + +"He might guess," she said. + +"How _could_ he?" Peggy raised her face ecstatically. Then Maggie came +close to her mother. + +"Ma," she whispered, "don't you know why Billy writ that, and why he +wants to get learning, and what not?" + +"No," gasped Peggy, and she felt that the heavens were about to open. + +"He wants to be different so he can spark--her!" + +"Spark?" Peggy panted inanely as if the word were of foreign tongue. + +"Yep, spark." + +"Her?" + +"Yep. Her. Miss Drew." + +Peggy's jaw dropped. + +Since the sudden opening of the door, and Billy's unlooked-for entrance, +events had crowded upon Peggy Falstar's horizon. + +Her children had been translated. She felt desolate and stricken, +although her heart glowed with pride as she viewed them from afar. In a +last attempt to cling to her familiar attitude toward Maggie at least, +Peggy vaguely remarked: + +"I wonder if your being a girl makes you such a plain fool?" + +"I 'spose it might," Maggie returned indifferently. + +"Well," her mother continued, "don't you go upsetting Billy with any of +your fool ideas." + +"I ain't going to hurt 'im." Maggie tossed her head. + +"Hurt him!" Peggy sniffed. "You lay this up for future hatching, Maggie +Falstar. You, me, nor nobody ain't ever going to hurt him again and +_know_ it. What hurts he gets, from now on, he ain't going to howl +about." + +Just then the supposedly slumbering Billy came out of the inner room. +Mother and sister eyed him critically. He was magnificently attired in +all the meagre finery he could call into service. What he lacked in +attire he made up in the grooming. Billy shone. Billy was plastered. +Billy smelled to high heaven of soap and kerosene. But there was that +about Billy which checked Maggie's ribald jeers, and the mother's +question as to where he was going. + +However, Billy was magnanimous in his power. He turned at the outer door +and satisfied his mother's curiosity. + +"Anything you want sent up to Joyce's?" + +"Joyce's?" gasped Maggie. "Joyce's?" + +Billy held her with a glance. + +"Joyce's," he repeated. Then receiving no reply, he went out into the +still, cold night. + +Billy felt like a man who held the fortune of many in the hollow of his +hand. + +Knowing the ways of St. Angé men he felt sure the letter from "the +backwoodsman" to Joyce would be several days, or a week, in +materializing, perhaps much longer. It was for him to be ready and +watchful; but there was no immediate call for action. His sympathies +were so largely aroused for Joyce, that he meant to overcome his +yearning to be with the object of his passion, and on that first night +he intended going to Gaston's shack and setting Joyce right about the +future and his own part in the drama. + +Billy realized that he must shield himself. Birkdale and Lauzoon must +never know of his presence in the hut. Joyce, Billy felt sure, would +coöperate with him. If he and she could find Gaston, all might be safe +and well; but while Gaston was absent, danger lurked. However, Joyce +must refuse to meet "the backwoodsman"; after that they two, Billy and +Joyce, must find a path that connected Gaston with them, and make him +secure from the plots of the evil Birkdale and the weak, foolish Jude of +the unerring shot. + +All this Billy thought upon as he strode forward whistling comfortably, +and his chest swelling proudly. + +It was one thing to whistle on the highway of St. Angé, and quite +another to whistle in the wilds of the North Solitude. + +Billy was full of creature comfort, and the scattered lights of the +houses gave cheer and a feeling of security to the boy. + +The Black Cat's twinkling eyes had no charm for Billy. They were never +to have a charm for him; but as he neared the bungalow his whistle grew +intermittent and his legs had an inclination in one direction while his +heart sternly bade him follow another. Then, without really being aware +of his weakness, Billy found himself knocking on the bungalow door, and +his heart thumped wildly beneath the old vest of his father's which he +wore closely buttoned under the coat he had painfully outgrown. + +In response to his knock, the wide, hospitable door was flung open, and +Billy faced a stranger who quite unnerved him, by the direct and pointed +question: + +"Why, good evening, little boy; what do _you_ want?" + +The glow from within set Billy's senses in a mad whirl, but the "little +boy" was like a dash of cold water to his pride and egotism. + +"I--I--want--her!" Poor Billy was in a lost state. + +"It is--I do believe it is my delectable Billy." + +It was _her_ voice, and it floated down to the boy at the gate of +Paradise, from the top of a step-ladder. Halfway up the ladder Jock +Filmer stood with his hands full of greens and his eyes full of +laughter. + +"Billy, come up and be welcomed. Get down Jock, you've had your turn." + +His turn! A fierce hate rose in Billy's heart; but the stranger closed +the door behind him; Aunt Sally and the minister were saying kind things +to him, and informing him that the angel who had admitted him was Mrs. +Dale, the Fairy of Christmas, and a great admirer of little boys. + +Little boys! Were they bent on insulting him? + +Jock descended with that laugh of his that always disturbed Billy's +preconceived ideas. Then Billy was facing _Her_ as she bent to meet him +halfway. + +The glad smile passed slowly from Constance Drew's face. The others, +below, were talking and forgetting the two upon the ladder. + +"Why--Billy--have you--been sick?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"Did they let you come home for Christmas?" + +"No, ma'am. I jest cum." + +Constance looked long at him, and at last the laugh was gone even from +her dear eyes. + +"Billy," she said softly, laying her hands on his shoulders, "you've +been keeping your word to me, about swearing, and--and all the rest?" + +"Yes'm." + +"It's been hard, too, dear, I know; but it has made you into +something--better." And then with a shining look on her face she bent +and kissed him. + +The heat rushed all over Billy's body, following a cold perspiration. +His mouth twitched, and a maddening feeling of tears rose to his +smarting eyes. + +"I'm--going--over--to--Hillcrest school!" He whispered feebly, "I'm +going--to get--learnin', an' things." + +"Oh! Billy!" + +"Yes'm." + +"Oh! my dear Billy." + +But such moments in life are brief. They are only permitted as +propellers for all the other plain moments which are the common lot. +Billy and Constance came down from the heights morally, spiritually and +physically and joined the commonplace things below. + +There was corn to pop, and candy to make. There were boxes to unpack, +and goodies to eat; so was it any wonder that Joyce and her poor affairs +should be relegated to a place outside this Eden? + +Then, too, Jock complicated matters. He was shameless in his mirth and +jokes. Even the stranger-lady with her wonderful aloofness could not +daunt him, but Billy fiercely resented his attentions to the girl for +whom he, Billy, had forsaken all else. + +To leave the field to Jock was beyond the strength of mere man, so they +stayed it out together, and left the bungalow in company just as the +clock struck twelve. + +It was then that the events of the past forty-eight hours began most to +tell upon Billy. His exhausted nerves played him false, and cried out +their desperate state. + +As he and Jock left the warm, scented room behind them, and faced +the white, still cold of an apparently dead St. Angé, the boy turned +a drawn face upon Jock, and cried tremblingly, "Say, you +better--keep--yer--hands--off!" Jock stood still, and returned Billy's +agonized stare with one equally grim. + +"I've just reached that conclusion myself, Billy," he said, with every +trace of his past mirth gone. + +Billy was hoisted on his own petard. + +Hatred fled before the sympathy he felt flowing from Jock to him. He +wanted to cry; wanted to fling himself upon his companion and "own up," +but Jock anticipated all his emotions. + +"See here, kid," he said in a voice new to St. Angé's knowledge of Jock; +"you're not the fellow to grudge a poor devil an hour or so of heaven. +There's the hope of an eternity of it for you; but for me there's going +to be only--the memory of this hour. Shake hands, old man, and take this +from me, straight. Keep yourself _fit_ to touch. Lay hold of that and +never let go. The more you care, the more you'll curse yourself, if you +don't. It's the only decent offering a man can take to a woman. +Everything else he can hope to gain afterward. A place for her, money, +and all the rest; but if he goes to her with dirty hands and a heart +full of shame, nothing can make up for it--nothing! + +"Billy--I'd give you all I ever hoped to have here or hereafter if I +could begin to-night where you are--and with the power to _want_ to keep +straight." + +Billy shivered and looked dumbly, pathetically into the sad face above +him. He had nothing to say. When Jock next spoke he was more like +himself. + +"Billy, will you see to a little business for me, and keep mum?" + +This was quite in the line of the over-burdened Billy, and he accepted +off-hand. + +"I may--go--into camp before Christmas." + +"Don't yer!" advised the boy magnanimously. "I ain't ever going to care +again. You can stay here." Jock forbore to smile, but he laid his hand +on Billy's shoulder. + +"There's two big stacks of young pine trees up to my shack done round in +bagging and ticketed to a place down the State. They're Christmas trees +for poor kids, and I want you to see to getting them off for me +to-morrow or next day, and if Tom Smith airs any remarks, you let on as +how they hailed from the bungalow; for that's God's truth, when all's +told." + +"They'll go, Jock, you bet!" Billy gulped. + +Curiosity was dead within him. Human suffering gave him an insight that +soared above idle questioning. + +"And Billy, there's another thing. I want you to go to Gaston's shack; +tote water and wood for Joyce--and keep your mouth shut. And lay this by +in your constitution. Gaston is a man so far above anything God ever +created round here, that you can't understand him, but you _can_ try to +chase off the dirty insects that want to sting him. Catch on?" + +"Yes"; murmured Billy, while unfulfilled duty clutched his vitals with +remorse. + +"I'm--I'm going up to Gaston's to-morrow," he said. + +"And now, you old rip," Filmer shook off his strange mood, "walk up to a +fellow's bunk with him. It's good to keep clean company when you +can--and for as long as you can." + +"Shall--shall I stay all night with you?" + +Billy asked this doubtfully from the new instinct that was stirring +within him. For an instant a gleam of pleasure lighted Filmer's face. It +almost seemed like a yearning, then he said roughly: + +"No, get home! You're afraid? If you are I'll turn back." + +"What you take me for?" Billy sniffed scornfully, and then they parted +company. + + * * * * * + +It was just when the hands of the clock in Drew's study pointed to +half-past twelve, that the young master, sitting before the glowing +logs, bestirred himself preparatory to turning in for the night. + +A satisfied feeling had kept him up after the others had bade good +night. He always enjoyed the anticlimax of pleasure, and the day had +been a happy one. + +He felt well. The companionship of the widowed wife of his closest +friend, added interest to the new life in the woods. She had brought +news and had awakened memories, but she had timed the Past and the +Present to perfect measure. At last he could hope that the old wound was +healed and that he could live among his people--his people! the thought +thrilled him--with purpose and content. The rough men and women about +him were drawing closer. He knew it in the innermost places of his +heart. He was brightening their lives. He was holding their children for +them, and opening a way for them to seek higher paths. It would all come +out as he desired. It was a splendid field of work that had been given +him--and he had rebelled so in his ignorance! + +How he wished that Philip Dale could have lived to see and know. Of all +the men whom he had known, Dale was the one man who could have +comprehended this opening for service. What a noble fellow he had been! +How his personality and charm struck one at the first glance. He had +been one of those men who claimed friends as they came his way, without +pledge of time or intimacy. He knew what was his own in life, and +gripped it without question or explanation. He had been the first to +understand Drew's ambition, so different from the ones of the social set +in which they both moved. + +"You'll always find me at your elbow, Drew," he had said, "in any scheme +you start." But when the time came--Dale had slipped out of life as +bravely and cheerfully as he had always lived. "And he had his own deep +trouble," Drew mused as he prepared to bank the fire; "he never talked +about it; but it made him what he was. One must go through some sort of +fire to be of real service." + +A light tap on the door startled him. He had been, in thought, far, far +from St. Angé. + +"Come!" + +The door opened slowly and Ruth Dale entered. + +She was all in white--a soft, long, trailing gown. Her hair had been +loosened from the coronet, and fell in two shining braids over her +shoulders. She looked very girlish as she came to the fire and dropped +into a deep chair. + +"Please put on more logs," she said softly. "Father Confessor, I've come +to confess." There was something under the playfulness that touched +Drew. "I told Connie that I wanted to talk to you about a plan of mine; +well, so it is, but I want you to put the stamp of your sage approval +upon it." + +Drew shook his head. + +"Hardly that," he said with a laugh, "but I'm willing to plot with you." + +"I always think of you now," Ruth Dale continued, leaning toward the +crackling logs, and holding her little benumbed hands open to the heat, +"as 'the man who lives in his house by the side of the road, and is a +friend to man'. Ralph, I need a friend! I must have one or I shall fail +in that which I have set myself to do." + +There was no lightness in the woman's manner now. She looked tragic; +almost desperate. + +Ralph Drew waited for her to go on. He was prepared to follow, but he +could not lead. + +Her youthfulness of appearance struck him now as it often had before; +but the worn look in the eyes emphasized it to-night. + +"You look tired, Ruth," he said kindly; "won't to-morrow--or"--for he +saw it was well on toward one o'clock--"later in the day do?" + +"Unless you are too weary to bide with me one little hour?" she replied +wistfully; "it had better be now." + +"You know what an owl I am, Ruth. With returning health my old habits +seem to gain strength. I sleep more satisfactorily if I do it after +midnight." He settled back comfortably in his chair, and the fire, +encouraged by several small logs, rose to the occasion. + +"I've been thinking about--Philip to-night." + +"Poor girl. It was a year ago! To remember Phil best, we should be +cheerful, but the subconscious sadness ran through all the evening's fun +for you--and me, Ruth." + +"Yes. Ralph, you only knew Phil a few years--never before he was +married?" + +"No, but he was one of those men who do not belong to time limit nor +letters of introduction. His own knew him at a glance. There was no time +to be lost with Phil. I've often noticed that faculty for deep and +ready friendship among people who are here for only a short life. Others +can afford to weigh and consider; they must garner quickly, and the +Master seems to have equipped them." + +"Ralph, was Phil a man that you felt you knew, really knew, I mean?" + +"Yes; as to essentials. I never saw any one so positive as to the high +lights. Honesty, truth, good faith, and a broad humanity. I always knew +he had trouble that he did not talk about; he hinted that much to me +once or twice, but the silence regarding it only intensified his own +personality, of which he gave lavishly." + +The woman bending toward the fire, shivered, and as her head sank lower, +one shining braid of hair dropped forward, shielding her face. + +"Ralph--I sometimes think the thing I have to do is the--hardest that +ever woman had to do." The words were uttered with a moan that drove +Drew into a silence more eloquent than any question he could have put. +He realized that the woman beside him must tread the rough path of +confession alone, and as she could. In his heart he prayed for strength +to be beside her when all was done. + +"If ever a sin saved, Philip's sin saved him, and yet he counted it as +nothing at the last. He bade me do for him what he could not do for +himself--I have never been able to begin until--to-night. He said--he +had no right to friends nor the trust and favour of love. But he never +was able to renounce them; I must strike them down one by one--now he is +gone. + +"I must do as he would have me do--I see the justice, if the end is to +be obtained, but thank God, I, who loved him--can still love him--and he +has been dead a year!" + +The pain-racked eyes looked straight into Drew's with a sort of +challenge. But Drew was too sincere a man to give, even to friendship, a +blind comfort and assurance. He merely smiled at the troubled glance, +and said quietly: + +"I am sure where you loved, there was much to love." + +"Yes; yes; that is true; and I begin to think the nobility of it all lay +in his unconsciousness of the splendid character he builded so patiently +and laboriously out of all the wreck. + +"Philip had a brother, Ralph! His name was never spoken. He was two +years older than Philip, and as different as it was possible for a +brother to be. + +"John was all strength and concentration; Philip all brightness and +charm--in the beginning! Their mother adored Philip; she never +understood John, and yet he was a good son, brave and faithful. But he +could not show his nature--it lay so far below the surface. It was +always easy for Philip. His charm attracted nearly everyone. My father +always liked John better. He said there was splendid power in him, +and--I must keep nothing from you, Ralph--I loved John--loved him, oh! +how I loved him. I pitied him because he could not win what should have +been his--I loved him for myself, and for all the others who were too +dull to realize his worth. It was like mother love and all the rest, in +one." + +"Yes; the most God-like love of all. Only women know it, I fancy," Drew +murmured. + +"And then"; the agonized eyes seemed to plead even while they confessed, +"then the awful thing happened. John took--he stole many thousands of +dollars from men who trusted and honoured him." + +"Ruth!" + +"I could never have believed it, but he told me so himself. To the day +of his death my father believed the half had never been told, but how +could I think that, when John told me himself that he was guilty? Father +was a judge--he was to have been the judge before whom John Dale was +tried, but they relieved him of that horrible duty. John Dale was +sentenced to five years--in prison! They said it was a light sentence." + +"My God! Poor Phil! How terrible for you all!" + +"Don't! don't!" Ruth Dale put out her hands as if warding off a blow. +"Haven't you guessed? Can you not think?" + +Drew shook his head slowly. He did not seem to be able to think at all. + +"Mrs. Dale died soon after. She had a weak heart--it killed her. Philip +was everything to her--he was heavenly good in his attention and +devotion. Somehow, I wonder what you will think of me, but suddenly I +became possessed with a passion for making happier them whom John had +blighted. I grappled with my own love--I knew it would kill me if I let +it gain power over me. I knew I never could be anything to John--I was +not the sort of woman, Ralph, who could love the sinner--forgetting the +sin. I could forgive--I thought I could--but I remembered all the more +sharply. + +"Philip had always loved me. I saw my way. I would ignore the stigma on +the family, I would marry Philip and carry what joy I could to him and +his mother. My father tried to restrain me. He called me martyr, +sacrifice, and all the rest, but I married--and I know I took comfort +into poor Mrs. Dale's life, and--I never doubted what I did for Philip. +But--" Ruth whispered the horrible secret--"John Dale _took_ the money +for--Philip! He never wanted it for himself. He never used one dollar of +it. It was Philip who ran the family honour, and his own, into +danger--he made it seem to John that to tide him over the critical hour +would be to save them all and bring no harm. But he was wrong. The +crash came. John never cringed under the blow. To his simple nature the +mere act was enough. He did not try to shield himself by one word of +explanation--he went away!" + +Drew's throat and eyes burned. He seemed to know all this like an +oft-told tale that still had power to awe and control him. + +"Then the years of agonized consecration began for Philip. I never knew +until a week before his death, but the memory scorches into my soul day +by day now. + +"You see I thought it was love for his brother, and the shame, that had +changed Philip--and _that_ endeared him to me. All the lightness and +carelessness of manner departed. A great, strong, tenderness took their +place. But you know, it was so that he came into your life. He had a +wide sympathy and charity, for all--oh! how it drew people to him. But +think of his suffering--alone and through all those years! + +"The money that was John's ruin was the force that brought success to +Philip. You see--he could not explain--at least he thought he could not, +he was too cowardly--and the knowledge spurred him on. Wealth flowed in +and in. He paid, and with interest, all that had been taken. How the +world praised him--and how he suffered as they applauded him! He gave +great sums to charity--mostly to those charities that mitigate the +misery of--the outcasts. Men and women who come under the law. Can you +understand?" + +"Yes! yes!" Drew's head was buried in his thin hands. His voice was full +of anguish. + +"They used to come to him, those sad creatures,--and he never turned +them away. I have seen and heard them bless him as they knelt beside +him. He helped them so wisely because--oh! because he was--one of them, +and they never knew! Then the disease came--the cancer. I think he +welcomed it--it was so sure to open the door for him--and I think he +even loved the suffering as a kind of expiation. + +"Never once did a murmur escape him of impatience or regret. It was he +who cheered us. It was he who stood by my father's death-bed and +comforted him, and strengthened me. Always cheerful, always helpful +until--just before he went. When he knew the days were few--when the +coward in him--his last enemy--died, he told me everything. + +"He said--" a sob choked the words--"that I must find--John. I must lay +waste the beautiful memory of him. Show the _coward_ who had not been +able to stand before men! I must redeem the past as best I could. I must +begin with you--the friend he most loved--for you must help me +find--John." + +Ralph Drew rose weakly to his feet. Something had gone out of him. +Something that he groped after, but could not grasp. He felt as if he +and the stricken woman before him were lost upon a black and dangerous +road. Their only salvation was to cling together spiritually and bodily. +He caught the back of her chair for support, and bent over her. + +"Is there no one, who kept in touch with--the brother? Was he utterly +forsaken? God help him!" + +"They said it was his desire. But there was one--I never knew who it +was; that was part of the mystery--but some one claimed and claimed +money for him, for John. I knew sums of money were paid regularly, I +used to think it was another of Philip's charities--but I know now that +there was a constant lash laid upon him. Oh! if they had only known all. + +"Ralph, Philip left nearly all his fortune to his brother. There is only +my portion reserved for me. So you see I must find him. I was left sole +executor." + +"I will help you, Ruth." + +"I was sure you would. Philip spoke your name last; he said you could +see the man he tried to be, even in the man he was." + +"Yes! yes, a thousand times more than he ever hoped. What was the poor +crumbling shell compared to the splendid soul that he builded through +those horrible years? Years when he could not quite free himself from +the craven thing that was his curse--the fear! fear! fear!" + +The two were silent for a moment while the red glow showed them haggard +and worn. Then it was the woman who spoke. + +"Ralph--do you think a woman can love--really love--two men?" + +He stared at her. + +"Perhaps," he faltered; "perhaps, but in different ways." + +"I loved them both. When--when I find John--if he wants me--if he asks +me--I shall marry him." She shuddered. + +"Ruth!" + +"Yes; I think Philip would give him even--me. His renunciation was wide +and deep. He, the great, strong soul of him, went on--alone. It had no +real part with his weakness and all that was bound up in his +weakness--he wanted John to have everything of which he had deprived +him. You can understand, can you not? At the last, when fear had no +further power, he was almost mad in his abandon of recompense. + +"He did not tell me this, that awful night when he told me--the rest; +but I felt it. I saw that I, with all else that had meant anything to +him, was included in his shame; and the new nature that had evolved from +the agony and remorse--had nothing to do with us any more!" + +A deep sob shook the slim form. For a moment Ruth Dale rocked to and fro +in her misery, then she let the wild confession again have its way. + +"For myself--" the haunted eyes fixed themselves upon Drew's rigid +face--"for myself--in a strange fashion--and oh! you shall _not_ +misunderstand me, I want to give to him that which I withheld from him +when he needed it most. I want to bring back the gladness of life to +him--if I can," she gasped; "it has all been such a hideous nightmare. +If he wants me--if he wants me, he shall have me!" The words were flung +out defiantly, fiercely. + +Drew started to his feet, and went quickly to her. In all his life he +had never seen on a woman's face such desperation and remorse. + +As his friend's wife he had loved her as a sister. Her beauty had always +fascinated and charmed him. To see her now, cast adrift on this troubled +sea of love and fear, was a bitter, almost a terrifying sight. + +He bent over her, and raised her face firmly and gently with one +trembling hand. He felt that he must calm and steady her by physical +control. + +"Ruth," he said gently, but distinctly, "why do you look as you do? Tell +me, what is in your heart?" + +The woman tried to shrink from the hold he had upon her. He saw that the +vital point of her confession she would keep from him unless he +commanded, and, if the future were to be saved from the grip of the +miserable past, he and she must thoroughly understand each other. + +"Ruth, you must tell me everything." + +She panted, but no longer struggled mentally or bodily. + +"Because," she said, "even now, I could accept the man who was the true +sinner easier than the man who was sinned against! Not because of a +greater love; but because of the slime of the punishment that the one +was doomed to suffer. + +"That's what life has done for him--and me!" Again she shuddered. "Don't +you see, even when my heart is breaking with love for him--and the old +love is growing stronger as--as Philip seems to be going further from +me--I shall always think of the hideous--detail that--he suffered. It +was what Philip could not face--it is what I--must!" + +The words came pantingly, grudgingly and full of soul-terror. + +Drew sought for comfort to give to this poor, distracted woman whose +white, still face rested in the hollow of his hand, like a dead thing. + +"Ruth, you shall not lash yourself unnecessarily. God knows you have +borne the scourge of others bravely enough. It is not the detail alone +that rises before you, and keeps you from what you have set up as your +duty--it is the weakness of the man. That is the pitiful difference. The +sin is the sin--but the man who _planned_ was more the master, than he +who became the slave. Do not blame yourself entirely--can you not see, +it is the instinctive homage humanity pays to even an evil +interpretation of the Creator!" + +A blur, for an instant, shimmered over the beautiful, solemn eyes. + +"No." The woman would not shield herself in this hour. "No; for you +forget Philip's cowardice--and weakness. But he was not--smirched with +society's remedy for wrong-doing. No; even if I found John had come out +of the--the detail, strong and purified, I know, as God hears me, I +should always, when most he needed me, see the _prisoner_ instead +of--him. Oh! Oh! Oh!" + +She closed her eyes, and the great tears were pressed from under the +quivering lids. + +Drew for very pity released the suffering face, but his hand rested on +the bent shoulder. Then out of the strain of the black hour, he asked a +question that seemed to have no part in the present trouble; no meaning. + +"Ruth have you ever loved just for yourself--just because _you_ wanted +what you loved?" + +"Just for myself? Who ever does in this world, I wonder?" + +She sighed deeply, and sank back in the chair. + +It was over at last. There was nothing now to do but to take up her +cross and follow as she could; there was no more to be said. + +Drew waited for her a moment, still standing behind the chair. Then he +spoke clearly and firmly: + +"Ruth, in Phil's going he left our love to us; for we are permitted to +remember the splendid man in spite of the weakness which crippled him. +We must carry out every wish of his. I think when this is done--his +brave soul will be free from every earthly stain. The good he did; the +man he was, must claim recognition as well as the sin that stamped him. +Both are actual and real. + +"We'll find John Dale if he is to be found. We'll give him all that is +his own--his own. But I pray God he is still man enough to claim no +more. + +"And now, go to bed. You may sleep safely, for you have made yourself +ready even for--sacrifice." + +"No! no! Ralph." + +"Yes! yes!" + +He opened the door of the study, and with bowed head she passed out. +Then Drew turned and mechanically banked the fire, and left the room +orderly, as was his habit. + +As he followed a few moments later, the little clock struck the +half-hour of one. Much had been lost and gained in an hour's time. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Billy arose the morning after his eventful evening, with a feeling of +physical discomfort. He attributed it to his neglected duty, when in +reality it was merely a disordered stomach. + +The past day or two, ending in a feast of unwonted dainties, had created +havoc with Billy's newly acquired, higher nature. + +He was sulkily belligerent with Maggie, but Maggie viewed the lapse with +considerable relief. Billy of the night before awed her in spite of +herself. Billy of the morning after cast no reflections on her own +inferiority. + +Poor Peggy wondered, in her dull way, if she had been dreaming the +astonishing things that had set her heart beating. To reassure herself +she took a candle and went out to the wood-shed. No; there, in the dim +shadows of the cobwebby place, was the stanza that was proof of her +son's genius. Then Peggy reflected with a glad heart that it was the +accepted belief of the world that geniuses were always cranky and +uncomfortable, and, womanlike, Peggy gave thanks that it was permitted +her to have a genius for her own. + +Soon after breakfast Billy began his life work with a dull pain in the +region of his heart. + +He went up to Filmer's shack and found him out; he then hauled and +pulled the tagged bundles of pine trees, which Jock had left standing by +the door, down to the Station. + +"What in the name"--Tom Smith paused to expectorate--"of all," (it is +needless to enumerate the name of the gods by which Tom swore) "yer +doing with them sapling pines?" + +"Mind yer business," Billy returned, panting under the last load. "Put +'em on the train; that's you're lookout; and here's the money to pay for +their ticket down State." Billy had found the money in an envelope tied +to the trees. + +"Well, I'll--be--blowed." Tom spelled out the address and took the +money. + +"Where does these hail from?" he asked. + +"From the bungalow," Billy replied with unlooked-for promptness. + +Tom had nothing more to say. The bungalow people had the right of way on +the branch road. To and from the Junction the name of Drew was one to +conjure with. + +"I guess," Tom spat wide and far, "I guess she's aiming to decorate the +hull blamed town, back there, with greens. She don't mind slashing, she +don't." + +"Shut up!" Billy commanded. Tom turned to look at the boy, who in the +recent past had been his legitimate property, in common with others, to +kick and swear at. + +"Well by--" But he neither kicked nor swore at Billy. He relieved +himself by expressing his feelings to inanimate objects. + +Then Billy went up to the tavern. The dull pain was relaxing. The fine, +cold air was clearing his muddled wits, and he felt the milk of human +kindness reasserting itself in his new-born nature. + +"Mr. Tate," he asked boldly, stepping behind the screen to the men's +side. "Any letters here for Joyce?" + +Tate, bending over a cask of beer, raised himself, and gave Billy the +compliment of a long, hard stare. + +"Your voice changing, Billy?" he asked blandly. "Gosh! you've growed up +terrible suddint. What you doing home in the middle of the season?" + +"Got--sick," Billy muttered quite truthfully. "Any letters for Joyce?" + +"I don't keep letters on _this_ side, son." + +Tate felt compelled to cater to what he recognized in Billy. "And +whoever heard of Joyce having letters? If you mean Gaston's mail she's +sent for, then I reply straight and honest, and you can tell her--I know +_my_ business! + +"When Gaston calls for his mail, he gets it. When he wants Joyce to have +it--he's got to send order for same. The Government down to Washington, +D.C., knowed who it was selecting when it chose Leon Tate for +Postmaster. + +"Billy, you've changed more in a few months than any one I ever seed. +You--" he hesitated, and grinned foolishly--"you feel--like a drink o' +anything?" + +The subtle compliment to his manhood thrilled Billy; but oh! if Tate had +only known to what that manhood was due. + +"No, thank you," Billy replied, pulling his trousers up ecstatically. "I +don't want nothing to drink--to-day. But won't you please look and see +if there ain't a letter for Joyce--with her name to it?" + +Tate walked around the screen, followed by Billy, and began fumbling in +the row of slits that answered for letter-boxes. + +"Bet she's expecting word from Gaston." + +Tate moistened his dirty fingers, and shuffled the envelopes. + +"Here's five or six for Gaston hisself--one done up with a broad streak +of black round it. It's got a dreadful thick envelope! Well, if I ain't +blowed. Here _is_ one for Joyce, and did you ever?" Billy was beside him +now. "Done in printing. Well, if that don't beat the Injuns. Mis' Joyce +Lauzoon--that's good, Lauzoon! No wonder it didn't strike me first; I +guess I read it Jude Lauzoon. Here, you want to tote it up the hill? +Shouldn't wonder if it was _from_ Jude. If he's got over his sulks, and +finds no one to do for him, it's just like him to wheedle his woman +into coming back and--beginning all over." + +Billy had grasped the letter with trembling hands. He was breathing +short and hard. Jared had evidently written the letter before talking to +Jude. + +"Do you know who that's from?" Tate eyed the boy suspiciously. + +"How should I?" Billy impudently turned away, "_I_ ain't Postmaster, am +I?" + +Tate glared after the fleeing figure. He did not like the sense of +insecurity that pervaded St. Angé. If coming events cast their shadows +before, then Tate's future looked as if it might be one encompassed by +darkness. + +When Billy reached Gaston's shack a silence of desolation pervaded it. +Had all reputable St. Angé gone a-visiting? + +Jock's absence, and now Joyce's, gave Billy a creepy feeling such as a +cat must feel who has been deserted by them he trusted. + +But there had been no fire in Filmer's shack; on Gaston's hearth a +roaring, recently builded fire gave evidence of late companionship. + +"Joyce!" called Billy. There was no reply. Then the boy opened the door +leading into the lean-to. He had no reverence for retreats. If any door +opened to Billy's hand, Billy's feet carried him further. + +A fresh fire also blazed on the hearth of Gaston's sanctuary. + +All at once Billy's childhood rose supreme over his recently gained +moral viewpoint. Ever since he and the other St. Angé children had spied +upon Gaston as a stranger, Gaston's possessions had filled their souls +with curious wonder. + +Maggie was responsible for the story about a certain chest. + +"It's as big"--here Maggie had stretched truth to the snapping +point--"as this! And it's all thick with iron strips, and it has a lock +as big as my head. Once I saw him open it--I was in the next room--" + +"What was in it?" St. Angé youth whispered. + +"That's telling," Maggie had sniffed. + +But after all the earthly wealth that St. Angé greed then held in the +way of strings, old postage stamps, etc., had been laid at her feet, +Maggie revealed what she had _not_ seen. + +"There's hundreds of dollars of gold. Umph! And candy +and--and"--Maggie's imagination in those days had been awakened by +Gaston's fairy-lore--"and a box tied up with a blood-stained cord! And a +gun, and a knife, with queer spots on it, and things that made me turn +sick as I looked!" + +As Billy viewed the chest now--somewhat dwindled as to size--the old +story moved him. + +There was no low curiosity of a thieving kind in his feverish longing +to test the truth of that old story of Maggie's. Money had no lure for +him, candy he was surfeited with, but he'd chance much to get a glimpse +of the box tied with the blood-stained cord, and the knife with the +queer spots. + +Joyce had apparently gone on an errand. Billy stepped back into the +living room, then went to the wood-shed, and all around the house. + +Perhaps she had gone to the store by a back path--she had a love for +unfrequented places. + +Billy returned to the shack, laid the letter on the table of the outer +room, and tiptoed back to the lean-to. + +The particular kind of thrill he experienced then was delicious. Quite +different was it from the one that had driven him almost mad with fear +as he listened to Jude and Birkdale a time back. This was a thriller +that appealed to the familiar in him,--the impishness that died hard. + +He went across to the chest and leaned over it. The fire crackled--and +he leaped back! Then, loathing himself for his weakness, he knelt before +the treasure trove and tried the key in the lock. + +It turned easily, and the lid flew back; for the chest was filled to the +brim. Several small articles, like letters, pictures and books, fell +onto the floor; but Billy heeded them not. He was after bigger game. He +tossed the contents hurriedly out. Maggie had lied foully--not a blood +stain anywhere, nor knife, string, nor box! Not even a gun, nor candy +nor gold dollars. + +Billy's contempt for Maggie at that moment was too deep for expression. + +Disappointedly he began to replace the poor trash that Gaston evidently +prized--the last thing to put back was a photograph--and from sheer +disappointment Billy was about to vent his disgust by tearing this in +two, when the face riveted his attention. It was a face that once seen +could never be forgotten. Pale and sweet it looked up at him. It was +part of the clean, better life that he was trying to lead. It made him, +all in the flash of an eye, see what a mean, low scamp he was to-- + +The outer door of the shack opened and shut! Hurrying feet ran across +the floor of the living room, the lean-to door was flung back, and, all +palpitating and wide-eyed, Joyce confronted the boy. + +"You--Billy!" The glorious light died out of the big eyes, the pale, +expectant face set into lines of hopeless disappointment. "I thought--" +the mouth quivered pitifully, and Billy felt the added sting of +discovered shame. + +In a moment things steadied themselves, Joyce was mistress of the +situation. + +"What have you there?" she asked sharply. In the distraction she had not +noticed that the chest was open. + +"Her picture!" + +"Her! Who?" Joyce came over to Billy, and looked at the face he held at +arm's length. + +Something numbed every sense but sight. That sense must convey the image +of the girl-face to Joyce's brain, and implant it there so effectually +that it could never be forgotten. And that very morning Joyce had seen +its counterpart on the highway! + +"Who--is--that?" she demanded. + +"It's her up to the bungalow. They call her--Ruth. See! here it is writ +on the back--'Ruth'; her other name is Mis' Dale." + +The face was burned in now for all time; and the other faculties began +to throb into life. + +"Billy, where did you get that?" + +Then both boy and woman looked at the desecrated chest--and all was +told. + +Even while she was wildly pushing facts from her, Joyce saw, rising +before her, a completed structure of John Gaston's past. + +That exquisite girl was she who had held his love before--and she had +married the brother! Then Gaston's name was Dale. Oh! how vividly, +hideously clear it was. It seemed as if she had always known it. Even +the pictured face was as familiar now as Gaston's own. But Joyce's cold +lips were forming the words: + +"Billy you lie! You brought that over to show me. Tell me the truth." +She had him by the shoulder, and her fierce eyes frightened him. + +"I have told you the truth; so help me! There she is now; look!" + +Joyce turned as Billy pointed to the window. + +Outside, near the grave of _her_ baby, stood Constance Drew and the girl +whose picture Billy held limply in his hand. + +Constance Drew was talking, but the stranger's sweet face was turned +toward the house, and Joyce saw that her eyes were full of tears. + +"Billy"; Joyce clutched the thin shoulder; "put that back! Now lock the +chest, and listen. If you ever tell a living soul what you have +done--Mr. Gaston will--kill you!" + +Billy obeyed with dumb fear. + +"Now, go out of the shed door. Go--don't let them see you!" + +Billy was gone, forgetting even to mention the letter lying on the +living-room table. + +Then Joyce waited. Out in front, they two--Miss Drew and that +girl--seemed rooted to the spot near the baby's grave. + +Feeling had departed from Joyce--she simply waited. + +Finally they, outside, turned. They walked directly to the house, and +knocked. They knocked again. + +"It's etiquette to go in, if the house is empty." It was Constance +Drew's voice. "St. Angé and New York have different ideas. Leave things +as you find them, that's the only social commandment here." A hand was +on the latch. + +"Connie, I cannot! It does not seem decent." _That_ voice sank deep into +the listening heart behind the barrier. + +"Well, then, I'll write her a letter. I'm sorry I asked Jock Filmer to +take a verbal invitation. She might think--" + +"That's better, Connie, and while you and Ralph drive over to Hillcrest +this afternoon, I'll bring it here; perhaps she will be at home then." + +Joyce heard them turn. She watched them until the pine trees hid them; +then her heart beat feebly. + +Presently she went to the table, and there her eyes fell on the letter +Billy had brought. Quietly she took it up, opened it, and read it once, +twice, then the third time. + +Finally it dropped to her feet, and, with hands groping before her, +Joyce staggered to Gaston's deep chair and fell heavily into it. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Joyce did not faint, nor did she lose consciousness. A dull quiet +possessed her, and, had she tried to explain her state of mind, she +would have said she was thinking things out. + +In reality Destiny, or whatever we choose to call that power which +controls things that _must be_, had the woman completely in its grip. +Whatever she was to do would be done without any actual forethought or +preparation; she would realize that afterward as we all do when we have +passed through a crisis and have done better, perhaps, than our poor, +unassisted thought might have accomplished for us. + +Joyce was on the wheel, and the wheel was going at a tremendous speed. +There was no time for plotting or planning, with all the strength that +was in her, the girl was clinging, clinging to some unseen, central +truth, while she was being whirled through a still place crowded with +more or less distinguishable facts that she dared not close her eyes to. + +One cruel thing made her cringe in the deep chair. She was losing her +clear, sweet vision of that blessed night when Gaston and she had stood +transfigured! If only she could have held to that, all would have been +so simple--but with that fading glory gone she would be alone in a +barren, cheerless place to act not merely for herself, but for Gaston +also. + +She was no longer the beautiful woman in the golden dress; nor he the +man of the illumined face and pleading arms. No; she was old Jared's +wild little daughter; Jude Lauzoon's brutalized and dishonoured wife. +Nothing, nothing could do away with those awful facts. + +He, the man she loved--who thought in one wild hour that he loved +her--was not of her world nor of her kind. He had given, given, given to +her of his best and purest. God! how he had given. He had cast a glamour +over her crudeness by his power and goodness, but underneath +was--Jared's daughter and Jude's wife. + +If he took her courageously back to his world they, those others like, +yet unlike him, would see easily through the disguise, and would be +quick enough to make both him and her feel it. + +Without her, they would accept him. The past would be as if it had not +been; but if he brought her to them from his past, it would be like an +insult to them--an insult they would never forgive. And then--he would +have no life; no place. He would have to go on being kind and good to +her in a greater loneliness and desolation than St. Angé had ever known. + +She could not escape the responsibility of her part in his life. She +might keep on taking, taking, taking. On the other hand his old life had +come back to him, not even waiting for his choice. + +The woman who had misunderstood, had failed him in that hour of his +need, had been sent by an all-powerful Force into the heart of the +Northern Solitude to reclaim him, now that he had accomplished that +which he had set himself to do. + +Every barrier was removed. Even Death had been kind to that sweet, pale +girl--she was ready to perform the glorious act of returning Gaston's +own to him, if only she, Joyce, would let go her selfish, ignoble hold. + +Now, if she were as noble as Gaston had striven to make her, there was +but one thing to do. Go to that woman up at the bungalow, tell her all +that she did _not_ know. All about the heavy penalty weakness had paid +for the crime committed by another. Tell of the splendid expiation and +the hard-won victory, and then--let go her hold and, in Love's supreme +renunciation, prove her worthiness to what God withheld. + +The little living room of Gaston's shack was the battle-ground of +Joyce's soul-conflict that winter day. + +Pale and rigid, she crouched in the deep chair, her head buried on the +arm where so often his dear hand had lain. + +No; she could not! She would not! Then after a moment--"I must! or in +all the future I shall hate myself." Then she grew calmer, and +instinctively she began to plan about--going. She would leave both fires +ready to light--he might come now at any time. + +The letter Billy had brought had not for a moment deceived her. She +counted it now as but one of the links in the chain that was dragging +her away from Gaston. + +It was either Jude or her father who had sent the note. Well, it did not +matter, it was the best possible escape that could have been conceived. + +Then her plans ran on. She would pack her own pretty things--out of +sight! They must not confuse, or call for pity. There would be no note. +She, that woman at the bungalow would explain, and would tell him that +there could be no reconsideration, for she, Joyce, had gone to +her--husband! + +At that point Joyce sprang up, and her eyes blazed feverishly. + +No; she was going to do no such thing. She was going to wait just where +she was with folded hands and eager love. When Gaston came he should +decide things. She would not interfere with her future. She would hide +nothing; neither would she disclose anything. Why should she strangle +her own life, with the knowledge she had neither sought nor desired? + +The brilliant afternoon sun crept toward the west, and it shone into +the side window and through the screen of splendid fuchsias which +clambered from sill to top of casement. + +Gaston might come--now! Perhaps he had failed to locate Jude, and would +return to consider. Well, then, she could put him on Jude's trail. +Gaston, not she, should meet the "woodsman" in Lola Laval's deserted +house. + +In the sudden up-springing of this hope, Joyce quite forgot the face of +the woman at the bungalow. + +A freakish yearning to reproduce the one crowning moment of her life +possessed the girl. + +She would build a great fire upon the hearth, and make the room +beautiful. She would don--the yellow gown, and, if he came, he should +find her as he had left her. + +If he still loved her--and she saw it in his eyes--then nothing, nothing +should part them. + +She would go with him to Lola's house and together they would finish the +dreary search. She would beg him never to return to St. Angé. What did +the world matter, the people of the world? Nothing mattered but him and +her. + +So Joyce flew to the bidding of her mad fancy. She drew the shades and +flung on log after log. She swept and dusted the room. Put Gaston's +slippers and house-coat close to the warmth. She lighted the lamp to +keep up the delusion, then stole to her room and made ready. + +Again, as the garments of the daily task fell from her, Joyce felt the +sordidness and fearsomeness depart. + +The lovely hair lent itself to the pretty design, and the golden gown +transfigured the wearer. + +She felt sure Gaston was coming. The premonition grew and grew. He would +never leave her to bear the Christmas alone. He might return later to +search for Jude but, remembering her in the shack, he would come to her +for that one, holy day. + +He would surprise her. And she?--why, she would surprise him. + +How he would laugh and take her in his arms!--for it was all clear ahead +of them now. She would lead him to Jude! + +A knock at the outer door startled her. She was about to leave her +bedchamber complete and beautiful--but the summons stayed the little +satin-shod feet, and the colour left the quivering face. + +Perhaps Gaston had knocked to keep up the conceit of his home-coming +surprise! + +Tiptoeing across the living room, Joyce took her stand by the table and +called timidly, expectantly and awesomely: + +"Come." + +The latch lifted and some one pressed against the door, and then, in +walked Ruth Dale. + +She wore the heavy crimson cloak of Constance's, the fur-trimmed hood of +which encircled her face. + +Coming from the outer sunlight into the lamp-lighted room, Ruth Dale +stood for a moment, dazzled and confused. Then her grave, kindly eyes +were riveted upon the splendid, straight young form confronting her. + +Never in her life had Ruth Dale been so utterly confounded and taken +aback. For a full moment the two faced each other in solemn silence. It +was Joyce who spoke. + +"I heard you say you were coming. I was in when you and Miss Drew called +before, but I wasn't ready for company then. Won't you sit down?" + +Mrs. Dale sank into the nearest chair from sheer helplessness. + +"Please take off your cloak. The room is very warm." + +It was stifling, and Ruth Dale unfastened and let fall the heavy +fur-lined wrap. + +Joyce took Gaston's chair. The contact seemed to strengthen her. + +"Miss Drew--has--sent--this note." Ruth held it out helplessly. + +"Thank you. I know what is in it; but I cannot come. I am going away." +The proffered note fluttered to the floor. + +"Going away?" + +"Yes." The word was almost agonizing in its intensity. "Yes!" + +"Please--Mrs. Lauzoon," Ruth Dale stammered the name; "please may I +hear where you are going? My friends are so interested in you. I--I--am +sorry for you. We could not bear to have you lonely and sad here--on +Christmas--but if you are going away to be--happy, we will all be so +glad." + +"Please tell Mr. Drew," Joyce clutched the arms of the chair, and Ruth +Dale continued to stare helplessly at the exquisite beauty of this +mountain girl, "tell Mr. Drew--I am--going--to my husband." + +"Your husband!" + +"Yes; he will be so glad, Mr. Drew will. He has always been so--good. +Tell him, please--and I think he will understand--that he made it +possible for me--to do this--thing." + +The human agony contained in these words carried all before it. Ruth +Dale got up from her chair, and almost ran across the room to Joyce's +side. She leaned over her and a wave of pity seemed to bear the two +women along to a point where words--words from the heart--were possible. + +"I--I have heard your story, dear. Ralph Drew is such a kind +_gentleman_, and he--we, all of us--pity you from the bottom of our +hearts. Believe me, you are doing the right thing, hard and cruel as it +may seem now. When God sets you free--then alone can you really be free. +I think every good woman knows this. Man can only give freedom within +limitations. I know I am right. Have you heard from--your husband?" + +"Yes. He has sent for me." + +"Have you any message to leave? I will tell Mr. Drew anything you care +to entrust to me--he will deliver the message to--any one." + +"Please--sit down." Joyce motioned stiffly to a chair across the table. +"I have a great deal to say to you." + +Ruth obeyed with a dull foreboding in her heart. She felt constrained +and awkward. The unusual and expensive gown Joyce wore acted as an +irritant upon her, now that she considered it. It seemed so vulgar, so +theatrical for the girl to deck herself in this fashion; and the very +gown itself spoke volumes against any such lofty ideals as Ralph Drew +had depicted in the woman. Evidently Joyce was expecting Gaston back; +the statement as to her going to her husband was either false, or a +subterfuge. + +With Ruth Dale's discomfort, too, was mingled a fear that Gaston might +return and find her there. From Drew's description of Gaston she knew he +was a person above the ordinary St. Angé type, and might naturally, and +rightly, resent her visit. But Joyce, more mistress of the situation +than the other knew, was feeling her way through the densest thicket of +trouble that had ever surrounded her. Here was her chance, in +woman-fashion, to test that strange double code of honour about which +Gaston had spoken, and Drew had hinted. Here, woman to woman, she could +question and probe, and so have clearer vision. + +This woman visitor was from his world. She was kind and was, perhaps, +the best that existed down beyond the Southern Solitude. If she bore the +test, then Joyce would relinquish her rights absolutely--but only after +that woman knew why she did so. + +"I--I suppose you think I have been a very bad woman?" Joyce turned sad, +yet childlike eyes upon her companion. + +"I think you have acted unwisely." Ruth Dale crimsoned under the steady +glance. "You see, Mr. Drew has always had a deep interest in you. His +sister and I heard about you long before we came up here. He says you +had grave provocation. What you have done was done--in ignorance. It +would only be sin--after you knew the difference." + +"I see. But what--what would you think about Mr. Gaston?" + +The colour died from Ruth's face, only to return more vivid. + +"I think he has treated you--shamefully. He knew how such things are +viewed. He took advantage of your weakness and innocence. I hate to say +this to you--but I have no two opinions about such things. I think this +Mr. Gaston must be a very wicked man." + +A sudden resolve had sprung up in Ruth's mind. If she could rescue this +poor, ignorant girl from the toils of the man who had misled her, she +would befriend her. She might even save her from the depraved husband +who was now her only apparent safety. The girl was lovely beyond +expression. It would be a splendid thing to do. + +With this in sight, her interference took on an appearance of dignified +philanthropy. + +"Will you let me help you?" she asked wistfully; "be your friend? I have +money; I would love to do what I can. I have deep sympathy with you +and--I am very lonely and sad myself. I have recently lost my husband--I +have no one." + +Joyce continued to hold her visitor with that solemn, intense glance. + +"You loved your--husband--very much?" Ruth winced. She could hardly +resent the curiosity, but she stiffened. + +"Of course. But if I had not, I should have been--lonely and sad. It is +a relationship that cannot be dissolved either by death or in any way +without causing pain and a deep sense of loss." + +"Oh, yes, it can." Joyce spoke rapidly. "The loss may mean--life to you. +It may take fear away and a hideous loathing. It may let you be +yourself, the self that can breathe and learn to love goodness." + +This outburst surprised and confused Ruth Dale. The expression of face, +voice and language swept away the sense of unreality and detachment. +Here was a vital trouble. A tangible human call. It might be that she, +instead of Ralph Drew or Constance, or any other person, might touch and +rescue this girl who was finding herself among the ruins of her life. + +Ruth Dale was no common egotist, but her charm and magnetism had often +taken her close to others' needs, and she was eager, always, to answer +any demand made upon her. + +"Joyce," she said softly, "please let me call you that. You see, by that +name I have always heard you called, and Constance Drew and I felt we +knew you before we saw you. I believe you have suffered horribly. All +women suffer in an unhappy marriage--but you suffered doubly because you +have always been capable of better things, perhaps, than you have ever +had. You do not mind my speaking very plainly?" + +"No. I want you to." + +"But you cannot find happiness--I know I am right about this--by taking +from life what does not really belong to you. Do you see what I mean?" + +"No, but go on; I may see soon." The quiet face opposite made Ruth Dale +more and more uncomfortable. She had, for a moment, forgotten the +possibility of Gaston's return; the yellow gown was losing its +irritating power; she truly had a great and consuming desire to be of +service to this woman who was following her words with feverish +intensity, but she was ill at ease as she proceeded. + +"If we have bungled our lives, made grave mistakes, it's better to abide +by them courageously than defy--well, the accepted laws. + +"Perhaps you ought not go back to your husband; I would not dare decide +that; Ralph Drew would know, but this I know, you should not stay here. +I will befriend you, Joyce, in whatever other course you choose. Please +let me help you; it would help me." + +She stretched her pretty, pleading hands across the table, and her eyes +were full of tears. She felt old, and worldly-wise beside this mountain +girl, and she was adrift on the alluring sea of personal service. + +Joyce took no heed of the waiting hands, the inspired face held her. + +"Don't you see, Joyce, even if this is love that controls you, you would +not want it to be selfish?" + +"No. Oh! No." + +"What do you know of this man Gaston, really? Mr. Drew says he is quite +different from the people hereabout. You do not even know the true man, +his name, nor antecedents. The time may come when he will return to his +former life, whatever it was; can you not see how you would--interfere +with such a plan? If he left you--what would he leave you to? And if he +were one of a thousand and took you with him--what then? In either case +it would mean your unhappiness and his--shame." + +Joyce winced, and Ruth Dale saw the hands clutch the arms of the chair. +She felt that she was making an impression, and her ardour grew. + +"I do not know Gaston," she went on, "but I do know the world; and for +women placed as you are, Joyce, there is no alternative. Your very love +should urge you to accept the situation, hard as it may seem." + +"It does." For a moment the lovely head drooped and the white lids +quivered over the pain-filled eyes. + +"No matter how--good a man--this Mr. Gaston has been to you--he knew the +price you would have to pay some day. He has been either wilfully +weak--or worse. A man takes a mean advantage of a woman in all such +matters. It is not a question of right or wrong altogether--it isn't +fair. + +"I have burned over such things ever since I was a girl--I am ready now +to prove to you my desire to help you. Will you let me, Joyce?" + +"You are very, very good. I can see you are better and kinder than any +other woman I ever knew. I believe all that you say is true. If I did +not think that, I could not do what I am going to do." + +Joyce spoke very quietly, very simply. She was not even confused when +she poured out the deepest secrets of her heart. She was worn and spent; +loneliness, conflict and soul-torture had torn down all her defenses. + +"You are right in all that you have said--but you don't know all!" The +flame rose in the pallid face; "but if you did, the truth of what you +have said would be all the deeper. + +"My love has been a selfish one because I never thought it lay in my +power to do anything for--him. I see there is something now that I can +do--and I mean to do it so thoroughly that even his goodness cannot +prevent. He is so very, very good; oh! if you could only know him as I +know him! + +"I am--going to my husband, then--that will finish it! But I must tell +you something--first." + +Joyce caught her breath, and she sat up straight and rigid. + +"I suppose in your life you could not believe that a man like Mr. Gaston +could be just good to me--and nothing else?" + +Woman looked at woman. The world's woman noted the beauty and tender +grace of the unworldly woman, and her eyes fell. + +"It would be difficult to believe that. I have heard of such cases--I +never knew one--and for that very reason of unbelief, it does not +greatly matter--the outcome would be the same--for the woman and the +man." + +"Yes; but they would know, and God would know; might that not be +enough?" + +"No. Believe me--it would not be enough." + +"Do you believe me when I tell you that, in this case, it is true?" + +Again the two held each other in a long challenge. Then: + +"Joyce, as God hears me, I _do_ believe you. Now I am more eager than +ever to be your friend." + +"You--cannot be mine--but you must be his!" + +"His?" Ruth started back. + +"Yes. I do know--something of his life. He belonged--to your world. He +had a great, a terrible trouble--but through it all he saw the stars, +not the mud, and he came out of it--a strong, tender, brave man." + +A dull sob shook the low, sweet voice. + +"All the shameful sorrow served as a purpose to make him noble--and +splendid; but his soul was sad and hurt. He never blamed any one, though +there were others who should have suffered more than he. He just gave +himself up to the chance of gaining good out of all the evil. Then he +came here--to rest. But he could not help being kind and helpful. He +found--me. He taught me, he gave me hope and showed me--how to live. Oh! +you can never understand. You have always had life--I never had it +until he took the blindness from me. + +"He tried to do the best for me--he wanted me to marry Jude Lauzoon. He +tried to make Jude good, too--but that was more than even _he_ could +accomplish. Then I'm--afraid I cannot tell you--this it might--soil your +soul." + +"Go on." Ruth spoke hoarsely. She was spellbound and a deathly coldness +crept over her. + +"Well, Jude dragged all of me down, down, down--all of me but the part +that--Mr. Gaston had made. That part clung to him as if he were its +God." + +"I see, I see. Go on!" + +"It was all low--and evil, that life with Jude, except the poor baby. +That had a soul, too, but the dreadful body could not hold it. It had to +go--and oh! I am so glad. + +"Then, in all the world, there was nowhere for me to go but--here. I +did not mean to fling myself upon him. I came to save him. There was +money Jude had--oh! it doesn't matter, but anyway, things happened, and +I was left--on Mr. Gaston's mercy. + +"I had only one idea of men--then. You see Jude had almost made a beast +of me, too." The great eyes shone until they burned into Ruth Dale's +brain. + +"But Mr. Gaston rose high and far above my low fear and thought. How I +hated myself then for daring to judge him by--Jude. No, he made a clean, +holy place for me to live in. He saw no other way to help me--perhaps he +did not look far enough in the future, it did not matter--but he never +came down from his high place except to make me better by his heavenly +goodness. + +"After a while it grew easy--after I comprehended his thought for +me--and we were very happy--just as we might have been had we been +brother and sister. I grew to think his own kind would know and +understand how impossible it would be for him to be other than what he +was; and for what the lower people thought I had no care. I was--just +happy! + +"But something happened. Perhaps being near such goodness made me a +little better; and a great happiness and lack of fear helped--I think I +got nearer to his high place. He loved to give me pretty things. He gave +me this"--the fumbling fingers touched the yellow gown; "and I suppose I +looked--different, and then he saw that I had--changed and--and +he--loved me! I know he loved me; women can tell. I could not be wrong +about that. You see I had always loved him--and had once hungered +so for his love that when it came I could not be deceived. +It--was--that--last--night he told me--about--the past! Then he went +away to find Jude--to get Jude to set me free--and we were--going +to--be--" the words trailed into a faint moan. "But I see, I see! Even +if it had come out right--I'd always be, for all his goodness, old Jared +Birkdale's daughter, and Jude Lauzoon's wife. That, he would have to +bear and suffer for me--and his world would never forgive him--nor me! + +"No; I do love him too well for that. I give him back to his place, and +you." + +"To me?" And Ruth Dale, haggard and trembling, came slowly around the +table, clinging to it for support. When she reached Joyce, she put out +cold, groping hands and clutched her by the shoulders. + +"You--give him back to me--why? Who is he?" + +"John Gaston is--John Dale. It has all come to me so suddenly, I cannot +explain, but there is no mistake. I am going to Jude Lauzoon, so that +neither you nor he can keep me--from what alone is mine; but be--good to +him--or God will never forgive you! Please go now. I must hurry. +Good-bye." + +"Joyce!" Ruth Dale was crouching at her feet. + +"I am--so tired." A long sigh broke from Joyce's lips. "Please do not +make it harder. It _must_ be; and I have much to do." + +"But--there may be some mistake." A horrible fear shook Ruth Dale. Joyce +rose and confronted the woman who knelt on the floor. + +"Do you believe there is?" she flung the question madly. "Do you?" There +was no faltering, only a stern command. + +"No," shuddered Ruth Dale. + +"Then please, go. My part is all--over! But--be--oh! be heavenly good to +him." + +Blinded and staggering under the blow, Ruth Dale got to her feet and +went from the house. The outer cold steadied her somewhat, but when, a +half-hour later, she entered Ralph Drew's study, the man by the fire +gazed upon her as if she were a stranger. + +"What has happened?" he asked affrightedly, springing to her side. + +She let him take her icy hands in his. "I've found--John!" she gasped +hoarsely. + +"John--who? Sit down, Ruth. You have had a terrible fright." He put her +firmly, but gently in his own arm-chair. "Tell me all about it," he +urged quietly. + +"John Dale. Philip's brother." + +"In heaven's name, where!" + +"Up at Gaston's shack. Gaston--is--John Dale." + +Ralph drew back and repeated dully: + +"Gaston--is John Dale? Gaston--is John Dale?" Presently the wonder +became affirmation. "Yes," he almost groaned, "Gaston is--John Dale." + +A lurking familiarity of feature gained power in Drew's memory of +Gaston. It linked itself into other details. He had always known Gaston +had a hidden cause for being in St. Angé. Yes; he _was_ John Dale. + +For Drew to become convinced was for him to act upon the impulse of his +warm heart. + +"Ruth, dear," he whispered, "make yourself comfortable. I will go to +him." + +Then Ruth raised her hands to hold him back. Her voice was deep and +awed. + +"No!" she commanded "neither you nor I, Ralph, is fit to enter--there. A +miracle has been performed up among the pines. A man and woman have been +created--that we are not worthy to--touch!" + +"Ruth what madness is this? What has occurred? You must explain to me +clearly." + +Then the story rushed out in a flood. Tears checked it at times; a +hysterical laugh now and again threatened; but Drew controlled the +excitement by word and touch. + +"And now," Ruth was panting and exhausted; "she, that--wonderful woman, +has given him back--to me. Can't you see? She loves the soul of him--the +great, strong man of him--but I--why even _now_, I cannot forget the +evil thing--that befell--the _body_ of him while he was--in--" + +"Ruth! You shall not so degrade yourself." + +"Yes! Yes! it is quite true. That is what I meant. I am not fit to +touch--her nor him, and yet I shall shudder all my life--when I +remember." + +Drew saw that reason was tottering in Ruth. + +"He may--not--wish--to claim you, dear," he comforted. + +"But he must; he must! Now that she is going to her own; there is +nothing left for me to do--but to go to mine." + +"This can go no further, Ruth." Drew rose hastily. "I am going to send +Aunt Sally to you, and I must think things out. Calm yourself, dear. In +all such times as these, a greater power than is in us, controls and +gives strength. Let go--Ruth! Let the Power that is, take you in its +keeping." + +He touched her cold face with reassuring sympathy, and then went to find +Miss Sally. + +His next impulse was to rush to Gaston's shack; his second thought +restrained him. If Gaston had returned, he would rightfully resent any +outside interference with this crucial time of his life. If Joyce were +decided in the course she had laid out for herself--how dared he, how +could he, divert her from it without involving them all in a deeper +perplexity? + +So Drew resigned _himself_ to the Power that is. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +It was Billy Falstar who broke upon Joyce's solitude after Ruth Dale had +left her. + +Worn beyond the point where conscious suffering held strong part, Joyce +was completing her final arrangements mechanically and laboriously when +Billy presented himself. + +"Say, Joyce," the boy faltered, standing in the doorway and kicking his +heels together, "I'm blamed sorry I done that sneak job." + +"It doesn't matter much, Billy. But now that you are here, will you help +me pack food and things? I'm going--away." + +Then Billy recalled the letter, and fear rose sharply to the fore. + +"You ain't going to go--no such thing!" he cried, coming in and slamming +the door behind him. "That's a--that's a fake letter." + +"Yes, I know. It doesn't make any difference. But tell me, Billy, is it +father or Jude down at the Laval place?" + +Billy was stricken with surprise. + +"How d' yer know?" he gasped. + +"Oh! it was all so foolish!" she answered smiling feebly. "If he--if Mr. +Gaston had sent it, don't you see that there would have been no need of +this mystery? But is it Jude or father, Billy?" + +"It's old Birkdale," Billy burst out, and then between fear and relief +he related what had happened in the hut in the woods. + +"Then it's a longer way I must go." Joyce sighed wearily. "Do you think +I could get there--walking, Billy?" + +The boy eyed her as if she had gone crazy. + +"'Course not. But what you want to go for, anyway?" + +Joyce came close to him. He seemed the only human thing left for her to +cling to, the only one to call upon in her sore need. + +"Billy, I'm going to Jude because--he's mine, and I belong to him--and +it never pays in this world to take what doesn't belong to you." + +"But--Gaston--you belong to him--and I want--you--to have him!" Billy +felt a mad inclination to cry, but struggled against it. + +"No, I never belonged to him, Billy. Believe that all your life--it will +make a better man of you. He was heavenly good to me because he was +sorry for me--and wanted to see me happy. But happiness doesn't +come--that way. Sometimes it seems as if it did--sometimes it seems as +if God meant it so--perhaps He did--but the people out--in the +world--the people that should have known how--the people who had time +and money and learning, they've muddled things so--that we can't even +see what God meant for right or wrong. + +"Why, Billy, they punish the wrong people, and then when they find +out--they do not know the way to set it straight; but it doesn't matter, +Billy, we have to go on, on, on, the best we can!" + +Joyce put her arms around the boy, and bent her head on his thin, +shaking shoulder. + +She no longer wore the yellow gown. She was plain, commonplace Joyce, +familiar to Billy's unregenerated youth. + +But Billy did not fail her. Awkwardly, but with wonderful understanding, +he put his arms around her, and whispered: + +"I just wisht, Joyce, I was God for a minute--and it would all be right +or I'd be----" + +"Billy!" + +"I'd be gol-swizzled," Billy tamely ended. + +He could not master details. He only knew something had happened. Joyce +was going to leave Gaston and go to Jude, and he, Billy, must make the +way easy, and stand by her as a gentleman should. He patted her arm +reassuringly as he thought it out. + +"It's 'most night," he said; "I'll hitch up old Tate's mare to the sled. +He won't know! It's going to be a big night down to the Black Cat. I'll +drive you over to Jude--and wait for yer, if yer say so. If yer don't, +then I'll cut back--and I don't care after that." + +"Billy!" + +"When will you be ready?" + +Joyce glanced at the clock. + +"It's after six now. I'll be ready when you get back, Billy!" + +A moment later Billy had set forth in the black coldness. + +It was eight o'clock that evening when the revellers at the Black Cat +heard a crunching of the snow as a sled rapidly passed the tavern. + +Leon Tate was mixing drinks, with a practised and obliging hand, when +the unaccustomed sound struck his ear; he paused, but when the +unappreciative driver passed, he lost interest. + +"Thought some one was coming?" Tom Smith suggested. + +"No; going," Murphy, the engineer, slowly answered. + +"Where to, do you suppose?" asked Smith. Any new topic of conversation +early in the evening was welcome. + +"Like as not," Tate came forward with his brew, "like as not it's them +folks up to the bungerler. I heard Mr. Drew had a cutter an' horse over +from Hillcrest; and going out nights skylarking seems part of his +religion." + +"Religion!" sniffed Smith; "they're a rum lot, all right!" + +"I wish they was!" Tate put in gloomily, but grinned as the others +laughed. + +"It's a durned shame to take an animile out nights for fun," Murphy +interrupted; "I'd hate to run even the injine 'less 'twas important. +Gosh! Tate, you must have let your hand slip when you mixed this." + +"Christmas comes but once a year." Tate beamed radiantly. It was good to +see that his Black Cat still had charms to compete successfully with the +bungalow. + +"That piece up to the minister's," Smith glowed inwardly and outwardly, +"is the nervy one, all right," he remarked. + +"Which one?" asked Tate; "the fixture or the transient?" + +"The steady. I was setting here musing late this afternoon, when in she +come over there," Tom indicated the woman's side of the screen; "and +first thing I knowed if she wasn't standing on a cracker-box on her +side, and a-looking _over_ the screen." + +"Well, I'll be--" Tate stood straighter. + +"'Smith,' says the young woman, 'what does Mr. Tate have screens for?' +Then, with her blamed, sassy little nose all crinkled up; 'my! how it +does smell. I should think if Mr. Tate had _anything_, he'd have an +air-tight and smell-proof partition.'" + +A roar greeted this. + +"Like as not." Tate was crimson, "the sentiments you're rehashing ain't +got constitootion enough, Smith, to stand much more airing. Something's +got to be done in this here place to set matters on a proper footing. +You let a woman come nosing around where she don't belong, specially one +with a loose-jointed tongue, and there's hell to pay. Our women is +getting heady. You men will learn too late, maybe, that you'd better put +the screw on while there's something to hold to." + +"It's sapping the juice, some." Murphy was beginning to relax. "But, +Lord! have you seen the duds for the kids, and the costumes for the +women? Mis' Falster had me in to show off hers. Every woman's to have a +new frock for the jamboree Christmas night; not to mention the trappings +for the kids. The old lady up to the bungerler give 'em." + +Tate scowled. + +Just then the door opened and Jock Filmer entered. He looked spent and +haggard; and his handsome, careless face did not wear its usual happy +smile. + +"Hello!" he said, slamming the door after him, and walking up to the +stove. "I thought I saw your Brown Betty kiting over toward the north, +Tate. I was afraid something had happened." + +"No; Brown Betty's safe in the barn." Tate's gloom passed as he greeted +Jock. "The Reverend's got a new horse. What'll you have, Filmer?" + +"Plain soda," Jock replied and walked up to the bar. + +Tate almost reeled under the blow. + +"Plain--thunder!" he gasped, thinking Jock was joking. But Filmer fixed +him with a mirthless stare. + +"Plain soda, and no monkeying with it." + +The air became electrical. + +"Been away?" Murphy tried to break the spell. + +"Over to Hillcrest--on business." Jock was gulping down the soda. His +throat was dry and burning; and the unaccustomed beverage went against +all his desire. "I'm off--to-morrow--for a spell. Won't you join me in a +drink, boys?" + +The invitation was accepted with alacrity, and Smith asked cordially: + +"Where are you bound to, Filmer?" + +"Got a job?" Tate gave each man his choice of drinks and looked +dubiously at the treater. + +"What'll you have now, Filmer?" he asked, "maybe plain water?" + +Jock's eyes grew glassy. + +"No," he muttered; "make it another soda, Tate. Yes; I've got a job. +Such a thundering big one that it's going to take about all the nerve +I've got lying around loose." + +"Bossing--maybe?" Tate cast a keen glance upon Filmer. Jock returned the +look. The gleam had departed from his eyes--he was Tate's master now. + +"That's about the size of it," he answered. "Bossing, and it's going to +be a go, or you'll never see me again. Here's to you!" + +Something of the old dash returned as Jock held his soda aloft. + +"Anything happened up to Camp 7?" Tate was uneasy. + +"Lord! It's further back than 7." Filmer set his glass down. "It's a new +cut--started late, but it's worth trying. So long!" + +The others stared after him. + +When the door had closed upon the tall, swinging figure, the company +turned upon themselves. + +"Things are going to--" Tate did not designate the locality. After all, +it was needless for him to go into particulars. + +An hour later Jock, sitting in his own shack before the warm fire, eyed +with satisfaction the preparations for his journey. They consisted of +certain comforts in the way of sleeping-bag, provisions, gun and a bag +of necessary clothing; and a general mass of débris, in the form of +smashed bottles and jugs. A vile smell of liquor filled the room, and +there were little streams of fluid running down any available slope +leading away from the rubbish. Jock, sitting before the fire, his long +legs stretched out and his hands clasped behind his head, eyed these +rivulets in a dazed, helpless way, while the foul odour made him half +mad with longing. His face was terrible to see, and his form was rigid. + +A knock on the outer door made no impression upon him, but a second, +louder, more insistent one brought a, "Why in thunder don't you come in, +and stop your infernal racket?" from his overwrought nerves. + +Drew entered. His fur coat had snow flakes on it. A coming storm had +sent its messengers. + +For a moment Filmer looked at his visitor with unseeing eyes, then his +consciousness travelled back from its far place, and a soft welcome +spread over the drawn face. So glad was he to see Drew that he forgot to +be patronizing. He was weakly overjoyed. + +Drew, with a keen, comprehensive glance, took in the scene and something +of what it meant. He smiled kindly, and pulled a chair up before the +hearth. + +"Been away Filmer, or going?" he asked as he sat down and flung off his +coat and fur hat. + +"Both," Filmer returned, and although his voice was hard and strained, +Drew detected a welcome to him in the tone. + +"I wanted you up at the bungalow," he said quietly; "the girls cannot +get along without you. It's Christmas Eve," he added quietly, +"to-morrow's the big day, you know." + +"I shan't be here." The words came harshly. "See here, Drew," Jock flung +himself about and leaned toward his guest, his long, thin hands clasped +closely and outstretched. "I wanted you to-night more than any one, but +God, could know. I couldn't come to you--but you've come to me at the +right moment." + +"I'm glad of that, Filmer." + +"I'm not much of a hand for holding back what I want to give out," Jock +rushed on, "and I ain't much of an orator. What I'm going to tell you, +Drew, has been corked up for over ten years--it's ripe for opening--will +you share it?" + +"Can you ask that, Filmer?" The two men looked steadily at each other. + +"Did you ever hear of Jasper Filmer on the Pacific Coast?" Jock asked +suddenly. + +"Yes; he died a week ago. The papers were full of it. We noticed the +name--" Drew bent forward--"and wondered." + +"I'm his son. There ain't much to tell. It's a common enough yarn. The +world's full of the like. It's only when you tackle the separate ones +that they seem to differ. The old man--made himself. That kind is either +hard as nails or soft as mush. My governor had the iron in his. He +banked everything on--me--and I wasn't up to the expectation. I was +made out of the odds and ends that were left out of his +constitution--and we didn't get on. My mother--" Jock pulled himself +together; "she was the sort those self-made men generally hanker after, +all lady, and pretty and dainty. You know the kind?" + +Drew nodded. His face was ashen. + +"I wish you could have seen her, Drew, I've seen a good many, but none, +no, not _one_, who ever came up to her for softness, and fetching ways. +Lord! how I loved her. The old man might have known that if I could have +gone straight I'd have done it for--mother. She never lost faith in me. +Every time I went wrong--she just stopped singing for a time." Filmer +gulped. "Then when I pulled myself together, after a while she'd begin +again, singing as she went about, and smiling and laughing a laugh that +keeps ringing, even now. + +"At last the governor got tired of the lapses. I don't blame him; just +remember that. He thought if I went off and nibbled--what is it--husks? +that I'd come around. He didn't understand that it was the _motive +power_ that was lacking in me. + +"Good God, Drew! I've been hungry and cold and homesick until I've +thought death was the next step; but I couldn't _stick_ to anything long +enough to make good. Such men as my father never know what +hell-suffering men like me go through--before they fall, and fall, and +fall! + +"I wrote--lies, home. I wanted to keep mother singing and laughing. I +was always doing fine, you know. Coming home in a year or so. I was in +Chicago, then New York; but I was getting lower all the time. I put up +in those haunted houses--the lodging dives, but I kept those letters +going to her, always cheerful. + +"Then I made another struggle. I cut for the woods. I got to +Hillcrest--when word came--that she had--died!" A dumb suffering stopped +the words. Drew laid his hot hand over Filmer's, which were clenched, +until the finger-tips were white. + +"It was the hope--of making myself fit to go home and hear her sing and +laugh that had brought me to Hillcrest. Well, I wrote the old man--that +I was going further north. You see, he blamed me. Said the longing for +me, the disappointment and the rest, had weakened her heart. I couldn't +bear the thought of ever going back--then; so I tramped over the hill +and--St. Angé adopted me. It's been a tame plot since then, but it's +never been as bad as it was before. I dropped into their speech and +ways, and things sank to a dead level. I got word from Hillcrest the +other day." Filmer looked blankly into the red embers. "The governor has +left--it all to me with this saving clause: if I have any honour I am +not to take the money until I can use it as my parents would desire. You +see, the old man had what I never suspected--a soft place in his heart +for me, and a glimmer of hope. It might not have made any +difference--but I wish to God I had known it before." + +Drew could not stand the misery of the convulsed face. He turned his +eyes away. + +"Drew!" Filmer had risen suddenly and now confronted his companion with +deep, flashing eyes. "Drew, I'm not going to take the fortune +unless--I'm fit to handle it. I've been a tramp long enough to know that +I can keep on being a tramp, but I'm going to make one more almighty try +before I succumb. I may be all wrong, but lately I've thought the--the +motive power has--come to me." A strange, uplifting dignity seemed to +fall upon Filmer. Drew tried to speak; to say the right thing, but he +merely smiled feebly and rose unsteadily to his feet. + +"I wouldn't blame you if you--cut me after this, Drew, but it's got to +be said. It's--your--sister." + +"My--sister? Connie?" Drew was never so surprised and astounded in his +life before. + +"Connie?" he gasped again. "Connie?" + +"If--if--I was what I might be? If I come into my own, Drew, do you +think she--could care--for me?" + +"How under heaven can I tell?" Drew said slowly; "she has never--how +could she? shown--" he paused. + +"How indeed, could she?" Filmer laughed a hard, bitter laugh. + +"It would be a poor sort of reformation, Jock--" Drew was getting +command of himself--"if it were only to get--her! You've got to get +yourself, old man, before you'd dare ask any woman to care for you. I +often think the best of us ask a good deal--on trust; but at least a man +must know himself before he has a right to expect even--faith." + +"Oh! I've worked all that out, Drew, I've been to Hillcrest to talk the +beginnings over with a little lawyer fellow who's had my confidence all +along. I'm going back where I fell, Drew, in the start. I'm going back +there where the loss of her--the mother's laugh and song--will grip the +hardest and where the antidote will be the easiest to get. I'm going to +take only enough of the governor's money to keep me out of the filth of +the gutter until I can climb on to the curb or--go to the sewer, see? +But always there is going to be your sister above me. Just remember +that--and if you can help her to think of me, once in--a while--" + +"Filmer, until you climb up, you must not ask me to hold even one +thought of my sister's for you; except--" and here Drew looked frankly +in the anxious face--"except as the good fellow of--our Solitude." + +"Thank you! That's all I meant. And if I pull up--and stay up--she, not +I, will know how to use the money. She's got the heart that can reach +down to the suffering, and hold little dying kids on her breast. If I go +under, Drew, the money is going to her--anyway." + +"Filmer!" + +"That's all right, Drew. I know what I'm about. She'll brighten up all +the dark places--and remember me in that way if in no other." + +Long the two men looked at each other; then Drew extended his hand. Jock +took it in a firm grip. + +"Good night, Filmer, and God be with you!" + +"I'm ready to start, I'll tramp back with you as far as the bungalow." + +Jock dashed the crumbling, glowing logs with his foot, and left the fire +dying, but safe. Then, gathering his travelling things together, he went +out with Drew, closing the door behind him. + +It was a snowy night now, white and dry. In silence the two trudged on +to the bungalow, then Drew said, "and you won't come in, Filmer, just +for a word?" + +"Thanks; no." + +"Where are you going now?" + +"To Hillcrest. I start from there to-morrow morning, after another talk +with the little fellow I mentioned. I'm going to keep to the woods for a +few days--they always brace me--then I'm going to make a break--for the +coast." + +"You'll--write--to--me--Jock?" + +For a moment Filmer hesitated; then he said eagerly: + +"Yes; as long as I'm fighting, I'll keep in touch. If I get down--you'll +know by my--not writing. And Drew, I want to tell you something. That +religion of yours is all right. It was the first kind that ever got into +my system and--stayed there. It's got iron, red-hot iron in it, but it's +got a homelike kind of friendliness about it that gives you heart to +hope in this life, and let the next life take care of itself." + +"Thank you, Filmer. That's going to make me--fight." + +Another quick, strong handclasp--and then Drew turned toward the glowing +windows of his home. + +Filmer stood with uncovered head in the driving storm, and looked, with +a great, hungry craving, up to the house that held the motive-power of +his new life, and then, with a dull pain he grimly set his face +toward--the coast. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Drew waited until after Christmas before he took a decided part in the +affairs of Gaston and Joyce. Indeed he purposely avoided any information +regarding what was going on at the shack among the pines. He was +determined that St. Angé's first, true Christmas should be, as far as he +could make it, a perfect one; and it was one never to be forgotten. It +set a high standard; one from which the place was never again to fall +far below. + +The snowstorm raged furiously for hours, and then the weather cleared +suddenly and gloriously. + +Blue was the sky, and white the world. A stillness held all Nature, and +the intense cold was so disguised that even the wisest native was +misled. + +Early on Christmas morning, right after the jolly family breakfast, Drew +called to Constance as she passed his study door: + +"Connie, we cannot have Filmer with us, after all. He's gone away." + +The girl stopped suddenly. Her arms were full of gifts, and her bright +face grew still. + +"Where has he gone?" The question was put calmly, but with effort. + +"It's quite a yarn, Con; can you come in?" + +"I can hear from here, Ralph; go on." + +"You know that rich old fellow on the Pacific Coast who has just died, +Jasper Filmer, the mining magnate?" + +"Yes." + +"He's was Jock's--father." + +Drew heard a package drop from his sister's arms. She stooped and picked +it up. From his chair Drew saw that her face never changed expression. + +"So then, Filmer did not take the trouble to change even his name?" + +The voice was completely under control now. + +"No. I imagine this was no case of the town-crier being sent out. When +the prodigal got ready to return, under prescribed conditions--the calf +was there." + +"I see. And has he--has Jock accepted the--conditions?" + +"He's gone to make--a big fight, Con. He will not take the fortune +unless he wins. Filmer's got some of the old man in him, I bet." + +"Yes. Is--is his mother living? Has he any one to go to--out there?" + +"No one, Con. From what he told me, I gathered that it was to be a fight +with the odds--against him." + +There was a long pause. A package again dropped to the floor. The girl +outside stooped to gather it up; dropped two or three more, then +straightened herself with an impatient exclamation. + +"He'll win out!" The words sounded like a rally call. With that the girl +fled down the hall, trilling the merriest sort of a Christmas tune. + +At three o'clock St. Angé turned out in force, and set its face toward +the bungalow. + +Leon Tate had decided that to put a cheerful front to the foe was the +wiser thing to do, so he closed the Black Cat and arrayed his oily +person in his best raiment, kept heretofore for the Government Inspector +and Hillcrest potentates, and drove his wife himself up to Drew's fête. + +"Do you know," he said, as they started, "Brown Betty looks as played +out as if she had been druv instead of loafing in the stable." + +"She do look beat," Isa agreed. "What's that in the bottom of the sled, +Tate?" she suddenly asked. + +Tate picked it up. + +"Now what do you think of that?" he grunted, and held the object out at +arm's length. + +It was a baby's tiny sock; unworn, unsoiled. The little twisted foot +that had found shelter in it for so brief a time had not been a restless +foot. + +"Give that to me," Isa said hoarsely, and tears stood in her grim eyes. + +"What the--what does that--mean?" + +"How should I know, Tate? But it set me thinking. Things often let loose +ideas, you know. This being Christmas--and the stable and the manger +and--and--the baby. It all fits in." + +Tate looked at his wife in an almost frightened way. + +"You mean"--he tried awkwardly to follow her confused words; "you +mean--a baby has been borned in--our manger?" + +"Lord! Tate what are you thinking of? St. Angé may be wilder than +Bethlehem in some ways, but there ain't never been no baby borned in +_my_ manger." + +"Then what in thunder do you mean?" + +"Nothing, Tate"; and now the tears were actually falling from Isa's +eyes. + +"I guess"--she strangled over her emotions--"I guess--it's more like--a +flight inter Egypt--than--than--a birthday party." + +"Get up, Bet!" Tate was routed by the event. Finally he said slowly, +"See here, old woman, I'm going to look inter that--baby boot, and don't +you forget it. This ain't no time and place maybe, but Tate's going to +have his senses onter any job that takes his possessions for granted. +Give me--that flannel boot." + +"Tate--I can't." + +"Can't, hey?" + +"Well then"--and the declaration of independence rang out--"I won't!" + +"What!" Brown Betty leaped under the lash. + +"It don't belong to me." + +"Do you know who owns it?" + +"I can--guess." + +"Guess then, by thunder!" + +"It--belonged--to--Joyce's poor little dead young-un." + +"How in"--then Tate blanched, for superstition held his dull wits. "How +you 'spose it got there?" + +"How can I tell, Tate? But I'll ask Joyce, to-morrer." + +With that Leon had to be content. + +The feast began at five. Long, long did the youth of St. Angé recall it +with fulness of heart and stomach. Yearningly did St. Angé womankind +hark back to it. It was the first time in their lives that they had not +prepared, and were not expected themselves to serve, a meal. They +forgot, in the rapture of repose, their new and splendid gowns--the +comfort wrapped their every sense. + +"I was borned," poor Peggy confided to her neighbour, "to be a +constitootional setter, I think; but circumstances prevented. It's +curious enough how naterally I take the chance to set and set and enjoy +setting." + +Mrs. Murphy smoothed her dark-green cashmere with reverent and caressing +hand. + +"There's more than you, Mis' Falster," she said, "as is borned to what +they don't get, sure! Now me, fur instant, I find it easier nor what you +might think, to chew without my front teeth." + +This made Billy Falstar laugh. It was the first genuine laugh the poor +boy had had for many an hour. Constance Drew heard it, and it did her +heart good. For Billy, pale, wide-eyed and laughless, was not in the +order of things as they should be. She looked at Ruth Dale and +whispered, "Billy is reviving with proper nourishment." + +Ruth gave her a sympathetic smile. Ruth was, herself, working under +pressure, but she was successfully playing her part. + +"His face was the only grim one here," she said. "Just look at Maggie, +Con!" To view Maggie was to forget any unpleasant thing. + +Maggie Falstar was laying up for the future as a camel does for the +desert. Food and drink passed from sight under Maggie's manipulation +like a slight-of-hand performance, and through the effort, and above it, +the girl's expressionless face was bent over her plate. + +The Christmas tree, later, was in the hall. The party staggered to it +from the dining room with anticipation befogged by a too, too heavy +meal. But St. Angé digestions were of sturdy fibre, and fulfilled joy +brought about quick relief. + +Aunt Sally looked into the grateful eyes upturned toward the glittering +tree, and her own kind eyes were like stars. + +It was Ruth Dale who had taught the children to sing, "There's a +Wonderful Tree," and the Christmas anthem now surprised and charmed the +older people. + +Above the shrill, exultant voices, Ruth's clear tones rang firm and +true. Drew watched her from his place beside the tree, and his heart +ached for her. And yet--what strength and power she had. She so slight +and girlish. She had lost faith, and had had love wrenched from her. She +was bent upon a martyr's course, and yet she sang, with apparent abandon +of joy, the old Christmas song. + +Constance Drew was an adept at prolonging pleasure and thereby +intensifying it. With the tree bowed with fruit, standing glorified +before them, the rapt company listened with amaze to Maggie Falstar as +she sniffled and hitched through a poem so distorted that the only +semi-intelligible words were: "An--snow--they--snelt--at--the manger, +lost in--reverent--raw." + +This part of the programme affected Leon Tate in a most unlooked-for +manner. + +"Say, Smith," he remarked to the station-agent, who was gazing at +Constance Drew with his lower jaw hanging, "that beats anything I ever +heard in the natural artistic line. Blood's bound to colour its +victims--do you remember Pete's mother?" + +Tom Smith had forgotten the old lady. + +"Well, as sure as I'm setting here, old Mis' Falster uster come inter +the Black Cat when she'd had more than was good for her out of the +tea-pot, and recite yards of poetry standing on a chair and holding to +the top of the screen. There hasn't been a hint of such a thing since +then till--" + +But _the_ moment had come. The moment when the heart leaped to meet its +desire. The moment when the desire materialized, and the soul asked no +more. + +Workworn faces quivered with happiness. Things that vanity had yearned +for, but stern necessity had denied, were held now in trembling hands: +precious gifts that one _could_ do without, but were all the more sacred +for that reason. Jewelry and pretty bits of useless neckwear, and gauzy +handkerchiefs. + +Useless? No. For they were to win admiration that was all but dead, and +give sodden women an incentive to live up to them. + +Little hungry-hearted children hugged dolls so beautiful, yet so human, +that nothing more could be asked. Boys, awkward and red, shook like +leaves as they fumbled with "buzzum pins" and gorgeous ties and fancy +vests. + +Sleds, skates and books abounded, and St. Angé, on that sacred day, +revelled in the superfluous and the long-denied. + +Constance Drew came upon Billy later, while games were in wild progress +in the hall and study, seated in a dark corner of the dining room +weeping as if his heart would break over a be-flowered vest and a rich +red tie. + +"Billy!" + +"Yes'm." Billy was too far gone to make pretence. + +"Don't you like--what you have?" + +"Gosh! Yes." + +"Are you happy, dear?" The gentlest of hands touched the red head. + +"Happy?" Billy blubbered; "I'm busting with it." + +"Billy!" and now Constance spoke slowly, impressively, "I want to tell +you--something. It's something we have all thought out. It is, perhaps, +another Christmas gift for you, dear. I--am--going--away!" + +"Going away?" Poor Billy accepted this Christmas offering with horrified +anguish. + +"Going--" + +"Wait, Billy, boy. When Christmas is all over and done with, I am--going +back to my other--home until next--summer. But Billy--I want a part of +St. Angé with me"--her eyes shone--"I have--been--so happy here--so +glad--and so different. I want something to make me remember--if I ever +_could_ forget. Billy, I want you to come with me. There are schools +there, dear. Hard work, and a bigger life--but it will make a man of +you, Billy, if the thing is in you, that I believe _is_ in you. It's +your chance down there, Billy, your best chance, I think, dear--and I'll +be there to help you--and to have you help me. Billy, will you come?" + +Then Billy dropped the red tie and the be-flowered vest. Everything +seemed to fall from him, but a radiance that grew and grew. He tried to +speak, but failed. He put his hands out, but they trembled shamefully. +Then all in a heap Billy sank at Constance Drew's feet and hid his +throbbing head in the folds of her white silk gown. + +The pale moon peeped through the wide window, and cast a strange gleam +over the tousled red head snuggled under the little, caressing hand. It +transformed a girlish face that was looking far, far beyond St. Angé's +calm and peace. The vision the girl saw was battle. Life's battle. Not +little Billy's alone, though God knew that was to be no light matter. +Not even Filmer's lonely struggle, but her own. Her fight against +Convention and Preconceived Ideas. Against all that Always Had Been with +What Was Now To Be. + +But as the far-seeing eyes gazed into the future, they softened until +the tears mingled with Billy's on the already much-stained silken gown. + +"Billy-boy, we're crying. I wonder--what for?" + +"Because," Billy's mouth was full of that silken gown; "because you and +me is so plum chuck-full of happiness we're nigh to busting." + +"Oh! Billy, is that really it, really?" + +Billy looked up from his shrine. + +"Ain't we?" he said solemnly. + +"Billy--I--believe--we--are." + +Late that night, standing alone by his study window, Drew's tired eyes +travelled over his parish. His people had gone. They were his people at +last. God-given, as he had been God-sent. He would work with them and +for them. He would live day by day, and not look to the eventide. He +would--then he looked down the moonlighted road to the stretch on beyond +the house, where the snow lay unbroken on the way up to Gaston's shack. +A tall, strong figure was striding into the emptiness. A man's form, +swinging and full of purpose. It was--John Dale himself going up to meet +his fate. + +There was no light of welcome in the shack among the pines. All was dark +and lifeless. Drew started back. Humanity seemed to urge him to follow +that lonely figure and be within call should his help be needed. Second +thought killed the desire. + +The man plunging ahead in the night was a strong man. A man who through +sorrow, sin and shame, had hewed his way to his own place. No one could +help him in this hour that awaited him. He must go up to the Mount +bearing his own cross--and accept the outcome according as his +preparation for the ordeal had fitted him. + +It was ten o'clock of the following day, when Drew was roused from his +reading beside the study fire by a sharp knock on the door. + +He was beginning, lately, to regard this room of his as a kind of +Confessional, and every knock interested him. + +"Come!" he called. + +Gaston strode in. Whatever the night had meant to him, his face bore +little trace of anything but stern purpose. + +"Good morning, Drew," he said quietly. "Joyce Lauzoon has left my house. +Can you tell me anything about her?" + +"Very little, Gaston." The onslaught, so direct and unerring, rather +took Drew's breath, but he caught himself in time. "Lay off your coat," +he said cordially, "and draw up to the fire. The cold seems to be +increasing." + +Gaston flung hat and coat from him, and pulled a chair nearer the blaze. + +"It will continue to grow colder from now on until the break-up. Drew, I +cannot waste time, nor have I any inclination to mince matters. I know +that you have, in no small measure, influenced Joyce Lauzoon's thought. +I know she has spoken of the effect of your words upon her life and, +finding her gone upon my return, I naturally come to you thinking that +perhaps--and from the highest motives--you may have said something to +her that has led her to take this step. + +"Whatever has been said, has been said by some one who could affect her +as one speaking, if you can understand, from my side of the question. No +one else could have any power over her." + +"Gaston, I have not seen, nor have I had any communication with Joyce +Lauzoon, since you left this last time. While you were away before, she +came to me, and I talked with her as I felt should, under the +circumstances." + +"I know all about that"; a sharp line formed on Gaston's forehead; "it +was indirectly on account of that conversation between you that I left +so abruptly again. Pardon me, Drew, but don't you think your aunt or +your sister--might have followed up your line of argument by--their +own?" + +Drew flushed scarlet. + +"I am quite sure they did not," he said emphatically. + +"I've got to find her, Drew"; Gaston breathed hard; "none of you +understand the situation in the least." + +"Perhaps we do, Gaston." The minister-instinct rose within the weak man, +and gave him the sudden dignity that had always impressed Jock Filmer. + +For the life of him Gaston could not despise the young fellow. There +was courage of purpose and conviction that ennobled his frail body. It +was no easy thing, Gaston felt sure, for him to place himself and his +youth in this attitude toward a man older than he. It was undeniable +Drew lost sight of himself every time he accepted the demands of his +profession,--and the renunciation won respect. + +"See here Drew, I do not often give my confidence. It does not often +appear necessary, and I think nine times out of ten it complicates +matters instead of solving mysteries, but I'm going to speak quite +openly to you--for Joyce's sake. It would not make any difference to +others--they think she deserves punishment for appearing to deserve it, +but I believe you will be able to comprehend the difference and perhaps +help me to help her. + +"Up to the night when she told me that she had seen you, and that your +conversation had emphasized some doubts of her own--she had been to me, +first a poor hounded creature, then, a striving, high-minded girl +endeavouring to free herself from the bondage of evil that had been her +inheritance. I'm not going to speak of myself in the matter, only so far +as to say that my own life, under different environment, has been +such--that I understood; I undertook the--task of helping her! Whatever +of temptation cropped up now and then, was strangled for her sake +always,--sometimes for my own, too--it died at last, and I was enabled +to serve her with single purpose. + +"What that task has meant to me--I cannot expect any living soul to +understand. I was very lonely. I never looked for reward nor recompense. +It was--I thought it was--enough in itself. But something had been going +on that was no part of my plan. Like a revelation it came to me, that +last evening I spent at home--that she was a splendid woman; and I knew +that I loved her! + +"That was why I went away. I went to find Jude Lauzoon. I meant to free +her, and marry her. Her love has always been mine. This may make no +difference--perhaps you cannot believe it--but it's God's truth, and now +you see why I must have her." + +Drew had never shifted his gaze from the speaker's face. Conflicting +emotions tore him--but there was no doubt in his heart, now, of Gaston. + +"In your profession, Drew," Gaston saw that he had gained his point, +"you do not want to condone sin, but you want to understand the sinner +as well as possible; and, Drew, you may take my word for it--I'm not in +an overwhelming minority." + +For a moment Drew tried to speak and failed. Every expression of his +true thought seemed inadequate and futile. Presently he stretched his +hand across the little space that divided him from his companion. + +"Gaston," he said, "I thank you. It does make a difference. It +makes--all the difference in the world." + +His thin, blue-veined hand fell upon Gaston's strong, brown one, which +lay spread upon the chairarm. + +Gaston did not flinch under the touch. He did not seem to notice it. + +"Drew," he continued after a long pause, "it will help me--to find her, +perhaps, if you tell me the little that you know. I am not going to let +her slip if I have to hunt every inch of the woods for her. You must see +that there is danger in every moment's delay. + +"Can you tell me if any one has seen her and talked with her who might +influence her from an--outside point of view?" + +Drew was sorely perplexed. He realized that Ruth's wild description of +her encounter with Joyce had left many unexplained points. Evidently +Joyce herself had, in some way, learned more of Gaston's past than Drew +had at first supposed. Then, to tell Gaston, even in his trouble, that a +guest of his, Drew's, had gone into the other's home and caused this +calamity, was too cold-blooded a thing to do, without due consideration. + +He knew, better than his companion did, that if Joyce had carried out +her intention, there was no need of haste. + +Gaston was looking keenly at him. + +"You are keeping something from me, Drew," he said slowly, "and you have +a reason for doing so?" + +"Yes, Gaston, I am; and I have." + +The further he became involved, the more hopeless the position became to +Drew. Gaston was seeking to solve Joyce Lauzoon's problem and his own, +without the test of Ruth Dale. Not only Ruth's confession as to Joyce, +but Ruth herself must enter into Gaston's future plan of action. + +"You know, Drew, who went to my house?" + +"Yes; I know that Joyce had a visitor who might have influenced her to +take this step; but I have reason to believe that Joyce did not act upon +this other's initiative entirely. She had certain knowledge of her own +that--urged the course she has taken." + +"That is impossible!" Gaston's eyes flashed. Recalling that last scene +with Joyce, he could not doubt her simple faithfulness--unless that +faith of hers had been turned into a channel which she fondly believed +was for his greater good. Nothing could change Joyce Lauzoon. Whatever +had been the cause, Gaston knew, she had forgotten herself in her +decision. + +"I am--sure I am right, Gaston." + +"And you refuse to tell me who has seen her?" A slow anger was mounting +in Gaston. + +Before Drew could reply, a merry call from the hall smote both men into +dead silence. + +"Ruthie! Ruth Dale, where are you? Come, let's go and see how things +look the morning after?" + +Constance Drew had given Gaston his answer. By the magic of that name +she had connected the Past and the Present. The shock was tremendous, +but Gaston bore it with only a tightening of the lips to show the agony +he was enduring. + +Presently an aimless question broke the unendurable stillness of the +room. + +"Who--is--that, Drew?" + +"Ruth Dale--your brother's widow." + +"So--he is dead?" At such vital times in life, the mind leaps over +chasms of events, and takes much for granted. + +"Yes; he died a year ago." + +"How long--have you known, Drew--about him and me?" + +"Only a few nights ago. He was my friend for a comparatively few +years--but he was--a dear friend!" Drew spoke as if defence were +necessary. + +"I wonder--how much you _do_ know, Drew?" Gaston's face quivered. He +began to understand Joyce's soul-struggle. + +"Everything, Dale," the name clung uncertainly upon the speaker's lips; +"everything--vital. Philip confessed--the week before he died." + +Both men lowered their eyes. They dared not face each other for a +moment. + +The fire crackled and the clock ticked. Every sense was sharpened and +quickened in Dale until it was painful. + +Objects in the room stood out clearly to his uncaring sight; the snap of +the fire, the tick of the clock smote like separate reports upon his +hearing; and while he lived he was to recall, when he smelled burning +pine, this tense moment. Presently he rose unsteadily and reached out +for his coat and hat like a blind man. + +"Well, Drew," he said, making an effort to speak evenly, "there doesn't +seem to be anything more to say. I am going. Good-bye." + +"Dale--where are you going?" Drew was beside him. + +"I'm going to try and find--Joyce Lauzoon." + +"She--has--gone--to--her husband! He sent for her--and she went." Drew +spoke with an effort; but before the look on John Dale's face, he +staggered back. Hopeless rage, defeated desire blanched and fired in +turn the strong features. Then without a word Dale strode from the +room. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +John Dale went directly to his shack. What else was there for him to do +until he could find another trail through the blank that surrounded him? + +When he had entered his home the night before, God knew he had been +sorely distressed. He was going back to the woman he loved with her +fetters still unloosened. Worn and spent, he had permitted himself the +relaxation of spending a few days with her before he started out again +on the quest of Jude. He had found the shack deserted, but every pitiful +evidence of Joyce's thought for his comfort was apparent. He had lighted +the fire and lamp; had searched for note or other explanation, and, +finding none, he had eaten hastily and gone to Filmer's house. There +desolation again greeted him. + +Finally he had concluded that Joyce had gone to Isa Tate. This was a +poor solace, but it stayed him through the long night; an early visit to +the Black Cat proved this last hope vain. + +Now, with the later knowledge searching into his soul, Dale noticed the +careful arrangements Joyce had made, before she slipped back into the +hell from which he had once rescued her. + +She had taken only her own poor belongings. The shabby gowns and +trinkets that had been found among the ruins of the home Jude had laid +low. + +One silent token of the flight brought the stinging tears to Dale's +eyes. + +At the last, there must have been haste, for near the door of Joyce's +bedroom lay the mate of the baby's sock that Isa Tate was hiding at that +very moment. + +Poor, dead baby! He was pleading for the pretty mother who in his brief +life had so tenderly pleaded for him. + +Isa had wept over the tiny shoe, and now John Dale picked the mate up +reverently, and put it back where he knew Joyce always had kept it. + +Manlike he did not give himself blindly up to his misery. Life must go +on somehow--and while he sought a way out of the blackness that +enshrouded him, he must prepare himself. + +He replenished the fire, and then when high noon flooded the living room +with a pale glow, he set forth a meagre but nourishing meal. + +In the performing of these homely tasks he found a kind of comfort. It +brought Joyce back to him in a sense. + +During the early afternoon hours he smoked and thought. Things became +clearer, more fixed in his mind. + +Of course Joyce had been driven to Jude by a mistaken idea that she was +proving her deep love. Almost from the first, Dale thought of Ruth Dale +detached from the shock of her mere name as it had struck his brain and +heart in Drew's study. The old, vital charm of Ruth's personality; her +sweet, convincing power, when she chose to exert it, now rose in his +memory. Joyce would be but a baby in the hands of such a woman. + +A fierce indignation swayed the man. Gone was the sweet memory of the +control that that same charm had once had over him. Only as it now had +touched Joyce did he consider it, and every fibre of his being rose in +resentment. + +The savage in him gained strength. He would follow Joyce and have her +yet--in spite of all that had passed! + +When Joyce saw and knew--what would he and she care for the rest? He +could deal with Jude--there was still money. + +The wild claimed precedence over the innate refinement in Dale, and he +rose to begin his search. He glanced at the clock. It was four. He could +get--somewhere before dark. + +The prospect of action gave him relief and he was just turning to the +inner room, when a timid tap upon the outer door stayed him. + +His heart gave a great throb. Had she come? Had she returned to him? Had +she found the way back to hell impossible after he--the man she had +deserted--had shown her a path to heaven? + +"Come!" he commanded as if defying any other hold that might have power +over her. + +Pale, trembling and enveloped in the fur coat and hood, Ruth Dale +entered and closed the door behind her. + +Her eyes were wide and fear-filled, but self-possession was not lost. + +"John!" she cried pleadingly; "as soon as they told me--I came." + +Her outstretched hands recalled Dale to the present. + +"Ruth!" he whispered hoarsely, going to her; "this is--kind of you. Let +me take your wraps. Here, sit down." + +It was a relief to have her a little distance from him. He took a chair +on the opposite side of the hearth, and struggled to regain his +composure. For the life of him he could not fix his identity in the +place where the sudden convulsion of events had cast them all. + +He was an exile from the past of which this lovely woman was a part, and +the present had no space for her. + +In a dazed way he noted how exactly the same Ruth looked. When he had +dropped her hands--way back there in time, she appeared precisely the +same to him as she did now, with those same little jewelled hands lying +white and soft in her lap. She had worn a bright gown then, Dale +recalled, but even the gloomy raiment that now enfolded her had no power +to change the woman of her. + +Poor Dale could not comprehend in his new birth and life, that such +women as Ruth Dale are Accomplished Achievements of heredity and ultra +refinement. Generations ago Ruth's type had been perfected; she and +others of her kind, were but repetitions. + +Her girlhood had been a brief pause before she had entered her +fore-ordained womanhood--a mere waiting for the inevitable. Thus, Dale +had _last_ beheld her--so his photograph of her had fixed her in his +mind. He saw her now the same, outwardly, and the placidity of the +oft-repeated type held her afar from his rugged place. + +Dale himself had been tossed into the fire of temptation, in the rough. +He had fallen to the depths but to rise--a better and stronger man with +the dross burned out. The strong, primitiveness of him was as alien to +anything that was in Ruth as if the two had never seen each other +before. + +Like a man struggling with the recollections of a pre-incarnation, Dale +sought to find a semblance of the old passion and fire this woman had +once roused in him. Not even a reflection of them could he summon. Had +she entered his life two years before she might still have been able to +fan the embers into flame among the ashes; now she was powerless! Love, +a great overpowering love, a love having its roots in the life of the +woods and primitive things--held the man for its own. + +Looking into the deep eyes that once had pleaded with hers, Ruth Dale, +sitting in the lonely shack, wondered why she could not cope with this +critical situation. It grieved and perplexed her--but it did not daunt +her. Sweet and retiring as she was, and _consciously_ self-forgetful as +she believed herself, Ruth was what ages had made her. Had her +subconscious self asserted itself, it would have boldly proclaimed its +absolute superiority over other women of such make as poor Joyce +Lauzoon. Not merely in the other's shocking lack of moral sense--but in +very essence. + +John Dale had suffered--and had tried, in weak man-fashion, to solace +himself. The world had helped to train Ruth Dale. While not admitting +that there should be any palliation for the double code--or even the +appearance of it--such women as she recognized it, and were able, under +sufficiently convincing circumstances, to deal with it. There were +reasons, heaven knew, why she, Ruth Dale, should be lenient with this +silent man across the hearth. The white-souled innocence in her thanked +God, in this brief silence, that the man was _not_ as evil as many a +man, under the circumstances, might have been. She believed Joyce's +statement. It was wonderful, it was most weirdly romantic--and it could +be overlooked! + +It would have been absolutely impossible for Ruth Dale to conceive that +John Dale had so far outgrown her in the great human essentials of life, +that he had no further need of her. The life of which she was a part, +the life of which she was, she and her detached kind, the shining +centre, had not enough vitality to hold this man of nature to it. But +the pause was growing painful. + +"John--I have come to tell you all." + +He overleaped the poor past, and in his hunger to know of her part in +the present, said eagerly: + +"Ruth, I am waiting to hear. I might have known you would come." + +Then, to his surprise, the pretty sleek head was bent upon the arm of +the chair, and Ruth Dale wept, as the man opposite had forgotten women +_could_ weep. The sobs shook the slender form until pity for her moved +him to touch and soothe her; while the savage in him held him back. +Somehow, in a rough way, it seemed retribution. He was glad she could +suffer. But presently the flood ceased, Ruth looked up, tear-dimmed and +quivering. The torrent had borne away much sentiment; she was able to +face reality. + +She told of Philip's dying confession. She delicately and graphically +told of the broken life--after he, John, had passed out of it--and they, +who remained, bravely wound the tangled ends into a noble whole. + +Dale followed her words as if the story were of another--and of a life +he had never shared. + +"Philip wanted you to have all--everything--of which his weakness had +deprived you!" + +Dale started. + +"Oh! Yes," he said vaguely; "I see. Well, I can understand that. But +Ruth--not even God could accomplish that miracle. In all such cases it +has to be what a man himself can get out of the wreck. It has to be +_other_ things. New things--or he is--damned." + +It was the word more than the thought that caused the shudder in the +crouching woman. + +"You have never forgiven us," she whispered. + +"Yes, I have, Ruth. When I got to a place, cleansed by suffering, where +I could forgive myself--everything else was easy." + +"Oh! John, why could you not have trusted me with your--your brave +secret?" + +Why, indeed? John Dale could not have told; he only knew he had never +paused to consider when it came to telling Joyce Lauzoon. The thought +gripped him hard. + +"It had to be, Ruth, I imagine. All the ugly factors had to be taken +into consideration when the plan for re-making Phil and me was +designed." + +A grim smile touched the corners of the stern mouth. + +"He left his fortune to you!" + +"I cannot take it." Dale raised one hand as if pushing aside an +insulting offering. + +"John--I have my share--and my father's money. Think! Philip meant that +you should prove your forgiveness by--finishing his work. I never saw +greater anguish than in his desire. Can you, dare you, refuse?" + +A mist rose in Dale's eyes. Ruth saw it, and it gave her courage. + +Strangely enough, now that she groped toward this new man she saw before +her, her aversion to the man she once knew was lost sight of. A dim fear +arose that her sacrifice might escape him and her. Not through any +unwillingness on their parts, but through a misunderstanding. She +bravely strove to down the menace. + +"John--I came to this house a few days ago to help a weak, erring woman, +if I could. That is all I knew. Almost at once she made me see the +strange thing that had happened here through the goodness of a strong +man, and the simplicity of--a weak, but loving woman. + +"All unknowingly I yearned to help her--save her, but she wanted to save +herself more than I understood at first. She was so brave and direct; +once she saw where her weakness had placed her and the man she loved, +she was strong in her determination to right the wrong. For her, poor +soul, there was but one way--she returned to her husband! + +"John--_she_ told me who you were. In some way she knew who I was. I was +so distressed and surprised at the time that I did not question how she +knew me--but she did and"--Ruth could not bring herself to say, "she +gave you back to me." + +"John--let the cruel, cruel past be forgotten. Come back to your own. +The world will see you righted. John, say that it shall be as I--as +Philip--desire." + +She looked like a spirit as she bent toward him full of compassion, of +entreaty, and the kinship with that which she believed was still in him, +and only waiting for her to call to action. + +The minutes passed--her call brought forth no rush of checked emotion +and controlled passion. + +Dale looked at her coldly. He was far too simple a man, intrinsically, +to gather the true, inward drift of her thought. He was now seeking to +understand the change that had overcome him. She, the girl of his Past +who had held his love, hope and desire; she no longer moved him except +in wonder and aversion. But he felt that it was due her that he should +meet her as far as possible on this new way they were travelling. He +shifted his position. He knew something more was expected of him than +he could give; but he must give as he could. + +"Ruth," he began, and, because his inclination was to move away, he +purposely drew nearer; "I am sure you meant nothing but kindness in +coming to Joyce Lauzoon; I can see that you mean only great good to +me--but you cannot understand. You haven't even touched upon the truth. +I suppose some people are born complete in the little; they only have to +develop. Others are--well--thrown together, and they cannot assume form +and shape until by blows and chiselling they come through the +machine--moulded. You have always been good and true; what you knew of +me, long ago, died and was thrown aside; what little survived, was +nourished apart from, and upon a life you have no conception of. I think +only lately have I realized this myself. I'm a bigger and a smaller man +than you knew, Ruth; I'm stronger and weaker; better and worse," his +hand clenched over the arm of her chair, and her eyes dilated. She was +frightened. She felt his blood rising and she shrank back. It was +horrible to be there--with him alone! + +"You cannot understand, but that old life seems to me now to be--used +up, colourless and flabby. The people seem small and--all alike. This +life--is big, free and--in the making. There are souls here that are +only touched by sins that have drifted to them--they are possible of +great things. They are new and keen, and they ring true when you strike +them. The woman who left this house--the other day," Dale's words came +hard and quick, "is the most glorious creature that ever lived. The life +back there could not produce her. Strong, tender, and love itself! Not +for one instant did she pause when she knew who and what I was--she +loved--that was enough! God! how she loved. You--and women like you, +Ruth, might lead the men you love toward heaven; she would go her way +alone to perdition to add to the happiness of the man she loved. But it +would be alone, mind you. + +"She's gone back to such a man as your books, even, forbear to portray. +Jude is one of the creatures up here who was born without a soul. She's +gone to him to save me, as she thought--but she'll live alone, alone as +long as she lives at all. + +"So you see what trouble comes from such civilization as yours grafted +on to the primitive passions of the backwoods." + +"John!" + +There was no fear in Ruth Dale now, only a horrible conviction that John +Dale, the man she had come to reclaim and give back to his own, would +have none of her! + +"John! John!" So he had sunk so low. + +"Do you know where she is?" Dale looked at his companion without noting +her pallid astonishment. + +"No; I do not." + +"Then--and you will let me see you back to Drew's? I must go and find +her. She shall have the truth, the whole truth, by God! to cool the +fires of that hell she has been thrust into." + +Ruth covered her face with her trembling hands. Never before had she +been so near the bare, throbbing heart of things. + +Oh! from what had she been saved? And yet--he was standing above her and +he was superb in his strength and power. He was holding her cloak for +her; helping to rid himself of her. The old half-dead, but vital call of +the aboriginal woman rose in her, then ebbed away at birth in a feeble +flickering jealousy. + +"I do not wish you to go with me." Ruth felt timidly out for her sweet +dignity; the perquisite and recompense of exquisite refinement. "I +prefer going alone." + +"It is quite dark." + +"I shall not be afraid," Dale walked with her to the door. Just before +the blackness engulfed her, she turned her little, flower-like face to +him: + +"John--I shall always be ready to be--your--friend if you need me." + +"I shall remember. Good night." + +An hour later Dale walked into the Black Cat Tavern and made a ruinous +bargain with Tate for the use of his horse and sled for an indefinite +time. "I'm going up into the woods," he explained, "I may be gone a +week, a month, I cannot tell; when I reach Camp 7, I'll send your rig +back." + +"Going to join Filmer, maybe?" Tate's little eyes rolled in their +cushions of fat. + +"Perhaps." And Tate took this as affirmation. Now that Joyce had +rejoined her rightful lord and master--for the story had leaked out--it +was quite natural that Gaston should take to the woods. + +"It's one on 'im," Tate confided, as Brown Betty and the sled dashed by. + + * * * * * + +When Dale started out his purpose was very vague. If he reasoned at all +it was to the effect that Jude, after Joyce rejoined him, would seek +employment as near at hand as possible. It would be like his weak vanity +to parade his victory by going to the men who had known of his defeat. +Besides, if he had sent for Joyce, he must have been in the +neighbourhood. The heavy storm, in any case, would hinder a long +journey, and the men at Camp 7 might perhaps have news of Lauzoon either +before or after Joyce had met him a day or so ago. + +It had been a short time. He and Brown Betty were a better pair than +Jude and a heavy-hearted woman. So Dale drove on toward Camp 7. + +He tried to keep to the trail, once he struck the forests, but the snow +was unbroken--the heaviest fall had occurred after Billy's return--and +Brown Betty intelligently slackened her speed and felt her way gingerly +through the darkness. It was still as death. Above the trees the stars +pricked the sky, and the intense cold fell like a tangible thing upon +the flesh exposed to it. Dale pulled his fur cap lower, and gladly let +Betty have her will. + + * * * * * + +Now when Billy had left Joyce at the end of their flight, it was near +the door of the woodman's hut. + +"Billy," Joyce had said, lingeringly clinging to him as the last +familiar thing in her happy span of life; "Billy, you must turn back, +and God bless you, dear. You see Jude must not know anything about +you--and it's all right now, Billy." + +Billy made an effort to speak, but ended in a sob. + +"Never mind, Billy, it's _all_ right now. Just remember that. Kiss me +Billy." + +And Billy kissed her like the true gentleman he was on the way to being. +Then Joyce, with her shabby baggage, and basket of provisions went on +alone. + +She was stiff and cold, and her heart was like lead within her. With +surprise she noticed that the door of the hut was partly open, and the +snow had drifted in. It was dark and lifeless apparently, and for a +moment Joyce thought that Jude had gone away, and she turned to recall +Billy before it was too late. Then she boldly entered the house. The +little entry was covered with snow and the room door, too, stood as the +outer one did, ajar. Joyce paused and listened--then a horrible fear +took possession of her. The still house overpowered her for a moment, +but she knew that death awaited her in the outer cold and loneliness, so +by superhuman determination she felt her way toward the fireplace--she +had been in the hut more than once and memory served her now. She forced +herself to think only of lighting the fire. Even when she struck a match +she would glance nowhere but at the hearth. + +Her teeth were set close, and her breath hardly stirred her bosom. There +had been a fire recently--but the ashes were cold. There was, however, +wood nearby, and Joyce tore the paper from one of her packages and used +it to ignite the smaller wood. + +There was a puff, a flare, and the wood caught. + +With the growing heat and light a semblance of courage returned, still +Joyce kept her eyes rigidly upon her task. She laid on more wood, and +yet more. It was past midnight and the terrible stillness Was numbing +her reason. Presently she cautiously turned--something compelled her. +She did not expect to find--anything, but she had to look! Away from the +red glare, the shadows concealed their secrets from the fear-haunted +eyes, but only for a moment. + +Jude was there! He was lying stretched upon the floor. A bottle was near +his outspread hand. He was asleep. + +Joyce did not try to get upon her feet, but she crept toward the still +form. She touched, with stiff fingers, the hand of the man she had come +to meet--the man who was to save her from her love. + +"Jude!" she whispered hoarsely; "Jude!" + +A falling log started the others to a redder glow. The face of the man +upon the floor lay exposed. The eyes were open--but unseeing, and Joyce +knew that Jude was frozen to death! + +She made no cry. Had she been capable of sensation she would have gone +mad, but she was conscious of no emotion whatever. + +The room grew hotter and brighter. She drew away from that horrible +shape upon the floor. She must forget it or her head would burst. In the +morning, and it would soon be morning, she could go for help--but for +now she must forget. + +Still creeping, she regained the fireplace; there she huddled with her +back to--that long black shadow. Yes; it was but a shadow. She would not +think of it but as a shadow. + +She braced against the chimney corner, and set her face to the warm, +soothing light. Once she stirred and threw on more wood, then she +returned to her corner; and kept her eyes in one direction. + +An hour passed. The slight form by the fire relaxed, and sank gradually +to an easy position far enough away from the fire to be safe. The pretty +head fell upon a bundle that had earlier been dropped carelessly +there--and a great peace rested on the worn face. Suffering, +hopelessness and fear fled as the calm gently settled from brow to chin; +and all that was conscious of Joyce Lauzoon drifted into the oblivion +that has never been fathomed. + +Behind the sealed doors--the miracle was performed. The spirit freed +from its suffering body--but not claimed by Death--was strengthened and +purified. Where it fared--who can tell? How near the Source of eternal +things it wandered none may know, but it drank deep and lost its +earth-stain long enough to carry back with it a faith that would enable +it to live. + +The rosy light of day was showing ruddily in the window of the hut when +Joyce opened her eyes. The returning spirit came slowly back with +stately serenity. There was no shock nor start of wonder; it took +possession of the refreshed body that was awaiting it, and accepted its +responsibilities. + +Joyce was lying on her back, her hands crossed upon her bosom. The fire +still glowed at heart, and the room was warm. A calmness and saneness +reigned supreme. Joyce wondered what had befallen her? Then slowly, like +a wise mother, Nature gave into her conscious thought the knowledge of +things as they were. + +She turned--yes! there was Jude. But she did not shrink nor shudder now. +Young as she was, she had seen death many, many times. She had gone to +the portals, alone, with others beside her poor baby. She rose now, and +walked over to Jude's side. The night had wrought a change in him, +seemingly; or perhaps it was Joyce's regained sanity. The man on the +floor looked calm, peaceful and strangely dignified. His helpless +peacefulness appealed to Joyce. She began to take away all signs of +degradation that remained. The inanimate tokens of poor Jude Lauzoon's +weakness and undoing. + +The empty bottle was hidden from sight; the disordered clothing was +straightened, and the hands that were never to work harm again, were +folded over the quiet breast. + +God had set Joyce free! and as she did the last, sad service for the man +who had no real place in her life, the words of Ruth Dale recurred to +her. + +No; she had never been free before. She never could have been free while +Jude and she walked the same earth. There had been an intangible link +that only death could sever. + +Her freedom had come too late--but no! Sitting beside Jude's body, Joyce +felt the convincing truth that, come what might, she could, she would +live as John Dale had shown her how. + +Softly, with reverent touch, Joyce covered the grim, white face, and +turned away to prepare for her home journey. She must get others to come +for Jude's body. Her part was all past now forever. She must go to face +her new life, whatever it might be. + +As she opened the outer door, the clear, stinging cold brought a sense +of freshness and sweetness with it. It was so alive, and it called to +all that was awakening in her. Her slow blood tingled and her breath +came quick and deep. + +For very relief she took off her close hood, and flung her arms wide as +if in welcome to what awaited her. + +The unbroken snow spread on every side. Like the first-comer in this +new, pure world she set forth with a high courage and a strange faith. + +So she came upon John Dale's vision, and he started back, fearing that +his weariness and heavy heart were playing havoc with his senses. Having +seen smoke rising from the chimney of the hut, he had left his horse and +sled a short distance away, and had come to investigate. + +So absorbed was Joyce that she neither saw nor heard the approach of the +man she had put from her life. + +Her pale beauty, as she came quickly toward him, struck Dale as almost +unearthly. She was within a few yards of him when she saw him. A rich +colour flushed her face as she recognized him and her eyes widened. + +"Jude--is dead!" she said simply. She thought he was still upon his +quest; still ignorant of the happenings that had driven her away from +the shack. + +The words had the effect of paralyzing Dale. Had this woman taken a life +in self-preservation? Then the sweet, innocent calm of her face +reassured him. Jude was dead! Every barrier was removed--every obstacle +overcome. + +Dale rushed toward her with outstretched arms. The look on his face awed +Joyce--but before she was swept into a bliss that might not be +rightfully hers, she shrank from him. She put her hands out pleadingly +as if imploring him to withhold what her soul was hungering for. Dale +understood. + +"Joyce--I have been home. They have told me--all!" + +"All?" Joyce panted the one word. "All?" + +"Yes. Everything. Now--will you come?" + +To his dying day Dale was never to forget the look she cast upon him as +he and she stood alone in the white trackless forest. + +Love, such love as worn-out civilization knows not, took possession of +Joyce Lauzoon. A love that controlled and uplifted. + +Dale waited--then she came to him, glorious and strong in her power of +joy-giving. She clasped her hands around his neck, and lifted her face +to his; their lips met and their eyes grew wondrously tender. + +"And now,"--it was Joyce who recalled him to duty--"where shall we go?" + +His promise to Drew followed close on the question; and Ruth Dale's +farewell to him as she slipped from his life came with a new meaning. + +"Sweet," he whispered, "they are waiting for us--Drew, and my sister, +Ruth Dale." + +THE END + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Transcriber's Note: + +1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards. + +2. The Table of Contents was not present in the original book. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Joyce of the North Woods, by Harriet T. Comstock + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS *** + +***** This file should be named 19225-8.txt or 19225-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/2/2/19225/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/19225-8.zip b/19225-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..929c7f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/19225-8.zip diff --git a/19225-h.zip b/19225-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0031eb8 --- /dev/null +++ b/19225-h.zip diff --git a/19225-h/19225-h.htm b/19225-h/19225-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d00ca6 --- /dev/null +++ b/19225-h/19225-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11439 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Joyce of the North Woods, by Harriet T. Comstock. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; + position: absolute; right: 2%; border:1px solid white; + padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; + font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; + color: #444; background-color: #EEE;} + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + hr.full {width:100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.major {width:75%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.minor {width:30%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .caption {font-size: 80%;} + img.border {padding: 0.4em; border: 1px solid;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; + font-size: 90% } + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Joyce of the North Woods, by Harriet T. Comstock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Joyce of the North Woods + +Author: Harriet T. Comstock + +Illustrator: John Cassel + +Release Date: September 9, 2006 [EBook #19225] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<table width='450' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='' border='1'> + <col style='width:100%;' /> + <tr> + <td align='center'> + <span style='font-size: 230%;'><br />JOYCE OF THE</span><br /> + <span style='font-size: 230%;'>NORTH WOODS</span><br /><br /><br /> + <span style='font-size: 100%;'>BY</span><br /> + <span style='font-size: 140%;'>HARRIET T. COMSTOCK</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + <span style='font-size: 80%;'>AUTHOR OF</span><br /> + <span style='font-size: 80%;'>JANET OF THE DUNES, TOWER AND THRONE,<br />THE QUEEN'S HOSTAGE, ETC.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + <span style='font-size: 80%;'>ILLUSTRATED BY</span><br /> + <span style='font-size: 100%;'>JOHN CASSEL</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + <span style='font-size: 100%;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</span><br /> + <span style='font-size: 80%;'>PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK</span><br /><br /><br /> + </td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-001" id="illus-001"></a> +<img class='border' src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='"YOU'VE GOT THE WINNING CARDS, MY GIRL ... IT'S ALL IN THE PLAYING NOW"' title='' width='300' height='407'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>"YOU'VE GOT THE WINNING CARDS, MY GIRL ... IT'S ALL IN THE PLAYING NOW"</span> +</div> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<p style='margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align:center; font-size: 80%'> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN</p> +<p style='margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align:center; font-size: 80%'> +COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<p style='margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align:center;'>TO<br /> +<span style='font-size: larger;'>EVELINA HEMINWAY SMITH</span><br /><span class="smcap">"Sister—Friend</span>"</p> + +<div style='margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;'> +<p>Accept the dedication of this book of mine as a very slight +recognition of your encouragement in my work; your faith in me.</p> +<p>To you I first read the story; from you I received my first approval; +I believe its chances will be brighter in the book-world if your name and good-will go with it.</p> +<p style='font-variant: small-caps; text-align: right;'>Harriet T. Comstock</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Flatbush—Brooklyn, N. Y.</span><br /> February, 1910</p> +</div> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> +<div class="smcap"> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<col style="width:85%;" /> +<col style="width:15%;" /> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER I</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER II</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER III</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IV</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER V</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VI</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VII</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VIII</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IX</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">154</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER X</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XI</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XII</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIII</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIV</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">251</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XV</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">273</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVI</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">301</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVII</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVIII</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIX</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">350</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XX</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">369</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr class='major' /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">v</a></span> +<h3>PREFATORY NOTE</h3> +</div> + +<p>"Love is the golden bead in the bottom of the crucible." And the +crucible was St. Angé.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>Fifty years before this story began, St. Angé was a lumber camp; the +first gash in that part of the great Solitude to the north, which lay +across Beacon Hill, three miles from Hillcrest.</p> + +<p>When the splendid lumber had been felled within a prescribed limit, +Industry took another leap, left St. Angé scarred and blighted, with a +fringe of forest north and south, and struck camps farther back and +nearer Canada.</p> + +<p>Then Nature began to heal the stricken heart of the Solitude. A second +growth of lovely tree and bush sprang to the call, and the only +reminders of the camp were the absences of the men during the logging +season, and the roaring and rushing of the river through Long Meadow +every spring, with its burden of logs from the distant camps.</p> + +<p>In the beginning St. Angé had had her aspirations. A futile highway had +been constructed, for no other purpose apparently, than to connect the +north and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">vi</a></span> south forests. A little church had been built—there had +never been any regular service held in it—and a small school-house +which promptly degenerated into the Black Cat Tavern, General Store, and +Post Office. A few modest houses met the highway face to face; a few +more turned their backs upon it and were content with an outlook across +Long Meadow and toward Beacon Hill, beyond which lay the village of +Hillcrest which grew in importance as St. Angé degenerated. There were +scattered houses among the clumps of maple and pine growths, and there +was a forlorn railroad station before which a rickety, single track +branch ended. Sometime during the day a train came in, and after an +uncertain period it departed; it was the only link with the outer world +that St. Angé had except what came by way of Hillcrest.</p> + +<p>Toward Hillcrest, as the years went on, there grew in St. Angé a feeling +of envy and distrust. Its prosperity and decency were a reflection, its +very emphatic regard for law and order a menace and burden. St. Angéans +sent their aspiring youths to the Hillcrest school—it was never an +alarming constituency—it was cheaper to do that than to support a +school of their own. There were emergencies when the Hillcrest doctor +and minister were in demand, so it behooved St. Angé to keep up a +partial show of friendliness, but bitterly did it resent the +interference of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">vii</a></span> Hillcrest justice during that season immediately +following the enforced sobriety and isolation of the lumber camp.</p> + +<p>Were men not to have some compensation for the hardships of the +backwoods?</p> + +<p>And just at that point in the argument Beacon Hill received its name and +significance. From its top a watcher could view the road leading to +Hillcrest, and by a well-directed signal give warning to any chance +wrongdoer on the St. Angé side. Many a culprit had thus been aided in +his plans of escape before Justice, striding over the western hill, bore +down upon the town.</p> + +<p>Beautiful, unappreciated St. Angé! The trees grew, and the scar was +healed. The soft, pine-laden breezes touched with heavenly fragrance the +dull-faced women, the pathetic children, and the unambitious men. +Everything was run down and apparently doomed, until one day the endless +chain which encompasses the world, in its turning dropped the Golden +Bead of Love into St. Angé! Down deep it sank to the bottom of the +crucible. Jude Lauzoon was blinded by it and stung to life; Joyce +Birkdale through its power came into the heritage of her soul. Jock +Filmer by its magic force was shorn of his poor shield and left naked +and unprotected for Fate's crudest darts. John Gaston, working out his +salvation in his shack hidden among the pines, was burnt by the divining +rays that penetrated to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">viii</a></span> secret place and spared him not. And then, +when things were at their tensest, Ralph Drew came and tuned the +discordant notes into sweet harmony. St. Angé became in time a home for +many whom despair had marked for its own; a Sanctuary for devoted +service.</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h3><a name="Illustrations" id="Illustrations"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<div> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="ILLUSTRATIONS"> +<col style="width:80%;" /> +<col style="width:20%;" /> +<tr><td align="left">"You've got the winning cards, my girl ... It's all in the playing now"</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-001"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Once I went so far as to go up there with my gun"</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-002">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">That pictured mother and child were moulding joyce's character</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-003">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Presently he opened his eyes ... and there sat the girl of his dreams near him</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-004">188</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr class='full' /> + +<h2><a name="Joyce_of_the_North_Woods" id="Joyce_of_the_North_Woods"></a>Joyce of the North Woods</h2> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> +<a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> + +<p>The man lying flat on the rock which crusted Beacon Hill raised his head +with a snake-like motion, and then let it fall back again upon his +folded arms. His body had not moved; it seemed part of the stone and +moss.</p> + +<p>The midsummer afternoon was sunny and hot, and the fussy little river +rambling through the Long Meadow was talking in its sleep.</p> + +<p>Lazily it wound around young maples, and ferny groups—it would crush +them by and by, poor trusting things—then it would stumble against a +rock or pile of loose stones, wake up and repeat the strain it had +learned at its mother's breast, far up in the North Woods.</p> + +<p>"I'm here! here! here! I'll be ready by and by, by, by, by." Then on +again, a little faster perhaps, but still dreamily. Children's laughter +sounded far below; a slouching man or woman making for the Black Cat +bent on business or pleasure, passed now and then; all else was still +and seemingly asleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span></p> + +<p>Again Jude raised his head and gave that quick glance around.</p> + +<p>Jude was awake at last. Little Billy Falstar had roused him two days +before and set the world in a jangle. The child's impish words had +struck the scales from Jude's eyes, and the blinding light made him +shrink and suffer.</p> + +<p>"Him and her," the boy had whispered, hugging his bruised and dirty +knees as he squatted by Jude's door; "him and her is sparking some." +Then he laughed the freakish laugh of mischief.</p> + +<p>Jude was polishing the gun which John Gaston had given him a year +before, and had trained him to use until he was second only to Gaston +himself for marksmanship. "Him and her—who?" he asked, raising his dull +eyes to Billy's tormenting face.</p> + +<p>"Joyce and Mr. Gaston. Him and her is beaux, I reckon. She goes to his +shack; I listened outside the winder once—he reads to her and tells her +things. They walks in the Long Medder, too, and once I saw him kiss +her."</p> + +<p>Again the teasing laugh that set every nerve tingling.</p> + +<p>Then it was that Jude awoke, and his hot French blood, mingled with his +canny Scotch inheritance, rose in his veins and struck madly against +brain and heart.</p> + +<p>He stared at Billy as if the boy had given him a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> physical blow—then he +looked beyond him at the woods, the sky, the highway and the dejected +houses—nothing was familiar! They all seemed alive and alert. Unseen +happenings were going on—he must understand.</p> + +<p>"You saw—him—kiss—her?" The gun fell limply across the man's knees.</p> + +<p>"Yep," Billy whipped his dramatic sense into action. He arose and strode +before Jude with Gaston's own manner. "This way. His arms out, and him +a-laughing like, and Joyce she kinder run inter his arms and he held +her, like this—." The close embrace of the childish gesture seemed to +strangle Jude, and he gave a muffled cry. This acted like a round of +applause upon Billy.</p> + +<p>"Yep, and he kept on hugging and kissing her like this—" Billy went +into an ecstasy of portrayal. Suddenly, however, he reeled into sanity, +for Jude had struck him across the cheek with the back of a hand +trembling with new-born emotion.</p> + +<p>"Take that, you impish brat," he had said, "and more like it if you +stand there another minute with your lying capers."</p> + +<p>"They ain't lies," wailed Billy, edging away and nursing his smarting +face; "he did! he did! It was in his shack—I saw 'em!"</p> + +<p>"Get out," yelled Jude, glowering darkly; "and you tell that to any one +else and," he came nearer to the shrinking child, "I swear I'll choke +yer till<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> yer can't speak." So changed was Jude that Billy trembled +before him.</p> + +<p>"I won't," he whispered, "I swear I won't, Jude; don't—don't hit me +again; I won't tell."</p> + +<p>He was gone, but the old Jude was gone also. The new man finished the +gun cleaning, his breath coming hard and fast meanwhile, and then, +taking the gun with him, he went into the deep woods on the northern +edge of the village.</p> + +<p>All the rest of the day he watched Gaston's shack from a distance; as +the darkness drew on he crept closer.</p> + +<p>Joyce did not come near the place, and Gaston himself only returned when +the night was well advanced.</p> + +<p>Jude watched him light his lamp, and prepare his supper. Watched him, +later, go into the inner room, and then he crept close to the broad +window to see what Gaston was doing in there where no foot but Gaston's +own, so it was said, ever entered. As he had raised his eyes to the +level of the casement, Gaston's calm gaze met his with a laugh in it.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Jude," the voice was unshaken; "playing Indian Brave? Got your +gun, too? What you after, big game or—what?" Jude rose to his feet. He +was trembling violently. Gaston watched him closely. "Come in?" he asked +presently.</p> + +<p>"No. I was only passing—thought I would look in. I'm going now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hold on there, Jude, what's up?" Gaston leaned from the window. "Are +you alone?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. There ain't anything the matter."</p> + +<p>"All right." Gaston looked puzzled. "Good night." He watched Jude until +he was lost in the shadows, then he drew the heavy wooden shutters +close, bolted the door and placed his pistol near at hand.</p> + +<p>All the next day Jude haunted the vicinity of Joyce Birkdale's home, but +he kept hidden, for Joyce was safe within doors and a drizzly rain was +falling. Night again found him on guard; and now he lay on Beacon Hill +in the hot sun, napping by snatches (for he was woefully tired) and +scanning the Long Meadow, with his feverish eyes, in between times.</p> + +<p>In his dreams the scene Billy Falstar had so luridly described was +enacted again and again, until he felt as if he, Jude, had been the +onlooker.</p> + +<p>The people whom he had taken for granted in the past now assumed new +meaning and importance. Gaston had slipped in among them three years +before, and after the first few months of observation he had aroused no +interest. He had minded his business, paid his way, taken his turn in +camp at greenhorn jobs, accounted for his presence on the ground of +seeking health, and that was all. Life went on as usual, sluggishly and +dully—but on.</p> + +<p>Jude had, before Billy's illumination, been thinking that after the next +logging season he would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> annex Joyce Birkdale to his few belongings—the +cabin, his dog and gun. The idea had not roused him much, but it had +been a pleasurable conclusion to arrive at; and now? Every nerve was +aching and the boy's heart was thumping heavily. Again he dropped his +head, and he cursed everything his thought touched upon—even the girl +he meant, in some way, still to have.</p> + +<p>One, two, three hours passed. Jude's hilltop was touched by the sun, but +in the meadow the purpling shadows were gathering slowly.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Jude sprang up—something was happening down there below. +Something in him had warned him.</p> + +<p>From the southern edge of the meadow a tall man was swinging along with +easy strides. He carried his broad-brimmed hat in his right hand and +waved it as if in greeting. From the opposite direction a girl was +approaching. She wore a blue-checked gown, and her pale hair seemed to +shine in the dimming light. She wore no hat, and she walked with the +quick freedom of a child who longed to reach something precious.</p> + +<p>Midway of the meadow the girl and man met. He stretched out his arms, +and they closed about the slim form.</p> + +<p>Then he bent his head over the fair one on his breast—but he did not +kiss it! Jude was burning and palpitating. He strained his hearing, +forgetting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> time and space. They were talking, and he would never know +what they said.</p> + +<p>Presently the girl slipped from the enfolding arms, and, clinging to the +man's hands, looked up into his face. Sometimes she bowed her head, and +once she passed her hand across her eyes as if to wipe away tears. Then +the man drew her close again. He raised the face that was crushed +against his shoulder; he kissed the brow, the eyes, the chin—and then +the lips.</p> + +<p>Something blinded Jude. Something thick and hot like blood, and when he +could see again, the two had parted. The man stood with bared head +watching the slim, drooping figure as it retraced its steps with never a +backward turn. When it was gone he replaced his hat and took his +way—this time, toward the Black Cat.</p> + +<p>Jude stood alone on his hilltop and watched the lights spring to life in +cottage and tavern. The stars twinkled above him in the calm evening +gloaming. The little river trilled a vesper hymn as it felt its way +along the dark rocky path—and then tears came to Jude's relief, +impotent, boyish, weak tears, such tears as he had not shed since his +father and mother lay dead, and in childish fright and sorrow he had not +known what to do next. But now, as then, he pulled himself together and +set his teeth grimly.</p> + +<p>He did the wisest thing he could have done. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> went down the hill and +strode toward the Birkdale house.</p> + +<p>But he did not walk alone. Almost forgotten memories rose sharply and +kept him company as he pushed on to meet his Fate.</p> + +<p>Womankind in St. Angé was monotonous. There was a shading of +individuality in the girls and newly-wed women, but it faded soon into +the dull drab that seemed the only possible wearing-colour of the place. +Occasionally, though, the sameness had been relieved by a vivid touch, +but only for a short hour. The Fate who snips the threads, had +invariably clipped such colouring from the St. Angé design, and tossed +it aside as useless.</p> + +<p>Jude remembered Marsena Riddall. What a woman she had been! What a +menace to man's rights and woman's position.</p> + +<p>She had demanded, and got her husband's wages as he returned from camp. +She met him at the edge of the North Wood, and held him up, morally and +physically. That she kept a clean and respectable house; that her +children were well fed, clothed and cared for, had not counted to her +credit one jot among the powers that be. Her husband was not safe on the +man's side of the Black Cat screen. At ten o'clock, did Riddall brave +his chances to that hour, Marsena would march boldly into the arena and +claim her quarry. If a man rose to expostulate, Marsena was equal to him +with tongue and wit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> Masculine superiority trembled during Marsena's +reign, which lasted five years; then Fate downed her.</p> + +<p>Riddall was called away from his jailer by the command that even Marsena +could not defy, and she and her children faced life in a village where a +man was an absolute necessity unless there was money to take his place. +Jude grimly smiled as he recalled how the men and boys gave Marsena and +her brood a jeering send-off as the rattling train bore them away soon +after Riddall had been laid behind the disused church.</p> + +<p>So while Marsena was still in Jude's memory, he came upon the deserted +and decaying cottage where once Lola Laval had sung her pretty +French-Canadian song.</p> + +<p>It was odd how Lola came always with that song accompaniment. Try as he +might, even now, in this disordered moment, Jude heard the rippling +little lark song rise and fall in the fragrant darkness.</p> + +<p>Jude, while but a boy, liked to draw water for Lola and run her errands +when young Pierre, the husband, was in camp. When the logging season was +over, Lola's cottage vied with the Black Cat in popularity. Pierre was a +noted card player, but, oh! Lola's song sounded above the slap of +pasteboard and the click of glasses. How pretty she was—and how the +women hated her! The men were eager to serve her. She had no need to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> +command; her desires seemed granted before she voiced them—poor, pretty +Lola!</p> + +<p style='margin-left: 4em; font-style: italic;'> +Alouette, alouette, alouette, alouette.<br /> +Oh, alouette, chantez alouette,<br /> +Alouette, je te plumerai.<br /> +Alouette, chantez alouette,<br /> +Alouette, je te plumerai.<br /> +Je te plumerai le bec,<br /> +Je te plumerai le bec<br /> +A le bec,<br /> +A le bec,<br /> +Alouette,<br /> +Alouette.<br /> +</p> + +<p>Lola had not lasted long; only nineteen she was when Pierre in his +jealousy struck the light from her eyes by a cruel blow, and the song +fled from her lips; then taking warning from a well-directed signal from +Beacon Hill, he had sought the Southern Solitude just before Justice, in +the form of the Hillcrest constable, came stalking into St. Angé.</p> + +<p>But the song was not dead. Again and again a man or woman would revive +it and so it had become a part of the place. To Jude, now, it was +painfully evident as he again plunged forward; it followed him sweetly, +mockingly as it used to when Lola sent it after him to keep him from +being afraid as he left her for his lonely home; he, a neglected little +boy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span></p> + +<p>And now here was Joyce! With a stinging consciousness Jude realized this +new personality that heretofore he had not suspected. Even as jealous +anger spurred him on, a vague something he knew awaited him, calmed him +and made him cautious.</p> + +<p>While he longed to grip and command the situation, he was aware of a +power in Joyce—a power he had unconsciously, perhaps, sensed +before—that bade him stand afar until she beckoned him.</p> + +<p>As he neared her little house, before even he saw the lights, he heard a +song. It was that song! It met the rhythm in his own heated fancy—he +and Joyce seemed to be singing it together:</p> + +<p style='margin-left: 4em; font-style: italic;'> +Alouette,<br /> +Alouette. +</p> + +<p>The light was streaming through open window and door. Inside Joyce was +preparing the evening meal, stepping lightly between table and stove as +she sang. Jude dared not enter unannounced, and his pride held him +silent.</p> + +<p>What was he afraid of? Was he not he, and Joyce but a girl? Still he +kept his distance.</p> + +<p>"Joyce!" The song within ceased, and the singer stepped to the open +doorway.</p> + +<p>"That you, father?" No answer came. "Father?"</p> + +<p>Then Jude came into the light.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span></p> + +<p>"You, Jude? Come in; father's late. I never wait for him and I am as +hungry as a wolf."</p> + +<p>Joyce had been one of the few girls who had gone to the Hillcrest school +as long as paternal authority permitted, and she showed her training.</p> + +<p>"I ain't come for no friendly call," muttered Jude, slouching in and +dropping on to a wooden chair beside the table.</p> + +<p>Joyce turned and looked at him, and the glow from the hanging lamp fell +upon her.</p> + +<p>She was tall and slim, almost to leanness, but there were no awkward +angles and she was as graceful as a fawn.</p> + +<p>Her skin was pale, clear and smooth, her eyes wide apart and so dark as +to be colourless, but of a wondrous softness. Her hair was of that shade +of gold that suggests silver, and in its curves, where the sun had not +bleached it, it was full of tints and tones.</p> + +<p>"What have you come for?" she asked, as a child might have asked it, +wonderingly and interestedly.</p> + +<p>"I want to ask you something, and I want the truth."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Joyce sat opposite, and let her clasped hands fall upon the table +laid out for the evening meal with the brown bowl of early asters set in +the centre. She forgot her hunger, and the steaming pot on the stove +bubbled unheeded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span></p> + +<p>"What you want to know, Jude? You look mighty upset."</p> + +<p>Jude saw with his new, keen vision that she was startled and was +sparring for time. "It's about," he leaned forward, "it's about you +and—and him. I saw you in the Long Medder. I saw him hold your hands +and—and kiss you." The words smarted the dry, hot lips. "I—I want to +know what it means."</p> + +<p>Jude was trembling visibly as he finished, but Joyce's silence, her +apparent discomfort, gave him a kind of assurance that upheld him in his +position.</p> + +<p>The girl across the table had been awakened several weeks ago in +Gaston's little shack among the pines. Since then she had been living +vividly and fervently. The question with her, now, was how best to voice +herself—the self that Jude in no wise knew. Womanlike, she did not want +to plunge into what might prove an abyss. She wanted to take her own +way, but with a half-unconscious coquetry she desired to drag her +captives whither she went.</p> + +<p>In the old stupid life before her womanhood was roused, Jude had held no +mean part in her girlish dreams. He was the best of the St. Angé boyhood +and Joyce had an instinctive relish for the best wherever she saw it. +Whatever the future held she was not inclined to thrust Jude from it. In +success or failure she would rather have him with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> her than against her. +Not that she feared him—she had boundless belief in herself—but, +hearts to the woman, scalps to the savage, are trophies not to be +despised.</p> + +<p>"I—I want to know what it means." Again Jude spoke, and this time a +tone of command rang through the words.</p> + +<p>The corners of Joyce's mouth twitched—she had a wonderfully expressive +mouth. Suddenly she raised her eyes. They did not hold the expression +Jude might have expected from her disturbed silence. His growing courage +took a step back, but his passion rushed forward proportionately.</p> + +<p>The witch-light danced in the steady glance she turned upon him; she +threw her head back and her slim throat showed white and smooth in the +lamp's glow.</p> + +<p>"Suppose he did hold my hand and—and kiss me, Jude Lauzoon, you'd like +to do the same yourself, now wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>She was ignorantly testing her weak, woman's weapon on the man's metal.</p> + +<p>Jude felt the mist rising in his eyes that once before that day had hid +this girl and Gaston from his sight. Like a mad mockery, too, Lola's +lark song sounded above the rush of blood that made him giddy. He got to +his feet and staggered around the table. He held to it, not so much to +steady himself as to guide him, but as he neared the girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> the blindness +passed, and the tormenting song stopped—he stood in an awful silence, +and a white, hot light.</p> + +<p>"Yes, by God, I do want to, and if yer that kind I'll take—my share and +chance along with the rest of 'em."</p> + +<p>It was his own voice, loud and brutal, that smote the better part of him +that stood afar and alone; a something quite different from the beast +who spoke, and which felt a mad interest in wondering how she would take +the words.</p> + +<p>"You go and sit down over there!"</p> + +<p>No clash of steel or dash of icy water could have had the effect those +quiet words had, combined with the immovable calm out of which they +came.</p> + +<p>The instinct of frightened womanhood was alive. If she could not down +the beast in the man by unflinching show of courage—she was lost.</p> + +<p>They eyed each other for an instant—then Jude backed away and dropped +into the chair across the table.</p> + +<p>Still, like animal and tamer they measured each other from the safer +distance. Presently the girl spoke, laying all the blame upon him for +the fright and suffering.</p> + +<p>"What right have you, Jude Lauzoon, to come here insulting me?"</p> + +<p>"What right had you," he blurted out, "to make me think you was +that—that sort?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span></p> + +<p>"I didn't make you think it—you thought it because you—wanted to think +it—it was in you."</p> + +<p>The beast was quelled now, and a stifled sob rose to the boyish throat.</p> + +<p>"I—I didn't want to think it—God knows I didn't, Joyce, it was that +that drove me mad."</p> + +<p>"Can a man only think bad when he sees what he doesn't understand?"</p> + +<p>Revulsion of feeling was making Joyce desperate. While her new power +brought her a delirious joy, it also, she was beginning to understand, +brought a terror she had never conceived before. She wished the house +were nearer the other human habitations.</p> + +<p>"If you're that kind, Jude, you had better take yourself to the Black +Cat; you'll find plenty of your liking down there."</p> + +<p>Jude was visibly cowering now.</p> + +<p>"Why did he kiss you?" he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I gave him the right?"</p> + +<p>"Then what am I to think? Have you given him the right? Does he want the +right? I mean the right first—and last?" Jude was gaining ground, but +neither he nor the girl to whom he spoke realized it yet. Joyce drew +back.</p> + +<p>"What is that to you?" she murmured hanging her head. For the moment she +was safe—but she felt cornered.</p> + +<p>Jude again bent toward her over his hands clenched close.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span></p> + +<p>"It means everything," he panted, "and you know it. I've always liked +you best of anything on earth—ever since I went to school, to please +you, over to Hillcrest; ever since I tried to keep from the Black Cat, +because you asked me to. I've gone following after you kinder +heedless-like till—till he gave me a blow twixt the eyes, with his +hand-holding and kissing. It drove me crazy. I never thought of any one +else with you—least of all John Gaston and you. He didn't seem your +kind—I don't know why, but he didn't. Howsomever, if it's all +right—God knows I ain't in it—that's all."</p> + +<p>A hoot of an owl outside made Joyce start nervously. She was unstrung +and superstitious—the fun of the game died in her, and she felt weak +and nauseated. She spoke as if she wanted to finish the matter and have +done with it forever.</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't give him the right. He didn't want it. I guess it was +all foolish—everything is foolish. When he found out how I liked books, +and how I wanted to know about things, he just naturally was kind and he +let me go to his shack to read. Sometimes he was there, sometimes he +wasn't. He just thought about me as if I was a little girl—Maggie +Falstar used to go sometimes—he told her fairy stories—it was all the +same to him, until—" the wonderful colour that very pale people often +have rose suddenly to Joyce's face, and the eyes became dreamy—"one day +a week ago."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," Jude urged her on—he was sensing the situation from the man's +standpoint.</p> + +<p>"It was nothing. I had been reading a book there by myself. It was the +kind of story that makes you feel like you was the woman it tells about. +Then Mr. Gaston came in, and stood looking at me from the doorway; he +seemed like the man in the book too. We looked at each other, and—and I +was frightened and I guess he was—for I was grown up all of a sudden. +Jude"—the girl was appealing to the familiar in him, the comradeship +that would stand with her and for her—"he took me in his arms +and—and—kissed me. Then he begged my pardon—and he pushed me away; +then he led me to the door and said he—he didn't understand, but I—I +mustn't come again to the shack alone, but to meet him in the Long +Meadow to-day."</p> + +<p>"Curse 'im," muttered Jude; "curse 'im." But the move was a wrong one. +Joyce rose to her own defence and Gaston's.</p> + +<p>"If you feel that way," she cried, "you can take yourself off."</p> + +<p>"I—I don't feel that way," Jude returned illogically and meekly; "go +on."</p> + +<p>"He's a good man, Jude Lauzoon; better than any one here in St. Angé; +and he isn't our kind—not mine, yours, or any one else's around here. +He just made me feel ashamed of myself out in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> Meadow to-day. I felt +as if I had been bold and—and all wrong, but he wouldn't let me feel +that way. He acted like I was a little girl to him again—only +different; and—I'm going to tell you something." The pink flush dyed +even the white throat now. "He said he wished I would get married—it +was for the best. That's the way he wanted me for himself!" Joyce +laughed with a bitterness that changed suddenly as she recalled the +subtle power she had felt over Gaston even while he was forcing her out +of his life.</p> + +<p>"He asked me about Jock Filmer."</p> + +<p>"Jock Filmer?" Jude's jaw dropped. Was all St. Angé hurtling around +Joyce? "Jock Filmer—why—why—" Words failed him and he laughed +noisily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," Joyce tossed her head. "You seem to think nobody +would want me—I guess—they would—if I wanted them!" The girl was worn +out; racked by the emotions that were reflected from the new attitude of +others toward her.</p> + +<p>And now Jude came around the table again. This time he walked steadily, +and he was quite himself. The best self he had ever yet been.</p> + +<p>"I want you Joyce—God knows I do."</p> + +<p>"He said you did."</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"He—Mr. Gaston."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span></p> + +<p>"He—said that? Then why in thunder did—he kiss you?"</p> + +<p>That rock Jude dashed against at every turn.</p> + +<p>"He didn't until—until I told him—I liked you."</p> + +<p>Poor Joyce! She was never to tell any one that that admission had been +wrung from her in order to make Gaston think he himself had not been +deeply in her thoughts. It had been a difficult fencing match that +afternoon.</p> + +<p>"You told him that?" A light came into Jude's handsome, heavy face, +which quickly vanished as the torturing jealousy, feeding upon a new +hope, rose, defiantly. "You told him you cared—and then he kissed you, +damn him! Maybe he thinks he'll get you to take me, and then he'll go on +with hand-holding and kissing all the safer."</p> + +<p>"Take that back," cried Joyce harshly. "Take that back, Jude Lauzoon." +Yet as she resented the implied insult, the primitive woman in her +admired Jude as it had never admired him before.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean it against you, Joyce, I swear it. Can't you see how I +love yer and I don't want yer hurt? No one ain't going to hurt yer!" He +had clutched her to him roughly but tenderly. "Maybe he wouldn't want +ter, maybe I don't understand—but he can't, anyway!"</p> + +<p>She was sobbing hysterically against his breast.</p> + +<p>"You're mine, lass; you're just a little one; you don't know things. +You're no older than you was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> when you toted over to Hillcrest and—and +never felt afraid."</p> + +<p>Jude tried to kiss the tear-stained face, but she pressed it closer +against him. He had to be content with the satin softness of her thick +hair.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she sprang from him. A sickish odour was filling the room.</p> + +<p>"Everything's burned," she gasped; "everything!" She drew the pot from +the stove and ruefully carried it outside. "Nothing left, Jude;" she +laughed nervously. "Nothing but crusts and leavings."</p> + +<p>"You go to bed," commanded Jude authoritatively; "that's what you need +more than anything!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, that's what I need—sleep. I'm almost dead, I'm so tired."</p> + +<p>Jude looked at her hungrily. The sudden happy ending of his torture gave +him an unreal, unsafe feeling.</p> + +<p>He wanted to touch her again in the new, thrilling way, but she was +forbidding even in her sweet yielding.</p> + +<p>"You go to bed," he said vaguely; "I'll go down to the Black Cat, and +see that your father gets home all right."</p> + +<p>Joyce stepped backward to the chamber door beyond.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she murmured; "I certainly am dead tired."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> + +<p>There was only a path leading from the highway to John Gaston's shack. A +path wide enough for a single traveller, and the dark pointed pines +guarded it on either side until within ten feet of the house. The house +itself sat cosily in the clearing. It was a log house built by amateur +hands, but roughly artistic without, and mannishly comfortable within.</p> + +<p>The broad door opened into the long living room, where a deep fireplace +(happily the chimney had drawn well from the first, or the builder would +have been sore perplexed) gave a look of hospitality to the otherwise +severe furnishings. The fireplace and mantel-shelf were Gaston's pride +and delight. Upon them he had worked his fanciful designs, and the +result was most satisfactory. There was a low, broad couch near the +hearth piled with pine cushions covered with odds and ends of material +that had come into a man's possession from limited sources. A table, +home-made, and some Hillcrest chairs completed the furnishings, except +for the china and cooking utensils that ornamented shelves and hooks +around the room.</p> + +<p>An inner door opened into Gaston's bedchamber<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> and sanctum. No one but +himself ever entered there.</p> + +<p>There was a broad desk below the one wide window of that room and a +revolving chair before it. A boxed-in affair, filled with fragrant pine +boughs, answered for a bed. This was covered with white sheets and a +pair of fine, handsome, red blankets. An iron-bound chest stood by the +bed with a padlock strong enough to guard a king's treasure, and around +the walls of the room there were rows of books, interrupted here and +there to admit a picture of value and beauty out of all proportion to +the other possessions.</p> + +<p>Over the window hung a large-faced clock that kept faultless time, and +announced the fact hourly in a mellow, but convincing, voice. Just below +the window and over the desk, was a pipe-rack with pipes to fit every +mood and fancy of a lonely man. There were the short stumpy ones, with +the small bowls for the brief whiff when one did not choose to keep +company with himself for long, but was willing to be sociable for a +moment. There were the comfortable, self-caring pipes that obligingly +kept lighted between long puffs while the master was looking over old +papers, or considering future plans. Then there were the long-stemmed, +deep-bellied friends for hours when Memory would have her way and wanted +the misty, fragrant setting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> for her pictures that so comforted or +tormented the man who wooed them.</p> + +<p>By the rude desk Gaston was sitting on the evening that Jude and Joyce +were clinging to each other in the house under the maples. His hands +were plunged deep in the pockets of his corduroy trousers, his long legs +extended, and his head thrown back; he was smoking one of his +memory-filled pipes, and his eyes were fixed upon the rafters of the +room.</p> + +<p>He was a good-looking fellow in the neighbourhood of thirty-five; +browned by an out-of-door life, but marked by a delicacy of feature and +expression.</p> + +<p>The strength that was in Gaston's face might puzzle a keen reader of +character as to whether it were native, or the result of years of +well-fought battles. Once the will was off guard, a certain softness of +the eyes, and a twitching of the mouth muscles came into play; but the +will was rarely off guard during Gaston's waking hours.</p> + +<p>An open book lay upon the desk, and the student lamp cast a full light +upon the words that had caught the reader's thoughts after the events of +the day and their outcome.</p> + +<p>"In the life of every man there occurs at least one epoch when the +spirit seems to abandon the body, and elevating itself above mortal +affairs just so far as to get a comprehensive and general view, makes +this an estimate of its humanity, as accurate as it is possible, under +the circumstances, to that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> particular spirit. The soul here separates +itself from its own idiosyncrasy, or individuality, and considers its +own being, not as appertaining solely to itself, but as a portion of the +universal Ego. All important good resolutions of character are brought +about at these crises of life; and thus it is our sense of self which +debases and keeps us debased."</p> + +<p>Poe and Gaston were great friends. The living man knew that had he known +Poe in the body he would have feared and detested him, but there was no +doubt he had left trails of glory in his wake, for the comfort of +struggling humanity, if only one could lose sight of the man, in the +spiritual effulgence of his genius.</p> + +<p>Gaston, in his detached life, practised many arts upon his individuality +and character. He had time and to spare to "abandon the body," and he +was growing more and more confident, that in these self-imposed crises +he was gaining not only strength, but a keen and absorbing interest in +others. If the sense of self debased, then this detachment was his great +salvation.</p> + +<p>The rings of smoke curled upward, lost shape and formed a haze of +blueness. The heat became intense, and the noises of the summer night +magnified. The windows and doors were set wide, Gaston's wood-trained +senses were alert even in this abstraction.</p> + +<p>"What next?" That was the question. He had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> just come through a conflict +with flying colours. He was flushed with victory, but the after details +annoyed him. With the waning enthusiasm of achievement, from his point +of vantage of abandonment, he was trying to see beyond this confident +hour—see into the plain common days when a sense of self would control +him, tempt him, lure, and perhaps, betray him. What then?</p> + +<p>The realization of Joyce Birkdale's womanhood a time back had shaken him +almost as much as it had the girl herself.</p> + +<p>It had all been so peaceful, so elemental and satisfying before: that +companionship with the little lonely, aspiring, neglected child. She was +so responsive and joyous; so eager to learn, so childishly interested in +the fairy tales of another sort of existence that he kept from decay by +repeating to her. And then that sudden, upleaping flame in the +purple-black eyes. The fierce rush of hot, live blood to the pale face. +The grip of those small work-stained hands as they sought dumbly to stay +the trembling until he had taken them into his firm control.</p> + +<p>Well, confronted by the blinding flash, he had acted the man. That was +good. He had not acted thoughtlessly, either. He had sent the quivering +little thing away quietly, and with no sense of bitterness, until he had +threshed the matter out. And then in the Long Meadow, he had set the +girlish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> feet upon the trail he had blazed out for them during the +nights of temptation and days of lonely self-abnegation.</p> + +<p>It was a hard, stumbling way he had fixed upon. His heart yearned over +the girl even as he urged her on. But Joyce was demanding her woman's +rights. Demanding them none the less insistently, because she was +unconscious of their nature. He knew, and he must go before her; but +there was small choice of way.</p> + +<p>When he had held her in his arms out there in the open, he had bidden +her farewell with much the same feeling that one has who kisses the +unconscious lips of a child, and leaves him to the doubtful issue of a +necessary surgical operation.</p> + +<p>But the victory over self was his, and Joyce was on Life's table. There +was a sort of feverish comfort now in contemplating what might have +been. Many a man—and he knew this only too well—would have put up a +strong plea for the opposite course.</p> + +<p>What was he resigning her to at the best? There was no conceit in the +thought that, had he beckoned, Joyce would have leaped into the circle +of his love and protection. Not in any low or self-seeking sense would +the girl have responded—of that, too, he was aware; but as a lovely +blossom caressed by favouring sun and light, forgetting the slime and +darkness of its origin, she might have burst into a bloom of beauty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span></p> + +<p>Yes, beauty! Gaston fiercely thought. Instead—there was honour! His +honour and hers, and the benediction of Society—if Society ever +penetrated to the North Solitude.</p> + +<p>Joyce would forget her soul vision, she would marry Jock Filmer—no; it +was Jude Lauzoon who, for some unknown, girlish reason, she had +preferred when she had been cast out from the circle of his, Gaston's +protection.</p> + +<p>Yes, she would marry Jude—and Jock might have made her laugh +occasionally—Jude, never! She would live in cramped quarters, and have +a family of children to drag her from her individual superiority to +their everlasting demands upon her. Perhaps Jude would treat her, +eventually, as other St. Angé husbands treated their wives. At that +thought Gaston's throat contracted, but a memory of the girl's strange, +uplifted dignity gave him heart to hope.</p> + +<p>Again the reverse of the picture was turned toward him. He saw her +flitting about his home—who was there to hold her back, or care that +she had sought dishonour instead of honour?</p> + +<p>He might have trained and guided that keen mind, and cultivated the +delicate, innate taste. Yes; he might have created a rare personality, +and brightened his own life at the same time—and the years and years +would have stretched on, and nothing would have interrupted the pure +passage of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> lives until death had taken one or both. Gaston sat +upright, and flung the pipe away. Suppose he should choose to—go back? +Well, in that case it would have gone hard with Joyce. The soul he had +awakened and glorified would have to be flung back into the hell from +which its ignorance shielded it.</p> + +<p>That was it. In giving the girl the best—yes, the best, in one +sense—he must forego his own soul's good; forego the hope that he might +some day choose to go back—and in that hope, lay Joyce's damnation.</p> + +<p>Through dishonour—as men might have classified it—he might have lifted +Joyce up, but to save her soul alive from the hope he reserved for +himself—his open door—he must drive her back to squalor and even +worse.</p> + +<p>He had chosen for her and for himself. He had his hope; Joyce was to +have her honour; and now, what next?</p> + +<p>His renunciation had strengthened him. His good resolutions steadied +him; in the regained empire of his self-respect he contemplated the +loneliness of exile, self-imposed, but none the less dreary. He was so +human in his inclinations, so pitifully dependent upon his environment; +and since he had stepped from the train three years ago, these rough +people had taken him at his face value; desired nor cared for nothing +but what he chose to give. Desolate St. Angé was dear to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span></p> + +<p>No, he would remain. There was really no reason why he should abdicate +the little that was his own. All should be as it was, except for Joyce, +and even she, now that he was sure of himself and had the rudder in +hand, even she might claim his friendship and sympathy in her new life.</p> + +<p>He started. His quick ear detected the slow step outside.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Jude," he called without getting up. "Step in; I'll fetch a +light."</p> + +<p>"How did you know 'twas me?" Jude asked from the outer darkness. The +salutation made him feel anew the awe of constant supervision.</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd drop in," Gaston carried the lamp into the living room +and set it upon the table.</p> + +<p>Jude shambled in, drew a chair up to the table and sat down. Gaston took +his place opposite and kept his eyes upon his caller. Jude grew restless +under the calm inspection. He had come with a goodly stock of +self-assertion and sudden-gained dignity, but they withered under the +inquiring gaze.</p> + +<p>"You've come from Joyce Birkdale's? I congratulate you, Jude."</p> + +<p>So he knew that too! Jude felt a superstitious aversion to this man he +had but recently begun to have any feeling toward whatever outside the +ordinary give and take of village life.</p> + +<p>Over the ground he had come laboriously to discuss,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> Gaston strode with +unerring instinct. There were no words ready for this friendly advance, +so Jude halted. He had meant to approach the announcement of his +engagement to Joyce by telling Gaston what he had seen from the hilltop +that afternoon and what he had gained since, and then he had intended, +in man-fashion, to warn Gaston off his preserves. Instead, he sat +twirling his cap and foolishly staring.</p> + +<p>"Smoke?" Gaston felt his guest's discomfort and tried to ease the +strain. He pushed the tobacco-jar forward; no St. Angé man ever +travelled without his own pipe.</p> + +<p>"Given it up," muttered Jude, "and cards likewise, and—and drink; I'm +going to get married right away."</p> + +<p>This was rather startling. Gaston had expected some faltering on Joyce's +part, some dallying with the past. The smoke of his burning bridges was +still in Gaston's consciousness. He had lighted the fuse, to be sure, +but had not expected the demoralization to be so prompt.</p> + +<p>For a minute his gaze faltered, then he said cordially:</p> + +<p>"Good! And you won't drink to it—or smoke over it? Well, then, shake, +old man."</p> + +<p>For the life of him Jude could not decline. So their hands met over the +bare table.</p> + +<p>An awkward pause followed. Gaston took refuge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> in smoke. He drew the +inevitable pipe from his pocket, filled and lighted it, and during the +time of grace, got himself in hand.</p> + +<p>"Jude," he said between puffs, "I want to see her married."</p> + +<p>Jude's anger rose. The words and the tone brought back his suspicions +and jealousies.</p> + +<p>"I want that girl to have a chance at life." Gaston looked over Jude's +head, and drew hard upon his pipe. "She's never really waked up. Just +got the call, you know. Before this, she's been dreaming, and God alone +knows where she got her dream material. Like the rest of us, until she +finds out, she's going to expect her dream to come true. In heaven's +name, Lauzoon, help her to make it true."</p> + +<p>The import of all this touched Jude not at all, but the meddling of this +outsider did mightily stir him to depths he had never fathomed before. +Suddenly a kind of courage came to him, partly worthy, but wholly +unreasonable.</p> + +<p>"I ain't no wooden-head, as some thinks I am," he blurted out, while his +dull eyes flashed; "and, by gosh, I want that darn well understood +between you and me, Mr. Gaston! I don't want any interference in my +affairs; but as to what you're drivin' at, perhaps, I'll say this. I'm +going to let Joyce have her head—in reason."</p> + +<p>"You better," Gaston laughed unpleasantly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> He rather liked Jude the +better for his uprising; but he had no intention of showing a flag of +truce now.</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Lauzoon; the laugh irritated him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's plain common sense to be with her, instead of against her, +when she gets fully awake. Her kind goes well enough in harness if the +other one pulls a fair share—if he doesn't—why, the chances are—she'd +break the traces and—clip it alone."</p> + +<p>"Alone, hey?" It was Jude's turn to laugh now. "You ain't got the lay of +the country yet, Mr. Gaston, not so far as the women is concerned. How +in thunder is a woman to go alone, I'd like to know, in St. Angé? Once +she's married, she's married, and she knows it. Go alone? I'd like to +know where she'd go to?"</p> + +<p>A breeze was now stirring outside. Gaston felt it and he shivered +slightly.</p> + +<p>"Jude," he continued after a moment, "they sometimes go to the devil, +you know. Even St. Angé's ideals do not prevent that, judging from +things I've heard."</p> + +<p>"Not her kind," Jude muttered. He was harking back to Lola Laval. How +the girl rose and haunted him to-night! "Not her kind, Mr. Gaston."</p> + +<p>"No, you're right, Jude—not her kind as she is now. That's just the +point. It's poor work,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> though, to draw on your bank account without +noting how your balance stands. If you do, you'll get a surprise some +day. Joyce wants the best she can get out of life. She's had a vision, +poor little girl, and she's making for that vision, believing it a +reality. We all do that, old man, and it's up to you to give her as much +of what she wants as you can. She's been building a place for her +soul"—Gaston was thinking aloud. Jude had vanished from his +horizon—"and she's going up to take possession some day. God, how that +woman is going to love—something!"</p> + +<p>And just then Jude shifted into view again upon the line of Gaston's +perceptions. He had risen to his feet and was glaring at his companion. +There was an ugly look on his face, and his hands trembled with the +effort he made to restrain himself.</p> + +<p>"Say, Mr. Gaston," he blurted out, "all that talk is damned moonshine, +and I ain't such a fool but what I know it. Such gaff ain't nourishing. +Now as to Joyce, I'm going to do the square thing by her. Her +book-learning is all right if she keeps it to herself, and don't let it +get mixed up with her duties 'long of me. And right here, Mr. Gaston," +Jude choked miserably, "I guess her and me don't want no coaching from +you. No harm intended, understand, but just a clean showing."</p> + +<p>Indignation and a realization of his own insignificance, had hurled Jude +along up to this point,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> but he was suddenly landed high and dry by the +calm, amused look in Gaston's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Too bad you don't smoke, Jude," Gaston said quietly, refilling his +pipe. "But sit down, and loosen your collar. The room is infernally +close. I've been thinking some of leaving St. Angé—"</p> + +<p>"When are you going?" Jude broke in with an eagerness that intensified +the smile on Gaston's face, and bade the devil in him awake. The same +devil that in boyhood days had made him such an irritant to the bullies +of his class.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not going," he replied, puffing luxuriously upon his pipe; +"I've changed my mind. All I wanted was new scenes and occupations. I've +decided to stay on awhile. But I've been thinking, Jude, you don't want +to take Joyce into your shack. Let's build her another up on the sunny +slope beyond the Long Meadow on the Hillcrest side. I'm gaining strength +each year; I like to keep myself busy and the work would be a godsend to +me. What do you say? I can lend you a little money, too, if you need +it."</p> + +<p>Need it? Unconsciously Gaston had touched the spring that unlocked the +evilest part of Jude's nature. Jealousy, love, hate, were blotted out by +this unlooked-for suggestion. His dark face flushed and his dull eyes +gleamed. Money! Money! To handle it, spend it and enjoy it without great +bodily effort in earning it. This had ever been a consuming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> passion +with Jude. A passion that had remained smouldering because no favouring +chance had ever fanned it. Lazy and hot-blooded, Jude, in a prosperous +community, might have developed criminal tendencies young; in St. Angé +there had been nothing to tempt him—until now.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he said, and Gaston saw the change in him. "I—I may be +glad of a small loan—just at the start, you know, and before I get my +pay from the camp boss. It's almighty kind of you, Mr. Gaston, to think +of this here building and all. Me and Joyce will take it grateful, I can +tell you."</p> + +<p>"Going?" Gaston asked, for Jude had risen and was awkwardly shifting +from foot to foot. "Well, so long! Good luck—and a speedy marriage."</p> + +<p>Then the door closed upon the transformed Jude.</p> + +<p>"Now, what in thunder," mused Gaston in the hot, smoky room, "has got +into that fellow, I wonder!" Could they know of his money? The amount, +and manner of getting it? Was he, in offering Jude this assistance, +letting the leak in upon his own safety?</p> + +<p>A cloud gathered on Gaston's face. A sensation of coming evil possessed +him. He felt as if, in an unguarded moment, he had given an enemy a +power over him.</p> + +<p>The memory of the look in Jude's face when the money cast a gleam over +his hate, repelled him. Gaston was as fully alive to the possibilities +now as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> Jude was—perhaps more so; but there stood the pale, innocent +girl between them. He recalled her hurt, quivering face when he had +urged her into Jude's keeping. It had seemed her only salvation—hers +and his! But it began to look now like a hideous damnation.</p> + +<p>"Poor little devil," he murmured taking the lamp and going back into his +bedroom.</p> + +<p>The window of this room he closed carefully, and set the lamp upon the +rude desk. He drew the pistol from the drawer, and laid it conveniently +at hand, then he turned to the chest with the mighty lock and, having +unfastened it, drew forth a small package and went back to the chair +before the desk.</p> + +<p>The package contained a photograph and some letters. The letters were +tied together, and these the man placed beside the pistol. The +photograph he took from its various wrappings of tissue paper and braced +it against the lamp.</p> + +<p>The big clock hanging over the window frame struck one. The heat in the +little room became stifling, and the lamp flickered in its duty—for the +oil was running low.</p> + +<p>With arms folded before him Gaston gazed upon the pictured face. It +broke upon the senses like a revelation of womanhood. At the first +glance it seemed as if just that type had never been conceived before. +The artist had grasped that conception evidently, for with no shading or +background, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> only a filmy scarf outlining the form from the +colourless paper, the compelling features started vividly upon the +vision, as the individuality of the girl did upon the imagination. An +irritation followed the first impression. Was this child, or woman? What +was she to become, or what had she become already? Was she a soul +reaching out for realization, or a well-developed personality, having +gained, with all its other attainments, a power of self-concealment from +the inquisitive eye?</p> + +<p>The brow, low and broad, bespoke gracious womanhood and a possible +radiant maternity, rather than intellectuality. The masses of hair were +braided and wound coronet-style about the small uplifted head. The eyes, +deep, dark, and mystical gave no clue to the inner woman; but the mouth, +while it was tender in its curves, had a rigidity of purpose in its +expression that fixed the attention. A pretty, rounded chin, a slender, +slightly tilted nose, an exquisite throat set off by the cloud of +lace—such was the face that Gaston beheld, and presently it wrung a +groan from him.</p> + +<p>"Ruth, Ruth, Ruth," he muttered, and then his mind took to the +memory-haunted highway that led back, back of the lonely years of St. +Angé; past a certain black horror that had stood, and would always +stand, as a thing that should not have existed; but which had been, and +would always remain, an object that cast a shadow before it and behind +it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span></p> + +<p>"Did you do this thing?"</p> + +<p>"I did."</p> + +<p>Question and answer made up the vital happening in Gaston's life. +Everything before led up to them, and all that had occurred since was +the outcome.</p> + +<p>They had admitted—or so he once thought—of no shading nor explanation. +The questioner was not the type to deal unsteadily with a problem, and +Gaston had been too simple and direct to note fine points or shadings. +Perhaps neither of them had understood. Life had been so fair until the +terrible thing had loomed up. It had come like a cataclysm—how could +they, young and inexperienced as they had been, deal with the situation +justly?</p> + +<p>Suppose <i>now</i> she stood before him, wonder-eyes raised, seeking his +soul's truth; hands resting in his until he should speak. Would he speak +again those two crude, fatal words? Would she drop her hands letting his +soul sink, by so doing, into the blackness which had engulfed it?</p> + +<p>That was the torturing problem that Gaston was working out up in the +lonely St. Angé woods; but he seemed no nearer the answer than when he +had come to the place, by mistake, a few years back, and decided to stay +there simply because it was as desirable as any other forsaken spot, +while he was debarred from the Paradise of life.</p> + +<p>The lamp flickered fretfully, and the spasmodic flare showed the rigid +face torn with the emotions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> that were racking the soul laid bare before +its God and its own consciousness.</p> + +<p>What had the dreary, desolated years done for him? He was a fool. Why +had he not taken what was possible, since the ideal was dashed from him?</p> + +<p>This girl, way off there behind the hideous shadow, had been wiser. She +had replaced his memory by living love; why should not he take the poor +substitute that the Solitude offered, and warm the barren places of his +heart and life with the faint glow?</p> + +<p>It was a bad hour for Temptation to assail John Gaston.</p> + +<p>The armour of self-wrought strength was off. Suffering was flaying the +naked despair and yearning; and just then Temptation knocked softly and +pitifully at the door of the outer room!</p> + +<p>Gaston had done more while he had hidden in the woods than he was aware +of. He had developed something akin to second sight. Loneliness and +empty hours had strengthened this as blindness intensifies other senses +to abnormal keenness. Gradually he had grown to believe that a man's +life, complete and prearranged, lies stretched before, and occasionally +some, when the circumstances are propitious and the soul has a certain +detachment that ignores the bodily claims, can leap over the <i>now</i> and +here, and catch a glimpse of the future and what it holds. This vague +sense had come to Gaston more than once during the past year or two—the +seeing and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> hearing of that which had held no part in what was, at the +moment, occurring, but which he noted later had become a fact in his +life.</p> + +<p>That feeble knock dragged the man's consciousness away from the pictured +face; away from his wavering indecision; away from the darkening room +with its foul smell of oil: he knew who stood outside in the +moonlighted, fragrant summer night, and he wondered if he were going to +open that barred door to her. He waited for a glimpse of what was in +store for them both.</p> + +<p>But his spiritual sight was blinded by a firm, deadening blankness! +Whatever was to be the outcome must be of his own choosing.</p> + +<p>Again she knocked, that poor little temptress in the dark. What had Fate +decreed that he was to do? Gaston knew as well as if Joyce had told him, +<i>why</i> she had come. Her soul had revolted from her concession to Jude. +In the bewitched hours of darkness, the primitive, savage instinct had +driven the girl to the only one who could change her future. Worn, +weary, defiant, she had come to him; not questioning further than her +despair and his power.</p> + +<p>Well, why not? Who would be the worse, and who the better—if he drew +her within and closed the door upon—St. Angé?</p> + +<p>Another tap—this time upon the wooden shutter of the bedchamber!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span></p> + +<p>Gaston shivered and trembled. He was not outside; he was stifling in the +dark room. The light had gone entirely, and he was struggling to free +himself from an intangible enemy or friend; a thing that had, unknown to +himself, evolved during those isolated years among the pines, and was +restraining his lower nature now.</p> + +<p>He battled to get to that little, insistent girl. He heard her sob, a +childish sob, half desire, half fear. The veins stood out on his +forehead and his hands gripped the edge of his desk as he got upon his +feet.</p> + +<p>The sob outside was echoed by a stifled groan from within—then all was +still.</p> + +<p>Slow retreating steps presently sounded without. She, that sad, broken, +little temptress, was going to meet the fore-ordained future that lay +before. There was nothing else left for her to do. All her reserves were +taken.</p> + +<p>Then Gaston, when all was beyond his power of recall or desire, opened +the window.</p> + +<p>Softly, sweetly, the fresh morning air entered. It was a young and good +morning. A morning cool and faintly tinted, a morning to soothe a hurt +heart, not to stimulate it too harshly.</p> + +<p>Gaston's lined face smoothed under the caress. His armour arose as if +unseen hands guided it, and placed it again upon him. Once more he was +the strong, quiet man that St. Angé had taken upon faith, and accepted +without question.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span></p> + +<p>As he looked at the scene, his self-respect giving him courage to meet +the day, Jude Lauzoon's soft-stepping figure materialized upon the edge +of the pine woods.</p> + +<p>The humour of the situation for a moment gripped Gaston's senses. Had +all St. Angé stayed awake and been on guard while the night passed? But +the smile faded. How long had Jude been there? Long enough to <i>know +all</i>, or just long enough to know half?</p> + +<p>What should he do? If Jude knew but half, no explanation could possibly +avail. If he knew all; if he had been on guard before Joyce came—been +camping out with no definite purpose, since his late talk in the +shack—why, then it was simply a matter to be settled between Lauzoon +and Joyce. God help her! He, Gaston, could serve best by retiring. This +he did physically.</p> + +<p>He put away his treasures and locked them fast; then, flinging himself +upon the pine-bough bed, dressed as he was, he soon fell into a troubled +sleep.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> + +<p>Jared Birkdale, with a contemplative eye, looked at his daughter through +the haze of his tobacco smoke as if seeing her for the first time. In a +way this was so. He was not one to take heed of time or happenings. When +he was not obliged to work, he was enjoying himself in his own way, and +so long as nothing jarred him, life slipped by comfortably enough.</p> + +<p>When he worked he was away, as all St. Angé men were, in the camps. +Occupation, outside of Leon Tate's profession, was the same for all the +men after first boyhood was past. When the logging season was over +Jared, more temperate, perhaps more cruel for that reason, settled down. +When he was not occupying the chair of honour at the Black Cat—given +him by common consent because of his superior mental endowments—he was +lounging at home and idly appreciating the plain comfort for which Joyce +was responsible; a comfort Jared neither understood nor questioned.</p> + +<p>But little Billy Falstar, the day before, with the fiendish depravity of +a mischief-making child, had set the match to a fuse of gunpowder all +ready for it down at the Black Cat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span></p> + +<p>Resenting the treatment Jude had given him when he had voiced his +observations about Gaston and Joyce, he had gone to the tavern to nurse +his wounded feelings where company and safety abounded. His fear of Jude +had departed.</p> + +<p>Several men, Birkdale among them, were sitting about when Billy, +sniffing and rubbing his knuckles in his eyes to such an extent that of +necessity notice must be taken, drew their attention.</p> + +<p>"What's up, Billy?" asked Jock Filmer good-naturedly; "shingle struck a +thin place in your breeches? Go around and buy a peppermint stick. +Here's a cent. Peppermint ought to be as good for a pain in your +hindquarters as it is for one in your first cabin. Let up, kid, and get +cheerful!"</p> + +<p>Billy accepted the coin, but turned a calculating eye on the others. If +his news had had power to rouse Jude, how would it act now? Billy, +freckled and sharp-eyed, was a born tragedian.</p> + +<p>"'Tain't Ma," he said. "No more was it Pa; it was that Jude what beat me +most to a jelly."</p> + +<p>This was startling enough to awaken a new interest. Jude was too lazy on +general principles to reduce any one to jelly unless the provocation had +been great.</p> + +<p>"What divilment was you up to?" Filmer asked with a leer.</p> + +<p>"I didn't do nothing! 'Pon my soul, I didn't. I swear!"</p> + +<p>This Billy did, fervently and fluently. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> children of St. Angé swore +with a guileless eloquence quite outside the sphere of wickedness. The +matter was in them. It must, of course, come out. So Billy swore now +with only an occasional hitch where his indignation muddled +pronunciation.</p> + +<p>"Billy's got a fine flow of language," Birkdale put in amusedly. "For a +youngster, I don't think I ever heard it equalled." Birkdale was about +to urge Billy to renewed effort, when something the boy was wedging in +among his evil words caught his attention.</p> + +<p>"I was just a-telling him—" more lurid expressions—"'bout Joyce and +Mr. Gaston. It didn't seem like nothing; just them two being beaux like +all girls and fellers, but Jude he did me dirt, he did!" Billy stopped +rubbing his eyes.</p> + +<p>He was interested, himself, in the effect his words now had. For a +moment he feared all the men were going to rise up against him as Jude +had done. A silence fell upon the group. Filmer gave one keen glance at +the imp on the doorstep, and then refilled his pipe and leaned back in +his wooden chair.</p> + +<p>Tom Smith, the ticket agent of the Station, looked as if some one had +dashed water in his face, so startled was he; and Jared Birkdale simply +stared open-mouthed at the spy in their midst. Then Tate, the +proprietor, with the tact for which he was noted, went to the bar and +began filling glasses.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span></p> + +<p>St. Angé had received a shock; but St. Angé took its shocks in a +peculiar way. It reserved its opinion until it had drunk on them.</p> + +<p>Soon after the revelation Birkdale went home without a word having been +spoken by any one on the subject so suddenly thrust upon their notice.</p> + +<p>Jared had gone home to assure himself that Joyce had actually grown up +to the extent of making Billy Falstar's remarks possible.</p> + +<p>The afternoon's contemplation had caused him some astonishment.</p> + +<p>Joyce <i>was</i> grown up! Then he had slept on the knowledge, and dreamed of +other days—a life apart, and beyond St. Angé.</p> + +<p>St. Angé was a young place; it had no antiquity; almost all who lived +there had had a setting in some other time and environment.</p> + +<p>Jared recalled, in his thoughts that night, the beginnings of things in +his life. Joyce's mother, and the babies who had come and gone like +little ghosts, each one taking more of the wife's and mother's beauty +and power.</p> + +<p>Then that flight to the St. Angé lumber camp—it was really that, +nothing less—the attending discomfort and paralyzing reality of what +lay before!</p> + +<p>Joyce was born the year after the settlement in the rough forest home, +and then poor Mrs. Birkdale gave up the struggle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span></p> + +<p>She told Isa Tate that had the baby been a boy she would not have felt +the way she did, but to face the life of another woman in her own life +was more than she could bear.</p> + +<p>Isa had tried to hold her to her responsibility: Isa had more than her +own share of trouble—but Jane Birkdale had slipped away in the middle +of the severest winter St. Angé had known for many a year and Isa had +been obliged to have "an eye" to the baby Joyce. The small girl +responded in health and joyousness, and Jared, when he was himself, had +had the grace to be grateful.</p> + +<p>As the years slipped by the fire of Jared's own little private hell +aroused him to a consciousness that he deserved anything but a happy +future.</p> + +<p>He hoped, in due season, that he would forget the wrongs he had done his +wife, but they gathered strength with time. His sins walked with him +through the sober lumber season; their memory drove him to the Black +Cat; but his keener wit evolved a desire to "make good," as he termed +it, in his relations with his daughter.</p> + +<p>He would so conduct himself with her that she, at least, should have +nothing against him; and when age, sickness or accident befell him, he +might turn to her and find refuge. Jared had always had some kind of +sanctuary to flee to when overtaken by the results of his own evil +nature.</p> + +<p>And now, by the impish words of Falstar's Billy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> he was brought face to +face with a possibility that staggered and unnerved him.</p> + +<p>Joyce and Jude, or Joyce and Jock Filmer, had been possibilities in +Jared's distant future. But Joyce, already a woman, and that silent man +Gaston who had come from a Past that he rigidly reserved for his own +contemplation—Gaston, who lived among them as a traveller who might +depart with the day into a Future Birkdale instinctively knew would hold +no possible connection with St. Angé—Joyce and Gaston! Here was a +situation indeed.</p> + +<p>Astonishment, anger, a dull fear and a determination to grip something +out of it all for himself, swayed Jared as he sat tilted back, eyeing +his daughter after the night's travail.</p> + +<p>He had come from his troubled thought imbued with a forced strength and +singleness of purpose that made themselves felt by the quiet girl at the +window.</p> + +<p>Joyce had brought no strength from her disturbed night. She was +ill-fitted for the encounter.</p> + +<p>"By Jove," Jared suddenly ejaculated, "it's just struck me all of a +heap, Joyce, that you're more than ordinary handsome."</p> + +<p>The girl raised her eyes with a dull show of surprise, then went on with +her sewing.</p> + +<p>"With the learning I've given you over and above the other girls of the +place, you <i>ought</i> to do pretty good for yourself—and me—and no +mistake.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> You always was a real grateful child, and you ain't one ever +to forget the fifth commandment, Joyce—the only one with a promise."</p> + +<p>"The only one needing it," Joyce returned, with a bitterness for which +she was sorry the moment after. But when Jared turned to quoting +Scripture the girl grew rebellious. It was always distasteful to her to +see, or hear, her father parade his superior knowledge. For some reason +she always felt more ashamed of him then than at any other time.</p> + +<p>"You've got a nasty bit of a temper, Joyce." Jared's eye gleamed. "I +hope you ain't going to take the first chance you get to shirk your duty +to me."</p> + +<p>"I guess not, father, but I hate to be dragged to my duty; and I have a +headache."</p> + +<p>"What give you that, Joyce?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know." Again the fair head bent above the coarse sewing in the +trembling hands.</p> + +<p>She had seen the light in the chinks of Gaston's shutter. She had felt +his nearness, but rigid aloofness. The memory of these things had +tortured her and left their trace in worn-out nerves and hurt pride. She +felt that she hated Gaston and in revolt her thought now clung to Jude. +She forgot her father.</p> + +<p>"Joyce!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, father." How the insistent invasion of paternal intimacy +jarred.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've been thinking lately how you and me might do better than stick +here in St. Angé."</p> + +<p>A sudden illumination flashed into the pale face. Was there a +possibility of escape that did not include Jude?</p> + +<p>"Where could we go, father?" Joyce was all attention.</p> + +<p>"Oh! there are several places. I wasn't always here by a long shot. I've +always meant to tell you some day, Joyce. It has sometimes struck me as +singular that you never asked."</p> + +<p>"I never cared. I was here—and the rest didn't matter—or it never did, +until now."</p> + +<p>"Well I was a handsome young buck once, my girl." Jared glanced at the +mirror hanging over Joyce's head, and smirked. "I ain't a bad looking +feller now. A little trimming of the beard, fashionable clothes, refined +surroundings and you'd have a father that any girl might be proud of!"</p> + +<p>Joyce noted now, as she had more than once before, since Hillcrest +training had given her a certain power of discrimination, her father's +style of speaking.</p> + +<p>"What happened, father, before you came here?" she asked quickly. Her +directness, and the slight she paid to his personal reflections, ruffled +Jared's complacency. He was not ready to confess more than was +absolutely necessary.</p> + +<p>"Just one of them misunderstandings," he replied, slipping into St. +Angé's carelessness of speech, "that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> happens now and again to any young +man with a fine taste and slim purse. A matter of business! I always +calculated to go back and make it straight, after the first flash had +passed and I had money enough. I never give up or got discouraged. It +was your mother losing grip sort of set me back; and then your raising +and expenses here, kinder held me down. But the spirit in me has soared +nevertheless."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes it seems to me," Joyce's eyes grew dreamy, "that every one in +St. Angé has something to keep still about. Every one seems to be here +because he has to, not because he wants to. People seem to drift in here +like logs after a spring freshet—and they get jammed."</p> + +<p>Jared laughed. The idea caught his fancy.</p> + +<p>"You've hit it, Joyce!" he said, "You've hit it all right. Jammed, by +damn! that's it; but to carry the simile further, when the jam is +loosened up, there's going to be some logs as gets away."</p> + +<p>"<i>Where</i> could we go, father, and how?"</p> + +<p>The pleading intensity of the girl encouraged Jared. He refilled his +pipe, imagined himself in the mirror trimmed up and fashionably attired, +and then drove his axe to the heart of the matter.</p> + +<p>"When all's said and done, girl," he began, "I've been a pretty good dad +to you. Given you years of schooling and stood by you when I might have +skipped and led my own life. Many a man with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> his wife dead, and a kid +on his hands, <i>has</i> done it. I've worked for you, and given you the best +home in St. Angé; and now if you let me play the cards that you've got +in your hands, we'll get out of this and live in clover to the end o' +time."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean," Joyce gasped.</p> + +<p>This was no idle talk. She was fascinated and frightened. It seemed as +if her father had his fingers on the rope that was strangling the life +out of her.</p> + +<p>"You've got the winning cards, my girl, if I don't miss my guess. It's +all in the playing now. I've had one eye on you all along, Joyce. I've +seen, like any kind father might, that there ain't a young feller +between here and Hillcrest but would be glad to have you. But like a rap +on the <i>shut</i> eye it has just been sprung on me that Myst. has had his +mind on you as well!"</p> + +<p>Joyce's eyes dilated and the colour rose through her soft paleness, but +she did not speak.</p> + +<p>"It's always the way. Them most concerned gits wind of scandal last. +Even the brats have caught on before me. But once your father has both +eyes open, folks better watch out."</p> + +<p>"Who do you mean by Myst.?" asked Joyce, and her strained voice sounded +unnatural.</p> + +<p>"Gaston, to be sure! I've got a wit of my own, Joyce. Myst.—short for +Mystery. That's what Gaston is. No one knows a damned thing about him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, that's to his credit, anyway." Joyce flung up a defence now. She +must fight, but she must keep herself out of sight.</p> + +<p>Jared glared angrily. He did not like the tone.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I ain't the one to object to you keeping your mouth shut," he +returned. "Jammed logs"—the phrase stuck in his mind—"jammed logs +don't creak any; but when it comes to joining forces, like two jams +together for instance, there's got to be, in the nature of things, some +demonstration. What I'm aiming at is this. Has this here Myst. meant +business or has he not? I'm a man of the world—so is Gaston—he ain't +never hoodwinked me. I had my reasons for coming here, and likewise, so +has he. That's my business and his, by thunder! but when <i>he</i> meddles in +my affairs he's got to show his hand. Now is it, or ain't it, business +'twixt you and him?"</p> + +<p>"What kind of business?" Joyce's voice was low and even. She was +approaching her father cautiously and fearfully.</p> + +<p>"Honourable—or otherwise?"</p> + +<p>A silence followed. Something was born, and something died in the +sunlighted room while that silence lasted.</p> + +<p>The child's dependence upon its father fell, torn and quivering, before +the new-risen self-protection of the pitiful girlhood.</p> + +<p>For the first time, consciously, Joyce experienced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> the soul-loneliness +for which there is no aid. Her deep eyes pleaded for help and mercy +where there was no help, and alas! no mercy. Birkdale had his answer +now, though no word had been uttered by those quivering lips.</p> + +<p>"You can't be expected to act for yourself in these matters." Jared put +his pipe on the table and brought his chair to the floor. "You ain't the +first girl as has been game for such as Myst., but he's made a damned +mistake if he thought two couldn't play at his game here in St. Angé. +We'll make something out of him no matter which way you put it."</p> + +<p>"Make something—out—of—what?" Joyce bent forward and real horror +filled her eyes. Was even the security of Jude to be wrenched from her?</p> + +<p>"Out of Myst. He's got money, It comes in letters—checks. Tate has ways +of finding out. Myst. has a fat account over to Hillcrest. He thought we +took him on trust. We knowed what we wanted to know."</p> + +<p>"And so, and so," panted Joyce, "what next?"</p> + +<p>"Well, by the living God, if he wants to marry you, let him come out and +say so, and I won't hold back my presence nor my blessing."</p> + +<p>It was quite plain now. Gaston was the target at which Jared aimed. In +some way she must shield him and shield him so effectually that no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> harm +could reach him. There was no escape for her. Every path was closed +through which she had hoped to go free and happy.</p> + +<p>"I ain't going, though," Jared was whining in his semi-religious tone, +"to have my reputation smirched. Either he marries you, or he pays well, +and we'll get out. See?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I see!" Joyce shivered in the hot room; "I see what you think, +but <i>why</i> do you suppose I'd marry Mr. Gaston if he <i>did</i> want me? +Sometimes girls don't—marry—men even when they are asked. Books are +full of such things." A heavy sob came after the pitiful words.</p> + +<p>"Oh! that's your dodge, eh?" Jared laughed comfortably from the secure +position he had gained for himself from this misery. "Trying to shield +him, eh? It won't do, Joyce. Your daddy's too much a man of the world +for that. Now here it is in a nutshell: The boys at the tavern are back +of me. How do I know? You leave that to me. Now I calculate that Gaston +don't want any of the dust of his past stirred up by us. If he's been +playing with you, it's for <i>you</i> to say whether you'd rather have him +forced to marry you, or have him pan out money enough to hush the matter +up. I'm willing to sacrifice something for you, Joyce. I'm willing to go +so far as to say I don't want the dust of <i>my</i> past raised—I'm actually +willing to sacrifice—anything."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span></p> + +<p>"Even me!" The words were a moan of fear and misery.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" Jared did not catch the point. "This is an opportunity that +don't come often. Retribution for Myst., by thunder, and clear gain for +me and you! Out beyond the high trees, girl, there's better diggings for +us. God! how I've smothered, these long years. The end justifies the +means—you will say so, too, when you see what lies down to the south."</p> + +<p>Jared laughed wildly as if the ambition of all the desolated years had +been achieved. Joyce, compelled by his delirious words and excitement, +almost felt a responsive sympathy; but her words, slow and hard, brought +her and Jared down to the bleakness of St. Angé again.</p> + +<p>"You are wrong, terribly wrong. Mr. Gaston never wanted to marry me, and +I can take care of myself—I always have—taken care of myself! +Why—why, I'm engaged to Jude Lauzoon. I'm going to marry him right +away. We can't even wait for him to build a new shack. If a minister +doesn't happen this way, we're going over to Hillcrest. Oh, what a joke +we've played on you!"</p> + +<p>Jared stared idiotically, and Joyce's laugh rang wildly out.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gaston and me! What an idea! Why, he's helping us"—the inspiration +to say this came from a blind belief in Gaston's quick +adaptability—"he's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> helping me and Jude—to what we want."</p> + +<p>"The devil he is!" It was all that Jared could clutch from the rout. +"I—I believe it's a thundering lie," he added as an after-thought, and +as a cover to his retreat.</p> + +<p>"It's no lie." Joyce had regained her calmness. She was panting, but she +had reached safety and she knew it. An unlovely, unhallowed safety, but +such as it was it was her salvation and Gaston's.</p> + +<p>When she had stolen to him the night before it was her last ignorant +impulse to gain her own ends. From now on she must be on guard, or her +world would come clattering about her heart and soul. It took Jared some +minutes to digest the information that had been flung at him so +unexpectedly, and then anger and baffled hope swayed him. Joyce married +to Jude would make <i>his</i>, Jared's, future no securer than it now was. +Indeed it might complicate matters, for Jared had no belief in Jude +rising above the dead level of St. Angé standards.</p> + +<p>"You're a durn fool!" he ejaculated at last, while the new impression of +his daughter's beauty stirred him painfully. "You are a durn fool to +fling yourself away on Jude when you might have done most anything with +yourself—if you was managed right."</p> + +<p>Then in an evil moment Joyce laughed. Her lips parted in an odd little +way they had showing the small white teeth and forming the dimples in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> +cheeks and chin. So great was the girl's relief; so appalled was she at +what might have been, that the conflict of emotions made her almost +hysterical.</p> + +<p>"Daddy," she said, between ripples of laughter, "you thought you had me +then, didn't you? But being your daughter, you know, I had wit enough to +take care of myself."</p> + +<p>Jared listened to this outburst in sheer amazement. Unable to +understand, in the least, what was passing over the girl before him, he +weighed her by his own low standard, and drew the worst possible +conclusion as Jude had done before him.</p> + +<p>He looked steadily at Joyce, and he saw the colour and fire come to +cheek and eye. The ringing laughter struck through his brutality and +hurt something in him that was akin to paternal love; but so long had +that protecting tenderness been ignored by Jared, that now when it was +called upon to act, it did so in a savage rage.</p> + +<p>"By heaven!" he thundered, "I catch your drift, you young divil. And if +that Myst. ain't a slick one! Going to use Jude is he, to pull his +chestnuts out of the fire?"</p> + +<p>Then Jared strode forward with arm upraised as if to strike and, by so +doing, again command the situation. In like manner had he downed and +controlled Joyce's mother. But he paused before the pale undaunted girl. +Her laugh died suddenly, to be sure, so suddenly that the gleaming +teeth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> and pretty dimples outlived the mirth long enough to give a +stricken, death-like expression to the face, but the change brought no +fear; it brought something worse.</p> + +<p>Joyce's moral sense was an unknown quantity in her present development. +Her father's true meaning affected her not at all; what she felt was—a +loathing disgust, and a conviction that if she was to hold even Jude for +herself against her father's anger and purpose, she must flee to other +shelter.</p> + +<p>She drew herself up and cast a look upon Jared that he never forgot to +his dying day. It was an added faggot to that hell of his.</p> + +<p>"Isa Tate," the even voice broke upon him, "Isa Tate said you killed my +mother. But I'm not afraid of you, and I'm going to live my life. You +can't kill me! I know when and where to go."</p> + +<p>With that she gathered up the work that had fallen to the floor, and +almost ran into the little bedchamber beyond the kitchen, closing the +door after her.</p> + +<p>Jared sat dumbly staring at the wooden barrier. He longed to call her, +but his tongue pricked with excitement.</p> + +<p>He dared not go to her—so he waited. He heard her moving about inside +the room. A half-hour passed, then an hour. Noon came and went. The fire +was out, and dinner, apparently, was as distant as it had been two hours +before.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span></p> + +<p>Jared fell asleep in his hard chair, his dishevelled head lying on his +arms folded on the bare table. When he awoke it was three o'clock and +Joyce stood before him.</p> + +<p>She was very white, and the drawn look was still in evidence. She wore a +blue-and-white checked gown; short and scant it was, but daintily fresh +and sweet. She had her poor little best hat on—a hat with a bunch of +roses on the side—and she carried a large basket in her hand.</p> + +<p>Jared stared at her as if she were part of a nightmarish dream.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" he asked hoarsely, a new fear gripping him.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter to you, father. I'm just—going."</p> + +<p>Jared experienced a shock as he realized how far this girl had already +gone from him.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," she faltered; "good-bye, father."</p> + +<p>She turned from him and walked to the door. Then a latent power for good +roused Jared.</p> + +<p>"Joyce," he called after her; "there's twenty dollars left—take it all, +girl."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then for God's sake take half!" He was pleading, pleading with a woman +for the first time in his selfish, depraved life.</p> + +<p>Joyce turned and looked at him, and the tears filled her eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," she repeated, "I—I couldn't take it. I don't want it; but I'm +going to Isa Tate, father."</p> + +<p>How frightfully still and lonely she had left the little house. Jared +looked at the old furniture and found it strange and unnatural. The +summer day grew dim as he waited there among the ruins of all that he +thought had been his own. No dinner; no probable supper—Jared thought +upon the physical discomfort, too, but he was sober enough, and shocked +enough to give heed to the graver side of the situation.</p> + +<p>What he suffered as the afternoon faded and the ticking of the clock +thudded on his senses, no one could ever know.</p> + +<p>We may leave retribution for sin out of our scheme of +things-as-they-should-be for others. Each sin takes care of itself, and +burns and blisters as it strikes in. Men may suffer without giving +outward sign. Justice is never cheated, and we may trust her workings +alone. Jared suffered. Suffered until nerves and body could bear no +more, and then he went down to the Black Cat to face the situation Joyce +had created and deal with it in his own fashion.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> + +<p>When Joyce went with bowed head from the only semblance of a home that +had ever been hers, she carried with her, in the rough basket, all that +she could rightfully call her own in personal effects. The load was not +heavy and she scarcely noticed it as she walked rapidly through the +maple thicket which divided her father's garden-place and the Long +Meadow.</p> + +<p>She felt like an exile, indeed. A friendless creature who had no real +hold upon any one.</p> + +<p>She thought of Gaston—but he no longer suggested safety to her. She +thought of Lauzoon, and a wave of fear and repulsion swept over her. She +knew she was driven to him. She knew she must accept whatever fate he +offered, but with the remnant of her intuitive belief in her personal +charm and beauty, she paused at the edge of the wood, to plan some sort +of attitude that would secure Jude's admiration as well as his +protection. She must not call upon him in a moment of weakness and +defeat. That would be putting a weapon in his hand that no St. Angé man +could be trusted to wield mercifully.</p> + +<p>She must hide all traces of outraged feeling; she must find a vantage +point from which Jude might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> take her. He must come to her; she must not +go to him. Thus she pondered. For one wild instant she turned her face +toward Hillcrest. There were those over the hill who might give her +work—what work? What could she do? But granting that she obtained work, +how long could she retain a position, with her father and Jude in +pursuit? No; she was a product of St. Angé and had all the faltering +distrust of other environments common to the shrinking childhood of the +poor village.</p> + +<p>Down beside the last tree of the thicket the girl crouched with her +shabby basket beside her.</p> + +<p>The elemental woman in her saw, as clearly as any cultivated sister +might have seen, that if she hoped for success in her married life, she +must not throw herself upon Jude crushed and downed. A brave front must +be the breastwork behind which she was to fight.</p> + +<p>When she had told her father she was going to Isa Tate, she had spoken +wildly; but the inevitable closed upon her. Every one went to Leon Tate +in trouble. Leon, like the old gods, first made mad whom he wished to +destroy; for the trust that all St. Angé put in Leon's bland generosity +was nothing short of madness. When any difficulty arose, private or +public, it was carried to the Black Cat for adjustment and final +settlement. By putting every individual under deep obligation to him, +Leon controlled money, loyalty and obedience. Every man in St.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> Angé was +in his debt, and every woman had accepted, in some form or other, his +wife's services. The difference between Isa and her husband was, +however, vital. Tate was a friend to man in order that he might draw his +victims into his net. Isa had a woman's soul hidden under her rough +exterior and, while she played the part assigned her by her diplomatic +lord, she found comfort for her own lonely nature in giving comfort.</p> + +<p>Joyce, in going to Isa for protection, would in no wise interfere with +her father's welcome at the tavern. Leon would arrange that, and bring +about a brilliant climax for himself; at least he always had done so in +emergencies.</p> + +<p>Crouching under the tree, as the sun went down behind Beacon Hill, Joyce +saw the future unfold itself. There was nothing to do but go to Isa. +Then Leon would, by his subtlety, make it seem that she had come there +to get ready for her marriage to Jude. He'd even arrange, perhaps, the +marriage, and so clutch Jude and her closer to his power. He'd smooth +the way for her father, too, and hush tongues and smile—oh, how he +would smile on them all!—and no one would ever know.</p> + +<p>The sun went down and the stars came out. Still the girl sat there; but +presently a healthy appetite was the call that roused her. She had not +eaten since noon of the day before. She was weak and suffering. She +thought with a kind of comfort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> that perhaps it was hunger alone that +was now causing her mental and physical agony. After she had eaten, all +would be well with her. She could control Jude and her own fate. She +would never let any one think—Gaston above all—that she was not +mistress of her own shabby little life.</p> + +<p>She got up dizzily, and was shocked to find how heavy the basket was; +still, with a constant shifting from hand to hand, she could manage it.</p> + +<p>Lola's giddy little lark song sprang to memory out of the ashes of her +hurt and pain, and rose and rippled in the fragrant darkness as she +entered the Long Meadow.</p> + +<p>Beacon Hill stood gloomily to the west, and above it gleamed a +particularly bright star. Across Long Meadow the lights in the houses +flickered from open windows, and the Black Cat's glare seemed to control +her motions. It drew her on and on. It was to play a part in her future +as it did in the futures of all—sooner or later.</p> + +<p>Wearily she mounted the steps of the tavern and went to the side door +that opened into whatever there was of privacy in Leon's establishment. +Isa was washing the supper dishes. She was a tall, gaunt woman with a +kindly glance that Nature had, for a safeguard, hidden under heavy black +brows.</p> + +<p>"You, Joyce?" she said, going on with her task. "I thought maybe it was +some one else."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span></p> + +<p>"Isa," the girl stepped cautiously forward, "I want to tell you +something."</p> + +<p>The gathering hilarity in the tavern made this moment secure. Isa put +down her dish and faced the girl.</p> + +<p>"What?" she asked bluntly.</p> + +<p>Quickly, breathlessly the truth, with all its hideous colouring, truth +bald, and yet with a saving clause for Gaston, was whispered in Isa's +ear.</p> + +<p>When the parting with Jared was confided, the woman put her arms about +the girl.</p> + +<p>"Now you hush, Joyce, I've heard enough. This is a man's world, God help +us! Us women, when we can, must cling together. Me and Tate pull in +harness because we find it pays—we'll help you out—Tate in <i>his</i> way, +me in mine, but, Lord a-mighty, don't I hope there'll be a heaven just +for women, some day!</p> + +<p>"Sit down, you poor, little haggled thing, I don't believe you've eat a +morsel. You look fagged out. They ain't worth it, Joyce, men ain't. +Father, husband—not one of them. But since we've got to use them, we +must make out some kind of game. Here!"</p> + +<p>She set food before the wan girl, and the readjustment of life, in her +masterful hands, seemed already begun.</p> + +<p>It was comparatively easy, later on, to go into particulars with Isa. +With the roar and clatter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> growing hourly more deafening in the tavern, +Isa and Joyce, sitting on the back porch under the calm stars, spoke +freely to each other.</p> + +<p>Isa, like a dutiful wife, had, while Joyce satisfied her hunger, +confided as much of the girl's trouble to Leon as she thought advisable. +Leon had recognized the opportunity as one by which to capture what was +left of Jared's independence, and rose to the emergency.</p> + +<p>"Leave it to me," he said. "Everything will be blooming to-morrow +like—like a—garden—er—Eden."</p> + +<p>So now Isa had only Joyce's sore little heart to deal with.</p> + +<p>"Come, girl," she began at last; "tears never yet unsnarled a knot. Be +you, or be you not, going to marry Jude?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I am." There must be no doubt upon that score and Joyce sat up +stiffly and faced her helper.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, look at the thing sensible. In a place like St. Angé, where +there ain't women to spare, you either got to be a decent married woman +or you ain't. Long as I've lived in St. Angé, and that's been more'n +twenty years, I ain't never yet seen a comfortable, respectable, +satisfied, old maid—they ain't permitted here, and you know it. In +season, of course, you'd marry—that's to be looked for. It chances to +be Jude—and after you get over the strangeness, he'll do as well as any +other. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> are all powerfully alike when they have their senses. The +sameness lies in their having their faculties. The only man as was ever +different in St. Angé was Timothy Drake. He got smashed on the head by a +falling tree up to Camp 3, and his wits was crushed out of him. But do +you know, what was left of Tim was as gentle and decent and perticerlar +as you'd want to find in any human. He never drank again, never cussed +nor stormed, and I've laid it by as an item, that the badness and +sameness of men lies in their wits—if you want a companionable, safe +man, you've got to turn to sich as are bereft of their senses—and most +women is that foolhardy they prefer wits and diviltry, to senselessness +and decency."</p> + +<p>Joyce smiled feebly at this philosophy.</p> + +<p>"You are the one to decide," Isa went on. "Now see here, girl, I ain't +lived fifty years for nothing. I ain't been in and out of my neighbour's +houses, in times when all the closets are open, without learning a heap +about things. Men is men and there's no getting around that. So long as +you can, you better let them think they amounts to something even when +you own to yourself they don't. Private opinions ain't going to bring on +trouble; it's only when they ain't private. Now granting that man is +what we know he is—it's plain common sense to get as much out of him as +you can. Make the place you live in the best thing he's got; and just so +long as you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> can, keep yourself a little bit out of his reach—tantalize +him. There ain't nothing so diverting to a man as to claw after a woman, +when he's got the belief in himself that when he <i>wants</i> to clutch her, +he can.</p> + +<p>"I know the kind of naked feeling you've got when you sense your power +with men first; but that wears off when you get your bearings and find +out that it's only a shuffle in the game, anyway. Land of love! if man +and woman was <i>all</i>, then when they came face to face with life they +would get smashed; but housework tempers the matter powerfully; and +man's work out among other men; and then when children come and you have +to contrive and pinch, why you just plod along and don't ever get +flustered. It's just the first dash of cold water in the face, child; +after that all lives is pretty much the same."</p> + +<p>Joyce had grown quieter as Isa's words droned on. It was, for all her +commotion, a very humdrum thing that had happened to her.</p> + +<p>As it was she, Joyce, was going to be very respectable. She'd manage, +and Jude would always find her worth his while to be decent for. She +would wrench what she could from him and St. Angé and be a commonplace +married woman.</p> + +<p>Now that all the fuss and fury were over, it seemed quite a silly +exhibition she had made of herself. She almost wished that she had +stayed at home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span></p> + +<p>"The little loft room is yours, Joyce, for as long as you want it," Isa +was saying, through the sobering silence. "I ain't going to side with +Jared Birkdale when a woman's sense of right has been roused. Jared's +wits are the keenest and the cruelest round here, and the poison in his +tongue is the deadliest; I guess <i>I</i> know. Are you coming in, child? The +bed's made, but you best carry a pitcher of fresh water up with you."</p> + +<p>"I'll be there in a minute, Isa, and the cracked pitcher's by the well, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Isa replied; "and I'll leave a lighted candle for you, the ile is +pretty low in the lamp. Good night, child, and don't fuss. I never saw +fussing hurt any one but the fusser."</p> + +<p>Joyce rose stiffly and stood by the open door. She stretched her limbs +and winced at the pain in them. Then she clasped her aching hands above +her head and permitted her tired spirit one long, heavy sigh.</p> + +<p>She stood for some time in that relieved state. The chill of the +deepening night soothed her, and the late new moon looked down through +the pines at her—then she turned sharply. Some one was near!</p> + +<p>Her startled glance fell upon Jude Lauzoon. He was crouching upon the +step of the porch.</p> + +<p>"I thought you was sleeping, standing up," he whispered hoarsely. "I +didn't want to scare you none."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why are you here?" Joyce's heart fluttered. Had he heard all?</p> + +<p>"Why are you?" Jude turned the tables.</p> + +<p>"Where else should I be—to—to—" she looked at him appealingly, "to +get ready to be married?"</p> + +<p>Jude was master of the situation in a way Joyce did not know. He could +afford to be condescendingly gracious. He, of all who had taken part in +this poor little drama, now held the centre of the stage, and the +knowledge gave him a certain manliness highly becoming.</p> + +<p>"Stay here until we get married—is that it?"</p> + +<p>Joyce nodded.</p> + +<p>Jude felt a pity for her that would have been contempt had not her +beauty and charm mastered him. He was going to clutch her once and for +all, but he was willing to let her see that he only meant, since he must +have her, to clutch close enough to bind her to him. He was not going to +strangle her: he meant only to stifle her. Jude was cool now, and alert.</p> + +<p>"I've got something to say to you, Joyce, and it better be said and done +with. I slept on it last night and most of to-day. I went to your +father's this evening to have it out, but you wasn't there. I met Jock +Filmer in the Long Medder and he told me where you was, and why. Your +father had aired his affair in the tavern."</p> + +<p>Joyce clasped her cold fingers nervously. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> was nothing for her to +do but wait Jude's pleasure. Leon had not been able to overpower Jared's +personality evidently.</p> + +<p>"I saw you go to Mr. Gaston's shack night before last! I'd been there +before you, and I was lying off in the pine grove when you came +a-visiting."</p> + +<p>The widening eyes of the listener were the only sign that this +information was startling.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," Jude gave a chuckle, "up to that minute when I saw you +a-knocking, and him taking no heed, I had thought 'twas him as had been +shining up to you. I was actually hard agin him, and once went so far as +to go up there with my gun!" Joyce shivered. "Yes, by gosh! with my +gun. Just suppose I'd killed him, and him not to blame either?</p> + +<p>"Now there be some men, Joyce, that wouldn't have you after knowing what +I know, but I ain't one as goes off the handle without looking on both +sides. Since I know <i>he's</i> all right, I can manage you proper +enough—and I own up to wanting you, and I'm willing to let bygones <i>be</i> +bygones, only—and you might as well know this—once I've had my eyes +open, I ain't going to shut them again. I'll always be within call if +you should forget yourself, and take to attracting Mr. Gaston's +attention. He's my <i>friend</i> now, by gosh! He's going to stand by me. +He's the real stuff and shows up to me in the finest colours, never once +hinting that your seeking him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> had made you cheap. He's a bigger feller +than I ever thought, and I ain't going to have no foolishness. You +understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; oh, yes; I understand!" Again the shivering seized Joyce.</p> + +<p>"I should think to have a man turn a deaf ear to you like that, would +end any nonsense without more fuss."</p> + +<p>"It—it will." The low voice shook.</p> + +<p>"But you see, protecting a young girl agin herself is one thing. He +might feel different if a married woman wanted to turn fool. Now, Joyce, +I ain't ever going to say anything more about this, 'less it's +necessary. I know you're pretty and maybe a bit more flighty along of +that, but being married and having your own work, may tone you down. If +you'll stick by me, I'll stick by you; and in time Mr. Gaston can be a +friend to both of us and no harm done. You understand, don't you? I +ain't hard, I'm only letting light in on the whole thing."</p> + +<p>"I—I understand, Jude."</p> + +<p>"And now, as to marrying. Mr. Gaston is going to lend me money, and I'm +going to put up an addition to my shack, and get some fixings over to +Hillcrest. If you want, we'll get married over there and rough it +together before the buildin's done."</p> + +<p>"I—I'd rather wait, Jude if you're willing. I want to get some—some +things." Joyce's teeth were chattering. "But if a minister should +happen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> in St. Angé in the meanwhile, I'd—I'd marry you." This seemed a +reasonable request—"I don't like the minister over at Hillcrest, he's +so fearful in his sermons, he makes me afraid."</p> + +<p>"Well," Jude rose, "when the house gets along, we'll see. Things are +tight and trim now. Good night! Go to bed—and forget it."</p> + +<p>He put his hands on her shoulders and bent and kissed the cold, upturned +face. Then he laughed: for he had got what he wanted, and she was very +sweet and pretty.</p> + +<p>"Go to bed now—trot on!"</p> + +<p>Joyce staggered indoors and hurriedly bolted the door behind her. She +took the spluttering candle and mounted the steep stairs. Once alone in +the small stifling room, she gasped, and put her hands to her throat as +if to remove a pressure that was there.</p> + +<p>Presently she blew out the light, set the shutters wide to the pale +moonlight, and undressed herself quietly and methodically.</p> + +<p>Already she seemed used to her lot. It was very ordinary, tame and +familiar.</p> + +<p>She had received the first dash of cold water in the face, and had +accepted the new situation.</p> + +<p>There was no longer even the excitement of trying to dangle a little +above Jude. He had her close in his grip. She must accept whatever he +doled out to her—and that was the fate of all respectable married women +in St. Angé.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> + +<p>The late September afternoon held almost summer heat as it flooded St. +Angé. The breeze gave a promise of crispness as it passed fitfully +through the pines; but on the whole a calmness and silence pervaded +space which gave the impression of a summer Sunday when a passing +minister had been prevailed upon to "stop over."</p> + +<p>However, it was not a summer Sunday, as St. Angé well enough knew, for +every able-bodied man in the place had that day signed a contract with +the Boss of Camp 7 for the lumber season; and the St. Angéans never +signed contracts on Sunday.</p> + +<p>The calmness was accounted for by the fact that Joyce Birkdale was to be +married. The circumstances leading up to this event had been +sufficiently interesting to demand sobriety. St. Angé did not believe in +putting on airs, but it had its own ideas of decorum; things had sort of +dovetailed lately, and, according to Leon Tate, "it was up to them to +spread eagle and plant their banner for knowing a good thing from a +rotten egg."</p> + +<p>Leon was above consistent figures of speech. He had power of his own +that controlled even language.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-002" id="illus-002"></a> +<img class='border' src='images/illus-076.jpg' alt='"ONCE I WENT SO FAR AS TO GO UP THERE WITH MY GUN"' title='' width = '300' height = '408'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>"ONCE I WENT SO FAR AS TO GO UP THERE WITH MY GUN"</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span>After + Jared Birkdale had defied Leon in his own stronghold, and, instead +of agreeing with Tate that Joyce had come to Isa as to a mother, had +insisted upon bare, unglorified fact, he had betaken himself into +oblivion. Tate was confronted with the predicament of having a helpless +girl on his hands to do for—unless another man was forthcoming.</p> + +<p>Jude rose to the occasion. He confided to Jock Filmer his desire for +immediate marriage, and good-natured Jock, his system permeated by +gossip, consented to send down to the Junction—since Joyce objected to +the hell-fire minister at Hillcrest—and bring a harmless wayfarer of +the cloth, who Murphy, the engineer of the daily branch train, had said, +was summering there.</p> + +<p>"He's a lean, blighted cuss," Murphy had explained; "what God intended +for an engineer, but Nature stepped in and flambasted his constitootion, +and so he took to preaching—that not demanding no bodily strength.</p> + +<p>"He comes pottering round the engine, using the excuse of saving my +soul, and I don't let on that I see through him. I give him pints about +the machinery; and if I tell him he can ride in the cab with me +anywhere, he'd marry a girl, or bury a tramp, if he had to go to hell to +do it."</p> + +<p>So Jock detailed Murphy to decoy the side-tracked gentleman at the +Junction up to St. Angé.</p> + +<p>The stranger was expected on the afternoon train,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> and Tate had the +guest room of the Black Cat in readiness.</p> + +<p>Jock had lazed about the Station since noon. The wedding preparations +bored him, and the train's delay angered him.</p> + +<p>"See here!" he exploded to Tom Smith, the agent, "ain't it stretching a +point too far when that gol-durned train gives herself four hours' +lee-way?"</p> + +<p>Tom spat with dignity, and remarked casually:</p> + +<p>"Long as she ain't likely to meet any train going down, seems to me +there ain't any use to git warmer than is necessary."</p> + +<p>"If she keeps on," drawled Jock, "she'll have a head-on collision with +herself some day. Is that the dying shriek of the blasted hussy?"</p> + +<p>Tom stopped the imminent expectoration.</p> + +<p>"It be," he announced, and went out on the track to welcome the guest.</p> + +<p>"She do look," he contemplatively remarked, "like she had an all-fired +jag on."</p> + +<p>The train came in sight, swaying unsteadily on its rickety tracks. +Puffing, panting and hissing, it reached the platform and stopped +jerkily.</p> + +<p>Murphy sprang from the engine; the conductor strode with dignity worthy +a Pullman official, to the one passenger coach behind the baggage car, +and assisted a very young and very sickly man to alight.</p> + +<p>Tom Smith, with energy concentrated on this single activity of the +twenty-four hours, began hurling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> mail-bag and boxes about with the +abandon that marks the man whom Nature has fitted to his legitimate +calling.</p> + +<p>Filmer eyed the passenger with disapproving interest; Murphy, after +looking at some part of the machinery, lolled up to Jock.</p> + +<p>"Is that it?" Filmer nodded toward the stranger, who sat exhaustedly +upon a cracker-box, destined for the Black Cat, with his suit-case at +his feet.</p> + +<p>"It ain't, then," Murphy returned. "It got on the Branch 'stead of the +Mountain Special, by mistake. It's a lunger bound for the lakes, and +some one gave him a twist as to the track an' we caught 'im. But shure, +the rale thing, the parson, when I was after tellin' 'im of the job what +was at this end of the game, he up and balked—divil take 'im!—an' said +he wasn't goin' to tie for time and eternity, two unknown quantities. +What do ye think of that?"</p> + +<p>Jock thought hotly of it, and expressed his thought so fervidly that the +boy on the cracker-box gave attention.</p> + +<p>"Say," Murphy continued, "give it straight, Filmer; does it be after +meanin' life or death for Birkdale's girl? What's the almighty hurry, +anyway?"</p> + +<p>He leered unpleasantly. Jock squared himself, and faced the engineer.</p> + +<p>"Come off with that guff!" he drawled. "What hurry there be is <i>my</i> +hurry, you blamed idiot! And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> my reasons are my own, confound you! I've +set my mind on having that affair come off to-morrow, gol durn it, and +I'm going to have a parson if I have to dangle down to the Junction on +that old machine of yours, myself."</p> + +<p>A few added words of luridly picturesque intent gave force and colour to +this declaration.</p> + +<p>The stranger on the cracker-box rose weakly and drew near.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," he began, in a voice of peculiar sweetness and earnestness, +"I wonder if I can be of any service? I am a minister!"</p> + +<p>Filmer reeled before this announcement, took the stranger in from head +to foot, then remarked in an awed tone:</p> + +<p>"The hell you are!"</p> + +<p>"I am. My name's Drew, Ralph Drew."</p> + +<p>Murphy beat a rapid retreat. The scene was too much for him. Filmer, in +doubt as to whether this was a joke or not, stood his ground.</p> + +<p>The young fellow laughed good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>"I know what you think," he said, and coughed sharply; "I got my +credentials all right. I nearly finished myself in getting them, but +they're all right. Graduated last June, went under soon after, got on my +feet two weeks ago, and am making for Green Lake. I got side-tracked at +the Junction through my own stupidity, and landed here. Perhaps you can +direct me to a quiet place for the night, and I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> be glad to help you +out in any way along my line, if I can."</p> + +<p>This lengthy explanation was interrupted by short, hacking coughs, and +Filmer's eyes never dropped from the eager boyish face through it all.</p> + +<p>Presently he leaned down and took the dress-suit case from the other's +hand.</p> + +<p>"Drop that," he drawled, "and you follow me. There's the Black Cat +Tavern, but I guess that ain't your kind. Do you think you can make my +shack? It's a half-mile, and pretty uppish grade."</p> + +<p>The boy began to thank Filmer.</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" Jock commanded. "Keep your wind for the climb, and stop +gassing."</p> + +<p>The two started on, and the climb was a silent one. Filmer +appreciatively strode ahead, speechless. Drew, panting, accepted the +situation gratefully, and made the most of his position and his leader's +silence.</p> + +<p>Filmer's shack was a lonely place, standing on a little pine-clad knoll +facing the west. It had four small rooms, a broad piazza, and a thrifty +garden at the rear.</p> + +<p>The room assigned to Drew had a cot-bed and rough, home-made toilet +accommodations that suggested comfort and a sense of refinement. When +Filmer made him welcome to it, he said quietly: "Now kid, you make +yourself trim and dandy. Come out on the piazza when you get good and +ready, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> we'll have supper out there later." It was evident that +Jock's sympathies had been touched.</p> + +<p>Once alone, Drew sank upon the low bed, and permitted the waves of +weakness and weariness to engulf him.</p> + +<p>The young face grew pinched and blue, a faintness rose and conquered +him. The eyes closed, and the breath almost stopped. But it was only +momentary, and with returning consciousness came renewed hope and sudden +strength.</p> + +<p>From the broad open window the boy could see the western hills, already +gay with glistening autumn colour, shining under the glowing sunset sky. +The tall pointed pines, standing here and there in clumps, rose sharply +dark in the early gloaming of the valley.</p> + +<p>"It's my chance," thought the boy, his eyes widening with enjoyment of +the beauty; "and, by Jove, I believe I've caught on!"</p> + +<p>He got to his feet. The giddiness was gone. He flung off his +dust-stained garments, as if they held all of his past weakness and +misery. He plunged his head into the clear, cold water in the big basin +on the pine table; when he emerged, colour had mounted to his pale face, +and depression was a thing of the past.</p> + +<p>"Hang it!" he exclaimed, rubbing his face and head with the rough towel +that he took from the back of a chair; "this is good enough for me. No +Green Lake in mine! I'll send for my trunk"—he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> begun to whistle in +the pauses of his thought—"and put up my fight right here. Filmer's +good stuff; and there's a job ready-made for me, I bet! This is where I +was sent, and no mistake. What's that?"</p> + +<p>It was the odours of supper, and Drew stood still, inhaled the fragrance +and grinned broadly.</p> + +<p>"Gee whiz!" he cried; "I'm as hungry as a ditch digger." He dashed over +to his suit-case, opened it and pulled out the contents. A pair of +flannel trousers, a heavy flannel shirt and thick shoes were selected, +and soon Drew, radiant and revived, went forth from the disorder he had +created, eager for the meal that he heard Filmer placing on the piazza +table.</p> + +<p>Drew was to eat many of Filmer's meals in the future; he was to learn +that Jock was a master-hand at cooking, but he was never again to know +just the positive joy that he felt during that first meal; for he +brought to it an appetite made keen by the hope of recovered health—the +health he had squandered so foolishly, poor fellow, while he was making +for his goal at college.</p> + +<p>At last he tilted his chair back and laughed.</p> + +<p>"I haven't eaten like that," he said, "nor with such enjoyment, since I +went tramping up in the Maine woods when I was a youngster."</p> + +<p>Filmer was removing the empty dishes. There was a sense of delicacy +about his host that was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> compelling Drew's notice. He watched him +passing from kitchen to piazza, and he saw that he was big, strong and +handsome, but with a certain weakness, of chin, and a shyness of +expression that came and went, marring the general impression.</p> + +<p>Filmer's shyness was increasing. Never before in his life had he been +brought into close personal contact with "the cloth" as he termed it, +and even this "swaddling garment" was having a slow-growing hold upon +him.</p> + +<p>Presently Jock came timidly out, after his last visit to the kitchen, +with pipes and a tobacco-box.</p> + +<p>"I'm not certain," he began, "how your kind takes to tobacco, but if I +don't get my evening smoke, I get a bad spell of temper—so, if you +don't object—I'll light up."</p> + +<p>"If you'll wait a moment," Drew returned, "I'll join you. I always smoke +my own pipe—I've got sort of chummy with it—but I'll share your +tobacco."</p> + +<p>Filmer grinned, and the cloud passed from his face.</p> + +<p>"I calculated," he said, "that your kind classed tobacco with cussing +and jags. Light up, kid."</p> + +<p>They were soon lost in the fragrant smoke, the bliss of satisfied +appetite, and a peaceful scene. The sun went down, and left the hills +and valley in an afterglow of glory. The beauty was so touching that +even Filmer succumbed, shook the ashes from his pipe and delayed +refilling. Presently he looked at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> Drew's face. It had paled from +emotion, and shone white in the shadow of the porch.</p> + +<p>"You look peaked." Filmer's words brought the boy back to earth. "Been +through a long siege, maybe?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, overstudy and weak lungs!" Drew spoke cheerfully. "Bad combination, +you know, and I didn't pull in as soon as I should have. I crammed for +exams. Made them, and then collapsed. I'm all right now, though. All the +struggle's over. I've only to reap the reward. There was a big doctor +down in New York who told me that the air up here was my one chance. I'm +going to take it. A few months here, and a life anywhere else I may +choose, he said.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to letting me have your room and company—you needn't +give any more of the latter than you want to, you know—for a spell? +You'll find me easy to get on with, I fancy, no one has ever complained +of me in that way. I don't care what Green Lake is like, I like <i>this</i> +better. I like this, way down to the ground. I've gone daffy over the +whole thing." He drew in a long, happy breath. "What do you say?"</p> + +<p>"I'd like to ask, if it ain't too inquisitive," Jock inquired, ignoring +the boy's eagerness, while he put forth his own claims, "why in thunder +a chap like you took to the preaching business? Somehow you look like a +feller that might want to enjoy life."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span></p> + +<p>Drew laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"Why, I mean to enjoy life," he replied, "and I chose this profession +because I like it. I believe in it. You see, I was born to be a fighter. +If I'd had a big, lusty body like yours, I might have been—anything. As +it is, I had to choose something where I could fight with other weapons +than bone, muscle and bodily endurance. I'm going into the fight of +helping men and women in the best way I can, don't you see? I suppose I +must sound cheeky and brazen to talk this way, but I'm full of the joy +of it all, and I've made the goal, you see, and for all the breakdown +I've come out ahead. It's enough to stir one, don't you think?</p> + +<p>"The night I graduated, I don't mind telling this to you, I went down on +my knees when all the excitement was over and the lights were out, and I +said, 'I am here. I've got money; the good God need not have me on his +mind along that line; he can send me where he chooses, to do his work; +I'm ready.'</p> + +<p>"It was like consecrating myself, you know. Well, when the sickness +came, I thought perhaps he didn't want me or my money either; but I came +out of the Valley and here I am now, and I tell you—it seems good."</p> + +<p>Filmer folded his arms across his chest, and looked steadily ahead of +him.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," he said at length—"and I hope<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> you'll excuse me—I think +you're the most comical cuss that ever happened."</p> + +<p>Drew met this frank opinion with the boyish laugh that was having the +effect of clearing up all the dull places in Filmer's character. He had +never heard that laugh equalled but once, and he rarely went back to +that memory—the path was too hard and lonely.</p> + +<p>The reserves were down between the two. Without reason or cause, +perhaps, they had fallen into a confident liking.</p> + +<p>"Have you done much marrying and burying yet?" The question startled +Drew, then he recalled the conversation on the Station platform.</p> + +<p>"Well, no," he said, "practical demonstration comes after graduation +generally. I've substituted for ministers—preached a Sunday, now and +then, you know; but of course, I <i>can</i> perform the marriage ceremony, or +read the burial service."</p> + +<p>"You look pretty young," Jock spoke slowly; he was noting the strange +dignity of his guest. Any reference to his profession brought with it +this calm assurance that held levity in check; "but it's this way. +There's a wedding fixed for to-morrer. I've set my heart on it coming +off, and there ain't a durned parson to be had, that the girl favours. +Now under these circumstances, you can't afford to look a gift horse in +the mouth so to speak, and no offence intended. I can give you a tip or +two before you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> trot in, and as for you, why you know, there ain't +nothing equal to being thrown neck and crop into a job.</p> + +<p>"The first time I went logging I got one leg broke and my head smashed, +but I haven't ever regretted it. That accident, and the incidental +scare, did more for me than any two successful seasons could have done. +Now, your plunging right into a marrying may prove providential. Sermons +and infant christenings will seem like child's play after. What do you +say?"</p> + +<p>Drew was laughing and the tears stood in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I'll—I'll do my level best," he managed to say through his spasms of +mirth. "This seems like a horrible approach to anything so serious, but +it is the way you put it, you know, and—and the air, and the supper. +The laugh comes easy, you see."</p> + +<p>"Oh! enjoy yourself." Filmer waved his pipe aloft. "I'm glad you <i>can</i> +take life this way, with the handicap of your trade, I don't quite see, +by thunder, how your future parish is going to account for you, but so +far as I'm concerned you can laugh till you bust."</p> + +<p>Filmer was delighted. Not in years had he been so taken out of himself.</p> + +<p>"Now this here town," he explained, "likes to have its buryings and +weddings set off with a sermon with the principal actor as text. They +like to get their money's worth. See? This girl, what I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> want spliced, +is a devilish—" he paused—"you don't mind <i>moderately</i> strong +language, do you?" he asked. "We all get flowery up here. What is +lacking in events, talk makes up. I'll hold back when I can—in reason."</p> + +<p>"Don't mind me!" Drew was trying to control his mirth.</p> + +<p>Filmer nodded appreciatively.</p> + +<p>"Well, as I was remarking—and I've got to be open with you—this here +girl will be safer married, and so will some other folks. I ain't much +of a reader of character, but I sense things like all creation, and I +<i>feel</i> that getting the girl in harness as soon as possible is the only +plain common-sense method. She's mettlesome, you know, the kind that +kicks over the traces, and slams any one happening to be handy. She +ain't never done it yet—but she's capable of it."</p> + +<p>"Is—is the girl a relation or——?"</p> + +<p>Jock flushed.</p> + +<p>"Neither. Nor the man. The feller—Jude Lauzoon is his name—I don't +care a durn for, but he's all gone over this girl, and if any one can +steer him straight she can, and when she gets the reins in her hands, I +believe she's going to keep her head, in order to steer straight.</p> + +<p>"The girl's name is Joyce Birkdale. Mother dead; raised sort of +promiscuous on the instalment plan. Father an old buck who only keeps +sober because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> he want's to see what's going on. He lit out and made +himself scarce a time back, and this here Joyce took refuge after a hell +of—excuse me! after a row with the old man—up to the Black Cat. Leon +Tate acts the father-part to any one in a fix—it helps his trade—keeps +folks in his debt, you know, but he ain't going to hamper hisself past a +certain point, and if this here Jude Lauzoon should get a beckon from +old man Birkdale he'd skip as quick as thunder—that's what is troubling +Tate, and, by gosh! it's troubling me, but for another reason what +needn't enter into this here conversation.</p> + +<p>"If it was trusting you with a funeral or a christening," Filmer felt +his way gingerly, "I wouldn't care a durn. You can't hurt the dead and +the kid might outgrow it; but when it comes to tying folks together +tight, it's a blamed lot like trusting something brittle in a baby's +hand. It mustn't be broke, you see, or there'll be h—I mean trouble, to +pay."</p> + +<p>"See here!" Drew sat up straight, "I'm not much younger than you, if the +truth were known. So let us cut extreme youth out of the question."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you are about my age, kid," Jock gazed indulgently upon him, "and +don't let your necktie choke you; but you're pretty raw material, and +I'm seasoned. That's the difference. It ain't anything against you. It's +the way you've been handled. Burying is looked upon by young <i>and</i> old, +solemn-like;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> but I didn't know how you looked upon—marrying."</p> + +<p>"It's the solemnest thing in life." Drew spoke clearly and impressively. +"I think death is a light matter in comparison. I've always thought +that—since, well—for several years."</p> + +<p>"Now you're talking!" Jock leaned over and gave Drew a friendly slap on +the shoulder. "Now you're getting on the right course, and I want to +give you this tip. Lay it on thick with Jude. Tell him he'll be +everlasting blasted in kingdom-come if he don't act clean and hold on. +Specially slap it on about holding on. Jude's intentions are good +enough. He's powerful promising at the start, but he's the d——, the +gol-durndest quitter anywhere around.</p> + +<p>"Every new boss bets on Jude when the season begins, but every man of +them would like to kick him out of camp before the spring sets in. All +the hell-fire threats that that religion factory of yours drilled in +you, you plank on Jude to-morrow, when you make him and Joyce man and +wife. How fervent was that factory of yours? There is a difference in +temperatures among them, I've heard."</p> + +<p>"Oh! mine was mild," Drew was again helplessly convulsed, "so mild that +I'm afraid you'd call it frigid. But that doesn't matter. Future +damnation is a poor threat when every man among us knows that a present +hell is a much worse affair. It's the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> awakening of a soul to <i>that</i> +fact, that is going to save the world of men and women."</p> + +<p>A full moon was sailing high in the heavens now, and Drew's animated +face showed clear in the pale gleam. Jock hitched his chair nearer.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to insinuate," he asked, "that you've been wasting your +time and health studying a line of preaching that hasn't got a red-hot +hell in the background for sinners?"</p> + +<p>"I mean just that." Drew threw back his head proudly.</p> + +<p>"What in thunder do you do with them, then?"</p> + +<p>"We try—by God's help <i>I'm</i> going to try—to take fear from them. Make +them <i>want</i> to be decent. Make them <i>want</i> to use the powers they have +in themselves. Make them want to work <i>with</i> God, not alone <i>for</i> God."</p> + +<p>Jock's face was a puzzle. Admiration, pity, bewilderment, and a desire +to laugh, waged war. Finally he drawled:</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be eternally durned, if I ain't sorry that a bright chap +like you has wasted his youth, and pretty nearly drowned the vital +spark, in arriving at such a cold-storage conclusion as this here one +you've been airing. Why any one with half an eye can see that if +hell-fire can't stir sinners, a slow call to duty ain't going to get a +hustle on them. I swear if it wasn't so late, I'd get Gaston over here +to listen to your views. Gaston is open to all kinds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> of tommy-rot that +has a new mark on it. I'll be jiggered if I don't believe Gaston will +want to pay you a salary to keep you here just for a diversion. But take +my advice, and keep to old-fashioned lines, to-morrer 'specially, when +you come to the marrying. Lord! Lord! But Jude would be having a picnic +if he grasped that rose-coloured streamer of yours."</p> + +<p>Drew made no reply. He was thinking, and his thoughts led where he knew +Jock could not follow.</p> + +<p>Presently a thin, blue-veined hand stole out in the darkness and found +Filmer's.</p> + +<p>"I—I—didn't know such men as you—such a place as this—existed," said +the low, eager voice. "It's like having died and awakened in a new +atmosphere, where even the people are different. It's—it's quite an +inspiration."</p> + +<p>Jock kept the hand, delicate as a woman's, in his strong, rough palm.</p> + +<p>"You're somewhat of an eye-opener yourself," he said. "I've always held +that mixing is learning on both sides. As long as you've got strength +and inclination to stretch out, you'll always find something stretching +out to you.</p> + +<p>"And now as to that proposition of yours a time back, about bunking here +for a time. I'm agreed, with this understanding: I've got a devil of a +disposition, but it ain't ever going to be no better and them as don't +like it can find new quarters. I came here over ten years ago to indulge +my disposition,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> and I'm going to indulge it. When I don't want folks, I +take to the forest, or, if the weather is bad, I shut and lock my door. +If, after knowing this, you care to take that room I gave you this +afternoon, it's yours for as long as you want it. I like you. I'm sudden +in my likes, but I don't like your hell-less doctrine. I advise you not +to turn that loose in St. Angé. We're none too good now, but if a +soothing syrup was poured out, them as valued their lives would have to +navigate to the Solitudes."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it!" cried Drew. "As God hears me, I believe it is just +the place to try it."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Get to bed." Jock stood up and laughed good-naturedly. "Go to bed +and get up steam for to-morrer. When you see the whole collection you'll +warm up your ideas. You're a terrible plucky kid to trust your own soul +on a trifling little raft like this religion of yours. You better not +overload it with more souls, though; the risk's too tremendous.</p> + +<p>"Go sleep on your fairy story, boy. I don't see for the life of me how +your health could have broken studying such a mild mixture as that. You +must have been real run down at the start. But never mind, don't lay the +laugh up against me, kid, I ain't enjoyed myself so much in ten years as +I have to-night."</p> + +<p>The two parted the best of friends. Drew fell quickly into a deep, +undisturbed sleep, but Filmer tossed about till morning. The grim Past +gripped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> him; he pulled the flask, that stood ever ready, nearer; but +the cowardice of the act swayed him, and he flung the bottle to the +floor.</p> + +<p>Then he swore, and tried to sleep again, but the Spectre jeered him.</p> + +<p>"The powers they have in themselves." The words struck again and again +on Filmer's aching brain.</p> + +<p>What powers? Oh! he had had powers. He might have been—what? He might +have been where? If—if——</p> + +<p>The sunrise of Joyce's wedding day was just breaking when Filmer's +Spectre gave up the struggle and sleep came. The only trophy of the +victory was the discarded flask, which lay untouched where the hand of +the master—for that time at least—had flung it.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> + +<p>The word had passed along, and all St. Angé knew that Jock Filmer had a +raw specimen of a parson up at his shack, in safe keeping for the Sunday +events. For Joyce's wedding-day fell upon a Sunday.</p> + +<p>"He's fattening him up," said Tom Smith, "and the Lord knows he needs +it! Such a spindling youngster I <i>never</i> saw—a parson!" The contempt +was too deep for Smith's expression, so he gave up. "And to think," +added the train conductor, stretching his long legs in Tate's tavern, +"there he was on my car, and I never sensed his ideas. Talk about +entertaining angels unaware, it ain't in it! He even cussed mild when I +told him his ticket was punched for Green Lake, and he was headed for +St. Angé. I never would have took him for anything but a plain milksop +till he let forth his opinions."</p> + +<p>"I don't call it a proper attitude," broke in Tate, mixing a glass of +vile dilution for Murphy's consumption. "I don't call it a <i>proper</i> +attitude for a parson to appear so much like other folks that you can't +tell 'im. It's suspicious, says I. How do we know as he <i>is</i> a parson?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span></p> + +<p>This suggestion caused the company a moment's pause.</p> + +<p>"He better be!" muttered Peter Falstar. "He'd better be what he claims +to be, even if it <i>is</i> a parson. We don't stand for any tricks from +strangers."</p> + +<p>This lifted the spirits somewhat. Looked at <i>that</i> way, they had the +matter in their own hands.</p> + +<p>"I wonder"—Tate's face assumed its cheerful placidity—"if his marrying +of Jude and Joyce would hold in any court o' law?"</p> + +<p>At this the listeners laughed.</p> + +<p>"Who ever heard of a marriage in St. Angé getting to a court o' law?" +asked Tom Smith.</p> + +<p>"But Jared ain't never had a daughter married before." Tate nodded his +head sagely. "Jared's a deep one, and, taken off his guard, shows he +knows more about law and order than any one man I ever let my eyes fall +on."</p> + +<p>"He must be all-fired off his guard," jeered Falstar, "when he talks +order of any kind. Where is he, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly." Tate held his own glass high and firm. "<i>Where</i> is he? Here +is his daughter's wedding day—Where is he? I tell <i>you</i> if that +marriage ain't hard and fast, it's <i>my</i> opinion Birkdale will trifle +with it to suit his own ends. Jude's taking chances when he annexes +Jared to his responsibilities, and don't you forget it! If that marriage +ain't hide-bound, or if Jude don't provide for Birkdale,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> it's going to +be broke if Jared has to raise all damnation to do it. He's got his eye +to a knothole somewhere, you bet your life on that."</p> + +<p>By superhuman sacrifice St. Angé had kept itself sober the Saturday +night preceding the wedding but it did not sleep much. The male +population discussed the day's doings and the women searched their +meagre belongings for appropriate trappings for the next day's +festivities.</p> + +<p>Their resources were limited, and the day being Sunday, added to the +difficulty.</p> + +<p>"You can't," said draggled Peggy Falstar, "put on real gay toggings in a +church and on a Sunday."</p> + +<p>Isa Tate, as leading lady in the place, solved the problem.</p> + +<p>"We've got our mourning," she said to Peggy and the others gathered in +Peggy's dirty kitchen. "We always have that on hand. Now we can leave +off the long veils and put some false flowers on our bonnets—real +spruce ones. They will lighten up the black. Them as has black gloves +can wear them, but by carrying a clean handkercher real conspicuous, the +gloom will be brightened some."</p> + +<p>"I ain't had a pair of gloves in seventeen years," moaned Peggy.</p> + +<p>"Well, you can sort of wind yer handkercher around your hands," +comforted Isa.</p> + +<p>"My feelings may be overcome," said Peggy;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> "they generally is in +public, and then I'll have to use my handkercher and show my hands."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to control yourself." Isa looked grim. "And, land o' love, +a wedding ain't no place for wailing. Tate and me has given Joyce a real +smart white dress, and she's trimmed her old hat all up with little +frost flowers. She's a dabster at fixin' things. She's going to look +real stylish. You know her mother was that way, though it was sorter +knocked out of her, but the last thing she said to me was, 'Isa, I want +you to put my grandmother's specs on me when I'm gone. Specs is dreadful +stylish, and I've always looked forward to my eyes giving out so I could +wear them. My eyes,' says she, 'has lasted better than me, but I want to +be buried in my specs'; and so she was!"</p> + +<p>The women all wiped their eyes.</p> + +<p>"She was a powerful impressive corpse," whimpered Peggy, "but them specs +gave me a terrible turn when I saw them first. The second look sorter +took away the shock. I do hope," Peggy sighed, "I do hope them specs was +long-distance ones. The good Lord knows Mrs. Birkdale had favourable +reasons for seeing as far off as possible!"</p> + +<p>"They was," Isa nodded. "I tried 'em, and things was all blurred to me."</p> + +<p>And then the women parted gloomily, to meet again at Joyce's wedding.</p> + +<p>It was such a day as only the mountains know.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> A hushed, golden day with +a mysterious softness of outline on the distant hills.</p> + +<p>The little crumbling church was open to the beauty of the morning, and +John Gaston had decked it within with every flowering thing he could +gather from wood and meadow.</p> + +<p>Jock came early and stood in one of the narrow doors of the church, +opening upon the highway. His hands were plunged in his pockets, and a +look of concentration was on his handsome face.</p> + +<p>He was going to "set," so he thought, his baby parson on to Jude. There +was excitement in the idea. While he stood there Gaston came and took +his stand at the other narrow door. The architect of the St. Angé church +had had ideas of propriety in regard to established rules.</p> + +<p>"Looks—some! don't it?" Jock asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Gaston replied; "I was bound to have it look as wedding-like as +possible."</p> + +<p>"You did the decorating?" Jock asked, and a curious frown settled +between his eyes. "I thought it was the women."</p> + +<p>"They're thinking of themselves. Is your parson on to the game, Filmer?"</p> + +<p>"He's all right. Gone off to commune with Nater. There he is now."</p> + +<p>Drew had entered the rear door, and went at once to the small bare +pulpit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span></p> + +<p>"Umph!" whispered Gaston. "Looks like a picture of John the Baptist."</p> + +<p>"He don't act like it." Jock was in arms at once against any suspected +criticism. "He's got more sand than many a blasted heavyweight. You +ought to hear his gab—it's the newest thing in soul-saving. Sort o' +homeopathic doctrine. Tastes good, but bitter as pisen under the +coating. Real stuff inside, and all that. Get's working after it's +taken, and the sweet taste lasts in your mouth while your innards are +acting like—"</p> + +<p>The people were gathering. They passed by Jock and Gaston without +recognition. Social functions in St. Angé ignored all familiar +intimacies.</p> + +<p>Jude and Joyce came through the rear door, and sat in the front pew.</p> + +<p>The girl moved with the absorption of a sleepwalker beside Jude whose +shufflings bespoke nervous tension. Every now and then he glanced +sheepishly at Joyce. Even to his senses, accustomed as they were to the +girl's beauty, there was a slight shock of surprise.</p> + +<p>The little round hat was gracefully wound with frost flowers until it +looked like a wreath upon the pale gold of the glorious hair. The face +was white and luminous, and the eyes looked as if they were expecting a +vision to appear.</p> + +<p>The white dress, home-made and cheap, had the unfailing touch that +innate taste always gives, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> it fell in soft lines about the slim, +girlish figure. The little work-worn hands were folded loosely. They +were resting a moment before taking up the labour of the new, untried +life.</p> + +<p>Drew glanced down as the two came in, and when he saw Joyce he started, +and leaned forward.</p> + +<p>He tried to take his eyes from that pale, exquisite face, but could not. +It moved him powerfully not only by its beauty, but by its expression of +entranced expectation.</p> + +<p>Could the crude fellow at her side inspire such emotion? It was puzzling +and baffling, but it roused Drew's sympathy, and held him captive. The +rough faces of the men, the pitiable, worn faces of the women, the +sprinkling of freckled, childish faces were blotted out for him. Like a +star in blank space shone that one sweet, waiting face with its wreath +of fairy-like flowers.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>She was waiting for something she expected him to give. Drew became +obsessed with this thought. Not the consecration of marriage—No! but +something she—the soul of her—wanted.</p> + +<p>Out among the pines in the early morning Drew had made a few notes, +these he clutched in his feverish right hand. When the hour fixed upon +arrived, he arose and stood beside the rickety pulpit stand. He made a +short prayer; he knew it was feeble and rambling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span></p> + +<p>"Scared to death," thought Gaston, and he heard Filmer breathe heavily. +Then Drew lifted his notes to the desk; tried to fix his eyes and +attention upon them, failed and gazed helplessly at that one face in the +appalling vacancy. Presently the bits of paper fell from his nerveless +hand and fluttered to the floor.</p> + +<p>Back in his college days he had had his dream of the vital word he would +say to his people—<i>his</i> people—on that first day when he was to come +to his own. Strangely enough he felt that his time had arrived. Called +only by God, to a people who would never think of desiring him, he must +say his word though only that pale, wonderful face thrilled to his +meaning. If only he could make <i>her</i> understand, he would take it as a +sign from on high that his mission was not to be an unworthy one.</p> + +<p>Drew always had the power, even in his weakest moments, to utilize his +panic to more intense concentration. It was the faculty that had made +his college president point to him on more than one occasion as a +success. Now, with the anchor of his notes fluttering in the September +breeze, he put out to sea.</p> + +<p>"We brought nothing into this world, and it's certain we can carry +nothing out."</p> + +<p>"He's mistaking this for a funeral," thought Gaston, and he struggled to +conquer his inclination to laugh.</p> + +<p>But what was happening? The boy up aloft was refuting the statement. His +voice had a power<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> wholly out of proportion to the frail body. He was +getting hold of the people, too, Peggy Falstar was crying openly, and +slow, hard-brought tears were dimming many eyes.</p> + +<p>They were being told, those plain, dull people, and by a mere boy, too, +that they had brought something into the world. A heritage of strength +and weakness; of good and evil, bequeathed to them by those who had gone +on. From these fragments their souls must weave what is to be taken with +them when Death comes. The effort, the struggle, the success or failure, +will be the part that they leave behind for them who remain, or who are +to come later. In words strangely adapted to his listeners, that frail +boy, with glorified face, was beseeching them, as they valued their +future hope, as they desired to make better the ones who must live +later, to gain a victory over their heritage of weakness and sin by the +God-given elements of strength and goodness, and to blaze the trail for +themselves, and to leave it so free behind them that weak, stumbling +feet might easier find the way.</p> + +<p>He was speaking to fathers and mothers for the sakes of their children. +He was urging the two about to marry to see to it that they prepare by +their own consecration, the <i>path on before</i>.</p> + +<p>A silence filled the little church. The boy, pale and exhausted, was +asking Jude and Joyce to come forward.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span></p> + +<p>Gaston saw them go, side by side, Jude shambling as usual, Joyce +stepping as if hastening to receive something long-desired.</p> + +<p>It was the briefest of services. Simple, unadorned, but dignified and +solemn.</p> + +<p>Amen!</p> + +<p>It was over. Jude and Joyce were married! The people were stirring; were +moving about. The sodden, familiar life was awaiting every one of them. +No; something had happened in St. Angé. Gaston knew it. Filmer knew it. +Peggy Falstar had hold of her little Billy's hand, and Peter followed +with his little daughter Maggie drawn close to him.</p> + +<p>Leon Tate was red in the face, and Isa looked stern and thoughtful. Yes; +something had happened in St. Angé. It would never be the same.</p> + +<p>Drew went outside the church and joined Filmer. He had seen the uplifted +expression on Joyce's face. He had had his answer from on high; and he +was strangely moved.</p> + +<p>He stood beside Filmer, motionless and flushed. Jock contemplated him +from his greater height as if he were a new and startling enigma.</p> + +<p>"Say, kid," he drawled presently, striving to hide the excitement that +was causing the perspiration to stand on his forehead; "what got into +you?"</p> + +<p>"I reckon it was something getting out of me," Drew replied with the +short cough.</p> + +<p>"I don't know as them few words you spoke are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> capable of holding Jude +and Joyce eternally. What you think?"</p> + +<p>"If they cannot, no others could." Again the quick, harsh cough.</p> + +<p>"But that sermon!" Jock shrugged his shoulders nervously; "that's what's +shook the foundations of this here town. Leaving out the fact of you +being <i>you</i>, standing up there handling folks's feelings as you did, I +want to know if you stand by them ideas you passed out?"</p> + +<p>"With all my mind!"</p> + +<p>"Not elocuting and acting?"</p> + +<p>"Surely not."</p> + +<p>"Why, see here, kid, if what you said is true—which, by thunder it +ain't!—don't you see that doctrine, 'bout coming with an outfit, adding +to it, and taking away what you want, and leaving what you must; blazing +trails, clearing away underbrush and what not; why, don't you see that's +worse, by a confounded lot, than the old-fashioned hell?"</p> + +<p>"Much, much more solemn." Drew leaned against a tree. His new strength +was exhausted. Jock was too absorbed to notice the weakness and pallor.</p> + +<p>"Why," he went on excitedly, "when you know you're going to frizzle at +the end—just you, yourself, you can see the justice of it, and respect +what sent you there, but to eternally be thinking of others, and messing +up their lives—why that's durn rot."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span></p> + +<p>"Filmer," the tone was low and faltering; "we're all one with God, no +matter how you put it. All working together; all bound on the same +journey. Think back; was there never one you loved who suffered with you +and for you? Have you ever considered how much of that one's life you +were hampering, when you dragged him—or her—down?"</p> + +<p>Filmer's face twitched.</p> + +<p>"Now, see here," he blurted out, and his eyes flashed, "the folks round +here ain't going to stand for this rot, and I don't blame 'em. When they +think it over, they'll get drunker than ever, and they'll even up with +you later. You've got to learn more than you've learned already. +Feelings are private property and outsiders better keep off. Come home +to dinner. You look like a pricked bladder. This here gassing 'bout +things what ain't worthwhile don't pay. Here, lean on me. It's all +gol-durned nonsense using yourself up so."</p> + +<p>He took Drew firmly by the arm, and led him away.</p> + +<p>Drew was too weak to continue, even had he desired to do so, the +conversation Filmer had forced upon him, but when they were smoking in +the late afternoon Jock returned to the subject.</p> + +<p>"I was just wondering," he said, through the haze; "ain't there never no +let up to that new-fangled idea of yours?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span></p> + +<p>"None. That's the beauty of it."</p> + +<p>"Beauty? Huh! Well, we'll drop it. Feel like toddling down to Gaston's?" +Drew rose at once.</p> + +<p>They passed down the pine-covered path slowly, and as they neared +Gaston's shack, Filmer paused.</p> + +<p>"Wherever you be," he began slowly, "as occasion permits, you're going +to air them sentiments?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to live them. I may never have a chance to preach them. I'm a +bit discouraged about the weakness that followed my first attempt."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thunderation! You're going to pick up flesh and strength fast +enough—it's that slush you've got on board that's getting my grouch. +I'd rather you had a natural death, kid. I've taken a liking to you; and +you don't know St. Angé."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Joyce stopped her wild little song, and stood still to listen. Then she +stepped to the window, drew aside the white muslin curtain, and looked +out upon the white, white world.</p> + +<p>She had thought she heard a step on the crisp snow, but probably it was +the crackling of the protesting trees, for the weight of ice was almost +more than they could bear.</p> + +<p>The lights in the scattered houses shone red and steady in the still +glitter. A full moon dimmed the stars, but a keen glance showed that +every one was in its place and performing its duty in the glorious plan.</p> + +<p>A white, holy night! Only such a night as comes to high, dry places +where the cold is so subtle that its power is disguised; where the +green-black pines stand motionless in the hard whiteness, and where the +silence is only broken by mysterious cracklings and groanings, when +Nature stirs in the heart of the seeming Death, while she weaves the +robe of Spring.</p> + +<p>Joyce was beginning to feel the wonders of her little world; she was +timidly feeling out the meaning of things. Sometimes the sensation hurt +and frightened her; often it soothed and thrilled her to deep ecstasy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span></p> + +<p>Presently she left the window, and turned to the warmth and glow inside.</p> + +<p>Jude's old cottage had been transformed, and Joyce was developing into +one of those women who are inherent home-makers. Such women can +accomplish more with the bare necessities of life than others with the +world's wealth at their command. It is like personal magnetism, +difficult to understand, impossible to explain.</p> + +<p>Comfort, grace, colour and that sweet disorder which is the truest +order. Chairs at the right angles, tables convenient, but never in the +way. A roaring wood fire on a dustless hearth; pictures hung neither too +high nor too low, and no sense of emptiness nor crowding. A room that +neither compelled attention, nor irritated the nerves—a place to rest +in, love in, and go out from, with a longing to return.</p> + +<p>On the south side of the room, Jude, with Gaston's financial and +personal assistance, had added a bay window.</p> + +<p>That innovation had quite stirred St. Angé. Ralph Drew had designed it +and, through the summer, while the building was in process, the +inhabitants had watched and expressed their opinions freely and +enjoyably.</p> + +<p>"Up to Joyce's," Billy Falstar, that indefatigable gatherer and +scatterer of news, announced, "they are smashing a hole in the off side +of the house."</p> + +<p>An hour later, a good-sized audience was occupying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> the open space on +the south side of the garden.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you have it run <i>in</i>, instead of out?" Peter Falstar +suggested. "It's just tempting Providence to let out more surface to +catch the winter blasts."</p> + +<p>"And it's wasteful as thunder," added Tom Smith. "Just so much more +heating of out-door space enclosed in that there semi-circle."</p> + +<p>"There ain't nothing to see from that side, anyway," Leon Tate remarked, +as if possibly the others had not considered that. "If you want a more +extended, and rounded outlook, you'd better smash the north side out. +From that hole you could see the village, and what not."</p> + +<p>"And the Black Cat," Jock Filmer drawled.</p> + +<p>"It's no kind of an outlook at all that don't include the Kitty, eh, +Tate?"</p> + +<p>Tate scowled. He held a grudge against Filmer. It was he who had +discovered, sheltered, and abetted the young minister who had so +interfered with trade a time back. Tate held his peace, but he had never +forgotten.</p> + +<p>The laugh that followed Jock's interruption nettled the tavern-keeper.</p> + +<p>But the pretty window had been finished before Drew and the autumn went. +It was Joyce's sanctuary and pride. In it stood the work-basket, a gift +from the mystical sister of Drew, who lived off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> somewhere beyond the +Southern Solitude, a girl about whom Drew never tired of talking, and +about whom events seemed to cluster as bees round a hive.</p> + +<p>In that nook, too, hung the three wonderful pictures—Gaston's wedding +gift.</p> + +<p>There were spaces between the sides and centre of the window, and in the +middle place hung a modern Madonna and Child. This Joyce could +comprehend. Gaston knew the older, rarer ones would be beyond her.</p> + +<p>That pictured Mother and Child were moulding Joyce's character. Gaston +had wondered how they might affect her.</p> + +<p>To the left of the Madonna was an ocean view. A stretch of sandy shore, +an in-rolling, white-crested wave—with a limitless beyond.</p> + +<p>To the wood-environed mind of the girl this picture was simply a +breath-taking fairy fancy.</p> + +<p>It existed, such a thing as that. Gaston had sworn it, but it was +incomprehensible. However, it led the new-born imagination to expand and +wander, and when Joyce was at peace, and the sun shone, she went to that +picture for excitement and worship.</p> + +<p>To the right of the Madonna hung a photograph. Gaston had taken it +himself long ago. A foreground of rugged, cruel rock; black where age +had stamped it; white where snow traced the deep wrinkles of time. But +out of this rough light and shade, rose a glorious peak, sun-touched and +cloud-loved. A triumphant soul reaching up to heaven out of all the +time-racked rock.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-003" id="illus-003"></a> +<img class='border' src='images/illus-114.jpg' alt='THAT PICTURED MOTHER AND CHILD WERE MOULDING JOYCE'S CHARACTER' title='' width = '300' height = '450'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>THAT PICTURED MOTHER AND CHILD WERE MOULDING JOYCE'S CHARACTER</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span>The + dwarfish peaks, that had surrounded Joyce's outlook all her life, +made one understand the girl's love for this picture. As this was great, +compared to the small things she knew, so life held possibilities that +her life hinted—she might struggle with that ideal in mind.</p> + +<p>The ocean scene was her fancy's fairy space; the towering peak, her +philosophy.</p> + +<p>But Joyce knew nothing of all this, consciously. Marriage, as Isa had +foretold, brought its many cares and new interests. The strangeness and +importance dwindled. No one considered the matter different from any +other joining of St. Angé forces into a common life—the girl herself +grew to take it for granted and sometimes wondered why she <i>imagined</i> +her lot different.</p> + +<p>She piled on more wood now, and laughed at the roar and glow. Then she +drew up the arm-chair that Jude liked; he would be cold and tired when +he returned. With a little laugh she pulled her own chair, a low, deep +rocker, from the bay window, out into the fire's warmth, opposite Jude's +spacious chair. Between them she placed a hassock—it was nearer her +rocker than Jude's chair.</p> + +<p>This she evidently noticed after a moment's contemplation, for the smile +faded, and with strict impartiality she moved the stool to a position +exactly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> between the two chairs, and directly in front of the fire's +full light and heat.</p> + +<p>"There!" she said, as if satisfied with her own sense of justice and +propriety. "That ought to suit everybody."</p> + +<p>The smile returned, and the little neglected song was taken up where the +imagined footsteps had interrupted it.</p> + +<p>The room was rosy and warm; even the window that was to tempt Providence +was cosily heated, and the box of plants that fringed its outer edge +stood in no danger of the frost's touch.</p> + +<p>A plate of deep-red apples on the table sent forth a homely fragrance, +and they were almost as beautiful as a vase of roses would have been.</p> + +<p>Presently there was no mistake—steps were approaching. The crusted snow +gave way under the heavy tread, the steps of the little porch creaked +under the weight of strong bodies. It was Gaston's voice that came first +to Joyce.</p> + +<p>"It's too late, Jude. Past nine."</p> + +<p>"Come in! Come in!" Jude was stamping noisily. "It ain't never too late, +when I say come. Maybe Joyce can tempt you with a mixture she's a +dabster at. After the walk you need it, and so do I."</p> + +<p>The outer door was pushed back, the waiting cold rushed in with the two +men, but the home glow killed it as the kitchen door swayed inward, and +Jude and Gaston stepped toward Joyce.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span></p> + +<p>She stood with her back to the fire, a pale straight figure against the +red light.</p> + +<p>"Hello! Joyce." Jude was energetically pulling off his short, thick +jacket. "Get busy at that 'mix' of yours. Put plenty of the real thing +in and don't be sparing with the tasties. Off with your coat and hat, +Mister Gaston. Make yourself comfortable. To folks as is already up, +what's an hour or two?"</p> + +<p>Gaston had taken Joyce's hands in welcome.</p> + +<p>"It's too bad," he said, "to set you to work after your stint's over. +The room looks as if you'd bewitched it. I tell you, Jude, there never +was a man yet who could juggle with a house and put the soul in it."</p> + +<p>Joyce flushed happily, and took Gaston's hat from him, as he pulled off +his coat.</p> + +<p>"I'll have everything ready in a jiffy," she said briskly. "Sit down, +and tell me about it, while I mix the brew."</p> + +<p>Jude sank, without giving Gaston a choice, into his own chair. Gaston +took Joyce's—he knew her fancy for the stool when he and Jude were both +present.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Jude, stretching his legs out toward the blaze, and putting +his heavy, snow-covered boots so near the fire that an odour of +scorching leather filled the room; "we got some men over to Hillcrest, +and we've bargained for lumber and other materials; we're going to begin +at once,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> clearing, and soon as the cold lets up, we'll start building."</p> + +<p>"Just think!" Joyce stirred the concoction in the jug jubilantly. "Just +think of Mr. Drew coming here and bringing folks with him. Isn't it +wonderful?"</p> + +<p>She was all aglow with interest, excitement and pleasure. Gaston looked +at her musingly.</p> + +<p>"I used to think," she went on, coming forward with the jug and setting +it on a low table near the hearth, "that nothing could ever happen here +in St. Angé. Nothing that hadn't already happened over and again. Isa +has always said the place would get a jog some day. She always seemed to +sense that," the girl smiled; "and she was right. Didn't you have to put +money down for men and things, Jude?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" Jude spoke from the depths of his mug.</p> + +<p>"Did Mr. Drew send money?"</p> + +<p>"Send nothing." Jude laughed foggily from the depths. "That's how I got +the deal so prompt, I told him I'd undertake the job without any +settlement till he got here to boss the doings."</p> + +<p>"But where did you get the money, Jude?"</p> + +<p>"It's partnership, Joyce," Gaston broke in. He set down his own emptied +mug, and drew a little farther from the fire's revealing light. +"Lauzoon, Filmer and Gaston, Contractors and Builders.' How does it +sound?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span></p> + +<p>"But the money?" There was a little line of care, now, between the +girl's deep eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right! When Drew planks down the dollars, Mr. Gaston +will get them back." Jude wiped his heavy lips on the back of his hand.</p> + +<p>"But—it must have taken—a good deal?"</p> + +<p>"Come, Joyce," Jude scowled, "you creep back to your corner. When women +get to tangling up money with their own doings, it's the devil. You keep +to your business, girl, and leave deeper matters alone."</p> + +<p>Gaston frowned. Something lay back of that care-traced line on Joyce's +forehead. Something lay back of her questioning—what was it? And Jude's +assumption of the male superiority over his young wife disturbed Gaston. +He had not noticed it so sharply before.</p> + +<p>Presently Joyce took the low stool, and clasped her knees in her +enfolding arms. The two men had filled their pipes, and now, through the +dim haze, looked at the fair, dreamy face between them. Then Jude laid +his pipe aside—and snored. The clock ticked softly. The logs fell apart +in a red glow. In drawing away from the flying sparks, Joyce placed her +stool nearer Gaston, and the pretty bent head came within easy distance +of the hand lying inert on the chair arm.</p> + +<p>"Jude gets awfully sleepy in the heat," Joyce whispered; "you don't +mind?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, why should I? But I ought to be going. You are tired, too?"</p> + +<p>"No." The sudden upward glance was all a-quiver with alertness. "I don't +ever seem tired now. Keeping one's own house—is great! and it seems +like everything is waking up every minute. Sometimes I hate to go to +sleep for fear I'll miss something."</p> + +<p>And now Gaston's hand touched the heavy curves of pale, gold hair.</p> + +<p>"You have made a <i>home</i>," he said; "I wonder if you know what a great +achievement that is? I wonder if Jude knows?"</p> + +<p>Joyce winced.</p> + +<p>"Oh! if he's a bit cross with me," she whispered softly, "don't you +mind. He thinks that's the way, you know. <i>I</i> understand."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you do," Gaston smoothed the silken hair, "but make <i>him</i> +understand, Joyce. It takes understanding on both sides, you know."</p> + +<p>"And, Mr. Gaston"—the girl changed the subject as adroitly as a more +worldly wise woman might have done—"you helped me make this home. I +ain't <i>ever</i> going to let you forget that. These pictures," her loving +glance took them all in, "and the books coming and going just fast +enough to keep me nimble. It seems like you'd opened a gate and let some +of the big world in."</p> + +<p>"There's plenty of it on the other side of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> two Solitudes, Joyce." +Gaston's hand fell gently along the warm throat and rested on the bent +shoulder.</p> + +<p>Jude gave another gurgling snore. The two did not change their +positions, but there was silence for an instant.</p> + +<p>"That mountain-top, all jagged and high—my! how it just makes me want +to climb; climb through my work all day long; climb to getting somewhere +out beyond. And that great empty picture with the awful white wave +coming from nowhere—it just makes me hold my breath. Sometimes it seems +as if it was going to swallow up everything and—me. It don't ever do +that, does it, Mr. Gaston?"</p> + +<p>"It has done damage of that kind in its time; but generally it obeys +orders and stops at the safety line." Gaston smiled into the wondering +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I like the—picture—I like it terribly," breathed the girl, "but I'd +<i>hate</i> the real thing. I am sure it makes a terrific noise." Gaston +nodded, and old memories seemed beating in upon him. "It would wear me +out by its own——"</p> + +<p>"Restlessness." Gaston's thought ran along with the cruder one. "Its +restlessness is at times—unbearable, unless—one is very young and +happy."</p> + +<p>"But I am young—and happy." Joyce spoke lingeringly and her eyes grew +fixed upon the heart of the coals. "Still I would hate it—and be afraid +of it. It's beautiful—but it's awful. I don't like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> awful things. I +like to look up at that brave old mountain, and know—it will always be +the same no matter what happens down below."</p> + +<p>Suddenly Gaston felt old, very old, beside this girl near him with her +intuitive soul-stretches and her hampered life.</p> + +<p>"So the mountain is your favourite picture, Joyce?"</p> + +<p>A grandfatherly tone crept into his voice, and the caressing hand +touched the round, pale outline of cheek and chin with the assurance of +age and superiority—but the girl tingled under it.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, almost breathlessly, "I like <i>that</i> best of all." And +she pointed a trembling finger toward the Madonna and Child.</p> + +<p>Gaston was conscious of a palpitating meaning in the words and gesture.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked softly.</p> + +<p>"Because," the fair head was lowered, not in timidity, but in deep +thought, "because I want it—my baby—to look like that one. I look and +look at the picture, and I dream about it at night. I know every little +dimple and the soft curls—and all. I pray and pray, and if God +answers—then—" a gentle ferocity rang through the hurried words—"I'm +going to <i>keep</i> it so. It's going to be different from any other little +child in St. Angé. And it all fits in, now that Mr. Drew is coming back. +It's just wonderful! It was Mr. Drew that set me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> thinking about leaving +something better for them as come after. He said terrible strange +things—but you can't forget them, can you? I've been—well, sort of +weeding out my life ever since he was here—and there can't be so +much—for my baby to do—if I clear out my own faults. Can there?"</p> + +<p>The girl's absolute ignoring of any reason for withholding this +confidence from him at first staggered Gaston, and then steadied him.</p> + +<p>Never before had Joyce so appealed to him, but the sacredness of the +position she had thrust upon him for a moment appalled him. He looked +intently at the girlish, innocent face. What he saw was a blind woman, +groping through the child, seeking a reality that evaded it.</p> + +<p>Never greatly impressed with his own importance, Gaston became cruelly +aware, now, that in a marked way he still was the one being in the +girl's world to whom she looked for guidance. The knowledge made him +withdrawn for an instant.</p> + +<p>Drew had appealed to her spirit—but he was elected Father Confessor, +Judge and General Arbiter of her daily life. For a moment Gaston's sense +of the ridiculous was stirred. Suppose they—those—people who +inhabited the Past, and peopled the possible Future—suppose they should +know of this? The eyes twinkled dangerously, but the girl in the glow of +the red fire was terribly in earnest.</p> + +<p>"You are perfectly happy, Joyce?" It was an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> inane question, but like +some inane questions it touched a vital spark.</p> + +<p>"Why, if I get on the top of the things that might make me unhappy if +they conquered me; and if I shut my ears and eyes—why, then, I guess +I'm perfectly happy. I won't <i>let</i> myself feel sad any more, and I make +believe a lot—about Jude. You have to when you've been married long; +and I guess he has to about me. So you see, living that way it comes out +all right. And then when you have beautiful things, like this house, and +the books and pictures, and some one ready to help—like you—why +<i>those</i> things I just hold up in the light all the time. Isn't <i>that</i> +being happy?"</p> + +<p>"What a philosopher!" Gaston bent forward and again pressed the slim +shoulder. The piteousness of this young wife getting her happiness, all +unknowingly, by self-imposed blindness of the inner soul, clutched at +his heart.</p> + +<p>"Hold hard to that, Joyce," he said. "Hold fast to that. Let all the +light in that you can upon your blessings, and as to other things, why, +don't acknowledge them! You're on the right track, though how you've +struck it so early in the game, beats me."</p> + +<p>"Well," Joyce was all aglow, "Mr. Drew helped. He was so funny and +jolly. Just a big boy, but he had the queerest ideas about things. When +I think of him, sick and weak like he was, and yet living out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> all his +brave thoughts just as if he was a giant—why, sometimes I go off and +cry by myself."</p> + +<p>Jude from his shadow and aloofness was staring dumbly at the pair +opposite while the low-spoken words sank into his drowsiness. Jude was +primitive. Actions were <i>things</i> to him; things that admitted of no +shades of meaning. What the two were saying in no way modified the +situation. Gaston's hand was caressing his wife—his woman, Jude would +have expressed it—and the bald fact was enough.</p> + +<p>A hot anger rose in him—an anger calculated to urge a personal assault +then and there, upon the two who dared, in his own house, set his +rights—his alone—aside.</p> + +<p>The sleepy eyes widened and closed; the teeth showed through the rough +beard—and then, like a smarting blow, came the memory of all that +Gaston meant to him. Money! Gaston's money. There had been loans, +trifling, but many, and now Gaston stood ready to advance money for this +new building project. Money enough to make Jude master of the situation. +But with this thought came others that crushed and bruised him.</p> + +<p>He had been wrong. It was not his wife's folly alone that stood between +him and her. Gaston <i>had</i> been using him. He was lending him money—hush +money! And while he had gone his stupid way, thinking he held the whip +hand over Joyce, the two had had their laugh at him. Money has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> done +much for good and evil in this world, but it saved Gaston that night +from a desperate attack.</p> + +<p>A low cunning crept into Jude's thoughts. Very well, two or three could +play at the same game.</p> + +<p>More money! More! More! and who knew? Why he might make a choice in the +future—a choice for himself.</p> + +<p>He settled back and snored long and deep. Then he stretched and yawned +and gave ample notice of his advance, in order that the conspirators +might cover their tracks.</p> + +<p>When he opened his eyes, Gaston was leaning forward with clasped hands +stretched out toward the fading glow, and Joyce, crouched upon her stool +with huddled knees, gave no sign that confusion held part in her +thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Say," Jude had already adopted the guise of the man with a purpose, +"you don't suppose, do you, that that young parson is coming up here +with any idea of saving souls?"</p> + +<p>"Only his own, I fancy." Gaston replied, without turning. "He wants to +keep his soul and body together. Seeking his lost health, you know."</p> + +<p>"What makes him fancy he lost it up here?"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't. He lost it down there among books, bad air, and foolish +living. His physicians tell him his only chance for life is up in this +region. Some day more of the big doctors will shut down on drugs and +give Nature a try."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span></p> + +<p>"Umph!" Jude shook himself. "Put a log on," he commanded Joyce. Then: +"He preached a durned mess of nonsense the last time he was visiting +us," he continued. "I didn't have any inclination to take his guff +myself, but I don't half like the idee, now that I've slept on it, of +his coming in here as a disturbing element, so to speak. Living and +minding your business, is one thing; interfering with other folks' +business is another. Filmer, he told me a time back that he ain't had a +comfortable spree since that young feller was here. He sort of upset +Jock's stomach with his gab. The women, too, was considerable taken with +him—he's the sort that makes fool women take notice. It ain't pleasant +to think of that sissy-boy actually setting up housekeeping here, and +reflecting upon old established ways, with any tommy-rot about clearing +trails and such foolishness."</p> + +<p>Joyce smiled. So that thought rankled in more lives than her own?</p> + +<p>"Going to retire from the contractorship, Jude?" Gaston got up and +crossed the room for his coat and hat.</p> + +<p>"Not much!" Jude rose also. "Only beginning right is half the battle, +and I say for one, and Tate he was saying the same this morning, that +we'd better stamp out any upraisings in the start, now that it's likely +to be a staying on, 'stead of a visit. When I select a teacher," Jude +was following his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> guest to the outer door, "I ain't going to take up +with no white-livered infant. See you to-morrow, Mr. Gaston?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly. Good night, Jude. Good night, Joyce." Gaston looked back +at the little figure by the fire, and he saw that the upturned eyes were +fixed on the Madonna and Child.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you speak, Joyce? Mr. Gaston is saying good night." Jude's +words reached where Gaston's had failed. The girl rose stiffly.</p> + +<p>"Good night," she said slowly, and a great weariness was in her face.</p> + +<p>When Jude returned she still stood in the middle of the room, her hands +hanging limply by her side.</p> + +<p>Something had gone out from her life with Gaston's going. But she was +still thrilled and her soul was sensitive to impressions.</p> + +<p>"What's up?"</p> + +<p>Jude came close to her and stared boldly into the large, tired eyes.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Jude."</p> + +<p>"You ain't so spry as when—there's company."</p> + +<p>"It's late—you've had a nap. I'm dead tired."</p> + +<p>"That's it," Jude laughed coarsely. "I've slept and kept out of +mischief—you've been too durned entertaining—you're feeling the +strain. See here, Joyce, maybe you better not be so—amusing in the +future. Maybe you better leave Gaston to me—business<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> is business and I +guess we can do without petticoats in this camp."</p> + +<p>He was losing control of himself.</p> + +<p>"Jude," Joyce came close and tried to put her hands on her husband's +shoulders. "Jude, I want you to pay Mr. Gaston back as soon as you can. +It's been on my mind for quite a spell. We must owe him a lot. How much, +Jude?"</p> + +<p>"None of your—durned business."</p> + +<p>"And Jude—don't borrow any more. I know Mr. Drew would advance anything +for the building. His family is terribly rich. Mr. Gaston knows about +them. I'd rather owe Mr. Drew than Mr. Gaston. Please, Jude!"</p> + +<p>For a moment the sweet, quivering face put forth its appeal to the lower +nature of the man. The girl was young enough, and new enough to sway +Jude after a fashion, but the charm died almost at birth.</p> + +<p>"See here." Jude slipped from the clinging hands, and glared angrily. +"You ain't ever properly learned your place. You better let go any fool +idee that you can budge me with your wiles. I don't have to buy your +favours—they're mine. What I do, I do, and you take what I choose to +let you have. See? If you get more than what is rightfully yours, don't +get sot up with the notion I don't know what I'm permitting. I guess +I've got to let you see what you're up against a little plainer. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> had +a kind of dim idee that your schooling and book-learning made you a bit +keener than most about the real facts of the case, but you're all alike. +Don't you question me in the future, girl, and you go your way—the way +I <i>let</i> you go—and be thankful, but don't you forget you and me is +<i>man</i> and <i>wife</i>, and that means just one durned thing in St. Angé and +only one."</p> + +<p>Joyce staggered back as if the man before her had dealt her a blow.</p> + +<p>What had happened? Then she remembered that Jude was always irritable +when he had been roused from sleep, or when he was hungry.</p> + +<p>The blindness was mercifully clouding her soul now; but its duration was +brief. It only gave her time to stand upright.</p> + +<p>"Did you think I was asleep to-night?" Jude almost hissed the words.</p> + +<p>The suddenness of the question had all the evil power of reducing the +girl to an appearance of guilt.</p> + +<p>"You were asleep," she whispered back.</p> + +<p>Jude laughed cruelly.</p> + +<p>"With my eyes opened," he snarled—"It pays to <i>seem</i> asleep, when you +want to catch on to some kind of doings. Your old man, Joyce, ain't half +the fool you'd like him to be. I wasn't napping when Billy Falster +blabbed his warning. I wasn't napping when I saw that hand-holding and +kissing from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> top of Beacon Hill. I wasn't snoozing that night when +you went crawling to Gaston's shack just after you'd given your word to +me, and"—Jude had worked himself into a quivering rage—"I wasn't +sleeping when you and him sat <i>there</i> to-night, blast ye!"</p> + +<p>The convincing knowledge broke upon Joyce with full force. She would +never be able to ignore the fact again. Try as she might, dream as she +could, she was but a St. Angé woman, and he a St. Angé man.</p> + +<p>There was only one way. She must deal with the rudest of materials.</p> + +<p>"Jude," she said slowly, "you pay Mr. Gaston back all that you owe +him—I'll stint here in the house—and I'll promise never to speak to +him again. Could anything be fairer than that?"</p> + +<p>She was in deadly earnest; but Jude laughed in her face.</p> + +<p>A fear grew in the girl's heart at the sound. Not even an appeal to his +selfishness could move him. She had lost the poor little power she once +possessed. He did not care! And when that happened with a man like +Jude—well, there was reason for fear.</p> + +<p>"I'm the boss, girl, and you better hold to that knowledge. Keep your +books, your pictures and what not as long as I say you can, and let that +do you for what <i>I</i> am getting out of it. See?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I see!" And so she did, poor girl; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> it was a long barren +stretch on ahead that she saw. A stretch with hideous possibilities, +unless luck were with her.</p> + +<p>"Don't you let on." Jude was striding toward the bedchamber beyond. "I +guess you're smart enough to hold your tongue, though. Pile on a log or +two, before you turn in; and you better draw the shutters to the north +window—it's getting splitting cold."</p> + +<p>Joyce turned to obey the commands. Not slavishly; after all it was but +part of her woman-task. Jude feeling it necessary to tell her was the +lash. It was cruelly superfluous—that was all.</p> + +<p>She laid two heavy logs on the red embers, and stooped to brush the +ashes from the hearth. Then she went to the north window and raised the +sash. Before she drew the shutters she stood and looked out into the +brilliant night.</p> + +<p>Black and white. Sharp, clean and magically glittering it all looked; +and the keen cold cleared the fear and fever from her head and heart.</p> + +<p>Yes, off there in the distance Gaston was entering the pine thicket +through which his private path ran. He must have walked slowly—or had +all this new knowledge come so rapidly?</p> + +<p>Gaston stood still at the entrance to the woods. Was he looking back?</p> + +<p>Then something occurred. Once or twice before Joyce had been conscious +of this. Something seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> to go out from her and follow Gaston. She, or +that strange something, escaped the fear and smothering closeness of the +little house. It was free and happy out there with Gaston in the night. +He was strong—stronger than anybody in St. Angé. Nothing could really +happen while <i>he</i> was near. She saw his smile; felt his compelling +touch—no, not even Jude would dare hurt her, or go too far.</p> + +<p>Gaston passed into the dim thicket. Joyce, too seemed to be going on +quite happily and lightly, when——</p> + +<p>"I say, Joyce, shut that winder, can't you?"</p> + +<p>A silence. As Joyce had followed a certain call the night she had +promised to marry Jude, and had gone to Gaston's house, so now she was +going on—and on—and——</p> + +<p>"Joyce!" At last the real clutched the unreal. The girl, for the first +time, was conscious of the biting cold. She shivered and seemed to +travel back to that rough call over frozen distances. With stiff fingers +she drew the heavy wooden shutters together and lowered the sash. Then +feeling her way with outstretched hands, like a bewildered child, she +made her way to the inner chamber and Jude.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>The following June Joyce's little boy was born. It was a most +inconvenient time for him to make his appearance.</p> + +<p>The late spring had delayed the logging season. The winter had been a +long-continued, cold one; the men at the different camps had fretted +under the postponed ending of their jobs, and severe discipline had been +necessary in more than one camp. Hillcrest's ideas of decency had been +deeply outraged; its courts of justice had been kept busy by men, who, +unable to resist temptation after restraint had at last been removed, +carried lawlessness to an unprecedented excess.</p> + +<p>The river, too, with the depravity of inanimate things, had taken that +occasion to leap all bounds and run wild where never before it had +ventured. Not being content in carrying its legitimate burden of logs to +the lower towns, it bore away, one black night, more than half of the +lumber that Jude had piled near the clearing for Ralph Drew's new house.</p> + +<p>This occurrence sent Jude into one of the fits of sullen frenzy which +were becoming more and more common to him. He had been obliged to track +the stolen lumber many miles to the south, seize<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> it there, and make +arrangements for bringing it back. This absence from the scene of his +life battle, turned Jude into a veritable fiend for the time being. He +had enough self-confidence to believe he could hold things in his own +hands, when his hands and eyes were on the spot, but with absence and +distance—bah!</p> + +<p>Many a horse and man suffered that spring from Jude's evil temper.</p> + +<p>Whether Gaston was aware of conditions or not, who could tell? He took a +keen delight in the manual labour of working on Drew's house. He and +Filmer, with or without Jude, hammered, sawed and made rough designs +that filled their days with honest toil and brought healthy sleep to +their tired bodies.</p> + +<p>And just when the early wild flowers were timidly showing themselves, +after the winter's long reign, little Malcolm Lauzoon opened his eyes +upon the scene.</p> + +<p>How could he know that the festivities at the Black Cat were interrupted +by Jude's necessary absences, and Isa Tate's voluntary visits to Joyce's +home?</p> + +<p>Leon Tate, good-naturedly reaping a belated prosperity, had insisted +that his wife serve Joyce how and as she might.</p> + +<p>Jude was becoming a man to be considered. He evidently had a future, and +the tavern's attractions had never held a sure power over Jude. Here +was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> Leon's opportunity for putting Jude under obligations.</p> + +<p>Tate thought fit to place himself and his wife on a social equality with +the Lauzoons. So Isa was in command when small Malcolm arrived.</p> + +<p>It was an early June morning, after a night of black horror, when Joyce +became aware of the singing of birds out of doors, and a strange, new +song in her heart.</p> + +<p>The latter sensation almost stifled her. She tried to raise her head and +look about the room, but the effort made her faint. She waited a moment, +then slowly turned her head on the pillow and opened her eyes. There by +the low, open window sat Isa Tate, swaying back and forth in the +old-fashioned rocker, with something on her lap.</p> + +<p>Again the strange faintness overpowered Joyce, and the big tears rolled +down her face. It had not, then, been all a hideous nightmare? Something +sweet and real had remained after the terror and agony had taken flight?</p> + +<p>"Isa!" So low and trembling was the call that Isa, drowsing luxuriously +as she rocked to and fro, took no heed.</p> + +<p>It was many a day since she, detached from the demands of home cares, +could make herself so comfortable.</p> + +<p>"Isa!"—and then Isa heard.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she turned a steady glance toward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> the bed. She did not +intend that Joyce should be exacting. Women were apt to be unless the +nurse was rigid. "Do you want anything?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Isa is that—my baby?" There was such a thrill in the voice that +Isa was at once convinced that Joyce was delirious.</p> + +<p>She was going to have her hands full. A mere baby, to Isa, was no cause +for that tone, and the glorified look.</p> + +<p>"I guess there ain't any one else going to put in a claim for him," she +replied with a vague sense of humorously calming the patient.</p> + +<p>"Him!" Joyce's tears again overflowed. "Did you say 'him' Isa?"</p> + +<p>"There, there! do be still now, Joyce, and take a nap. You won't have +any too much time for lazing. You better make the most of it."</p> + +<p>"It's a boy. Oh! It seems too, too heavenly. <i>My</i> little boy! Isa, +is—is—he beautiful?"</p> + +<p>And now no doubts remained in Isa's mind. She must pacify this very +trying case.</p> + +<p>"'Bout as beautiful as they make 'em," she said slowly, and tried to +remember what was given to patients when they became unmanageable.</p> + +<p>"Does—does he look—like—" the words came pantingly—"like the picture +in the other room?"</p> + +<p>Isa was sitting opposite the door leading into the living room, and her +eyes fell, as Joyce spoke, upon the Madonna and Child.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span></p> + +<p>Then, in spite of her anxiety and weariness, Isa laughed. The entire +train of events since her arrival the day before had appealed to her +latent sense of humour.</p> + +<p>"Oh! exactly," she answered and rolling the baby in a blanket she strode +over to the bed, and placed him hastily beside Joyce.</p> + +<p>"There," she said soothingly; "now lay still or you'll hurt the little +beauty. I'm going to fix something comforting to drink."</p> + +<p>She was gone. In the mystery of the still room and the early morning, +Joyce was alone with her little son!</p> + +<p>As she felt, so all motherhood, as God designed it, should feel. Before +the acceptance of the wonderful gift, motherhood stood entranced. Fear +and awe hold even love in abeyance. Into poor, loving, human hands a +soul—an eternal soul—was entrusted. No wonder even mother-love held +back before it consecrated itself to the sacred and everlasting +responsibility.</p> + +<p>Joyce only dumbly felt this. All that she was conscious of was a fear +that her joy, when she looked upon the blessed little face, would kill +her, and so end what had but begun.</p> + +<p>A new and marvellous strength came to her. She raised herself upon her +elbow and reverently drew the corner of the blanket from the tiny head.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the birds ceased singing. The June<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> morning was enveloped in a +black pall. The ominous stillness that precedes an outburst of the +elements held breath in check.</p> + +<p>Joyce was perfectly conscious. In the hideous blackness she saw her +baby's face clear and distinct, and with firm fingers she tore the +wrappings from the small body—she must see all, all.</p> + +<p>Misshapen and grim in its old, sinister expression of feature, the baby +lay exposed. The face was grotesque in its weazened fixity; the little +legs were twisted, and the thin body lay crooked among its blankets. The +big eyes stared into the horrified ones above them as if pleading for +mercy. The sight turned Joyce ill.</p> + +<p>"In spite of all," the stare seemed to challenge, "can you accept me?"</p> + +<p>In that moment when the bitter cup was pressed to motherhood's lips, +Joyce received the holiest sacrament that God ever bestows. In divine +strength she accepted her child. This little, blighted creature would +have no one but her to look to—to find life through. All that it was to +receive, until it went out of life, must come first through her. Should +she fail it?</p> + +<p>With fumbling and untrained hands she drew it to her, and pressed it +against her breast. With the touch of the small body at her heart, the +dawn crept back into the room, and from afar the birds sang.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span></p> + +<p>With all her striving, poor Joyce had not eliminated from the baby's +life the inheritance of others' sins. He had come, bearing a heavy load +of disease and deformity. All that was left for her to do now, was to +lift the cross as she might from this stunted and saddened life, and +walk beside him to the farther side.</p> + +<p>The poor, little wrinkled mouth was nestling against the mother-breast. +Instinct was alive in the child. Joyce laughed. At first tremblingly, +then shrilly. Suddenly she began to sing a lullaby, and the tune was +interrupted by laughs and moans.</p> + +<p>Higher and higher the fever rose. Isa Tate, beside herself with fright, +screamed for help, and for days Jude Lauzoon's house was the meeting +place of Life and Death; then Life triumphed, and people breathed +relievedly.</p> + +<p>"A homely young-un often makes handsome old bones," comforted Isa. Now +that Joyce was creeping back from the dangers that had beset her, Isa +felt a glow of pride and interest. She was an honourable diploma to +Isa's skill as nurse. In the future, Mrs. Tate was to feel a new +importance. She was assuming the airs of a woman who has learned the +market value of her services. Tate was to reap the effect of this later.</p> + +<p>"Oh! It doesn't matter much with boys," Joyce answered, indifferently. +"A girl would have been different."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's a sensible way to look at it," Isa agreed. "I often think that a +man with good looks has just that much temptation to be a bigger fool +than what he otherwise would be. It's one agin 'em whichever way you +take it. They don't <i>need</i> looks. They gets what they wants, anyway, and +if they are side-tracked by their countenances, it's ten to one they +will get distracted in their aims, and make more trouble than usual.</p> + +<p>"Now that I hark back, the only men as I can remember that amounted to +enough to make you willing to overlook their cussedness, was men as had +a handicap in looks.</p> + +<p>"There was Pierre Laval's brother Damon. He was born with twelve toes, +twelve fingers—two extry thumbs they was—and four front teeth.</p> + +<p>"He certainly was the most audacious ugly young-un I ever set eyes on. I +wasn't much more than a girl, to be sure, when I saw him first, but I +went into yelling hysterics, and took to my bed. Pierre was +handsome—and, you know how he ended? Damon, he gritted his teeth—and +in his case he could do that early—and made up his mind to make good +for his deficiencies—if you can say that 'bout one as had more rather +than less than Nature generally bestows. Land! the learning that child +was capable of absorbing! Hillcrest School just sunk into him like he +was a sponge. When he got all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> he could over there, he just walked off +as natural as could be, without a cent to his name—and they do say, so +I've heard, that down the state they set an awful store by his knowledge +of stars and moons and such-like. And Mick Falstar, cousin to Pete—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Isa." Joyce looked wan and nerveless. These tales only +accentuated the agony she felt whenever she was forced to concentrate +her thoughts upon actualities.</p> + +<p>When she was left to herself, she was beginning to regain the power of +ignoring facts and living among ideals. She was growing more and more +able to see a little spiritual baby at her breast—a beautiful child. +And with that vision growing clearer she felt her own spirit gaining +strength for flights into a future where this little son of hers, borne +aloft by her determined will and purpose, should hold his own among men. +Surely, she thought, God would not cripple mind, body and soul. God +would be content with testing her love by the twisted body. The mind and +soul would be—glorious!</p> + +<p>Day by day, the young mother, creeping back into the warm, summer life, +watched for intelligence to awaken in the grim little face; the first +flying signal of the overpowering intellect that was to make recompense +for all that had been withheld.</p> + +<p>The misshapen body was always swathed in disguising wrappings; even the +claw-like, groping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> hands were held under blankets when curious eyes +were near. Isa had won Joyce's everlasting gratitude by holding her +tongue regarding the child's bodily deformity; and the Hillcrest doctor, +who had been summoned when the fever grew, did not consider the +circumstance important enough to weigh on his memory when once the +payment for his services was, to his surprise, forthcoming.</p> + +<p>But the sad, little old face with its fringe of straight black hair! +That must be public property, and its piteous appeal had no power beyond +the mother, to stay the cruel jest and jibe.</p> + +<p>"Say, Jude," Peter Falstar had said in offering his maudlin +congratulations, "what's that you got up to your place—a baby or a +Chinese idol? That comes of having a handsome wife, what has notions +beyond what women can digest."</p> + +<p>Jude did not take this pleasantry as one might suppose he would. His own +primitive aversion to the strange, deformed child made him weakly +sensitive. He recoiled from Falstar's gibe with a sneaking shame he +dared not defend by a physical outburst.</p> + +<p>"He ain't a very handsome chap," he returned foolishly, "don't favour +either father or mother—hey?"</p> + +<p>Gaston overheard this and other similar witticisms, and his blood rose +hot within him.</p> + +<p>The cruelty and indelicacy of it all made him hate, where, heretofore, +he had but felt contempt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span></p> + +<p>He realized most keenly that in his lonely life among the pines the few +interests and friendships that he had permitted himself were deeper than +he had believed.</p> + +<p>Jock Filmer, during the closer contact of daily labour, had become to +him a rude prototype of a Jonathan. They had found each other out, and +behind the screen that divided them from others, they held communion +sacred to themselves. They read together in Gaston's shack. They had, at +times, skimmed dangerously near the Pasts that both, for reasons of +their own, kept shrouded. After one of these close calls of confidence, +they would drift apart for a time—afraid of each other—but the growing +attraction they felt was strengthening after the three or four years +wherein an unconscious foundation had been laid.</p> + +<p>Then Gaston, too, realized that he had banked much upon the marriage he +had brought about between Jude and Joyce. In saving himself from +temptation, he felt he had sacrificed the girl, unless he could bring +into her life an element that would satisfy her blind gropings.</p> + +<p>To argue that in saving himself he had saved her, was no comfort. He had +not been called upon to elect himself arbiter of Joyce's future. No; to +put it baldly, in his loneliness he had dabbled in affairs that did not +concern him—and he must pay for his idiocy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span></p> + +<p>To that end he had, at first, put himself and his private funds at +Jude's disposal. He had had hopes that by so doing he might help Jude to +decent manliness. But that hope soon died. Jude, lazy with the inertness +of a too sharply defined ancestry, became rapidly a well-developed +parasite.</p> + +<p>Even when he accepted the contract to build Ralph Drew's house, he had +done so from two motives. By this means he could, he found, command more +of Gaston's money than in any other way, and by assuming the +responsibility he placed himself on a social pinnacle that satisfied his +vanity. He became a man of importance. Gaston and Filmer, glad with the +intelligence of men who know the value of work, took the actual burden +upon themselves. Lauzoon had the empty glory; they had the blessing of +toil that brought their faculties into play, and gave them relief from +somberer thoughts. But Gaston was too normal a man not to consider the +gravity of conditions that were developing. His hopes of Jude had long +ago sunk into a contemptuous understanding of the shiftless fellow. He +had, however, believed that the hold he had upon him insured a +comparatively easy life for Joyce. This, too, he now saw was a false +belief.</p> + +<p>He knew the girl. He knew that mere housing and assured food were little +to her, if deeper things failed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span></p> + +<p>It was this essentially spiritual side of Joyce that had interested him +and appealed to him from the beginning.</p> + +<p>One by one he gave up his hopes for her happiness. He saw that Jude was +impossible long before Joyce did; then he put his faith in the little +child—and now that had failed! Poor girl! he thought; and in the inner +chamber of his shack with the doors and shutters barred, the pistol +lying at hand upon his desk, he cursed himself for a fool who had tried +to enrich his own wasted life with an interest in the lives of others +that had brought about as bad a state of affairs as any meddler could +well conceive.</p> + +<p>Then he grew reckless. Things couldn't be much worse, anyway, and if he +might brighten that dull life in the little house, he'd brighten it and +Jude be—the laugh that Gaston laughed was perhaps better than the word +he might have used had he finished his sentence.</p> + +<p>There was the regular income from the outer world; as long as that was +at Gaston's command he felt he could control Lauzoon, and who else +mattered, except Filmer? Well, Filmer had sense to keep his opinions to +himself—although the look in his eyes when he disapproved of anything, +was unpleasant and—impertinent.</p> + +<p>A clam like Filmer had no right to personal opinions of other folks' +conduct. Unless he let light in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> upon his own excuse for being, he +should withhold condemnation.</p> + +<p>So Gaston spent his days' ends on Jude's little piazza, or in the bay +window of the sitting room when the air was too cool for the baby +snuggling against the young mother's breast.</p> + +<p>Gaston brought his fiddle along, and those were wonderful tunes he drew +from the strings. Sometimes he explained what they meant, his words +running along in monotone that yet kept time to the alluring strains.</p> + +<p>Joyce smiled, and her ready tears came, but the colour was coming back +into her beautiful face; the brooding eyes once again had the glint of +sweet mischief in them, and the lip curled away from the pretty teeth.</p> + +<p>She had never been so beautiful before. Living in the ideal where her +baby was concerned made it perilously easy for her to live ideally in +all other ways.</p> + +<p>Jude became a blurred reality. He was, when she thought of him at all, +endowed with the graces and attractiveness of Gaston. Joyce did not +consider Jude as he really existed. She smiled vaguely at him—his +personality now, neither annoyed her nor appealed to her. While living +with him outwardly, she was to all intents and purposes, spiritually +living with Gaston. For she gave to Jude the attributes that made Gaston +her hero, just as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> she gave to her poor, twisted baby the beautiful +contours and heavenly beauty of the Madonna's exquisite Child.</p> + +<p>The summer throbbed and glowed in St. Angé.</p> + +<p>Was it possible that things were as they always had been? Jared Birkdale +kept his distance and silence; and Joyce grew to forget him.</p> + +<p>The Black Cat flourished, and Jude made no attempt to curb his growing +desire for popularity there. He was developing a talent for instructing +his elders, and laying down the law. He was endeavoring to fill +Birkdale's place. Jared had always been the tavern orator. Some one has +to occupy that pedestal in all such places, while the others enjoy their +pipes and mugs in speculative contemplation.</p> + +<p>But nothing was as it <i>had</i> been with Joyce. She had the look of one on +the threshold of big happenings. Her pale beauty had a new glow. The +thinness of girlhood had given place to a slender womanhood, all grace +and charm.</p> + +<p>She was rarely seen without her baby on her bosom. Even in her work she +managed to bear him on one arm.</p> + +<p>Away from her, he wailed pitifully and almost constantly; while pressed +against the warm, loving heart he sank into comfort and peace. When he +was awake his elfish eyes were fixed in solemn stare upon the +mother-face. Not knowingly nor indifferently,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> but intently, as if from +the depths of past experience he was wondering and endeavouring to +understand.</p> + +<p>One evening, and such an evening it was in late July, Joyce, in her low +rocker, the baby on her knees, sat on the piazza facing westward, when +Gaston came around the house, fiddle in hand.</p> + +<p>"Alone, Joyce?" It was an idle question, but it would do.</p> + +<p>"Yes; Jude seems to have a lot to do about Mr. Drew's house, you know."</p> + +<p>Joyce still kept up a pretty defence of Jude. Not that it was in the +least necessary, or even sensible, but it had its part in her detached +and dreamy life.</p> + +<p>"The house is about finished," Gaston replied, tuning up the fiddle. +"And then what?" he said, placing the instrument.</p> + +<p>"I wonder?" Joyce looked down happily upon her child.</p> + +<p>It did not greatly matter, for now Gaston had struck into one of those +compelling airs, so intensely sweet and melodious that it all but hurt; +and the red sunset trembled as the tear-dimmed eyes beheld it.</p> + +<p>The tune changed. It danced elfishly, and trippingly—for very joy it +made one laugh. The tear rolled down Joyce's face, as the smile replaced +it, and dropped upon the thin cheek of the baby. He did not flinch, and +the staring eyes did not falter,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> but something drew the mother's +attention. As the final tripping notes died away, she said softly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gaston, just look—at the baby."</p> + +<p>The child had rarely drawn them together. It was to make her forget the +child—and other things—that Gaston called so often.</p> + +<p>He came now, and bent over the two.</p> + +<p>"Does—he—look—just the same to you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes!" Gaston repressed the desire to laugh. "You see babies are +not much in my line. I don't think I ever saw such a little fellow +before. They look about the same for a long time, don't they?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! no. They change every day, and many times during the day. I weighed +baby to-day," she faltered, "and do you know, he weighs <i>less</i> than when +he was born!"</p> + +<p>"The ungrateful little heathen!"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid—I'm not a good mother." The sweet face quivered. "And I +want to be that more than anything else on earth. You see if I can get +him through—through this awful time when I can't tell just what might +be the matter—it will be easy enough. But young babies are +so—so—unreal. You don't know whether you've got them to keep or not. +They seem to be kind of holding on to another life, while they clutch +this. A good mother knows how to unloose them from that other hold."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span></p> + +<p>Gaston was touched by the yearning in the low voice, but the weazened +face of the child repelled him, even while it attracted him.</p> + +<p>"Would it be so—so terrible if he did not let go that—other hold?"</p> + +<p>It was a stupid thing to say, and Gaston despised himself for being so +brutal when he saw the look of horror on the upturned face.</p> + +<p>"Terrible?" Joyce gasped. "Why, if—if he should leave me, I couldn't +live. You don't know how it seems to have him warm and little and soft +against your heart. The whole world would be empty—empty, until it +would kill me with the emptiness—and I'd always think, you know, he'd +found out I wasn't fit to be his mother. It's a foolish fancy, but you +know, Mr. Gaston, I think they come to try us mothers—if they find us +out—not fit—they don't stay. Such a lot of babies don't stay!"</p> + +<p>"Why Joyce!" Gaston tried to turn his gaze from that awful baby-stare. +"Full of whim-whams and moonshine. You must get about more. You must +come up to Drew's house to-morrow. It's a palace of a place—and Filmer +had a letter from Drew to-day. He's coming before the autumn cold sets +in—he's going to bring an aunt and a sister—just get your idle fancy +on the doings, and let Master Malcolm jog along at his own pace. If he +doesn't like you for a mother, he isn't worth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> considering. Look at him +now—he sees the joke, the brazen little cuss, he's actually laughing in +our faces."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Joyce sat rigidly up, and her own face became transformed. The +moment she had lived and waited for had come! The blank stare gave place +to a broken, crinkling expression; the thin shapeless lips trembled over +the toothless gums, and into the big eyes a wonder broke. A light seemed +to shine forth—and the baby smiled into the adoring face looking down!</p> + +<p>To Gaston, the sight was, in a sense, awful. The majesty of Joyce's +attitude toward the change in the child, was the only thing that saved +the occasion.</p> + +<p>"Is—it hungry?" he asked with the same dense stupidity he had displayed +before.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Joyce laughed gleefully. "Don't you see, he—he knows me. +He—he—<i>does</i> like—me—he's going to stay, and he takes this heavenly +way to show it."</p> + +<p>"The deuce he does!" and now Gaston laughed. "He's going to be a comical +imp, if I don't miss my guess. See, he's calming down now, and +regulating his features."</p> + +<p>"But—he—smiled!" And just then Jude came around the corner of the +house.</p> + +<p>Gaston saw the expression of his face, and something stifled him for a +moment. He wondered if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> money was always going to be a check to Jude, +after all.</p> + +<p>And if it should cease to hold him in leash—then what would happen?</p> + +<p>He went away soon after, but he sat up until toward daylight, just +outside his shack. He feared something was going to occur. But nothing +did; and the next thing in Joyce's life story that tugged at his +heart-strings, was the sickness and sudden death of little Malcolm.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> + +<p>It was the evening of the day that the baby had been laid under a slim, +tall young pine tree back of the little house.</p> + +<p>Jude felt that he had borne himself heroically throughout the trying +episode.</p> + +<p>Never having cared for the child in life, he considered himself a pretty +good father to hide his relief at its early taking off.</p> + +<p>As a man of means—what mattered if they were Gaston's means?—he had +had a really impressive funeral for his son.</p> + +<p>The Methodist minister from Hillcrest had preached for full an hour over +the tiny casket. Not often did the clergyman have so good an opportunity +to tell the St. Angéans what he thought of them.</p> + +<p>He dealt with them along old and approved lines. He had heard of Drew's +religious views and he took this occasion to include a warning of the +damning influence that was about to enter the vicinity with the young +minister's return.</p> + +<p>"I warn you now," he thundered over the dead baby, "to make the life of +this infidel, this God-hater, a burden to him."</p> + +<p>Filmer from his rear corner, winked at Gaston<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> at this. Gaston could see +nothing amusing in the service—it was all in the passing show—a +pitiful and added agony.</p> + +<p>In that the show was a little grimmer than usual he found his resentment +rising. So Gaston did not return the pleasantry of Jock's wink.</p> + +<p>After the service, Jude had insisted that there should be no unseemly +haste, and had instructed his chosen representatives to form a line and +walk from the house to the tavern and back twice with the tiny remains, +before they were finally laid to rest. This show of respect was talked +of in St. Angé for days.</p> + +<p>Through all the bitter day Joyce had followed dumbly whatever others +did. It was like walking in her sleep, and she was grateful that she +felt no sorrow.</p> + +<p>She had feared if the baby died it might kill her, and now that it was +dead she did not mind at all.</p> + +<p>Her arms ached a little at times. She thought that was queer; they had +never ached when they bore the baby.</p> + +<p>At last she and Jude were back in the awful, quiet house. It was more +awful now that Jude was there. For after the burial, and before the +evening meal, he had been lessening his tension with some boon +companions, down at the Black Cat, and Joyce had had the place to +herself.</p> + +<p>Jude, having relaxed to the state of geniality,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> was willing to let +bygones be bygones in the broadest sense of the word. He had big plans +afoot—he had had them the night he came home and found Gaston and Joyce +hanging over the baby. These plans had been set aside while the baby was +taking his pitiful leave of life after his one smile, but Jude must +hurry his case now. Nothing stood in the way—and, although many a woman +might get what she deserved, Jude was going to forgive Joyce again and +take her to his bosom in a new life, and they'd both forget what was +past.</p> + +<p>The hold of youth and beauty clutched the man's inflamed senses. The +evening meal, which Joyce had mechanically prepared, had been partaken +of—by Jude—until little but fragments was left.</p> + +<p>A black shower, which had passed over St. Angé in the late afternoon, +had changed the sultry heat to ominous chill. The wind among the pines +sobbed dismally as if it were a human thing and could understand.</p> + +<p>Jude got up and shut the door. It was quite dark outside, and the lamp +flickered in the breeze.</p> + +<p>At his action Joyce sprang from the chair, and the dull calm that had +possessed her for the past day or so was shattered. Her eyes blazed, and +the colour came and went in the stern, white face.</p> + +<p>"Don't—do—that!" she panted, springing to the door and flinging it +back.</p> + +<p>"What in thunder is the matter with you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> Jude stepped aside. Something +in this change and fury startled him.</p> + +<p>"Don't shut—the—door, Jude. We—we—can't leave him out there alone in +the cold. He's so little—our—baby!"</p> + +<p>Jude had a moment of doubt as to how he should deal with this foolery. +If he were quite sure it was just Joyce's nonsense—but perhaps she had +gone crazy. The thought stayed him.</p> + +<p>Then he considered that in either case he must get the upper hand, and +at once. All depended upon that.</p> + +<p>"Go and set down," he commanded, eyeing the girl as she stood in the +open doorway. "You don't 'spose we're going to live with open doors, do +you?"</p> + +<p>There was mastery in the tone, and, to gain her end, the woman resorted +to her only course.</p> + +<p>"Just—for to-night, Jude—just a little way open. I'd choke if I—shut +him away so soon—and he so little and—and—all."</p> + +<p>Fear of what he did not understand roused in Jude a brutish desire to +overcome this something that threatened. For a moment he decided to rush +from the house and leave the thing to work out its own way; but second +thought brought with it his plans, which must be set in motion at once.</p> + +<p>This attitude of Joyce's was a new obstacle, but if he conquered her, he +might overcome it. So by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> sheer force of weak will he strode over to the +woman who defied him, even while she pleaded, and grasped her roughly by +the shoulder.</p> + +<p>In that touch Joyce recognized what all suppressed and deprived +womanhood has always felt, and she recoiled to reconnoitre.</p> + +<p>"You do as I tell you, Joyce, and go and set down. The door is going to +be shut and you take that in, plain and quick." He drew her away, and +slammed the door with a crash.</p> + +<p>Joyce went quietly to her chair, but a new and terrible look came into +her eyes.</p> + +<p>Jude sat on the edge of the table, disregarding the spotless cover and +soiled dishes. He wanted to be near Joyce in case of an outbreak, and he +had much to say.</p> + +<p>"Are you listening to me?" he asked slowly, as if he were speaking to a +child.</p> + +<p>"Oh! yes," Joyce replied, and her tone reassured him; "I'm listening."</p> + +<p>"Do you think you've ever taken me in any?"</p> + +<p>The man's sullen black eyes held the clear, bluish-gray ones.</p> + +<p>"Oh, never, Jude! You're terribly smart. I've always known that—but +please—" the strained eyes turned for the last time toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Cut that out!" said Jude. "You're just acting. You can't pull me by the +nose, but it will pay you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> to calm down and listen to what I've got to +say. I've heard from your father!"</p> + +<p>"Have you?" The white impassive face did not change expression.</p> + +<p>"Yes; by thunder! I have; and as it concerns you as much as it does me, +you better take more interest. I heard from him more'n two weeks ago. I +met him, too, in the south woods, a few nights back."</p> + +<p>"What's he hiding for?" the monotonous tone jarred Jude more than any +outbreak of temper could have done. His recent restraint, and his +pent-up plans had worn his nerves to the raw edge. He was in the slow, +consuming stage of emotions that was likely to lead him to a desperate +move if he were balked.</p> + +<p>"Now look here," he blurted out; "you and me has got to get down to +business, and that to once! I've kept mum long of the kid's taking-off." +Joyce's eyes widened as she stared through the open window over which +the rose-vine was being lashed by a new storm.</p> + +<p>"I've bided my time, and it was more for you than for me, you can bet.</p> + +<p>"This is the big time of our lives, and I ain't going to hold back any +facts what can make things clear and reasonable. Me and your father want +you, maybe for different reasons, maybe not. You ain't the common sort, +and we know you can help<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> us. If you was like most women, him and me +wouldn't have no compunctions about cutting, and leaving you to ways +what you seem to hanker after. But he's actually pining for a sight of +you, and even knowing what I do about you, I can't give you up! That's +the plain situation as far as you're concerned, and you can take it for +what it's worth. Are you listening?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! yes, yes, I'm listening, Jude." And so she was. She was listening +to the moan in the tree-tops. It sounded like the last plaintive cry her +child had made, and it hurt her cruelly.</p> + +<p>"I've got more money in hand, Joyce, than what I ever had—I've got +fifteen hundred dollars."</p> + +<p>Somehow this had power to reach the listener as nothing before had done. +Her aching eyes fell upon Jude, and a new fear contracted them.</p> + +<p>"Where did you get it—the money—Jude?"</p> + +<p>"That's my business. I'm only dealing with facts."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I must know. It—it isn't yours, Jude."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it?" Jude laughed. "Well, then, we'll call it mine for argerment. +That pa of yours is a slick one!" The sudden change of subject relaxed +the brief interest Joyce had shown in the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Leaving here in the sulks about you, what does he do but go down to +what he calls civilization, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> strikes a rich claim first thing. All +that was lacking was ready money. Back he comes, and finds out the lay +of the land here, without so much as showing his nose. He says he had +several plans to get money—but this plan of mine is the easiest, so +we're going to work it. All my life I've dreamed by day and night"—a +sudden glow illumined Jude's dark face,—"of the road and where it +leads. Always, as true as God hears me, Joyce, always, as boy and man, +when I've fancied myself on the road, and beyond the forests, I've +always seen you beside me. I don't care what you are, or what +temptations beset you—you've always been the one girl for me. We're +going to begin a new life now—with no back flings at each other. Give +me a kiss on it, girl."</p> + +<p>Jude came over to her, and she felt his hot, excited breath on her cheek +and throat.</p> + +<p>Dazed as she was by what he had said, she was frightened at his manner, +and drew back, warding him off with rigid hands.</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she cried, hoarsely. "Don't touch me. You're all wrong—I'm not +going anywhere with you. I'm going to stay right here—I swear it!"</p> + +<p>"You won't go?" Everything swayed and trembled before Jude. "But if I +promise to—to—pay it back? You know there was no time set." This was +the last concession Jude was to make. His horrible suspicions were +choking him.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going. I—I couldn't—I—couldn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> leave—him." The white face +quivered and the big eyes overflowed with tears.</p> + +<p>Jude had only one thought—a thought lashed to the fore by his jealous +rage, and defeated hopes. And poor Joyce, distraught and grief-crazed, +realized not the terrible blunder he was making.</p> + +<p>"You're—staying—just—for him?" Jude was close to her now, and his +breath came short and hard.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know you won't ever understand. If I was away, I couldn't bear +my life—this—this longing would be always tugging at me—and I could +never help it. If we stay here, Jude, I'll go on just the—same; it's +being—near—that counts!"</p> + +<p>"You—tell me this to my face—you fool!"</p> + +<p>For an instant Joyce's dull agony wavered, and an inkling of what Jude +meant rushed upon her.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she gasped, and put her hands out to him. But it was too late. The +hot blood was surging in the weak brain. With a violence he had never +shown before, the man flung the outstretched hands from him, then he +struck viciously the white terrified face twice, leaving dull, red marks +to bear witness.</p> + +<p>His rage fed upon the brutality. Now that he had let himself loose, he +gave full rein to his hate and revenge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span></p> + +<p>He gripped the slim, childish arm, and pushed the shrinking form before +him.</p> + +<p>"Go—you!" With one hand he drew the door back, and hurled the girl out +into the black storm. "Go to <i>him</i>!"</p> + +<p>Joyce kept her feet, but she staggered on until a tree stopped her +course. The contact was another hurt, but she gave small heed to it.</p> + +<p>Like a burning flash she seemed to see two things: Jude's true +understanding of her blundering words; and her possible future, after +she had made him understand. For, of course, she must go back and <i>make</i> +him understand, and then—well, after such a scene, a woman's life was +never safe in St. Angé. It was like a taste of blood to a wild animal. +Still she must go back. In all the world there was nothing else for her +to do.</p> + +<p>Her face stung and throbbed, her arm ached where Jude had crushed the +tender flesh. She leaned against the tree that had added to her pain, +and wept miserably for very self-pity. She was downed and beaten. After +all she was to be like the rest of St. Angé women.</p> + +<p>Sounds roused her. Strange, terrific sounds.</p> + +<p>What was Jude doing?</p> + +<p>Trembling in every limb, she went forward and peered through the +rose-vine into the room.</p> + +<p>The rain was cooling her face and the wind was clearing the agonized +brain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span></p> + +<p>Inside, the scene struck terror to the watcher's heart.</p> + +<p>Jude was crashing the furniture to pieces in a frenzy of revenge.</p> + +<p>The chairs were dashed against the chimney; the books hurled near and +far. One almost hit the white face among the vines, as it went crashing +outward.</p> + +<p>Then Jude attacked the pictures—her beautiful pictures!</p> + +<p>The mountain peak was shattered by a blow from the remnant of the little +rocker, then the ocean picture fell with the sound of splintered glass. +Last the Madonna! Joyce clutched her heart as the heavenly face was +obliterated by the savage blow. Then, maddened still further by his own +excesses, Jude laughed and struck with mighty force, the lamp from the +table—and the world was in blackness!</p> + +<p>How long Joyce stood clinging to the vine in abject terror, she was +never to know.</p> + +<p>Consciousness of the live, vivid sort, was mercifully spared her for a +space. She knew, but did not comprehend, the true horror of her +situation.</p> + +<p>No thought of explaining now to Jude occurred to her as she stood +cringing and trembling against the house in the darkness. Only one +thought possessed her vitally—Jude must never see her again. If he did, +he would kill her. Kill her as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> Pierre was said to have killed poor +little Lola, long, long ago.</p> + +<p>Joyce's teeth chattered and she gripped her shaking hands over them. +When her heart <i>did</i> beat—and minutes seemed to pass when it made no +motion—it hurt her cruelly.</p> + +<p>What was he doing in there? The storm was gaining power, and no other +sound rose in the blackness. Then suddenly Jude rushed from the house. +He passed so close to Joyce that his coat touched her. By some power +entirely outside of ordinary hearing or seeing, Joyce knew that he was +making for the Black Cat with the tale of his wrongs. They all did that. +It was the finishing stroke for the woman.</p> + +<p>Alone, in the blackness and storm, reason reasserted itself in Joyce's +mind. It brought no comfort with its restored poise; rather, it brought +a realization of her true position. Her life was as utterly shattered +and devastated as was the little home. Everything was gone. The future, +with pitiful choice, was as densely black as the night that shut her in +with her dull misery. With Jude, there could be no possible +understanding. To confront him, even with the powers of the Black Cat at +call, would be the wildest folly. There was nothing to say—nothing.</p> + +<p>Still, Jude had money. It was quite plain to the keen mind now—it was +Gaston's money! Ralph<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> Drew had probably sent the money in payment and +instead of passing the amount on to Gaston, who had advanced the +different sums, Jude was making off with it. She must stop that. For +herself, what did it matter? But still, if Gaston, who had such power, +could hold Jude and claim the money, he might find a way out of this +awful trouble. She must go to Gaston, and at once.</p> + +<p>Aching in every limb, and soaked to the skin, Joyce turned toward the +North Woods. The howling wind was with her, and it was the only help she +had. So she came at last to the lonely little shack among the pines.</p> + +<p>Gaston had built a roaring piney fire upon the hearth of his outer room. +He was luxuriating before this with a long-stemmed pipe between his +lips.</p> + +<p>The day had perplexed and touched him deeply. Never before in all his +St. Angé life had he seemed to get so close to the heart, the human +heart, of things. Joyce's white, still anguish over the death of her +baby had tugged at his feelings.</p> + +<p>So <i>that</i> was what mother-love meant the world over?</p> + +<p>A sharp, quick knock startled him. Gaston rose at once. He knew upon the +instant who it was. He knew that from some dire necessity Joyce was +calling for his aid.</p> + +<p>There was no time nor inclination for him to fall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> back upon that inner +sense of his and seek to peer beyond the present and its need. He strode +to the door, flung it open, and Joyce and the terrific storm burst into +the room together!</p> + +<p>"He—he's driven me from the house." The girl's wild face made +unnecessary the idle question that Gaston spoke.</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Jude." Then Gaston shut and barred the heavy door. He could at least +exclude the rain and wind.</p> + +<p>"Look here! and here!" the girl pointed to her bruised face upon which +the storm's moisture rested, and the slender arm with its brutal mark.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" ejaculated Gaston, as he gazed in horror, "and on this day!"</p> + +<p>Rage against Jude, tenderness for Jude's victim, struggled hotly in +Gaston's mind; but presently a divine pity for the girl alone consumed +him.</p> + +<p>Her misery was appalling. Now that she was comparatively safe, bodily +weakness overpowered her. She swayed, and put her hands out childishly +for support—any support that might steady her as her world went black.</p> + +<p>Gaston caught her and placed her gently in his deep, low chair.</p> + +<p>"Poor girl!" he murmured, "Poor Joyce! You're as wet as a leaf. Here!" +He quickly brought one of the red blankets from the inner room. "Here,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> +let me at least wrap you in something dry. And now drink this, it will +do you good."</p> + +<p>He poured some wine into a glass and held it to her blue, cold lips.</p> + +<p>"Come, Joyce! We'll straighten things out. Trust me."</p> + +<p>She gulped the warming wine, and shivered in the blanket's muffling +comfort.</p> + +<p>"And now," Gaston was flinging logs on the blazing embers, "you're +coming around. Whatever it is, Joyce, it isn't worth all this agony of +yours."</p> + +<p>"I'm—I'm afraid they'll come and kill us." Joyce's eyes widened and the +old fear seized her again. The momentary comfort and thought of safety +lost their hold.</p> + +<p>"In God's name, Joyce, hush! You're safe and I'm not afraid. Come, don't +you see if you want me to help you, you must pull yourself together?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; yes; and we—I must hurry."</p> + +<p>Now that he had time to think, Gaston knew pretty well what had +occurred. The vulgar details did not matter. The one important and +hideous fact was, that for some reason, Jude, with the crazy brutality +that had long been gathering, had flung his young wife from his +protection on to Gaston's.</p> + +<p>Well, he would accept the responsibility. He was quite calm, and his +blood was up. A pleasurable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> excitement possessed him, and he laughed to +calm the fear he saw in Joyce's eyes.</p> + +<p>The clock struck nine. All that was respectable and innocent in St. Angé +was in bed at that hour.</p> + +<p>Gaston wondered what he was going to do with the girl. The thought did +not disturb him; but, of course, he must make arrangements.</p> + +<p>Long ago he had so shut out his own world that he could not, now, call +upon it for Joyce's protection. St. Angé was impossible as a working +basis—his thoughts flew to Filmer. Yes; as soon as Joyce could explain, +he would go for Filmer and together they would solve this riddle for the +poor, battered soul, shrinking before him.</p> + +<p>He must hurry her a little. St. Angé and nine o'clock must be +considered.</p> + +<p>The wine had brought life and colour into the white face. The glorious +hair, now rapidly drying in the warm room, was curling in childish +fashion above the wide eyes.</p> + +<p>She was certainly too young and pretty to run the risk that the night +might bring.</p> + +<p>A complication arose. Divine pity made way for a sense of the girl's +beauty and helplessness. The bruise upon the soft cheek cried out for +tenderness and protection. Gaston strove to detach himself from the +personal element. He strove to feel old and fatherly but he was still +young; Fate was tempting him in the subtlest manner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> The best and the +worst of the man came to the fore.</p> + +<p>The wind howled outside; the warmth and comfort held them +close—together, and alone.</p> + +<p>What did anything matter? They had both done their parts. They had tried +to be what the world called good—and here they were tossed back upon +each other, and not a hope beyond.</p> + +<p>Then Gaston found himself speaking quite outside of the consciousness +that was almost stifling him with its allurement.</p> + +<p>"Joyce, I must take you home as soon as you can walk. I can straighten +this out. It shall not happen again. You forget I have a certain hold +over Jude."</p> + +<p>"There is no home." The words fell dully from the girl. "He—he broke +and destroyed everything before—he went to the Black Cat."</p> + +<p>Gaston started.</p> + +<p>"But he—did not know you came here? You see it will be in your favour, +if they find you there among the ruins. I'll see to it—that they go and +find you there. Can you walk now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—but you do not understand. The money—it was that I came to +tell you about—Jude has a great deal of money—I think Mr. Drew has +just sent it. He's going to—get away—with my—father."</p> + +<p>Gaston now saw that no time must be wasted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> If necessary he must carry +Joyce, and set her down near her fallen shrine—then he must stop Jude. +The money did not matter; but a frenzy of self-preservation, mingled +with his desire to save Joyce, rose within him. The money was his hold +on Jude; it was the only salvation for this critical moment.</p> + +<p>Now that he faced the grim possibility, he found that he was as eager to +preserve a clean future for himself as for her.</p> + +<p>He must get her back. He must find Filmer, and he must lay hold of Jude.</p> + +<p>"Come, Joyce, trust me, I swear to you that it will be all right."</p> + +<p>He took her hand and led her toward the door. Then a confused noise +outside stayed them.</p> + +<p>There was a crushing of underbrush as if a light wagon was being driven +over the narrow path; a mingling of voices rose excitedly.</p> + +<p>"You damned scoundrel!" It was Filmer's voice. "Don't you utter that lie +again until he's had a chance to fling it back in your teeth. Whatever +your cursed row has been, he's got nothing to do with it. Shut up!"</p> + +<p>"Hold on there, Filmer." It was Tate speaking. "This here wagon's got +wedged in the trees. I want to see this thing settled square. If +she's—" a bristling string of epithets followed, then Tate apparently +freed the vehicle he was in, for he jumped to the ground and joined the +knockers at the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span></p> + +<p>So the morality of St. Angé was at stake! Gaston showed his teeth in a +hard smile. There was but one conclusion for them all to come to, of +course.</p> + +<p>"Say, Gaston, old man!" Filmer shouted; "open up. I thought maybe you'd +like to bid Jude an affectionate farewell before he skipped. If he owes +you—<i>anything</i>, here's your chance!" Another knock shook the door.</p> + +<p>The two inside looked at each other—man and woman! They both knew with +what they had to deal. A dare-devil expression rose to Gaston's face. He +tossed precaution to the winds.</p> + +<p>Abject terror possessed Joyce and she reeled as she stood, clutching the +blanket closer. Gaston put an arm about her, strode to the door, +unbarred it, and flung it back.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said to the men on the threshold, "what are you going to do +about it?"</p> + +<p>Filmer staggered as if Gaston had struck him, and the look in his eyes +went scathingly to Gaston's heart. But while it hurt, it aroused +resentment. What right had Filmer to judge—Who knew <i>his</i> past? But +Gaston knew Filmer was <i>not</i> judging. He knew he was only bidding +farewell to his one friend of the Solitudes. The friend he had trusted +and revered.</p> + +<p>The effect upon Jude was quite different. No doubt swayed him—he was +merely debating in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> his mind whether he could now get away with the +money and the wagon he had hired.</p> + +<p>"Since you've got her—" he stammered, "how about—the—the money?"</p> + +<p>The question nerved Gaston.</p> + +<p>"Money?" he cried; "get out with it, you thief and would-be murderer. +Use it to get as far from here as you can, for as true as there is a +heaven above us, if you ever interfere with me or—mine—again, I'll +shoot you at sight. Get out—all of you!"</p> + +<p>He slammed the door violently shut, and with clenched hands and blazing +eyes, he faced his companion.</p> + +<p>He and she were the only ones in the new world. Stung by the memory of +the look of lost faith in the eyes of the one friend to whom he had +planned to turn in this emergency; recalling Jude's glance of triumph as +he turned away, Gaston's moral sense reeled, and the elemental passions +rose.</p> + +<p>Joyce stood shrinking before him. Beaten, bruised and trapped, she +awaited her doom.</p> + +<p>Her primitive love for this man held no part in her present condition. +Whatever he consigned her to, that must she accept. St. Angé standards +were well known to her. The people would be quick enough to spurn +personal responsibility for her, but if she were independent of +them—well, they were not the ones to hold resentment!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span></p> + +<p>No moral training had ever had part in this girl's life; nothing held +her now but a fear, born of her past experience with man's authority, as +to her future fate.</p> + +<p>She was abandoned and disowned. Her recent loss and grief had bereft her +of any personal pride and hope—like a slave before its master, she +faced Gaston—and mutely waited.</p> + +<p>The unexpected happened. Gaston laughed. Laughed in the old, unconcerned +way; but presently the rising awe and question in the lovely eyes +looking into his own, sobered him. He began to understand and to get her +point of view. He stood straighter, and a new expression passed over his +face.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Joyce," he said, urging her gently toward the chair, "I must +mend the fire. Things look as if they had fallen to pieces, but they +have not. Believe me—they have not. For heaven's sake stop trembling; +every shudder you give is an insult to me. There, there, you don't +understand, but, it's coming out all right. It was only when others were +meddling that we got on the rocks. I've got the rudder in my hand now, +and by God's help," he was fiercely flinging on the logs, "we'll sail +out into the open with colours flying. When did you eat last?"</p> + +<p>She was watching him with alert, feverish eyes. Like an ensnared animal +she felt a frenzied eagerness to be ready for the snarer's next move.</p> + +<p>"Eat?" she faltered, "why, why, I have forgotten.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> +Yesterday—to-day—oh! does it matter? I'm not hungry."</p> + +<p>"Well, I am. I always wanted a snatch after the play."</p> + +<p>"The—the play?" Joyce leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"After an infernal row, if you like that better. They both play the +dickens with your digestion."</p> + +<p>Bringing out the food, and making coffee eased the tension of the +situation and after they had eaten, for Joyce struggled to follow his +example, the atmosphere was less electrical.</p> + +<p>The hands of the clock got around to ten-thirty; it was of no +consequence, however, and then Gaston cleared the table, kicked a +rebellious log back to its duty, and drew a chair beside Joyce.</p> + +<p>The little bruised arm lay stretched pitifully along the arm of the +chair. Gaston winced as he saw it, and he laid his strong, warm hand +over the cold fingers that did not draw away.</p> + +<p>"Joyce." His voice was almost solemn in its intensity. "I don't believe +there is anything I can say that you would understand now. God knows, I +pity you from the bottom of my soul and, God helping me, I'm going to +help you in the best way I can. You need rest more than any other little +woman in the world to-night, I reckon, go in there," he nodded toward +his own chamber, "and try your best to sleep. I want to smoke and think +it all out here by the fire. Remember, you are safe."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span></p> + +<p>She rose stiffly and stood before him. Fear was gone from her; weakness +remained; a horrible, sickening weakness, but no fear. Vaguely, +gropingly, she tried to understand what lay behind his slow, solemn +words, but the effort was too great. She sighed and looked down upon him +as if he had suddenly become a stranger to her, then, stepping backward, +with uncertain faltering movement, she gained the door of that room +where no foot but Gaston's had ever before stepped.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> + +<p>It was mid-October when Ralph Drew, his pretty sister Constance and his +devoted maiden aunt—Miss Sally Drew—arrived in St. Angé and took up +their new life in the bungalow which, under Jude Lauzoon's +contractorship, had been made ready.</p> + +<p>During his first short stay in St. Angé young Drew had regained not only +his lost strength, but he had gained an insight into the needs of the +men and women of the small place. He had always intended doing something +for the village and its inhabitants after his return to town for they +had appealed strongly to his emotional and sympathetic nature. But what +St. Angé had vouchsafed in the way of restored health, she had +begrudgingly bestowed. To have and to hold what she had given, the +recipient must, in return, vow allegiance to her, and, forsaking all +others, cling to her pines and silent places. He must forswear old +habits and environment—he must give up all else and fling himself upon +her mercy.</p> + +<p>It had been hard. Back there in the town, where the pulse of things beat +high, he had fought the knowledge inch by inch.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span></p> + +<p>"Would a year be enough?" It would be useless. "If winters were spent +there—several winters?" The big specialist shook his head.</p> + +<p>High, dry mountains, somewhere, were the only hope. St. Angé was +comparatively near, she had given a hint as to what she could do—better +trust her.</p> + +<p>One after another the outposts of lingering hope were taken by the grim, +white Spectre. He must abdicate, and accept what terms the enemy +offered.</p> + +<p>Wan, and defeated, but still with the high courage that was his only +possession, Drew tried to get the new outlook.</p> + +<p>If there were to be—life, then there must be work, God's work; he was +no coward, he would do his part.</p> + +<p>Mingled with the many, dear, familiar things of the life that no longer +was to be his, was a slim, pretty, little girl whom he had enshrined in +his college days, and before whom he had laid his heart's sacredest +offerings since. She, and his splendid courage would make even St. Angé +a Paradise.</p> + +<p>Raising his eyes to her face, as she sat beside his bed the day the +specialist had given his final command, Drew whispered his hope to her.</p> + +<p>The soft, saintly eyes fell before the trusting, pitiful ones.</p> + +<p>"Dear," he said, a new doubt faced him—one he had never believed +possible; "they say I will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> be well—quite well, there if I stay. And +you and I—" but that drooping face drove him back among the shadows.</p> + +<p>"We—must—think of others." It was the voice of a self-sacrificing +saint, but the heart-touch was lacking, and Drew received his sentence +then and there.</p> + +<p>For a few, weak days he decided to remain and finish it all and forever.</p> + +<p>Then his manly faith bade him sternly to gather the poor remnant of his +strength together; grasp the broken blade that was his only weapon, and +finish the fight how and where he could.</p> + +<p>"We'll go with you, laddie," Aunt Sally whispered, hanging over this boy +whom she loved as her own.</p> + +<p>"And, dear," Constance sobbed on his pillow, "she wasn't worth your +love. I just knew it from the start. She's a selfish—egotistical—" a +thin, feverish hand stayed the girlish outburst.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Connie, we'll fly to the woods, and try to forget all about +it." And taking advantage of the golden October calm, they came to St. +Angé.</p> + +<p>Lying upon his bed in the bungalow chamber, looking out over the hills +and meadows, gorgeous in autumn tints, Drew began slowly, interruptedly +to be sure, but perceptibly, to gain strength.</p> + +<p>Having relinquished finally the old ideal of life,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> it was wonderful, +even to Drew himself, to find how much seemed unimportant and trivial. +It was rather shocking, in a mild way, for him to realize that a certain +girl's face was growing less and less vivid. At first he attributed this +to bodily weakness; then to weakness of character; finally, thank God! +to common sense. With that conclusion reached, the present began feebly +to be vital and full of meaning.</p> + +<p>Had perfect health been his, a call to serve the cause to which he had +dedicated himself might have taken him farther than St. Angé from his +old life. It was the finality of the decree that had put him in that +panic. Well, he would not permit finality to hold part in his plans. He +would live as if all things <i>might</i> come to him, as to other men. It +should be, day by day, and he would accept these people—if they would +accept him—not as minister and parishioners, but in the larger, deeper +sense—as brothers. With this outlook determined upon, a change for the +better began. Before it, while the old weakness possessed him, Jock +Filmer, sitting daily by his bed, was merely some one who was helping +nurse the fever-racked body; afterward, Jock materialized into the most +important and satisfying personality to be imagined. He was untiring in +his devotion and gentleness. Caught on the rebound from the shock Gaston +had caused him, Filmer went over to the new call to his friendship with +an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> abandon that proved his own sore need of sympathy.</p> + +<p>The family, grateful for the signs of returning health in the sick man, +thankful for Jock's assistance and enlivening humour, disregarded +conventions, and admitted the new friend to the holy of holies in their +bungalow life.</p> + +<p>Jock had not been so supremely happy in years. The companionship healed +the wound Gaston had given his faith, and he found himself shielding and +defending both Gaston and Joyce against his own crude judgments.</p> + +<p>Before coming to St. Angé, Drew had been kept in touch with all that the +men who were working for him considered his legitimate business. +Anything pertaining to his house was fully explained; village scandal, +however, had been ignored, and when Drew was able to be moved in a +steamer-chair to his broad porch facing the west, he had many astounding +things to learn.</p> + +<p>One morning, lying luxuriously back among his cushions and inhaling the +pine-filled air with relish, Drew electrified Filmer, who sat near him +on the porch railing, by observing calmly:</p> + +<p>"Filmer, I've a load of questions I want to ask."</p> + +<p>"Heave 'em out." Jock sighed resignedly. Of course, he had anticipated +this hour, and he knew that he must be the high priest. "Heave 'em out, +and then settle down 'mong facts."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where is Jude Lauzoon?" This was hitting the bull's eye with a +vengeance.</p> + +<p>"Gone off for change of air and scene—somewhere." Jock presented a +stolid, blank face to his inquisitor.</p> + +<p>"Gone where?"</p> + +<p>"Now how in—how do you expect I know? Just gone."</p> + +<p>"Taken that pretty little wife of his to new scenes, eh? Well, she never +seemed to me to belong here rightfully. I hope they'll do well."</p> + +<p>Jock hitched uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>"Well," he broke in, feeling it was inevitable, "Joyce didn't, as you +might say, go with Jude. She's stopping on here."</p> + +<p>"With the baby? There was a baby, I recall. My sister talked of it a +good deal. She was interested in Joyce Lauzoon from what I told her."</p> + +<p>"Well," Filmer felt his way, "there was, as you say, a—a baby, at least +a kind of—a—baby. It was about as near a failure as <i>I</i> ever saw; but +Joyce was plain crazy about it."</p> + +<p>"Was? Is—the child dead?" Drew's big eyes were full of sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Well, I should say so! And women is queer creatures, Drew. Now any one +with an open mind would have been blamed glad when that poor little cuss +cut loose. It never would have had a show in life; it was a big mistake +from the beginning, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> after it went, and was comfortably planted +behind the shack, what do you think? Why, she came back one night and +dug him up and put him—" In his endeavour to keep Drew from more unsafe +topics, Filmer had plunged straight into an abyss.</p> + +<p>"Put him where?" Drew felt the gripping of life. It hurt, but it +stimulated him. He was suffering with his people—his people! Joyce's +lovely face, as he remembered it, pleaded with him for sympathy. It was +her face that had first given him assurance. She should not call in +vain.</p> + +<p>"Oh! back of where she is stopping now. They've made the spot quite a +little garden plot, and—"</p> + +<p>"Filmer, see here, tell me all about it!"</p> + +<p>"Well, by thunder, then, here is the yarn. You see in the first place, +you didn't marry Jude and Joyce as tight as an older and more +experienced hand would have done. I ain't blaming you, but I've used the +thought to help me to be more Christian in my views about what happened. +The knot you tied was a slipknot all right."</p> + +<p>A shadow passed over the sick man's face.</p> + +<p>"You mean—" he began.</p> + +<p>"I certainly do. There was a hell of a—excuse me—there was a rumpus of +some sort the night the kid was buried. It ended up with a general +smash-a-reen of furniture, pictures and such—and I guess Joyce came in +for a share of bruises, from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> what has leaked out since. But the outcome +was, she walked up to Gaston's shack that same evening, and what +happened there hasn't got into the society news yet; but when Jude and +me and Tate went up to straighten out what <i>I</i> thought was a drunken lie +of Lauzoon's, there she was all right, wrapped up in Gaston's red +blanket, his arm around her, and him asking what we was going to do +about it?"</p> + +<p>"What have you—done?" the even words came slowly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing. Jude evaporated. I got a bit of a jog about Gaston; I ain't +over virtuous, but Gaston was a sort of pattern to me, and I'd got him +into my system while we was working on your house. He made me—believe +in something clean and big—and I didn't enjoy seeing him spattered with +mud of his own kicking up. But Lord! It ain't any of my business."</p> + +<p>"And the others here? Do they make her and him—feel it?"</p> + +<p>Filmer laughed.</p> + +<p>"You forget," he replied; "Gaston's got about all the floating capital +there is around here. Where he gets it, is his own affair, and him and +Joyce don't ask no favours. The whole thing has settled into shape. You +needn't get excited over it. Of course, the women folks have warned your +aunt and sister off. I believe they call Joyce the worst woman in the +place—when they're whispering—but they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> don't take any chances of +giving offence by speaking out loud."</p> + +<p>"Poor little girl!" Drew's eyes were misty. He shivered slightly and +pulled his fur coat closer about his chin. "How does she look, Filmer?"</p> + +<p>"As handsome as—well, a queen would give her back teeth to look like +Joyce. I never seen the like. Head up, back as straight as a pine +sapling, eyes shining and hair like—like mist with sunlight in it. +Gaston has taught her to speak like he does. You know he always kept his +language up-to-date and stylish? Well, she's caught the trick now. You'd +think she'd travelled the way she hugs her g's and d's. She trips over +the grammar rules occasionally—but I always said they had to be born in +your blood to make you sure, and even then—you have to exercise them +daily."</p> + +<p>"Poor little Joyce! I always felt she was only half awake, as she stood +that day before me. If I had it to do now—I would wake her up, before I +made the tie fast."</p> + +<p>"Lord help us!" Jock felt the relief of an unburdened mind; "is it in +your religion to tie anything fast?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; yes." Drew was looking over the sunlighted hills and thinking of +that lovely, dreaming face of a year ago.</p> + +<p>"And now," Filmer was drawling on, "while you and me are on this sort of +house-cleaning spell,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> let me drop another item of interest into your +think-tank. We-all up here ain't going to stand for any preaching +business. I say this outspoken and friendly, meaning no ill feeling; +just plain, what's what. You see them ideas of yours what you handed out +last year set folks thinking. They sounded so blasted innercent and easy +that we all chewed on 'em for a time, and some of us got stung. Now them +as is native here can't think without suffering; and them as came here, +came to get rid of thinking, and so you see none of us want to be riled +along that <i>line</i>. See?"</p> + +<p>"I see." Drew smiled, and stretched his thin white hand out to Filmer. +"Thanks. But if they'll let me live—that's all I want. It's my only way +of preaching, anyhow—and Filmer, I <i>am</i> going to live. I feel the +blood running to my heart and brain. I feel it bringing back hope and +interest—a man can make a place for himself anywhere if there are men +and women about. <i>I</i> thought first—back there—when I dropped +everything, that there never could be anything else worth while, but I +tell you old man, if you take even a remnant of life and love to Death's +portal you're always mighty glad to get the chance to come back and see +the game out. It's when you go empty-handed, that you long to slip in +and have done with it. Filmer, there's something yet left for me to +do."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span></p> + +<p>Jock was holding the boyish hand in a grim grip. He tried to speak, but +could not. He stared silently at the muffled figure in the long chair, +then with an impatient grunt, dropped his hold and actually fled in +order to hide the feelings that surged in his heart.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Drew sank wearily back and closed his eyes. The +lately-acquired strength proved often a deserter when it was tested, and +for the moment the sick man felt all the depression and inertia of the +past. He <i>felt</i>, and that was his only gain. Before, he had been too +indifferent to feel or care.</p> + +<p>"Poor, little, pretty thing!" he thought, with Joyce's face before him +against the closed eyelids. "She couldn't stand it. She didn't look as +if she could. I'm sorry she had to find her way out by such a +commonplace path. What was Gaston thinking of to let her? He knew—he +should have kept his hands off and not blasted what little hope might +have been hers."</p> + +<p>Half dreamily he recalled what Filmer had just told him. His weakened +body held no firm clutch on his imagination at that time of his life—it +ran riot, often giving him abnormal pleasure by its vivid touches; +occasionally causing him excruciating pain as he suffered, in an +exaggerated way, with suffering.</p> + +<p>He saw Joyce, bruised and shuddering as a result of Jude's cruelty; he +saw her poor little idols dashed to pieces before her eyes; he felt her +grief<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> for the dead baby, and when he remembered Jock's account of her +taking the small casket to the only spot where she herself was safe, the +weak tears rolled down his cold, thin face. He was too exhausted and +full of pain to wipe them away.</p> + +<p>He heard his aunt and sister come out of the house.</p> + +<p>"Asleep!" whispered the older woman in a glad tone.</p> + +<p>"I'll go for a walk," Constance added, tip-toeing away. "Have the milk +and egg ready when he wakes, auntie. Did you ever see such a day? I feel +as if I had just been made, and placed in a world that hadn't been used +up by millions of people."</p> + +<p>They were gone, and Drew sighed relievedly.</p> + +<p>Presently he opened his eyes, if he had slept he was not conscious of +it, and there sat the girl of his dreams near him.</p> + +<p>"Mrs.—" he faltered, "Mrs. Lauzoon, how good of you to come and see me. +I hope you know I would have come to you as soon as I was able?"</p> + +<p>Joyce had been studying his face—nothing had escaped her: its wanness, +the sharp outline, and the tears congealed in the hollows of his cheeks. +She pulled her chair nearer, and took his extended hand.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you've been sick," she said simply.</p> + +<p>Then they smiled at each other.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 446px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-004" id="illus-004"></a> +<img class='border' src='images/illus-188.jpg' alt='PRESENTLY HE OPENED HIS EYES ... AND THERE SAT THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS NEAR HIM' title='' width = '446' height = '300'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>PRESENTLY HE OPENED HIS EYES ... AND THERE SAT THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS NEAR HIM</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span>It was hard for Drew to readjust his ideas and fit this beautiful woman +into the guise of the Magdalene of his late thoughts.</p> + +<p>Vaguely he saw that whatever she had undergone, she had brought from her +experiences new beauty; a new force, and a power to guard her +possessions with marvellous calm. She was being made as she went along +in life. Her spiritual and mental architecture, so to speak, could not +be properly estimated until all was finished. This conclusion chilled +Drew's enthusiasm. He would have felt kinder had she been less sure of +herself.</p> + +<p>"You are looking—well, Mrs. Lauzoon." Drew felt the awkwardness of the +situation growing.</p> + +<p>"Please, Mr. Drew, I'm just Joyce again. Perhaps you have not heard?" +Her great eyes were still smiling that contented, peaceful smile.</p> + +<p>"I've heard. Need we talk of it, Joyce?"</p> + +<p>"Unless you're too weak, we must; now or at some other time. You see I +have been waiting to talk to you. I've been saying over and over, 'He'll +understand. He'll make me sure that I've done right.'"</p> + +<p>Drew, for the life of him, could not repress a feeling of repulsion. +Joyce noticed this, and leaned back, folding her hands in her lap.</p> + +<p>Drew saw that her hands were white and smooth. Then she gathered her +heavy, red cloak around her, and hid those silent marks of her new +refinement.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span></p> + +<p>"They call me"—the old, half-childish smile came to the face looking +full at Drew—"the worst woman in town. At least, they call me that when +they think I won't hear. You know they were always afraid of Mr. Gaston +a little. But I hear and it makes me laugh."</p> + +<p>The listener closed his eyes for a moment. He could better steady his +moral sense when that sweet beauty did not interfere with his judgment.</p> + +<p>"You see, if I had stayed on—with Jude, and lived—that—awful life": a +sudden awe stole into her voice—"then, if they had thought of me at +all, they would have thought of me as—good. It would have been—good +for me to have—poor, sad little children—like—like my—my +baby—You've heard?" Her lips were quivering. The play of expression on +her face, the varying tones of her voice unnerved Drew. He nodded to her +question.</p> + +<p>"It was such a—dreadful, little, crooked form, Mr. Drew—such—a +hideous thing to hold a—a—soul. Just once, the <i>soul</i> smiled at me +through the big, dark eyes—it wanted me to know it <i>was</i> a soul—then +it went away."</p> + +<p>Even while the smile trembled on the girl's lips the tears stood in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You see," she went on, "no one would have blamed me if I had gone on +like that—the misshapen children, and soon they would have stopped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> +having souls—and Jude's cruelty,"—again that fearsome catch in the +voice—"they would have called me good—if I had stayed on—but you will +understand?" She bent toward him with pleading and yearning in her face. +"Oh! how I have just hungered to talk it over with you—and to feel +sure! There isn't any one else in all the world, you know, to whom I +could say this."</p> + +<p>"How about Gaston?" Drew heard his own words, and they sounded brutal, +but they were forced from him.</p> + +<p>Joyce stared surprisedly.</p> + +<p>"Why—we never talk of—of that. How could we? But I read—and Mr. +Gaston has taught me to think—straight—and don't you notice how much +better I talk?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—and dress." All that was hard in Drew rose in arms. This girl was +like the rest of her kind for all her wood-setting and strange beauty. +The only puzzling thing in the matter was her desire to talk it out with +him.</p> + +<p>"I have lots of pretty things to wear." Joyce smoothed her heavy cloak. +"He's the kindest man I ever knew. That's another reason I had for +wanting to come to you. I want you to show him just <i>how</i> you +understand. I begin to see how lonely he is—how lonely he has always +been up here—there is no one quite like him—but you. But Mr. Drew, do +you remember what you preached<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> that day you—married us—Jude and me, I +mean?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not—so many things have happened since." Drew tried to keep +his feelings in check.</p> + +<p>"Well, I remember every word." The glowing face again bent toward Drew. +"Can't you think back? It was about what we've brought into the world, +what we get here and shape into <i>our</i> lives, and then what we leave when +we go—away. The blazed trail, you know, and clearing the way for +others. Oh, it was the sort of thing that when you thought about it you +didn't <i>dare</i> go on being careless."</p> + +<p>"I do—recall." Her intensity was gripping Drew in spite of himself. "It +was an old fancy. But it has helped me to live."</p> + +<p>"It has <i>made</i> me live. I tried it fair and honest with Jude, Mr. Drew, +but no one could do it with him. The trail got choked with—awful +things—and I only had strength enough to run away, after one year. If I +had stayed—I—I would have rotted as I stood." She breathed thick and +fast. Her old life, even in memory, smothered her. Drew caught a slight +impression of what it must have been for this strange-natured woman. He +began to think she was not yet awake, and the thought made him kinder in +his estimate of her.</p> + +<p>"But," he said gently, "was there no other way out of your difficulty?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span></p> + +<p>She looked pityingly at him.</p> + +<p>"I didn't go to Mr. Gaston to—to stay," she whispered: "there was a +reason for my going—a reason about Jude—then things happened that I +guess were meant to happen. There was no other way out for me—but I had +not thought that far. I guess if God ever took care of any one, he took +care of me that night."</p> + +<p>This utterly pagan outlook on the proprieties positively stirred Drew to +unholy mirth. But it did something else—it made him realize that the +girl before him was quite outside the reach of any of his preconceived +ideas. He could afford to sit down upon her plane and feel no moral +indignation. Perhaps, after all, she had brought his work to him when +she came herself.</p> + +<p>"You see, after Jude and Mr. Tate and Jock Filmer found me there late at +night—there was nothing else for me to do. Jude would have killed +me—if I had gone away alone—he was—awful. Besides, where could I have +gone?"</p> + +<p>"Gaston should have acted for you. He knew what he was doing to you."</p> + +<p>The righteous indignation confused the girl.</p> + +<p>"Why, he did act for me." The fire sprang to the wondering eyes. "He is +the best man on earth. There are more ways of being good than one. The +people here can't see that—but surely you can. Mr. Gaston made my +life safe and clean. I could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> grow better every day. Why, look at me." +She flung her arms wide as if by the gesture she laid bare her new life.</p> + +<p>"He has taught me until I can see and think, wide and sure. He is always +gentle—and he never lets me work until—until I'm too tired to want to +live.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it being good when you are growing into the thing God meant you +to be? Ought you not to take any way God offers to reach that kind of +life?" Joyce flung the questions out fiercely. She was perplexed by +Drew's attitude. If he were as much like Gaston as she had believed, why +did he look and act as he was doing?</p> + +<p>"If—if you have, and if you are, all that you say, why do you question +me so?" Drew asked. He was feeling his way blindly through this new +moral, or unmoral, thicket.</p> + +<p>"Because sometimes a queer thought comes to me. I know it is because +these people can not understand; but <i>you</i> can, and when you have told +me it is all right—I shall never have the thought again."</p> + +<p>"What <i>is</i> the thought, Joyce?"</p> + +<p>"You see," she almost touched him now in her intensity, "I do not know +anything about Mr. Gaston—really. About what he was, what his life was +before he came here. I would not hurt him for anything God could give to +me—and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> sometimes I have wondered if—if in that life that was; the +life that <i>might</i> come again to him, you know,—for for he is <i>so</i> +different from any one here—I wonder if what he has done for me, could +hurt him? Could anything that is so heavenly good for me—hurt +him?—tell me, tell me!"</p> + +<p>And now Drew dropped his eyes and sent a swift prayer to God for +forgiveness.</p> + +<p>He had thought her without conscience, without soul. He felt himself in +a dim valley, and he hardly dared to raise his eyes to her.</p> + +<p>"I am perfectly happy." The words quivered to him, and belied +themselves. "And he says he—is—but would he be if he were back +there—where he came from? In my getting of <i>my</i> life, am I taking from +<i>his</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Good God!"</p> + +<p>"You—you do not understand, either?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I do, Joyce—I understand. I understand."</p> + +<p>"Am I hurting him?"</p> + +<p>"He must answer that, Joyce, no one else can. He must face that some +day, and also whether he is hurting you or not. We cannot any of us +choose a little sunny spot in life for ourselves and shut out the past +and future by a high wall. The present faces both ways, Joyce, and light +is let in from all sides. Light and blackest gloom, God help us!</p> + +<p>"What Gaston's other life was—he alone knows—he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> ought to tell you if +he hopes to help you really. If he's the good man he seems to you, +Joyce, he <i>will</i> tell you, and give you a chance to play the game." +Suddenly an inspiration came to Drew. "Tell him," he said slowly, "that +I have friends coming here—friends who will probably build summer homes +and introduce a new life. It's none of my business, perhaps, but you've +come to me for help—and as God shows me, I must help you. Gaston has no +right to injure your future by playing a game with you that you in no +wise understand. It isn't fair—and he knows it, if he stops to think. +Perhaps there was no way for him to help you that night, but the way he +took. Perhaps he nobly did the only thing he could—I hope to God this +is true; but there are other ways now, Joyce—he must know and give you +a choice."</p> + +<p>"I—I—do not see—what you mean?" A frightened look spread over Joyce's +face, and she shivered even in the full glow of the autumn sunlight. "I +feel—you make me feel—as if I had been—as if I am—shut in a little +room, with the doors and windows about to be opened. What is coming in, +Mr. Drew? What am I going to see? You—you frighten me. I cannot—I will +not believe—anything dreadful could happen to him or me—when I am so +happy and safe."</p> + +<p>The excitement was wearing upon Drew frightfully. His ghastly face +appealed suddenly to Joyce<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> as she looked at him through her own growing +doubt.</p> + +<p>"I'm going," she said, starting up; "I've made you worse. What can I +do?"</p> + +<p>Drew smiled wanly and held out a trembling hand.</p> + +<p>"Come again," he whispered. "It's all right, I'm much better—than when +you came."</p> + +<p>And so he was, spiritually, for he had retained his belief in God's +goodness, somehow. Just why, he could not have told, but had the girl +been what he had, for a moment, believed, it would all have seemed so +uselessly hopeless and crude.</p> + +<p>From the strange confession he had obtained but a blurred impression, +but that impression saved his faith in Joyce, at least. She was not a +bad, ignoble woman. Whatever she had done, had been done from the best +that was in her, and if Gaston had accepted her sacrifice he had, in +some way, managed to keep himself noble in her sight.</p> + +<p>It was a baffling thing all around. A thing that he must approach from a +new standpoint; the one, the only comfort was, the girl's own evolution. +It was not possible Drew thought, that all was evil which had produced +what he had just seen.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> + +<p>Gaston often took a trip to Hillcrest, remaining several days, at times, +and Joyce never questioned. Gradually she had accepted the place in +Gaston's life that he had allotted her without expectation or regret. To +live in the light and joy of his presence had become enough—almost +enough. She studied, and sought to be what he desired. She was, after +the very first, genuinely happy and full of quaint sweetness. As the +black interval of her life faded, she turned with grateful appreciation +to the present and played the part expected of her in an amazing manner.</p> + +<p>Sometimes that disturbing doubt, hardly strong enough to be classified, +made her pause, wide-eyed and still, but it fled before Gaston's laugh +and jest.</p> + +<p>With Drew's coming she grasped the subtle restlessness and comforted +herself with the thought that he who understood so much, he, who was, in +kind, like Gaston, he would clear away the elusive doubt forever.</p> + +<p>She had never forgotten that it was Drew who had first set her feet on +the upward path; he, above all others, would be glad of her better life, +and sympathize with her happiness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span></p> + +<p>When she pondered upon Gaston's possible past, she felt guilty. What he +did not entrust to her, she had no right to consider—so she tried to +push the thought away. She was glad of so good an excuse for putting a +fretting thing aside. But it would not remain hidden. During Gaston's +absences it reared its hated head—with his return it slunk into shadow.</p> + +<p>Taking advantage of one of Gaston's brief visits from home, Joyce had +gone to Drew, timing her call when she knew his womenkind were away. She +had an instinctive aversion to her own sex. She had thought it was +contempt for St. Angé womanhood; she did not speculate about these +others.</p> + +<p>Her talk with the young minister, instead of clearing her sky of the +tiny cloud, had resulted in a general atmosphere of doubts and shapeless +fears that doomed her days to unhappiness, and her lonely nights to +actual misery.</p> + +<p>Things were <i>not</i> right. That was the overpowering conviction that grew +apace. If she knew all—all what? Well, if she insisted upon knowing +all—what would happen?</p> + +<p>She caught her breath sharply, and frantically turned to bodily toil in +order to down the spectre which now confronted her with brazen +insistence. Things must go on as before. Ralph Drew was nothing but a +boy—what were his opinions compared to Gaston's? Gaston could do no +wrong. She was content to abide by his decree.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span></p> + +<p>She sang, and turned from one task to another with determined haste. At +one moment she vowed the subject should never be thought of again; the +next, she promised herself that she would put the whole matter before +Gaston as soon as he returned, and, by so doing, prove the unimportance +of the thing. But whichever way she looked at it, she hourly grew to +dread Gaston's return. Life was never going to be the same. Something +was going to happen!</p> + +<p>Oh, she had often had these premonitions before. Gaston laughed at them, +and called her funny names when she voiced them to him.</p> + +<p>Three days and nights dragged on, after that visit to Drew, before +Gaston came back.</p> + +<p>The house had been cleaned and recleaned until it shone. The fire was +kept brilliant, and Joyce donned, in turn, every pretty bit of adornment +that she owned. She decked the pictures with ground-pine, and, in the +act of preparing the dishes for supper that Gaston liked best, he found +her.</p> + +<p>"Hello, little girl," he called cheerily; "it look like Christmas. It's +lucky I have some presents in my pack. I believe you fixed up to catch +me, and make me feel like a tight-wad. But I'm one to the good. Don't +peek. After supper we'll have a lark. Have you a kiss by way of +welcome?"</p> + +<p>Joyce turned from the lamp she was lighting, and put both her hands on +his shoulders.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, but it's good to have you back!" she said, and raised her lips to +his.</p> + +<p>This fond response to him was the greatest recompense the change in +their lives had brought to Gaston. It warmed the lonely places of his +heart.</p> + +<p>It was a jovial meal that followed. Gaston was hungry, the food was +excellent, and Joyce glowed and beamed in the atmosphere of regained +trust.</p> + +<p>It was, though, a fleeting peace. When the dishes were removed, Gaston +noticed how tired she looked.</p> + +<p>"Happy?" he asked, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly." Joyce was filling his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly <i>nothing!</i>" he exclaimed, drawing her down to the arm of his +chair. "Now own up, my lady, what have you been doing?"</p> + +<p>Gaston expected a rehearsal of daily tasks, more energetically +performed, perhaps, than was necessary.</p> + +<p>"I went to see Mr. Drew." The smile fled from Gaston's face. So it was +not housework!</p> + +<p>"How is the young D. D.?"</p> + +<p>"He looks very ill, but they say he is getting better."</p> + +<p>"Did you have a pleasant call?"</p> + +<p>Gaston was unreasonably annoyed, but he was curious also.</p> + +<p>Joyce dropped her eyes. In a subtle way Gaston felt a change in her. She +was never anything but direct and truthful with him, her attitude was +now,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> therefore, more significant. He had beaten his life, his personal +life, into a monotonous round outlined on that first night when Joyce +had been thrust into his care. He had grown to think that emotions were +dead and done with; this sudden realization that the first touch from +the outer world could disturb his calm, irritated him beyond measure.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Drew was very—kind," Joyce's voice fell dully upon Gaston's +impatience; "he's coming—to see us!"</p> + +<p>"The devil he is!" The outburst seemed so childish that Gaston laughed, +and his gloom passed.</p> + +<p>By persistent practice he had felled every circumstance to a dead +level—he would raze this new element, too, to the ground, and things +would assume the old placidity.</p> + +<p>"We'll welcome him when he comes, Joyce. I'm a selfish brute and don't +want to be disturbed; but of course any one who cares to come will be +welcome."</p> + +<p>She shot a swift glance at him, then her eyes fell.</p> + +<p>Gaston stared at her, and his face flushed. It had not been easy during +the past year to keep the man in him under control, but he had begun to +think, lately, the victory was assured. So confident was he of himself, +that he had planned a final test in order to make sure the future held +no danger for him—and her!</p> + +<p>He sometimes wondered, if she were placed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> in different environment, +surrounded by luxuries and admiration, how she would appear; and how she +would affect him. In a way he had educated her and refined her. He had +grown used to her and taken her for granted, but there were moments when +she perplexed him.</p> + +<p>His visit to Hillcrest was connected with his little plan to test, in a +fashion, this woman he had helped to form.</p> + +<p>Her announcement about Drew had diverted his thought, but he returned +now to his own interests. Again he wondered if, after all he had done +for her, she could rise above Jude and St. Angé to a degree that might +touch him—that part of him that he hoped he had conquered forever.</p> + +<p>If she could—then—but he would not anticipate. Drew's advent had +focussed his desire to put himself, and her, to the test. Joyce had +precipitated matters, that was all.</p> + +<p>"Joyce!"</p> + +<p>She was bending to place a log upon the fire.</p> + +<p>"None of that! When I'm at home, the big logs are for me."</p> + +<p>She laughed brightly. To be so guarded and cared for never ceased to be +exciting.</p> + +<p>"And now for my surprise! It's a corker this time, Joyce."</p> + +<p>Gaston walked to the lean-to room and brought out two boxes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span></p> + +<p>"Take them to your room, and put them on," he said.</p> + +<p>There were always surprises when Gaston returned from Hillcrest. From +out the Somewhere, somehow there drifted marvellous things—books, +pictures, dresses, dainty slippers and home furnishings. Things that St. +Angé gaped silently upon. Joyce never asked questions. Like a child she +shielded this fairy-like mystery from her own curiosity. She was happier +not to know.</p> + +<p>But to-night the boxes seemed heavy. Not from what they held, but from +the weight of her unrest, which was returning with added force.</p> + +<p>She obeyed, however, with that quivering smile still upon her lips. +Almost staggering under the load, she turned and entered the chamber +that had once been Gaston's. It was a woman's room now in every sense. +Gone were the rough furniture, the pipes and books. In their places were +the white bed, the low rocker, the many trifles that go to meet the +endless whims of a woman's fancy and taste. It was an odd room for the +shack of a backwoodsman. It had taken Joyce long to settle into it +comfortably. Her brief apprenticeship in the home that Gaston had helped +Jude make for her was the only preparation she had had for ease among +these refinements.</p> + +<p>Once within the shelter now, Joyce almost flung the boxes from her. It +was dark and cold in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> room, and the stillness soothed her. She +groped her way to the window and looked out at the little mound near the +pines, where all that was really her own—her very own—lay. It had +always been a comfort to have the little body so near her place of +safety. She had ceased to grieve when once the baby was brought away +from the ruin of the former home; but to-night the small oval, under its +crust of glittering snow, made her shudder. It was her own—but oh! it +was cold and dead like all the rest of her hope and joy. She knew it +now. Not even Gaston's coming had cleared the doubt.</p> + +<p>She had believed herself so good and happy—and here it was made plain, +horribly plain. Everything was wrong. It had always been wrong.</p> + +<p>But she dared not shrink into her pain. She must obey, and play her +part. Awkwardly she lighted her lamp; tremblingly she untied the +boxes—they bore the same mystic signs and the oft-repeated words, "New +York." It did not matter. New York or the New Jerusalem, one was as +unreal as the other to the backwoods girl.</p> + +<p>Oh, but here was surprise indeed!</p> + +<p>Joyce had not, as yet, sunk so far in doubt and apprehension, but that +the contents of the boxes moved her to interest and delight.</p> + +<p>A gown of golden silk, clinging and long. The daintiest of gloves, +silken hose, and satin slippers. Filmy skirts, and bewildering ruffles +of cobwebby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> lace. What wild imagination ever conceived of such +witcheries; and what power could command their materialization in the +North Woods?</p> + +<p>Joyce sank beside the boxes, gasping with delight. Then suddenly, as the +shock of pleasurable surprise passed, the mockery of the gift struck +her. Down went the humbled head, and the girl wept as if her heart would +break.</p> + +<p>Gaston was playing with her. She had not been keen enough to understand, +but all along he had amused himself at her expense. Having had her +thrust upon him by circumstances, he had accepted the situation in his +good-natured way, but underneath it was as cruel as—all else in her +life.</p> + +<p>She had been an ignorant, blind fool. Never had Gaston been so daring +with her. Other pretty gifts had found a place, and supplied a want, in +their common life; but this—this—oh! the incongruity was cruel +and—insulting.</p> + +<p>Joyce could not analyze all this—she merely felt it. But when it had +sunk to the depths of her aroused instinct, the reaction took place. Had +the girl been ugly physically, or had Gaston debased her, her doom would +have been fixed; but there was a—chance!</p> + +<p>In the death throes of her false position, she retraced the steps of her +life with Gaston. With a sickening shudder she recalled her mad fear +that first awful night when he had shut the door upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> Jude and the +others. How he had made her feel, and at once, that from the high place +that was his, he could afford to help her, and only the low and vile +would misunderstand. It was because she was low and vile as Jude had +made her that she had feared—what?</p> + +<p>How the knowledge had stung, then stunned her! She might have known, had +she remembered, from the first Gaston had always driven her back upon +herself when her foolish passion for him reared its head.</p> + +<p>No one of his own kind would ever have been led into a misunderstanding +of his motives and goodness.</p> + +<p>Then in the days that followed that first terrible night, she had abased +herself and striven to fill the role Gaston prepared for her!</p> + +<p>Later she studied and silently prayed that, in a small way, she might +repay him for his divine kindness!</p> + +<p>But with the patient effort and the marvellous results of quickened +mentality, a clear space was left in the new woman for harrowing doubt. +She never again sank to the thought that Gaston could love her; but she +could not utterly blind herself to the fear that he might be hurting +himself through others <i>not</i> realizing the difference between him and +her. Naturally she could not go to Gaston with this doubt—it would seem +an insult to him, and a shameless suggestion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span></p> + +<p>Therefore she hailed Drew's advent with mingled apprehension and relief. +Had he taken for granted that all was well; had he seemed glad that +Gaston had saved her from her evil fate; then she would have known that +such people as Gaston and Drew would understand and think no evil. But +the effect of Gaston's training and influence had sunk deep. Joyce had +risen above the vile thing Jude and St. Angé had tried to make her. She +was, for all the wide difference between her and Gaston, a woman! A +woman beautiful and alive to the highest degree. She dared not any +longer ignore that. For Gaston's sake she must face the blinding truth.</p> + +<p>Crouching beside the boxes of finery that he had thought she could not +understand, Joyce clenched her hands in an agony of consecration and +renunciation. Then despair seized her, and for a wild moment she was +tempted to use Gaston's own weapon against him.</p> + +<p>Heretofore she had accepted his gifts with a child's delight—what a +fool she had been! Suppose now she should—well, take what she could get +from life in spite—yes, in spite of Gaston himself?</p> + +<p>Dare she? Could she? Would she be able to do anything when she faced +him, but fall at his feet, beg for mercy, and implore him to tell her +what her awakened conscience demanded?</p> + +<p>She would try.</p> + +<p>The colour rose and fell in the lovely face. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> was beautiful, and she +loved him. She had never let him see how much; or how. He should see +now! She would try her meanest and basest weapon—and if—if—it +conquered, she would make—terms. She, poor, dependent Joyce of the +backwoods. Old Jared's girl. Jude Lauzoon's discarded wife. If she won a +victory, <i>what</i> a victory it would be!</p> + +<p>It would prove to Drew—she rose defiantly, and snatched the finery from +the boxes. Her eyes were blazing and her blood ran hotly. Before her +little mirror she let the garments of her past life fall from her. She +unpinned her glorious hair, and thrilled as its convincing beauty gave +added power to her plans.</p> + +<p>Slowly, carefully, with a pictured ideal in her memory, she fashioned +the wonderful tresses into form. High upon her head the glistening mass +was fastened, then cunningly the little curls were pulled loose, and +were permitted to go free about the smooth brow and white neck.</p> + +<p>Then with an instinct that did not play her false, she donned the +marvellous garments.</p> + +<p>She was finished at last. The new, palpitating woman. All that belonged +to the old Joyce seemed to have fallen, with the discarded garments, to +the floor.</p> + +<p>She did not doubt her power now. She was not afraid. Something was going +to happen—again<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> she experienced the sensation. It had come first in +this very shack, when her childhood had departed, and the woman in her +had been born. A poor, dull woman, to be sure; still, a woman.</p> + +<p>She had felt it, too, the Sunday of her marriage, when Drew had called +to her conscience and spirituality, and set the chords of suffering and +hope vibrating. From that hour to this she had been climbing painfully +to what was about to occur.</p> + +<p>Well, she was ready. The bewitching smile played over her face. +Tiptoeing across the bedroom floor, she noiselessly unfastened the door, +and silently reached Gaston's side.</p> + +<p>He had quite forgotten her. Weary from the day's work, perplexed by +later developments, with closed eyes, and hands clasped behind his head, +he was lost in thought.</p> + +<p>Joyce touched him lightly, and he looked up.</p> + +<p>She had taken him off guard. Her bewildering beauty attacked his senses +while his shield of Purpose was down.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed staring at her. "You—you glorious creature!"</p> + +<p>She laughed, and the sound thrilled the man as her beauty did. It was +new, and wonderful. He staggered to his feet and reached out to her like +a man blinded by a sudden glare.</p> + +<p>She evaded his touch, and gave that wild little laugh again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span></p> + +<p>"You like it?" she asked, from across the table.</p> + +<p>"Like it? You—are—divine!"</p> + +<p>"Why—did—you—do it?"</p> + +<p>"I had a mad fancy to see just how great your—beauty was."</p> + +<p>"And—you see?"</p> + +<p>"Heavens! I do see."</p> + +<p>"And you think?"</p> + +<p>"What any man would think," Gaston's excitement was rising, "who had +been starved for—years—and then finds all he's hungered for—alone in +the North Woods. Think?"</p> + +<p>The breaking of a flaming log startled them, and it steadied Gaston for +a moment. Joyce had herself well in hand. The victory was hers if only +she could command this new power long enough.</p> + +<p>"Please," she pleaded, "please sit down. I have something to say to +you."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Gaston sank back in his chair, and Joyce sat down opposite. The table +was between them, and the light of the fire and lamp flooded over the +girl.</p> + +<p>She was wonderful in that gown, and with her splendid, pale hair framing +her face with its fair glory.</p> + +<p>The shock of surprise was passing, but Gaston still looked at the girl +as if he had never seen her before.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Joyce?" he asked presently; "what has changed you so?" Then +he smiled, for the question seemed crude and ill-advised.</p> + +<p>"The dress—isn't that what you wanted?"</p> + +<p>"I do not mean the dress—there is something else."</p> + +<p>"So there is—but it came with the dress. Perhaps you—did not order +that—well, then, it must be <i>your</i> part of the surprise. Don't you +remember that story you read to me once—about the mantle of Elijah? You +know it made the humble wearer—great. Well, these pretty things,"—she +touched them lightly—"they make me—a woman. The sort of woman who +must—ask questions—and get answers—true answers."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, don't you trust—me?"</p> + +<p>The pained question was wrung from Gaston's lips. The steady look from +the big eyes went strangely to his heart.</p> + +<p>"I—do—not know—you—as you—are now," she said firmly.</p> + +<p>"It is not I who am changed, Joyce, it is you. Everything is just the +same except that I see you are more—wonderful than I dreamed."</p> + +<p>"Nothing is going to be the same again. I knew it while Mr. Drew was +talking the other day—I have thought it all out since."</p> + +<p>"Curse him!" Gaston broke in; "what did he say? Why did you go to him +Joyce? How could you?"</p> + +<p>There was pain in the words—pain and a dumb fear.</p> + +<p>"It only happened to be Mr. Drew. Some one would have made me know in +time."</p> + +<p>"Joyce;" he was actually pleading with her! The knowledge burnt into the +quickening soul. "Joyce, what did you trust in me, before you went to +Drew?"</p> + +<p>"Your goodness—your—unselfishness. I knew the goodness—I have only +begun to see the—unselfishness."</p> + +<p>"My unselfishness? Good heavens!" In spite of the strangeness of it all, +Gaston laughed. Then an impatience stifled him. A brute instinct drove<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> +him on. Her beauty had captured his senses, and he meant to tear down +the pitiful wall he had upbuilded between her and him, and force her to +see the inevitable.</p> + +<p>He had wondered if she could stir him—well he knew now. What idiots +they had both been!</p> + +<p>He was through with the Past forever. The Past that had held him to a +false ideal. There should be no more imbecile philosophy in the North +Woods as far as he and she were concerned.</p> + +<p>"See here," he began, and his voice was almost hard; "don't you know +when I shut you away from what you knew as danger—Jude and all the rest +of the hell that went with him—I shut you away from what people—people +like Drew and his set—know as mercy?"</p> + +<p>Joyce's eyes widened, but she did not speak. Gaston rushed on—he wanted +the scene over. She was too heavenly beautiful sitting there, he must +bring her closer.</p> + +<p>"They would call you—well, they wouldn't call you a good woman. They +are very particular about their women. In a way, you must have known +this, Joyce. You've played the game like a thoroughbred, and when one +considers <i>how</i> you've played it, the wonder grows—but they'd never +believe that—even if we told them. Great heavens! how could they, if +they saw you?</p> + +<p>"That there was no other way for me to help you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> then, that you had no +other shelter in God's world would not alter the case at all. And I've +been a fool, Joyce, a maudlin fool—all along!"</p> + +<p>The woman opposite was looking at him through tears, but the sweet mouth +was quivering pitifully.</p> + +<p>"Joyce"; the tone caused the tear-dimmed eyes to close; "let us face the +music—and—dance along to the tune."</p> + +<p>Gaston leaned toward her and when she dared to look at him she saw that +the future was in her hands!</p> + +<p>"You—you thought I knew this all along?"</p> + +<p>"In a way—yes!"</p> + +<p>Joyce's eyes dropped and a flush rose to her pale, still face.</p> + +<p>"Then those—those people—the good people, what would they have thought +about you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! some would have thought me a—damned scoundrel; and they would have +been right had I ever intended to leave you to their mercy. +Others—well, others—"</p> + +<p>"Please tell me, you see I want to understand everything and that world +is not mine—you know."</p> + +<p>"The others,"—and now Gaston dropped his own eyes—"the others would +have forgotten all about it—had I chosen to go back!"</p> + +<p>"But they—would not have forgotten about me?"</p> + +<p>"No. That is their imbecile code."</p> + +<p>"And—and men know that and yet—" Her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> eyes widened in a dumb +terror—"why, they are worse than—the people of St. Angé!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly Gaston flung his head back and looked full at the beautiful +face. It was radiant, but the eyes were overflowing. It seemed to him as +if she, coming out from her shadows, were bringing all wronged womanhood +with her.</p> + +<p>"You know Joyce, you must have known no matter what else you thought, +and you must know now, I never meant to leave you to their—mercy?"</p> + +<p>He knew that he was speaking truth to her and it gave him courage.</p> + +<p>"Yes; yes!" she cried. "I know that above all and everything."</p> + +<p>Joyce saw that she was gaining power. She knew that, marvellous as it +seemed, she was to shape their future lives. But she must have the sky +clear. Gaston, she felt, recognized this as well as she. He expected but +one outcome; he saw her love, and was willing to show his own, now that +the barriers were down.</p> + +<p>"We need ask nothing!" he said softly; "and there are deeper woods to +the north, dear."</p> + +<p>"Can you—will you—tell me about yourself before—you came here?"</p> + +<p>The question was asked simply and it was proof, if any were needed, that +the past false position was utterly annihilated.</p> + +<p>Gaston accepted the changed conditions with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> no sense of surprise. He +acknowledged her right to all that she desired.</p> + +<p>"When I said, a time back"; he began slowly; "that they—those good +people we were talking about—would let me into their world if I—left +you"; his fingers closed firmer over her hands; "I did not tell you that +there is another reason why they would <i>not</i> let me in. They could +overlook some things—but not others. Suppose I should tell you that I +had done a wrong that was worse, in their eyes, than almost anything +else?"</p> + +<p>"I would not believe it!"</p> + +<p>"But that is God's truth."</p> + +<p>She grew a little paler, but she did not withdraw her hands.</p> + +<p>With smarting recollection Gaston remembered how, back there in the old +life, two small hands had slipped from his at a like confession.</p> + +<p>"I've been a weak fellow from the start, Joyce. I haven't even had the +courage to do a big, bad thing for myself. I've let them I loved, use +me. I've lost my idea of right in my depraved craving for appreciation. +That sort of sin is the worst kind. It damns one's self and makes the +one you've tried to serve, hate you."</p> + +<p>He saw that she was trying to follow him, but could not clearly, so he +dropped all but brutal facts.</p> + +<p>"When I stepped off the train at St. Angé, a few years back, I took the +name of Gaston, because I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> dared not speak my own name, and I didn't +like to go by the number that I had been known by for—five years."</p> + +<p>"Number?" she whispered, and her frightened eyes glanced about. She was +not afraid of him, but <i>for</i> him. Gaston saw that.</p> + +<p>"Never fear," he reassured her; "it was all worked out. I paid that +debt, but I wanted to forget the transaction. I thought I could, up +here—but I reckoned without you!"</p> + +<p>"Go on," she said hoarsely. The clock struck eleven, the logs fell +apart—she was in a hurry.</p> + +<p>"You know there is an odd little couplet that used to please me when I +was—paying up. It goes like this:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two men looked out of the prison bars,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The one saw mud, the other, the stars.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"There were a lot of us who saw stars, for all the belief to the +contrary; and even the mud-seers had their moments of +star-vision—behind the prison bars.</p> + +<p>"Birthdays and Christmases played the deuce with them." Gaston was off +the trail now that he dared voice the memories of the past. They had so +long haunted him. They might pass if he could tell them to another.</p> + +<p>"Go on," Joyce said, impatiently glancing at the clock as if her time +were short. "Please go on. It doesn't matter about that. What was +before, and—and what must come, now?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span></p> + +<p>"It does matter," Gaston came back. "It was that determination of mine +not to be finished by that phase of my life, that left strength in me to +be halfway decent since. I only meant to regain my health up here. I +meant to go back to the life I had deserted and make good before them +all—but something happened."</p> + +<p>"Yes." Gaston's face had clouded, and Joyce had to recall him.</p> + +<p>"You see it was this way. There were a lot of people—but only four +mattered. My mother, my brother, the girl and her father."</p> + +<p>The hands under Gaston's slipped away, but he did not notice.</p> + +<p>"My mother had a heart trouble, she could not bear much—and she always +loved my brother best. He had the look and way with him that made it +easy for her to prefer him. I believed the—girl cared most for me—that +was what kept things going all right for a time—her father liked me +best, I knew.</p> + +<p>"I had a position of trust, the control of much money, and my head got +turned, I suppose—for I felt sure of everything; myself included. Then +things happened all of a sudden.</p> + +<p>"My brother found that the girl cared for me, not him; it broke him up, +and that brought on an attack of sickness for my mother. She never could +bear to see him suffer. My own happiness was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> twisted out of shape by +what I saw was to be the result of my gain over his loss.</p> + +<p>"One night he came to me and told me that his investments had gone +wrong; our mother's fortune along with the rest. A certain sum of money, +right then, would tide over the critical situation.</p> + +<p>"There was no chance but that all would come out right. He had private +information that a few days would change the current. He would come out +to the good—if only—"</p> + +<p>"And you?" Joyce held him with her wide, terrified stare.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I didn't think there was any danger, and it seemed a chance to +help when everything was about to come clattering around our ears. I +helped. Good God, I helped!"</p> + +<p>Gaston dropped his head on his folded arms.</p> + +<p>"What happened when they all knew? When you explained—couldn't they +help you?" Gaston flung his head back and looked at her.</p> + +<p>"But they didn't find out. At least, they found out that I took the +money—there wasn't anything else to tell. That damnable fact was +enough, wasn't it? No amount of whimpering as to why I'd done it would +have helped."</p> + +<p>"But your brother?"</p> + +<p>"He tried to get me to go away. He said in a few days all would be +right. He could then save<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> everything. I could return and +repay—and—well! I wasn't made that way. I stayed."</p> + +<p>"And—the girl?"</p> + +<p>"She asked me if I had done it—she would believe no one else. I said +yes; and that ended it. Her father tried to get me to explain—he was +the Judge who was to have tried me—I refused and he begged to be +released from sentencing me—that's all he could do for either of us."</p> + +<p>"And—your—mother?" A sob rose in Joyce's throat.</p> + +<p>"I think, even in her misery, she thanked God, since it had to be, that +it was not my brother."</p> + +<p>The room was growing cold. Joyce shivered.</p> + +<p>"And then?" she faltered.</p> + +<p>"Oh! then—" Gaston's face twitched, and his voice was bitter, "then +came the star-gazing through the bars—and all the rest, until I came up +here. Only one stuck to me through thick and thin."</p> + +<p>"Your brother?" Joyce interrupted.</p> + +<p>"My brother? No! Just a plain friend. I told him I did not want to hear +a thing while I was shut away. I knew it would hold me back from getting +what I could out of the experience. It's like hell to have the outside +troubles and joys brought to you while you are bound hand and foot. I +saw enough of that—it did more to keep men in the mud than anything +else. I just kept that space of my life clear for expiation. When the +gates opened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> for me one day—my friend was there with all the news in a +budget.</p> + +<p>"You see the lash that had cut deepest when I went away was something my +mother said; 'You've broken the hearts of them who loved and trusted +you.'</p> + +<p>"Nothing had mattered so much as those words—and out of the disgrace, +the loneliness, the misery and deadly labour, I had worked out a plan to +make up to them for the wrong I had done. It was going to be about the +biggest job a fellow ever undertook; but, do you know, I had hoped that +I could do it?</p> + +<p>"Well, my friend's words drove me back upon myself. There was nothing +for me to do."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"The hearts were all mended—after a fashion, without my aid."</p> + +<p>"Your mother?"</p> + +<p>"She had died soon after I went away."</p> + +<p>"And your—brother—he surely—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! he had gone booming ahead like a rocket. The tide turned a bit too +late for me—but it carried him to a safe harbour. In a generous and +highly moral way he stood ready to repay me—but conditions had changed; +I must accept certain terms."</p> + +<p>"The—the—girl?"</p> + +<p>"She'd married my brother. She it was who changed the conditions, you +see. It had been a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> noble sacrifice for her to marry into <i>such</i> a +family—so, of course, due consideration must be shown her. Would I live +abroad on an ample allowance?"</p> + +<p>Joyce flinched before the tone. Gaston stood up and flung his arms out. +"No! by God, I would not live abroad. I chose my own place of hiding. He +paid, though—I saw to that—he named no allowance, it was I; but he +paid and paid and paid all that <i>I</i> thought he should. He bought me off +at my price—not his. I left all in the hands of the only friend I had +on earth—I never wanted to hear of the others again until I was ready +to go back—and I haven't. I wanted time to think out my way. I wanted +strength to go back, take my name and fortune, ask nothing of the +world—but a chance to defy it. I got as far as that—" He dropped back +into the chair and bowed his head.</p> + +<p>The hands of the clock were past midnight, the fire was nothing but +glowing embers; a chill was creeping through the room. Presently Gaston +was aware of a nearness—not merely bodily, but spiritually. He looked +up. He had forgotten Joyce and his thought of comfort in knowing that +she would stand by him. To see her close now, to gaze up into her +glorious face was like an awakening from a hideous dream to a safe +reality.</p> + +<p>"You got as far as that," she said in the saddest, softest tone that a +woman's voice ever held; "and then I came into your life. Oh! how hard +you tried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> to set me aside with Jude—but again and again I returned +to—hold you back."</p> + +<p>"Why, Joyce, what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>A paralyzing fear drove anguish before it. Gaston strove to recall +passion, but that, too, had deserted. He and Joyce were standing in a +barren place alone—nothing behind, nothing before!</p> + +<p>"Can't you see what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>The coquetry had left the girl, she stood fair, cold and passive like +some wonderful goddess.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think I see it all now?</p> + +<p>"When I came out of that room I was a—bad woman! You were mistaken, I +never understood before—about us!</p> + +<p>"You see when—when I came to you that night—after Jude—" she +struggled with her trembling—"I did not know such men as you—lived. I +was what Jude and St. Angé had made me. I was afraid of you—but," she +bent over him in divine pity pressing her wet cheek to his bowed head; +"but I grew to know! You were far, far above me, I soon saw how far. You +never thought about it, but it made it safe for you to help me. I can +see it all so plain now.</p> + +<p>"Then the evil that was in me, the evil that some might have made so +vile, slipped away. I tried hard to be what you wanted me to be for my +own sake. You did not think of the past and I tried to forget it, too; +and so we came along to this night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span>.</p> + +<p>"In that room"—she looked quiveringly at the closed door—"for a +moment, I misunderstood again. I thought you were trifling with me. I +think I felt for the first time that perhaps I was <i>not</i> what I had +been—when I came out of the old life! I wanted to make sure, and I +stooped to the meanest way."</p> + +<p>Gaston drew her close. Vaguely he feared that she was slipping farther +and farther from him for all her sweetness and nearness.</p> + +<p>"Joyce!" he cried wildly. "<i>You</i> are not going to desert me—now?"</p> + +<p>She dropped beside him and clasped her hands over his knee. There was no +need of reserve, she knew that better than he.</p> + +<p>"Can you not see what sort of man you are?" she asked fiercely; while +the tears fell thick and fast.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I love you many, many ways. I can tell you this now and you must +not stop me. I love you for them who left you alone to suffer. I love +you just for myself, and I love you as I would have loved my poor baby +had God let me keep him. And that is the best way of all, for it holds +all other loves.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you must see! You shall see! The men out in your world—could any +of them have done what you have done—for me? Even Mr. Drew could not +understand. Even <i>he</i> thought you must have harmed me—he felt sorry for +<i>me</i>! And knowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> what <i>I</i> know, do you, could any of those others, +think I would let you harm—yourself?</p> + +<p>"You have made me a stronger woman than even you tried to make me, and I +thank God for that—for you need me so very, very much!"</p> + +<p>The deep sobs choked her, and she buried her head against his arm. Out +of a desolation her words were creating, Gaston spoke desperately.</p> + +<p>"I do need you, and by heaven, I mean to have you!"</p> + +<p>"You're right. I did not know what you meant to me; I know now, and +since Fate has played us false, we'll—we'll turn our backs on her."</p> + +<p>"Joyce, are you willing to—trust me?"</p> + +<p>Almost roughly he raised her face and forced her to look at him.</p> + +<p>"I—trust you! You could never be anything but good and noble. I know +that. You never have been—but, there are going to be other days and +nights—just plain days and long black nights—and—I think we have +almost forgotten—but there is always—Jude!"</p> + +<p>Then like a bewildering flash the words lightened the dark place of +Gaston's character.</p> + +<p>This woman whom—he saw the fearful truth—this woman whom he had helped +to form, had outgrown him and left him far behind!</p> + +<p>Now that she understood; now that her womanhood could stand alone, she +rose pure and strong<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> above his passion and the thing he called love. +She only thought he had forgotten, when God knew he did not even care +for the rough fellow who had all but strangled the life out of her.</p> + +<p>"Besides"—he heard her as from a distance—"besides, you must go back!"</p> + +<p>"Go back—good God! to what?"</p> + +<p>"To all that you had to go back to—when you turned to help me!"</p> + +<p>Then Gaston bent and raised the shrinking woman beside him. Face to face +they stood in the cold, still room. "Joyce," he said thickly, "what I am +going to say—you may never be able to forgive—but I must say it.</p> + +<p>"It is quite true, I gave no thought to what I was doing when I shielded +you from Jude. St. Angé did not matter; there seemed no other way—and I +never considered others coming to complicate things.</p> + +<p>"I was miserable and lonely; but I felt sure of myself and in helping +you I found an interest in life. Lately, almost unconsciously, I've felt +the change in you—the new meaning. I wanted to make sure and then be +guided, since others had entered this—this fool's paradise of mine. You +are very beautiful—the most beautiful woman, I think, that I have ever +seen—and I know now that you are—the best!</p> + +<p>"Joyce—your beauty crazed me, and I had not forgotten Jude; I did not +care!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stop!" The little cold hand was pressed against his lips, "you shall +not! It was I who tempted you—you would have remembered—everything. It +is you who must forgive me—I am going—now!"</p> + +<p>The slow, pitiful words fell lingeringly.</p> + +<p>"Going—where can you go?" Gaston stared dumbly at her.</p> + +<p>"I think Mr. Drew will help me. I am going to tell him everything—and +he will—find a way."</p> + +<p>"You shall not!" Gaston drew her to his breast. The primitive rose +within him.</p> + +<p>"There is another way. The only way. Drew shall not meddle in my +affairs—nor yours. You will stay right here in your home until I +return. I'm going to Filmer; he's the only one we need, he'll act for us +both."</p> + +<p>"But—what then?" Joyce felt her heart stand still.</p> + +<p>"Then? why I'm going to find Jude. I'm going to buy him off—if +necessary. He shall free you—and then—then!"</p> + +<p>Gaston held the pale face off from him and searched the wide, startled +eyes.</p> + +<p>"And then?" The words fell into a question.</p> + +<p>"But how"—Joyce panted; "how could I feel sure this great thing you +plan is not another—unselfish act? Suppose, oh! suppose—<i>she</i>, +that—that other girl—should come back—what then?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hear me, Joyce. There is never going to be any one else. We are going +back together—into that other life. Why, the possibility almost blinds +me.</p> + +<p>"They shall see what I've brought out of my experience. We'll make a +place for ourselves and redeem the past. They shall seek us, my darling, +and they shall see at last that I am master of my life!"</p> + +<p>His enthusiasm and exaltation carried Joyce along with him.</p> + +<p>"Dare I trust—not you—but myself?" she whispered. "After everything is +said—I am—what I am!"</p> + +<p>"Yes—you are what you are!" Gaston pressed his lips against her +trembling mouth. "And now, good-bye!" he released her, and led her +toward her door. "I must make a few preparations—then get to Filmer. +It's all very wonderful, but it is more true than wonderful. Until I +come, then—and it may take time, dear—you will remember?"</p> + +<p>"Always—until you come—and after!"</p> + +<p>Gaston bent again, but this time he only pressed his lips to the soft, +pale hair.</p> + +<p>When the door closed behind her; he stood for a moment dazed and +bewildered. Mechanically he turned to the first task that lay at hand. +He rebuilt the dead fire. It seemed symbolic, somehow, and he smiled. +Then holding to the fancy that touched him, he piled on log after log.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span></p> + +<p>There should be no lack of warmth and glow in the new reincarnation.</p> + +<p>An hour later he left the house, with the needful things for his +possible, long absence packed in a grip and flung across his shoulder.</p> + +<p>He had attended to so many small comforts for Joyce—the fire, the +writing out of directions, where to find money, etc.—that he had been +hurried in the details of his own affairs; he had forgotten to take the +key from the lock of the chest!</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Jock Filmer was coming to the belief that there was a Destiny shaping +<i>his</i> ends <i>roughly</i>, smooth-hew them as he had ever tried to do. Jock +was pursued, there was no doubt of that. For reasons of his own he had +drifted into St. Angé when very young. Most conveniently and soothingly +memory and old habits dropped from him—they had clung tenaciously to +Gaston. Jock adapted himself to circumstances and new environment with +flattering promptness.</p> + +<p>The Black Cat felt no resentment toward him after the first few months. +His English became blurred with regard to grammar; the local speech was +good enough for him. When Jock's Past became troublesome, as it had done +from the very first, the Black Cat had consolation for its latest +recruit; and, while he did not sink quite so far as some of the natives, +the shortcoming was attributed more to youth than to the putting on of +airifications, as Tate said.</p> + +<p>In a boyish, off-hand way, Filmer had always regarded Gaston as a +sign-board in an unexplored country. If things ever pressed too close, +Filmer believed Gaston would point him to safety.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span></p> + +<p>A mystic something held them together. A common interest, consciously +cast into oblivion, but perfectly tangible and not to be denied, was the +unspoken passport in their intercourse.</p> + +<p>Later, during the building of Drew's bungalow and their joint sympathy +for, and with, Joyce, Filmer had acknowledged Gaston, as a superior and, +spiritually, regarded him as a leader in an interesting adventure.</p> + +<p>Gaston, the night when he faced Jude and him with the pointed question, +"What you going to do about it?" had fallen from Jock's high opinion, +and the crash had affected him to a painful extent.</p> + +<p>"Oh! what's the good?" he had finally concluded.</p> + +<p>Another friendship that had been formed in the lonely woods yet remained +to him, and he made the most of that. Drew's personality had stirred +Jock's emotions from the start. To look forward to a renewal of the +companionship was a distinct pleasure in the time when the dust of +Gaston's fallen image was blinding his eyes and smarting his heart.</p> + +<p>Drew came, sick but unconquered. All the chivalry in Filmer rose to the +call. He gave his time to the young minister. Using up the little money +he had earned as builder, resigning his chance to go into camp, he +devoted himself to Drew day and night. He became one of the family at +the bungalow and a jocose familiarity was as much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> a part of Jock's +liking for a person, as were his tireless patience and capacity for +single-minded service.</p> + +<p>Drew's maiden aunt, prim, proper and worldly-wise, was as much Aunt +Sally to Filmer as she was to her niece and nephew. Jock jollied the +aristocratic lady as freely as he did Drew, toward whom he held the +tolerant admiration that he had given him from the beginning. But poor +Jock was not to have his own easy planning of the new situation in all +directions. Constance Drew took a hand in the game, and Jock, with +trailing plume, plodded on behind her.</p> + +<p>If <i>he</i> could gibe and tease, she could bring him about with her cool +audacity and comical dignity.</p> + +<p>The girl's splendid physique, her athletic tendencies, her endurance and +pluck, compelled Jock's masculine admiration. Her love for her brother, +her tenderness and cheerfulness toward him, won his heart; but her +mental make-up, her strange seriousness where her own private interests +were concerned, caused the young fellow no end of amusement and delight. +He had never seen any one in the least like her, and the new sensation +held him captive.</p> + +<p>Poor Jock! He was never again to walk through life without a chain and +ball; but little he heeded that while he had strength and spirit to drag +them.</p> + +<p>With Drew's partial recovery the bungalow household lost its head a +little. Aunt Sally's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> gratitude overflowed into every house in St. Angé. +She felt as if the natives, not the pine-laded air, had been +instrumental in this regained health and joyousness.</p> + +<p>"I can never thank you enough," was her constant greeting; and so +sincere was her gratitude that eventually the back doors of the squalid +houses opened to her unconsciously—and of true friendship there is no +greater proof in a primitive village. Sitting in their kitchens, it was +easy for her to reach down into their hearts, and many a St. Angé woman +poured her troubles into Aunt Sally's ears, and went forever after with +uplifted head.</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear," the old lady said to Ralph, after Peggy Falstar had +taken her into her confidence, "these people are much like others, only +they have the rough bark on. They are a great deal more vital—the bark +has, somehow, kept the sap richer."</p> + +<p>Drew laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"The polishing takes something away, Auntie," he replied. "The bark is +hard to get through; it's tough and prickly and not always lovely, but +it's the sap that counts in every case, and that's what I used to tell +you and Connie. Every time I tapped these people up here, I saw and felt +the rich possibilities."</p> + +<p>"Now, you go straight to sleep," his aunt always commanded at that +juncture.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span></p> + +<p>She was not yet able to face the probability of a final settlement in +these backwoods, but she saw with alarm that her nephew was planting his +hopes deep and accepting the inevitable.</p> + +<p>"It's all such a horrible sacrifice of his young life," she confided to +Constance.</p> + +<p>"His young life!" the girl had returned with a straight, clear look. +"Why, I begin to think the only life he has, Auntie, is what St. Angé +offers—he must take that or nothing. Oh! if only that little beast down +there in New York had had the courage of a mouse, and the imagination of +a mole, she might have made Ralph's life—this life—a thing to go +thundering down into history! It's splendid up here! It's the sort of +thing that makes your soul feel like something tangible. My!" And with +that, on a certain mid-winter day, the young woman strode forth.</p> + +<p>A long fur-lined coat protected her from the deceiving cold. The dryness +of the air was misleading to a coast-bred girl. A dark red hood covered +the ruddy, curly hair, and skin gloves gave warm shelter to the slim, +white hands.</p> + +<p>Down the snow-covered road Constance walked. She was tingling with the +joy of her life—her life and the dear, new life given to her brother.</p> + +<p>The pines pointed darkly to a sky so faultlessly blue that it seemed a +June heirloom to a white winter.</p> + +<p>The snow was crisp and smooth; a durable snow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> that must last until +spring. It knew its business and what was expected of it, so it was not +to be impressed by mere footsteps, or the touch of prowling beast.</p> + +<p>Constance slid and tripped along. She sang snatches of old, remembered +songs, and talked aloud for very fulness of heart and the sense of her +Mission rising strong within her.</p> + +<p>Since coming to St. Angé she had not, until now, had time to think of +her Mission—her last Mission;—for Constance Drew was a connoisseur in +Missions. But now she must waste no more time.</p> + +<p>She patted her long pocket on the right-hand side—yes, the book and an +assorted lot of pencils were there. She preferred pencils to fountain +pens. The points were nicer to bite on, and she wasn't sure, in this +climate, but that ink might freeze just when a soul-flight was about to +land genius on a mountain-top.</p> + +<p>There was a beautiful log halfway between the bungalow and Gaston's +shack. It was a sheltered log, with a delectable hump on it where one +could rest the base of one's spinal column when victory, in the form of +inspiration, was about to perch.</p> + +<p>Constance sought this log when long, ambitious thoughts possessed her. +The snow had been removed, and a cushion of moss, also bare of snow, +made a resting place for two small feet, warmly incased in woollen-lined +"arctics."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span></p> + +<p>Constance sat down and drew the red-covered book from her pocket, and +placed the seven sharply-pointed pencils, side by side and near at hand.</p> + +<p>A sound startled the girl. Her brow puckered. Even in the deep woods +inspiration was not safe from intrusion.</p> + +<p>Well, since some bothering person must take this time for appearing, +Constance hoped it would be Joyce, for she wanted to see her and talk +with her. Joyce did not invite intimacy. Up there alone in her shack, +waiting for Gaston's return, she was grappling with matters too sacred +and agonizing to permit of curious interruption. That Drew's family +should overlook any little social shortcoming in her and seek to meet +her on an equal footing, did not interest her in the least—she wanted +to be alone, and for the most part she was.</p> + +<p>But it was not Joyce who appeared on the road. It was Jock Filmer and he +came, without invitation, to the log and put his foot on the end nearest +the girl.</p> + +<p>"Pleasant summer weather, hey?"</p> + +<p>Constance raised her eyes from the little book in which she had been +writing, and gave Jock the benefit of her honest inspection.</p> + +<p>"If you had ever lived where winter was meted out to you in the form of +frozen moisture," she said, "you'd know how to appreciate this nice, +clean, undisguised cold."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span></p> + +<p>"I know the other kind." Jock nodded reminiscently. "It is like being +slapped in the face with a sheet wet with ice water, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! so you haven't always lived here? I thought as much. Indeed I +have a note to that effect—here." The girl tapped the red-covered book.</p> + +<p>"No; I've travelled some," Jock confessed, "I've been to Hillcrest +several times."</p> + +<p>"I believe you are masquerading." Constance viewed him keenly. "I've +written to my married sister about you all up here; I call you and +that—that Mr. Gaston, the Masqueraders."</p> + +<p>"So!" Jock smoothed his chin with his heavily gloved hand. "That sister +of yours, doubtlessly, could spot us all on sight just by your +description. It ain't safe. How's your aunt and the Reverend Kid?" Jock +grinned amiably. The past weeks had given him time and opportunity for +broadening his views of life and enjoyment.</p> + +<p>"Ralph is fine"; the clear, gray eyes shone with the joy of the fact; +"and Auntie is having the time of her life. You know she never had her +lighter vein developed. Our city connection is awfully proper and +cultivated. I always knew auntie was a Bohemian, and up here—she's +plunging!"</p> + +<p>"Umph! And you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I'm getting—material."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me." Jock passed his hand over his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> mouth. "There are times when +I think you're a comicaller little cuss than your brother!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Filmer!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, come down! Mr. Filmer don't go in the woods in the middle of +winter. What do you want for your Christmas?"</p> + +<p>"When you make fun of me"—the girl was trying hard not to laugh—"you +anger me beyond—expression."</p> + +<p>A guffaw greeted this. Then:</p> + +<p>"What was you making in your little book when I came up?"</p> + +<p>"Character sketches."</p> + +<p>"Sho! Let's have a look. I like pictures."</p> + +<p>"They're pen-pictures."</p> + +<p>"All the same to me. Pencil, pen, or paint-brush."</p> + +<p>"But you do not understand. They are <i>word</i> pictures. Descriptions, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Well, now you have got me! Show up, anyhow."</p> + +<p>Constance opened the little book, and spread it out on her knee.</p> + +<p>"I am getting material for a novel," she said impressively. "The great +American novel has yet to be written. I do not want you to think me +conceited, Jock, but I have had exceptional advantages—I may be the +chosen one to write this—this great novel."</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" Jock's serious gaze was a perfect disguise for his true +inward state.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes; who knows? You see I can speak freely to you."</p> + +<p>"Sure thing," assented Jock. "Dumb animals can't blab, and once you turn +your back on St. Angé I'll be a dumb beast all right!"</p> + +<p>"My back will never be turned permanently on St. Angé, I think!" the +girl spoke slowly. "I agree with Ralph that for the future his home will +probably be here; and where Ralph is——"</p> + +<p>"The lamb will surely come. Go on, child, and hang up your pictures." +They both laughed now.</p> + +<p>"First," Constance folded her hands over the open pages of her book, "I +wonder, Jock, if you would like to hear—something of my life? It would +explain this—this—great ambition of mine."</p> + +<p>"Well," Jock drawled, "if you don't think me too young and innocent for +such excitement, fire away. Histories have always had a hold on me. Most +of 'em ain't true, but they tickle your imagination."</p> + +<p>"Jock! But I'm in earnest. I have felt that I must have a confidant. +Some one who will—sympathize. I'm going to have a woman friend in a day +or so—but a man—one who is disinterested, so to speak, is always such +a comfort to a girl when she faces a great epoch in her life."</p> + +<p>Jock swallowed his rising mirth and his face became a blank so far as +expression was concerned.</p> + +<p>"I have had wonderful advantages," Constance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> began, "that is what makes +me dare to hope. Advantages of wealth, society and—and a deep insight +into people's innermost souls."</p> + +<p>"Gosh!" Jock exploded; "excuse me; I always burst out that way when +I'm—moved." He sat down on the end of the log, and clutched his knees +in his strong arms. "Somehow you don't look like such a desperate +character," he added blandly, "known sin and conquered it, and all the +rest?"</p> + +<p>Constance sniffed, but a little jocularity was not going to deter her +from the luxury of confession.</p> + +<p>"Money should only be regarded," she went on, "as a sacred trust, and a +means of enriching one's life. And as for Society—that is a bore! +Dances, theatres, dinners and luncheons. Chaperons tagging around after +you, suggesting by their mere presence that, unless you're watched, +you'll do something desperate in the wild desire to break the monotony. +Well, I drank deep of <i>that</i> life," Constance looked dreamily over the +stretch of meadow and pine-edged woods, all dazzling with a shimmer of +icy snow, "before I took to——"</p> + +<p>"Crime?" Jock suggested. "It would seem that that was the natural +sequence to such a career."</p> + +<p>"Jock Filmer—I took to philanthropy."</p> + +<p>"As bad as that?" Jock roared with laughter.</p> + +<p>"I only tell you this to explain my present position." Constance drew +her fur-clad shoulders up. "I became a Settlement worker; but," +confidently,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> "that was worse than Society. It <i>was</i> Society with +another setting. 'Thanks be!' as Auntie says, I have a sense of humour +and a remnant of Scotch canniness. It made me laugh—when it didn't make +me ashamed—to put on a sort of livery—plain frock, you know, and go +down to the Settlement in the most businesslike way to 'do' for those +poor people. It cost an awful lot to run our Settlement, about +two-thirds of all the money. One-third went to the poor. We had plenty +of fun down there. All slummy outside and lovely things inside, you +know. It was like making believe. You see," she paused impressively, +"when you have a Mission like Settlement work, you don't have to have a +chaperon."</p> + +<p>"Ten to one, they're needed, though." Jock was keenly interested. +"Cutting loose from familiar ties and acting up sort of detached that +way, must have a queer effect upon some."</p> + +<p>"Well, I just got enough of it. Why, one Christmas, we at the Settlement +House had a tree and gifts that cost hundreds of dollars. We had a big +dance. Evening dress and all the rest. Young men and women who, had they +been in their own homes, would have been under some one's watchful eye, +were having a jolly, good fling down there that Christmas Eve, I can +tell you.</p> + +<p>"Right in the middle of the evening, a call came from a family in a +tenement around the corner. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> knew all about them—or I thought I +did—so I went. I just flung a cloak about me and ran off alone. Somehow +I did not want any one with me."</p> + +<p>Constance's eyes grew dim, and her under lip quivered.</p> + +<p>"It was awful." Her voice sank low. "You see, with all the preparations +going on at the Settlement House, we had sort of forgotten this—this +family. They were not the noisy, begging kind, but there was a pitiful, +little sick girl whom I had taken a liking to and to <i>think</i> that I +should have forgotten her—and at that time, too! There was no tree in +that home, Jock, there was nothing much, but the little dying girl and +her mother.</p> + +<p>"They didn't even blame me—oh, if they only had!" The honest tears ran +down Constance's cheeks. "But they didn't. The mother said—and she +apologized for troubling me, think of that!—that the baby wanted me to +tell her a Christmas story. She just wouldn't go to sleep until I did, +and she had been ailing all day. I—I forgot my dress, and tore off my +cloak in that cold, empty room and I took that poor baby in my arms. +Then—then the hardest part came—she—she didn't know me. She got the +queerest little notion in her baby head—she—she thought I was +an—angel. Oh! oh! and I wanted her to know me."</p> + +<p>Down went the girlish head in the open pages of the character sketches.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well of all gol-durned nonsense!" Jock blurted out. "The whole blamed +show oughter been exposed. I reckon the best job the company ever had to +its credit was that happening of yours—the dress and the—the—rest of +the picter. Lord!" Jock's feelings were running over as he looked upon +the bowed head. The story had got hold of his tender heart. "Lord above! +Just think of that sort of rum suffering going on back there. It's worse +than what happens here. We've got wood to keep the kids warm in winter, +and there's clean air and coolness in summer. I'm durned glad I cut it +when"—he stopped short. Constance was looking at him with wide, +questioning eyes.</p> + +<p>"When I did," Jock added helplessly. "And now go on with that poor +little child what you took to your bosom."</p> + +<p>"That's all." Constance choked painfully. "The baby—died while I was +telling her about the wonderful tree, and Santa Claus and the other joys +she should have had, and never did have. I can see that hideous empty +room, and—and that poor baby every time I shut my eyes."</p> + +<p>"Here, look up now," Jock commanded, his feelings getting the best of +him. "When life's so empty that you can't find things to do by opening +your eyes, you better keep your eyes shut to all eternity. Calling up +the past is the rottenest kind of folly in a world where things is +happening."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span></p> + +<p>Constance rallied to the stern call.</p> + +<p>"And now," she said briskly, "I've given myself, heart and soul +to—literature. I'll <i>write</i> of what I have seen, and lived!</p> + +<p>"Listen, I'll read you a sketch or so. But first I'll explain. The local +colour of my novel is drawn from—here."</p> + +<p>Jock pulled himself together.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be blowed!" he sympathetically ejaculated, "Here where there +ain't, what you might say, enough local color to more than touch up the +noses of the Black Catters."</p> + +<p>"Jock! Now, see if you'd know it." She read a scrappy description of the +village. "Would you recognize it?"</p> + +<p>"With a footnote, it would go." Jock was all attention. "But I have my +doubts as to whether Pete Falstar will take kindly to his place of +residence being classified as a human pig-sty. That's laying the local +colour on, with a whitewash brush, don't you think? A little dirt and +disorder don't seem to call for such language."</p> + +<p>"That is artistic license." Constance explained.</p> + +<p>"Well, you ought to pay high for that kind of license—but maybe you do. +Go on."</p> + +<p>"I handle my subject without gloves," Constance began again.</p> + +<p>"By gosh! I'd keep 'em on when I was tackling pig-stys and such; but +don't mind me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span></p> + +<p>"And here; see if you can guess who this is?</p> + +<p>"'The sleek, fat proprietor looked oily within and oily without. He +oozed oil on the community that he was demoralizing with his poisonous +whiskey and doctored beer.'"</p> + +<p>"God bless and save us!" Jock rolled from side to side. "If you don't +beat all for gol-durned sass. Why, Tate will sue you for damages if that +great American novel ever strikes his vision. Oil! Thunderation; and +poisonous whiskey, and doctored beer. Was it Society or Settlement what +let light in on you, about such terms?"</p> + +<p>"Neither. It's—inspiration."</p> + +<p>"It's just plain imperdence, and it'll get you in trouble. Are you going +to use names in that novel of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. Do you think I do not know my art? But you recognize +Tate? Then he lives!"</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! Know him? How under the everlasting firmament could I help +knowing him? What other proprietor is there in St. Angé, you comical +little bag of words? specially one as demoralizes the community with +poisoned whiskey and doctored beer? Balls of fire! but this beats the +band. Go on; go on."</p> + +<p>When a man of thirty steps out of a starved exile and comes in contact +with a girl like Constance Drew, it may be dangerous to "go on," but the +exile will certainly <i>want</i> to.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span></p> + +<p>Nothing loath; all sparkling and radiant, Constance swept along.</p> + +<p>"And I've got—you, but maybe you will never forgive me. I took you at +your—your worst—for don't you see when I use you—later—I'm going to +redeem you and have you come out truly splendid."</p> + +<p>Jock's jaw dropped, and the laugh fled from his overflowing eyes.</p> + +<p>"Me?" he gasped. Constance nodded, and waved a pointed pencil toward +him.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" she ran her eye down the page. "'Beautiful woman—with +a—Past'—that's the girl up in the other Masquerader's shack, that girl +Joyce, you know, and Gaston—and here's Peggy Falstar—'woman sunk to +man's level and reproducing her kind'—brief note of Billy Falstar as +'impish child'—oh! here you are!</p> + +<p>"'Village Bacchus. Tall, handsome, but lost, apparently, to shame. +Swaggering criss-cross down the road, laughing senselessly and shouting +songs. Slave to appetite. Controlled by his brutal passions. When spoken +to in this state, assumes manner of gentleman. Subconscious self—study +in heredity.—Let a strong influence enter his life—handsome noble +girl—redemption at end—splendid character.'"</p> + +<p>"Good God!"</p> + +<p>Constance dropped the book. The eyes that met<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> her own had a look in +them that drove the cold, which she had not felt before, to her very +heart.</p> + +<p>"What—what—is the matter?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Did you—ever see me—like that?" The words came hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Yes. One day a few weeks ago. Ralph wanted you. I went to find +you—and"—the girl's eyes dropped. She felt a sudden humiliation as if +he had detected her reading his private letters.</p> + +<p>"And I talked—rot and all the rest?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I never told Ralph; I knew it would hurt him—I had—no right to +tell you this—it is only—copy for me."</p> + +<p>"Copy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; stuff to work into the—novel."</p> + +<p>"The novel? Ah, I remember. I'm going to be stuffed in with Tate +and—and the others?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but don't you recall, <i>you</i> are to be redeemed—you are to be +my—my hero—in the end you are to be—splendid."</p> + +<p>A deep groan was the only reply to this; the groan and the look of +growing misery on the man's face.</p> + +<p>"You're to go back—you see I feel you once belonged somewhere else—and +take up your life-work with——"</p> + +<p>"With?" Jock repeated the word hopelessly.</p> + +<p>"With her—the girl."</p> + +<p>"What girl?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why the girl I'm going to create. First I thought I'd have her—Joyce; +but that doesn't stand clear in my thought—I cannot quite see just the +sort of girl—that could rouse you to—to great things."</p> + +<p>Filmer was staring at the speaker with dazed and pitiful eyes. Then +Constance beheld a miracle. The stony misery melted as an infinite +sadness and pity overflowed.</p> + +<p>Jock stood up, plunged his hands in his pockets and looked down at the +dissecter who had bared every sensitive nerve in his heart and soul.</p> + +<p>"When—you write that book," the words drawled out the bitter thought, +"just omit—me—please—if you have any mercy."</p> + +<p>"Jock!" Constance sprang to her feet. "Jock—how could I know that you +would care?"</p> + +<p>"You—couldn't, of course."</p> + +<p>"Is it because I saw you so?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You know of course—that I'd never speak of that to any one—I only +used it for my book."</p> + +<p>"If that will help your book—take it; but leave out——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"The girl—the redemption—and——"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Can't you—guess?"</p> + +<p>"No." But as the word passed her lips, she did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> guess—and what she +surmised sent the blood rushing through her body.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened, Miss Drew," Filmer was getting command of himself; +"there isn't going to be any redemption; nor any girl—that's all; don't +you see? There never is in such cases, and you want to be true to life +in that first, great American novel. You got your brush in the wrong pot +of local colour when you daubed me. No offence intended, or taken, I +hope. God bless you! strike your pencil through all that came after the +spree part. You're welcome to that, but I decline to let you ruin your +reputation by offering up the rest to the public."</p> + +<p>He was laughing again, and the agony had passed from his careless face.</p> + +<p>"And now?" he asked, "which way?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going—home."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, come along. I'm bound for the Reverend Kid myself. I've got +his mail in my pockets—and yours, too by thunder! You're too diverting, +Miss Drew, you took my thoughts off business. Come on."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> + +<p>Joyce, waiting in the solitude of the shack under the pines, heard and +saw little of what was going on in St. Angé. She was living at high +pressure, and she had not even the relief of companionship to divert her +from her lonely vigils.</p> + +<p>Naturally the exhilaration of the night that Gaston left her, passed and +the dull monotony of the daily tasks performed perfunctorily with no +charm of another's approbation and sharing, lost the power of holding +her thoughts.</p> + +<p>She ate, and made tidy the little house in quite the old way, but the +large dreaming eyes looked beyond the narrow confines, and grew pathetic +as they searched the white fields and hidden trails off toward the +Northern and Southern Solitudes.</p> + +<p>Which way had he gone? From which direction would he return? Everything +was ready for him—it always had been since the night he left—and she, +herself, once the daily routine was over, donned her prettiest garments, +not the golden gown! and waited either by the glowing fire or by the +little windows.</p> + +<p>Early in the day following Gaston's departure,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> she had discovered the +key in the lock of the chest! The sight for a moment, made her tremble.</p> + +<p>Had he left it by mistake? Had he left it designedly, now that he had +taken her completely into his confidence?</p> + +<p>But had he? Joyce flushed and paled at the thought. After all, what had +he really told her? She did not know, even, his true name nor the place +from which he had come.</p> + +<p>No; she knew very little. Shaken from his indifference by her beauty and +charm into a realizing sense of the woman he had helped to form, Gaston +had indeed broken his silence and voiced the one great tragedy of his +life to her—and she had superbly stood the test; but that was all!</p> + +<p>In the chest lay, perhaps the rest! His name; the name of those who had +taken part in all that had gone before the terrible time of his trouble. +For a moment a paralyzing temptation came to Joyce to solve for herself, +by the means at hand, the mystery which still surrounded the man she +loved with a completeness and abandon that controlled every thought and +act of her life. But it was only a momentary weakness. Her love shielded +her from any shortcoming that could possibly lower her.</p> + +<p>Bravely she walked up to the chest, and proved herself by trying the lid +to see if the chest were unlocked. It was. Gaston had not even taken +that precaution.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span></p> + +<p>Joyce smiled—all was now safe with her. She would never feel tempted +again. It became a comfort to sit near the chest. She deserted the +living room and made a huge fire upon Gaston's hearth. Evenings she took +her book or sewing there, and the chest with its secrets seemed like a +friend who, from very nearness of comradeship, had no need to speak its +hidden thoughts.</p> + +<p>In the desolation of the mid-winter loneliness, the pale woman grew to +feel, when in Gaston's room, a high courage and strength. Everything +would come out right. Details were not to be considered. Gaston had +always been all-powerful; he would conquer now. What did the waiting +count? He, meanwhile, was tracing Jude. Soon he would return, having +freed her from every evil thing of the past. He would find her as he had +left her—a woman fitted by a great love to follow whither he led.</p> + +<p>And then—as the long evenings pressed silently cold and dark around the +shack, her fancy ran riot. All that she had yearned for; all, all that +the books had suggested, she was to see. Mountain peaks and roaring +ocean; strange people like, yet so unlike, Gaston. To think that all +this was going to happen to her—old Jared's little Joyce.</p> + +<p>A few days after Gaston's departure Jock Filmer walked into the shack +quite as easily as if months had not passed without a sight of him; he +came almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> daily afterward. It was like Jock to assume the new +relation in this easy, companionable way.</p> + +<p>Joyce was grateful. This was but another proof of Gaston's greatness.</p> + +<p>"Everything going straight, Joyce?" The question came one day while the +keen eyes were taking in the store of wood, water and other necessaries.</p> + +<p>"Everything, Jock; and the store-room is stocked. Sit down—and tell me +the news."</p> + +<p>Joyce was not particularly interested, but it would put Jock at ease.</p> + +<p>Jock gracefully flung himself into Gaston's chair. The two were, of +course, in the living room.</p> + +<p>"There's company up to the bungalow," he spoke from the fullness of his +heart; "a widder girl."</p> + +<p>"A—a widow?" Joyce was for a moment perplexed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. She don't look a day older than Drew's sister, and she's powerful +cheerful for an afflicted person. But maybe she ain't afflicted. They +ain't, always. She looks as if she was dressing up in them togs for fun, +and at first glimpse it strikes one as sacrilegious. Something like a +kid using holy words in its play."</p> + +<p>Joyce smiled. After all it was good to have the dear human touch, even +if the vital spark were lacking.</p> + +<p>"Is—the widow-girl pretty, Jock?" she asked in order to detain Filmer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," a line came between Jock's eyes, "that's the puzzler. Now Drew's +sister—" Jock spoke in this detached way of Constance Drew for +self-defense—"Drew's sister stands for what she is; a good, honest, +handsome girl. You own up to that and that's the end of it. This one +sets you thinking. Is she, or ain't she pretty? you keep putting to +yourself. Do you like her, or don't you? Is she thinking about what +you're saying, or ain't she? That's the way your mind works when you are +with her, till it seems a plain waste of time, and riles you way down to +the ground. I like a woman what, having passed up her personality, lets +you alone as to further guessing 'less you have a mind to guess. Joyce!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Jock."</p> + +<p>"They want you up to the bungalow to help along with the Christmas +doings. I never saw such happenings in all my life. All St. Angé is +going to see what's what for once. Presents for everybody; big party at +the bungalow Christmas night; the overflow is going even to reach up to +the camps. Boxes and barrels arriving every day from down the State. +Lord, but you should see Tom Smith's curiosity! There are big doings. +They call it a kind of thanksgiving for the Reverend Kid's recovery; and +they want you."</p> + +<p>Joyce started back. She was interested, but only as it was apart from +herself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, Jock!" she cried. "I couldn't. I just couldn't."</p> + +<p>"I thought you couldn't," Jock returned calmly; "and you shan't if you +don't want to."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Don't let them feel hurt, but I could not go."</p> + +<p>Jock cast a sympathetic glance toward her; and changed the subject.</p> + +<p>"It's wonderful the grip that weak little Reverend has already got on +this town," he went on. "He's a sly one. Preaching ain't in it with the +undercurrent he's let loose here. It's just sapping the foundations of +society. It's setting free a lot of good stuff, but it's striking Tate +an all-fired blow."</p> + +<p>"Tell me about it, Jock. It seems as if I had been asleep a—long +while."</p> + +<p>"Well there are sermons <i>and</i> sermons." Jock was flattered by the look +in Joyce's large eyes. "If the Reverend Kid had opened shop in the +regular way, Tate and his pals would have downed him in no time; but +what you going to do about sermons that are slipped in with talks to +women over their wash-tubs, and what not?</p> + +<p>"Him and me was going by Falstar's the other day, and Peggy was washing +uncommon hard. Drew, he steps close to the tubs and says he, 'I tell +you, Mrs. Falstar, I don't know no better religion than getting the +spots out instead of slighting them. It's like the little Scotch girl +who said she knew when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> she got religion, for she had to sweep under the +mats.' Peggy was all a-grin, and Lord! how she went at it. Later, she +attacked the mats. It had set her thinking. I saw 'em hanging out, and +she beating them as she must often feel like beating Pete." A real laugh +greeted this, and Jock glowed with approval.</p> + +<p>"And then what does that young lunger do, but gather in all the floating +population in the kid line, and play games with 'em, and read thrillers +to 'em up at the bungalow every evening. He's teaching them as wants to +learn, too. He's got Tate flamgasted. You see, the old man depended, for +the future, on them youngsters that haunted the tavern and got the +drippings that fell from within. The Black Cat Tavern Kindergarten is +busted, and the Bungalow stock is going up."</p> + +<p>"Kindergarten? What's that, Jock?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's a new-fangled idea in the way of schools. Sort of breaking up +the ground for later planting."</p> + +<p>"Who told you about it?"</p> + +<p>"Why—Drew's sister." Jock's face looked stern and he gazed into space.</p> + +<p>"It's a splendid idea, Jock." Joyce's interest was keen enough now. +"Some one, even St. Angé's folks, should have seen how fine it is to +keep the children away from the tavern. How we have let everything +drift! Why Jock, if the boys and girls learn to hate the Black Cat; if +they are given something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span> good, why of course St. Angé is going to be +another kind of place. Does Miss Drew help in teaching?"</p> + +<p>"Does she?" Poor Jock smiled pitifully in his effort to appear +unconcerned. "They sit at her feet lost to everything but what she tells +'em. Billy Falstar, before he left to be a camp fiddler, was a reformed +brat. She had smote him hip and thigh, and finished him, as far as a +career of crime is concerned. Do you know, he went up to see her with +his red hair plastered down with lard until it was a dull maroon colour; +his square cotton handkercher was perfumed with kerosene, and I tell you +he was a sight and a smell to remember; but Drew's sister stood it +without a word. She told me afterward that it was a proof +conclusive—them's her words—of Billy's redemption.</p> + +<p>"I saw the brat the day he started for camp. I tell you the ginger was +all out of Billy. When he was obliged to swear he did it in whispers."</p> + +<p>"Poor Billy! He's pretty young to begin camp life. There's good in +Billy. I wish Mr. Drew would make Peter send him to school."</p> + +<p>"That's what he's planning to do."</p> + +<p>Soon after this, when Jock started to go, he said: "So everything's fit +for a spell?"</p> + +<p>"Everything Jock, until—"</p> + +<p>They looked at each other mutely. Then Jock put his hand out awkwardly +and took Joyce's.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said quietly. His manner puzzled the girl.</p> + +<p>"Life's a queer jamboree," he laughed lightly. "It's a heap easier to +stand it if you give yourself the hope of cutting it if you find the +pace too fast. So 'good-bye' is always in order even if you're going to +drop in to-morrow. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Joyce walked with him to the door. "Good-bye," she said with a growing +doubt in her heart; "good-bye, Jock—and I can never tell you how I +thank you."</p> + +<p>It was many a long day before Joyce was to see Filmer again, and she +always felt that she knew it as she saw him pass beyond the pines after +that "good-bye."</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>Perhaps it was the boyish longing for Christmas cheer that struck such a +deadly blow at the heart of Billy, the fiddler, in Camp 7. Perhaps it +was the arrow that smites all, sooner or later. Be that as it may, as +Christmas drew near the mournful tunes Billy managed to saw from his +fiddle got on to the nerves of the men.</p> + +<p>From remarks aimed at his efforts, pieces of wood and articles of +clothing were aimed at him, and Billy's life became a burden in the +dull, deep woods.</p> + +<p>"I can't make jigs come," he whined one evening, "when I'm chock full of +hymn tunes."</p> + +<p>"You'll be chock full of cold lead if you fill this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> hull camp with them +death dirges," warned one man who was bearing about all he could anyway.</p> + +<p>"I wish to—I just wish I was plugged full of lead—and done for," was +Billy's unlooked-for reply; and then, to the surprise of all, he bent +his red curls over the fiddle and wept as only a homesick youngster can +weep when the barriers of his fourteen years are down, and the flood has +its way.</p> + +<p>That night, Billy in his bunk, sleepless and consumed with longing for +home and the excitement of the bungalow element, planned desertion. At +midnight he crept to the larder and packed enough food to last for a +couple of days, at four o'clock he stole from the sleeping-shed, and, +cheered by the unanimous snores that rang in his ears, he turned his +freckled, determined face toward St. Angé and the one absorbing passion +of his life.</p> + +<p>The outlook of the Solitude at four in the morning was not an altogether +cheerful one even to ambitious youth. Indeed there was little, if any, +outlook.</p> + +<p>Blackness around; cold starlight overhead. Snow and ice everywhere +except on the trail that a "V" plow had made through the forest.</p> + +<p>It was cruelly still and lonely. "Gawd," said Billy raising his eyes to +the emptiness above him, "you see me to the end of this, and, by gosh! +I'll swear to go to Hillcrest to school."</p> + +<p>From irreligious depravity, Billy had risen to reverent heights, and +Hillcrest restraint was beautiful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> in his thought, as a method of +preparing him for—Her.</p> + +<p>A fear he had never known had birth in Billy's heart then as he slipped +and slid down the icy trail that had been flooded and frozen for the +passage of the logs. Even his unprotected boyhood had been shielded from +four-o'clock journeys in the wintry woods heretofore.</p> + +<p>The only help Billy could draw from the situation was, that so far he +could refrain from whistling. When in this tense state a boy is reduced +to whistling all hope for strength is gone.</p> + +<p>A distant groan; swish! ah! ah! and crash! rent the stillness. The boy +drew his breath in sharp.</p> + +<p>"D—— blast that tree!" gurgled he, "what did it have to fall for now?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly a deer darted across the trail and turned its wondering eyes on +the small brother of the woods. Billy's spirits rose. The wild things +were friends. The boy's depravity had always been redeemed by a lack of +cruelty.</p> + +<p>A little farther on the way, Billy seated himself on a fallen log, and +cheered his inner man by a "bite of breakfast." Presently a shy, wild +creature drew near; took note and courage and scurried to Billy's feet. +With generous hand the boy shared his early meal, and made a familiar +noise that further won the little animal's confidence.</p> + +<p>Billy had his plans well laid. There was a lumberman's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> hut a day's walk +from the camp; he must make that by night. There would be a rough bed +and chopped wood; he could sleep and rest and then, if all went well, he +ought to make St. Angé by the end of the following day, particularly if +he got a "lift," which was not impossible.</p> + +<p>Just then, for the morning was beginning to show through the gaunt +trees, a bird-note sounded. Billy rose quickly—there was no time to +waste. Sometimes a bird sounded that warning when a storm was near. It +would never do for him to face a storm so far from shelter.</p> + +<p>All that day Billy trudged on. Fortunately it was a constant, though +gradual, decline and the journey was made easier. He ate occasionally, +and gained courage and strength, but it was nearly nine o'clock—though +Billy was not aware of it—before the landmarks proved his hope +true—the woodman's hut was near at hand.</p> + +<p>The boy had all the keenness of his age and environment. He knew that +others besides himself might avail themselves of the shelter, and he had +reason for choosing his company; so, before he reached the house, he +took to tip-toeing, and keeping clear of the underbrush.</p> + +<p>The hut had one small window, before which hung a dilapidated shutter by +a rusty hinge. The door opened, Billy knew, into a little passage from +which the room door opened, and from which a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> rickety ladder led up to a +loft, unused and apparently useless.</p> + +<p>As the boy neared the house his trained senses detected the smell of +fire and the sound of muffled voices. He crept to the window, and +through the broken shutter saw two figures crouching by the blazing +logs, but the faces were turned away, and the gloom of the room made it +impossible for Billy to decide whether the men were familiars or +strangers.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the wind was rising with a storm in its keeping; there was +nothing to do but seek refuge, for, until he could determine his further +course, Billy decided to take to the loft in order to reconnoitre.</p> + +<p>Cautiously he made his way to the door, lifted the latch and gained the +entry. There he paused, for the voices had ceased speaking and the boy +feared that he had been heard. After a moment he concluded it was safer +to be in the loft in case the men were suspicious, so he hurriedly +mounted the ladder and crawled along the dusty floor of the space +overhead.</p> + +<p>Gratefully, to his half-frozen form, the heat from below rose, and with +it came the odour of frying bacon, and the sound of sizzling fat.</p> + +<p>Fortune was still further with Billy. There was a pile of discarded +bedding and clothing on the floor. If worst came he could stay where he +was and be partially comfortable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span></p> + +<p>As he reached this conclusion a voice from below caused his heart to +stand still.</p> + +<p>"I thought I'd seen the last of yer. You got all I had—what more do you +want with me?"</p> + +<p>It was Jude Lauzoon who spoke.</p> + +<p>"See here, son"; and the smooth tones filled Billy with an old fear; +"that was all a big mistake. My hand was out of the game. St. Angé had +taken the nerve out of me. I've got my steam up now." It was Jared +Birkdale! and Billy had hoped he was never to see the man again. From +his babyhood up, a look from Jared had had power to quell him when a +blow from another might fail.</p> + +<p>"Well, I ain't got nothing more to give you." Jude sounded sullen and +ugly.</p> + +<p>Through a crack in the floor Billy could see that it was Jude who was +preparing the evening meal, while Jared, as usual, was taking his ease, +and discoursing at his leisure.</p> + +<p>"You've got more to give than what you know Jude, my boy. What you doing +here, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"You see what I'm doing. Here, take this hunk of bread, and come nearer +so I can flip the bacon on."</p> + +<p>The sight and smell made Billy's mouth water, even while something in +him foretold danger.</p> + +<p>"Now, see here, Jude." Jared spoke through a full mouth. "You and me +can't afford to work at cross purposes. Where we failed once, we are +going to succeed next time."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span></p> + +<p>"You darsn't show your face down there beyond the woods again, and you +know it." Jude spoke doggedly. "They was after us both. Besides I can't +stand transplanting. It would be the death of me. It nearly was."</p> + +<p>"Don't be white-livered, Jude. You see the laws have changed more than +any one could have thought, while I was browsing away in St. Angé. +That's where I made my mistake. I ought to have taken time and got the +lay of the land 'fore I beckoned to you; but it looked safe enough, and +I had to take, or leave the Joint, sudden. How could any man know it was +spotted, and so had to be got rid of? It was one on us and no mistake.</p> + +<p>"Fill up my cup, Jude, you're a tasty one with cooking."</p> + +<p>Jude obeyed and muttered as he did so: "Luck or no luck, I ain't got +nothing, nor ever will have again, so that's an end of it."</p> + +<p>"Jude, where you going to?"</p> + +<p>"Where be you?"</p> + +<p>Up aloft Billy waited.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to St. Angé." There was defiance in Jude's tone—defiance and +a sort of shame; Jude had again lost his grip.</p> + +<p>"I've just come from there," said Jared.</p> + +<p>And now Billy could see through his peephole that Jude started into +life.</p> + +<p>"You been there?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span></p> + +<p>Jared gurgled assent.</p> + +<p>"How is—she?"</p> + +<p>"That's it, Jude. Now let's get down to business. Having to hide +somewhere after that little unpleasantness down State, I ran up to St. +Angé. Knowing the way about, it was a better place than some others, and +I could keep from sight and find things out. I stopped at Laval's +haunted shack." Billy shivered. "I kept clear of my place."</p> + +<p>"Guess you wasn't disturbed none at Laval's," sneered Jude and he gave +an unpleasant laugh.</p> + +<p>"'Twas blasted cold, and I had the devil's time getting enough at night +to keep me going by day; but I learned a heap, and I struck your gold +mine all right, sonny."</p> + +<p>"What you mean? Spit it out."</p> + +<p>Billy crouched closer, and his breath came thick and fast.</p> + +<p>"He's—left her!"</p> + +<p>"Gaston?" An ugly oath escaped Jude.</p> + +<p>"Gaston. But not for what you think. Jude, he's after you." Jared paused +for effect.</p> + +<p>"After me?" The ugliness gave place to a dull fear.</p> + +<p>"You, my son. He wants you to free Joyce." Evidently this announcement +failed to reach Jude's intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Free her? Me? What's got you, old man? Didn't she cut, herself?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span></p> + +<p>"You don't catch on, Jude. He wants to do the big, white thing by the +girl—marry her out of hand clean and particular, and he wants to get +your word that you won't make any trouble."</p> + +<p>A silence followed this. Jude was struggling to digest it; but the +result was simple.</p> + +<p>"Well, by thunder! Won't he have to pay high for it?"</p> + +<p>There was excitement and feverish energy in Jude's voice now.</p> + +<p>"Maybe he'll fling a bone to you—but don't you see, son, you can hold +off and make him pay, and pay and pay?</p> + +<p>"Now tell me, so true as you live, what was <i>you</i> going down to St. Angé +for?"</p> + +<p>"I was going down to"—Jude hesitated. "Well, I was tired of being +hounded, and having to hide and starve. I was going down to get—what—I +could—and no questions asked." A foolish laugh followed. Beside Jared's +subtlety, Jude seemed a babbling infant with feeble aims.</p> + +<p>Jared was contemptuous.</p> + +<p>"Gosh darn it, Jude! It's good I fell across your path again. You might +have thrown away the one, great, shining opportunity of your life. +Listen to <i>my</i> plans. You better stay where you are, and let me run this +here show. I got the tracks all laid out. I'm sort o' inspired where it +comes to plotting for them I love. I'm going to write a touching letter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span> +to her. It's going to state that Gaston is laid up from an accident in a +hut, further up to the north. A lumberman is going to write the +letter—catch on? and she's wanted up to Gaston's dying bedside. The +lumberman is going to meet her at Laval's. When she's caught safe and +sure, Jock Filmer—he's the go-between in all this—will get that +information, or the part about her going away, to Gaston; then the +game's in our hands. If Gaston means business, he'll pay what <i>we</i> say. +If he ain't sharp set as to a big figger, we've got Joyce; and by +thunder! who's got a better right? Then we'll make tracks, after the +spring freshet, to another place I know of where laws is stationary and +folks ain't over keen, and where a handsome woman like Joyce will help. +I've got money enough left from the wreck to tide us over, my +son—unless Gaston planks down."</p> + +<p>All this completed Billy's demoralization. His teeth chattered louder, +and for the life of him he could not control an audible sound, half sob, +half sigh. But Jude was evidently as much overpowered as Billy, for the +boy suddenly heard him emit an oath, and then a volley of questions +designed to clear the air after Jared's storm of eloquence.</p> + +<p>"She'll come, all right." Jared had his answers ready. "It's an +all-fired queer state of things down there to St. Angé. You and me ain't +never struck Gaston's kind before. Joyce'll go when he calls,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> and don't +you forget it—all I've got to do is to make the lumberman's letter real +convincing.</p> + +<p>"Sure! I'm the lumberman, all right. Camp up north? Nothing. I'll land +her here where her rightful and loving husband will be waiting for her +till further developments. How did I find out the lay of the land? Gosh! +that was a tight squeeze. I found out he was over to Hillcrest, Gaston +you know; and I run up, after dark to his shack, planning to get a haul +from Joyce. I got into the back kitchen while she was outside, and +before I could get away—in walks Gaston. What I saw and heard that +evening, Jude, ain't necessary here, but it blazed our trail, boy, and I +cut later—taking more than I planned for." Birkdale breathed hard. "You +leave Gaston to me, curse 'im!</p> + +<p>"Make trouble for us? How in thunder is a man to make trouble for a +husband who is taking his own wife to his dishonoured bosom? Lord! Jude, +you've got about as much backbone as an angle worm.</p> + +<p>"What?" Some muttered words followed that Billy could not catch. Then—</p> + +<p>"Trust me! Does any one know to this day, you blamed fool, who shot that +government detective that was snooping into that clearing you and me +made—five years back? Gaston'll pay or you'll take one of them +never-failing shots of yours, and——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span></p> + +<p>It had been a hard day for Billy, and he was only fourteen.</p> + +<p>The low, smoke-filled loft seemed to draw close about him, and it +smothered the life out of him. He thought he screamed, but instead, an +unseen power laid a kindly hand upon his trembling mouth, and a pause +came in his troubled life. It was not sleep, nor was it faintness that +struck like death the frightened boy—but an oblivion, from which he +issued clear-headed and strengthened.</p> + +<p>When he again realized his surroundings he was cramped and cold, and +hungry as a wolf. From below two deep, unmusical snores rose +comfortingly. There was but one thing to do—and Billy must prepare for +it.</p> + +<p>He ate every crumb of food that remained in his bag; then he rubbed +himself until his numbness lessened. At last he was ready to set forth +for St. Angé, and, be it forever to his glory, Billy the Redeemed, had +only Joyce in mind when his grim little freckled face once more turned +toward home!</p> + +<p>Christmas, the joys of the bungalow, all, all were forgotten. It was a +big and an awful thing he had on hand, but he must carry it out to the +end. Floating gossip gained strength in Billy's memory as he trudged +through the black morning of that second hard day.</p> + +<p>Childhood was not much considered in St. Angé, but childhood protects +itself to a certain degree,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> and Billy had never fully understood what +the gossip about Joyce had meant. All at once he seemed to have become a +man; and, oh! thank God, a man with a warm heart. A kinship of suffering +and hope with Joyce made him wondrous tender. He'd stand by her. They +should all see what he could do. And that hated Jared Birkdale should be +driven forever from St. Angé.</p> + +<p>It was a long, dreary journey which Billy took that day. The plentiful +morning meal had beggared the future, but it had given the boy power to +start well.</p> + +<p>With daylight and home in view, although at a dim distance, Billy felt +that he controlled Fate.</p> + +<p>It would be some days before Jared could possibly get the letter to +Joyce. Long before it came he, Billy, would be on the spot, and nothing +could pass unnoticed before his eyes.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock of that second day, the boy, worn to the verge of +exhaustion, staggered into his mother's kitchen, and almost frightened +Peggy to death by simply announcing:</p> + +<p>"I've cut, and I'll be eternally busted if I ever go back, so there! And +I'm starved."</p> + +<p>With the latter information Peggy could deal; the former was beyond her. +She prepared a satisfying repast for her son; noting, as she hovered +over him, the change that had come. He was no longer a child, therefore +he was to be respected. An awe possessed Peggy. The awe of Man as she +had ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> known him. Her Billy was a man! Then she noticed how thin he +was, and how his mouth drooped, and how black the circles were under his +big eyes.</p> + +<p>Had they been cruel to him in camp? They could be so cruel; but then, +Billy was a favourite.</p> + +<p>What had happened?</p> + +<p>It was proof of Billy's spiritual and physical change that Peggy did not +cuff him and demand an explanation.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> + +<p>Billy ate long and uninterruptedly. Peggy supplied his demands before +they were voiced, and Maggie, the small and unimpressed sister, eyed him +from across the table with keen, unsympathetic stare. Occasionally she +made known her opinions with a calm, sisterly detachment that roused no +resentment in the new being who had hurled himself upon them.</p> + +<p>"You eat like a real pig," Maggie remarked with a sniff. She was being +trained for the bungalow fête, and she had suffered in the process.</p> + +<p>Billy eyed her indifferently.</p> + +<p>"Push them 'taters nearer," was all he replied.</p> + +<p>"Your father'll kill you," Peggy ventured timidly, as she filled Billy's +cup for the fourth time with a concoction which passed in St. Angé for +coffee, because Leon Tate so declared it.</p> + +<p>"No, he won't, neither," Billy said; "nobody ain't ever going to kill +me, never!"</p> + +<p>He turned a tense, defiant face to his mother, but there was something +in his eyes that drew tears to Peggy's. She came behind his chair and, +half afraid, let her hand rest upon his thin shoulder.</p> + +<p>Wonder of wonders! Billy did not shake off the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span> unfamiliar caress. On +the contrary he smiled into the work-worn face above him.</p> + +<p>"Ain't Billy terrible speckled when the tan's off?" Maggie broke in, +"and his hair's as red as my flannel petticoat."</p> + +<p>Peggy cast a threatening glance at her daughter.</p> + +<p>"Clear off the table!" she commanded, for Billy was at last finished.</p> + +<p>Maggie set about the task with relief. Something was afoot that she +could not understand. Maggie was not spiritually constructed, but she +was going to be a woman some day!</p> + +<p>"Mother!" Generally Billy addressed her as "say!" "Mother, I'm going +over to Hillcrest to school. I'm going to work when I can, and—make +somewhat of myself."</p> + +<p>Maggie dropped a cup, and, because she happened to be near her mother, +Peggy relieved her own feelings by boxing the girl's ears. Then she +turned again to her man-child and stared stupidly.</p> + +<p>Poor downtrodden Peggy! She was at a crisis of motherhood that is common +to high and low. Since Mary of Galilee found her son in the Temple +questioning Wisdom, and with awe beheld that he was no longer her little +child, the paralyzing question, "What have I to do with thee?" has set +maternity back upon itself over and over again, in order that the +suddenly arrived Man might be upon "his Father's business."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span></p> + +<p>"Going to—make—something of yourself?"</p> + +<p>Peggy's trembling hands groped feebly, and then, thank heaven! Billy +drew near and glorified this new, but lonely place of his own creation.</p> + +<p>"You've done your best, mother; I see it now, but I was—I ain't going +to say what I was—but I'm going to be something different; and you're +going to help me now, like you always have."</p> + +<p>A pain gripped Peggy's throat, and the room whirled about. Then the mist +cleared from the dim eyes and Hope lighted them.</p> + +<p>"Son," she said solemnly, "I am. I don't quite see how, but the way will +be opened. Go in, now, and rest; you look clean done for."</p> + +<p>It was humiliating, but Billy had to feel his way to the door of the +bedchamber beyond.</p> + +<p>Alone with her daughter, Peggy's Vision on the Mount faded.</p> + +<p>"Billy's aged terrible," she said to Maggie, who was still sulking +because of the boxed ear.</p> + +<p>"I know what's the matter with him." Maggie's lynx-eyes glittered. "I +found some po'try he writ on the back of the wood-shed door. He thought +nobody but him ever went there. It's grand po'try."</p> + +<p>Maggie struck an attitude, and drawled:</p> + +<p> +My heart feels like a chunk of rock<br /> +When I am far from you,<br /> +But when you trip acrost my vision<br /> +My heart melts same as du.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span></p> + +<p>"I learned that in one morning!" Maggie proudly declared. "I don't care +if he is my brother, that's grand."</p> + +<p>Peggy dropped helplessly in her chair. She had never looked for glory in +her modest dream. That Billy should escape the degradation of the Black +Cat, and that Maggie might have a lighter cross than her own to carry, +had been the most she had plead for when she had had time to pray; and +now—why God had crowned her lot by children who were undoubtedly +geniuses! Maggie, too, had a circle of light about her head. And it had +all dawned upon Peggy in a flash of an eye.</p> + +<p>"You ain't sick to your stomach, are you, mother?"</p> + +<p>Peggy repudiated this with scorn.</p> + +<p>"Maggie," she said softly, "I want that you should write that out real +plain for me, in print. I'm going to take it up to the bungalow."</p> + +<p>"Billy'll cuss us." Maggie turned coward.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I ain't going to let Mr. Drew think Billy done it." Peggy was +waxing bold. "I'm going to tell him it was writ by a noted po'try-maker, +and I want to find out what his views is as to its fineness."</p> + +<p>Maggie looked dubious.</p> + +<p>"He might guess," she said.</p> + +<p>"How <i>could</i> he?" Peggy raised her face ecstatically. Then Maggie came +close to her mother.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ma," she whispered, "don't you know why Billy writ that, and why he +wants to get learning, and what not?"</p> + +<p>"No," gasped Peggy, and she felt that the heavens were about to open.</p> + +<p>"He wants to be different so he can spark—her!"</p> + +<p>"Spark?" Peggy panted inanely as if the word were of foreign tongue.</p> + +<p>"Yep, spark."</p> + +<p>"Her?"</p> + +<p>"Yep. Her. Miss Drew."</p> + +<p>Peggy's jaw dropped.</p> + +<p>Since the sudden opening of the door, and Billy's unlooked-for entrance, +events had crowded upon Peggy Falstar's horizon.</p> + +<p>Her children had been translated. She felt desolate and stricken, +although her heart glowed with pride as she viewed them from afar. In a +last attempt to cling to her familiar attitude toward Maggie at least, +Peggy vaguely remarked:</p> + +<p>"I wonder if your being a girl makes you such a plain fool?"</p> + +<p>"I 'spose it might," Maggie returned indifferently.</p> + +<p>"Well," her mother continued, "don't you go upsetting Billy with any of +your fool ideas."</p> + +<p>"I ain't going to hurt 'im." Maggie tossed her head.</p> + +<p>"Hurt him!" Peggy sniffed. "You lay this up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> for future hatching, Maggie +Falstar. You, me, nor nobody ain't ever going to hurt him again and +<i>know</i> it. What hurts he gets, from now on, he ain't going to howl +about."</p> + +<p>Just then the supposedly slumbering Billy came out of the inner room. +Mother and sister eyed him critically. He was magnificently attired in +all the meagre finery he could call into service. What he lacked in +attire he made up in the grooming. Billy shone. Billy was plastered. +Billy smelled to high heaven of soap and kerosene. But there was that +about Billy which checked Maggie's ribald jeers, and the mother's +question as to where he was going.</p> + +<p>However, Billy was magnanimous in his power. He turned at the outer door +and satisfied his mother's curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Anything you want sent up to Joyce's?"</p> + +<p>"Joyce's?" gasped Maggie. "Joyce's?"</p> + +<p>Billy held her with a glance.</p> + +<p>"Joyce's," he repeated. Then receiving no reply, he went out into the +still, cold night.</p> + +<p>Billy felt like a man who held the fortune of many in the hollow of his +hand.</p> + +<p>Knowing the ways of St. Angé men he felt sure the letter from "the +backwoodsman" to Joyce would be several days, or a week, in +materializing, perhaps much longer. It was for him to be ready and +watchful; but there was no immediate call for action.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span> His sympathies +were so largely aroused for Joyce, that he meant to overcome his +yearning to be with the object of his passion, and on that first night +he intended going to Gaston's shack and setting Joyce right about the +future and his own part in the drama.</p> + +<p>Billy realized that he must shield himself. Birkdale and Lauzoon must +never know of his presence in the hut. Joyce, Billy felt sure, would +coöperate with him. If he and she could find Gaston, all might be safe +and well; but while Gaston was absent, danger lurked. However, Joyce +must refuse to meet "the backwoodsman"; after that they two, Billy and +Joyce, must find a path that connected Gaston with them, and make him +secure from the plots of the evil Birkdale and the weak, foolish Jude of +the unerring shot.</p> + +<p>All this Billy thought upon as he strode forward whistling comfortably, +and his chest swelling proudly.</p> + +<p>It was one thing to whistle on the highway of St. Angé, and quite +another to whistle in the wilds of the North Solitude.</p> + +<p>Billy was full of creature comfort, and the scattered lights of the +houses gave cheer and a feeling of security to the boy.</p> + +<p>The Black Cat's twinkling eyes had no charm for Billy. They were never +to have a charm for him; but as he neared the bungalow his whistle grew +intermittent and his legs had an inclination in one direction while his +heart sternly bade him follow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> another. Then, without really being aware +of his weakness, Billy found himself knocking on the bungalow door, and +his heart thumped wildly beneath the old vest of his father's which he +wore closely buttoned under the coat he had painfully outgrown.</p> + +<p>In response to his knock, the wide, hospitable door was flung open, and +Billy faced a stranger who quite unnerved him, by the direct and pointed +question:</p> + +<p>"Why, good evening, little boy; what do <i>you</i> want?"</p> + +<p>The glow from within set Billy's senses in a mad whirl, but the "little +boy" was like a dash of cold water to his pride and egotism.</p> + +<p>"I—I—want—her!" Poor Billy was in a lost state.</p> + +<p>"It is—I do believe it is my delectable Billy."</p> + +<p>It was <i>her</i> voice, and it floated down to the boy at the gate of +Paradise, from the top of a step-ladder. Halfway up the ladder Jock +Filmer stood with his hands full of greens and his eyes full of +laughter.</p> + +<p>"Billy, come up and be welcomed. Get down Jock, you've had your turn."</p> + +<p>His turn! A fierce hate rose in Billy's heart; but the stranger closed +the door behind him; Aunt Sally and the minister were saying kind things +to him, and informing him that the angel who had admitted him was Mrs. +Dale, the Fairy of Christmas, and a great admirer of little boys.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span></p> + +<p>Little boys! Were they bent on insulting him?</p> + +<p>Jock descended with that laugh of his that always disturbed Billy's +preconceived ideas. Then Billy was facing <i>Her</i> as she bent to meet him +halfway.</p> + +<p>The glad smile passed slowly from Constance Drew's face. The others, +below, were talking and forgetting the two upon the ladder.</p> + +<p>"Why—Billy—have you—been sick?"</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Did they let you come home for Christmas?"</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am. I jest cum."</p> + +<p>Constance looked long at him, and at last the laugh was gone even from +her dear eyes.</p> + +<p>"Billy," she said softly, laying her hands on his shoulders, "you've +been keeping your word to me, about swearing, and—and all the rest?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm."</p> + +<p>"It's been hard, too, dear, I know; but it has made you into +something—better." And then with a shining look on her face she bent +and kissed him.</p> + +<p>The heat rushed all over Billy's body, following a cold perspiration. +His mouth twitched, and a maddening feeling of tears rose to his +smarting eyes.</p> + +<p>"I'm—going—over—to—Hillcrest school!" He whispered feebly, "I'm +going—to get—learnin', an' things."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Billy!"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm."</p> + +<p>"Oh! my dear Billy."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span></p> + +<p>But such moments in life are brief. They are only permitted as +propellers for all the other plain moments which are the common lot. +Billy and Constance came down from the heights morally, spiritually and +physically and joined the commonplace things below.</p> + +<p>There was corn to pop, and candy to make. There were boxes to unpack, +and goodies to eat; so was it any wonder that Joyce and her poor affairs +should be relegated to a place outside this Eden?</p> + +<p>Then, too, Jock complicated matters. He was shameless in his mirth and +jokes. Even the stranger-lady with her wonderful aloofness could not +daunt him, but Billy fiercely resented his attentions to the girl for +whom he, Billy, had forsaken all else.</p> + +<p>To leave the field to Jock was beyond the strength of mere man, so they +stayed it out together, and left the bungalow in company just as the +clock struck twelve.</p> + +<p>It was then that the events of the past forty-eight hours began most to +tell upon Billy. His exhausted nerves played him false, and cried out +their desperate state.</p> + +<p>As he and Jock left the warm, scented room behind them, and faced +the white, still cold of an apparently dead St. Angé, the boy turned +a drawn face upon Jock, and cried tremblingly, "Say, you +better—keep—yer—hands—off!" Jock stood still, and returned Billy's +agonized stare with one equally grim.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've just reached that conclusion myself, Billy," he said, with every +trace of his past mirth gone.</p> + +<p>Billy was hoisted on his own petard.</p> + +<p>Hatred fled before the sympathy he felt flowing from Jock to him. He +wanted to cry; wanted to fling himself upon his companion and "own up," +but Jock anticipated all his emotions.</p> + +<p>"See here, kid," he said in a voice new to St. Angé's knowledge of Jock; +"you're not the fellow to grudge a poor devil an hour or so of heaven. +There's the hope of an eternity of it for you; but for me there's going +to be only—the memory of this hour. Shake hands, old man, and take this +from me, straight. Keep yourself <i>fit</i> to touch. Lay hold of that and +never let go. The more you care, the more you'll curse yourself, if you +don't. It's the only decent offering a man can take to a woman. +Everything else he can hope to gain afterward. A place for her, money, +and all the rest; but if he goes to her with dirty hands and a heart +full of shame, nothing can make up for it—nothing!</p> + +<p>"Billy—I'd give you all I ever hoped to have here or hereafter if I +could begin to-night where you are—and with the power to <i>want</i> to keep +straight."</p> + +<p>Billy shivered and looked dumbly, pathetically into the sad face above +him. He had nothing to say. When Jock next spoke he was more like +himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span></p> + +<p>"Billy, will you see to a little business for me, and keep mum?"</p> + +<p>This was quite in the line of the over-burdened Billy, and he accepted +off-hand.</p> + +<p>"I may—go—into camp before Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Don't yer!" advised the boy magnanimously. "I ain't ever going to care +again. You can stay here." Jock forbore to smile, but he laid his hand +on Billy's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"There's two big stacks of young pine trees up to my shack done round in +bagging and ticketed to a place down the State. They're Christmas trees +for poor kids, and I want you to see to getting them off for me +to-morrow or next day, and if Tom Smith airs any remarks, you let on as +how they hailed from the bungalow; for that's God's truth, when all's +told."</p> + +<p>"They'll go, Jock, you bet!" Billy gulped.</p> + +<p>Curiosity was dead within him. Human suffering gave him an insight that +soared above idle questioning.</p> + +<p>"And Billy, there's another thing. I want you to go to Gaston's shack; +tote water and wood for Joyce—and keep your mouth shut. And lay this by +in your constitution. Gaston is a man so far above anything God ever +created round here, that you can't understand him, but you <i>can</i> try to +chase off the dirty insects that want to sting him. Catch on?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes"; murmured Billy, while unfulfilled duty clutched his vitals with +remorse.</p> + +<p>"I'm—I'm going up to Gaston's to-morrow," he said.</p> + +<p>"And now, you old rip," Filmer shook off his strange mood, "walk up to a +fellow's bunk with him. It's good to keep clean company when you +can—and for as long as you can."</p> + +<p>"Shall—shall I stay all night with you?"</p> + +<p>Billy asked this doubtfully from the new instinct that was stirring +within him. For an instant a gleam of pleasure lighted Filmer's face. It +almost seemed like a yearning, then he said roughly:</p> + +<p>"No, get home! You're afraid? If you are I'll turn back."</p> + +<p>"What you take me for?" Billy sniffed scornfully, and then they parted +company.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>It was just when the hands of the clock in Drew's study pointed to +half-past twelve, that the young master, sitting before the glowing +logs, bestirred himself preparatory to turning in for the night.</p> + +<p>A satisfied feeling had kept him up after the others had bade good +night. He always enjoyed the anticlimax of pleasure, and the day had +been a happy one.</p> + +<p>He felt well. The companionship of the widowed wife of his closest +friend, added interest to the new life in the woods. She had brought +news and had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> awakened memories, but she had timed the Past and the +Present to perfect measure. At last he could hope that the old wound was +healed and that he could live among his people—his people! the thought +thrilled him—with purpose and content. The rough men and women about +him were drawing closer. He knew it in the innermost places of his +heart. He was brightening their lives. He was holding their children for +them, and opening a way for them to seek higher paths. It would all come +out as he desired. It was a splendid field of work that had been given +him—and he had rebelled so in his ignorance!</p> + +<p>How he wished that Philip Dale could have lived to see and know. Of all +the men whom he had known, Dale was the one man who could have +comprehended this opening for service. What a noble fellow he had been! +How his personality and charm struck one at the first glance. He had +been one of those men who claimed friends as they came his way, without +pledge of time or intimacy. He knew what was his own in life, and +gripped it without question or explanation. He had been the first to +understand Drew's ambition, so different from the ones of the social set +in which they both moved.</p> + +<p>"You'll always find me at your elbow, Drew," he had said, "in any scheme +you start." But when the time came—Dale had slipped out of life as +bravely and cheerfully as he had always lived.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> "And he had his own deep +trouble," Drew mused as he prepared to bank the fire; "he never talked +about it; but it made him what he was. One must go through some sort of +fire to be of real service."</p> + +<p>A light tap on the door startled him. He had been, in thought, far, far +from St. Angé.</p> + +<p>"Come!"</p> + +<p>The door opened slowly and Ruth Dale entered.</p> + +<p>She was all in white—a soft, long, trailing gown. Her hair had been +loosened from the coronet, and fell in two shining braids over her +shoulders. She looked very girlish as she came to the fire and dropped +into a deep chair.</p> + +<p>"Please put on more logs," she said softly. "Father Confessor, I've come +to confess." There was something under the playfulness that touched +Drew. "I told Connie that I wanted to talk to you about a plan of mine; +well, so it is, but I want you to put the stamp of your sage approval +upon it."</p> + +<p>Drew shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Hardly that," he said with a laugh, "but I'm willing to plot with you."</p> + +<p>"I always think of you now," Ruth Dale continued, leaning toward the +crackling logs, and holding her little benumbed hands open to the heat, +"as 'the man who lives in his house by the side of the road, and is a +friend to man'. Ralph, I need a friend! I must have one or I shall fail +in that which I have set myself to do."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span></p> + +<p>There was no lightness in the woman's manner now. She looked tragic; +almost desperate.</p> + +<p>Ralph Drew waited for her to go on. He was prepared to follow, but he +could not lead.</p> + +<p>Her youthfulness of appearance struck him now as it often had before; +but the worn look in the eyes emphasized it to-night.</p> + +<p>"You look tired, Ruth," he said kindly; "won't to-morrow—or"—for he +saw it was well on toward one o'clock—"later in the day do?"</p> + +<p>"Unless you are too weary to bide with me one little hour?" she replied +wistfully; "it had better be now."</p> + +<p>"You know what an owl I am, Ruth. With returning health my old habits +seem to gain strength. I sleep more satisfactorily if I do it after +midnight." He settled back comfortably in his chair, and the fire, +encouraged by several small logs, rose to the occasion.</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking about—Philip to-night."</p> + +<p>"Poor girl. It was a year ago! To remember Phil best, we should be +cheerful, but the subconscious sadness ran through all the evening's fun +for you—and me, Ruth."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Ralph, you only knew Phil a few years—never before he was +married?"</p> + +<p>"No, but he was one of those men who do not belong to time limit nor +letters of introduction. His own knew him at a glance. There was no time +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span> be lost with Phil. I've often noticed that faculty for deep and +ready friendship among people who are here for only a short life. Others +can afford to weigh and consider; they must garner quickly, and the +Master seems to have equipped them."</p> + +<p>"Ralph, was Phil a man that you felt you knew, really knew, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; as to essentials. I never saw any one so positive as to the high +lights. Honesty, truth, good faith, and a broad humanity. I always knew +he had trouble that he did not talk about; he hinted that much to me +once or twice, but the silence regarding it only intensified his own +personality, of which he gave lavishly."</p> + +<p>The woman bending toward the fire, shivered, and as her head sank lower, +one shining braid of hair dropped forward, shielding her face.</p> + +<p>"Ralph—I sometimes think the thing I have to do is the—hardest that +ever woman had to do." The words were uttered with a moan that drove +Drew into a silence more eloquent than any question he could have put. +He realized that the woman beside him must tread the rough path of +confession alone, and as she could. In his heart he prayed for strength +to be beside her when all was done.</p> + +<p>"If ever a sin saved, Philip's sin saved him, and yet he counted it as +nothing at the last. He bade me do for him what he could not do for +himself—I have never been able to begin until—to-night.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span> He said—he +had no right to friends nor the trust and favour of love. But he never +was able to renounce them; I must strike them down one by one—now he is +gone.</p> + +<p>"I must do as he would have me do—I see the justice, if the end is to +be obtained, but thank God, I, who loved him—can still love him—and he +has been dead a year!"</p> + +<p>The pain-racked eyes looked straight into Drew's with a sort of +challenge. But Drew was too sincere a man to give, even to friendship, a +blind comfort and assurance. He merely smiled at the troubled glance, +and said quietly:</p> + +<p>"I am sure where you loved, there was much to love."</p> + +<p>"Yes; yes; that is true; and I begin to think the nobility of it all lay +in his unconsciousness of the splendid character he builded so patiently +and laboriously out of all the wreck.</p> + +<p>"Philip had a brother, Ralph! His name was never spoken. He was two +years older than Philip, and as different as it was possible for a +brother to be.</p> + +<p>"John was all strength and concentration; Philip all brightness and +charm—in the beginning! Their mother adored Philip; she never +understood John, and yet he was a good son, brave and faithful. But he +could not show his nature—it lay so far below the surface. It was +always easy for Philip. His charm attracted nearly everyone. My father +always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span> liked John better. He said there was splendid power in him, +and—I must keep nothing from you, Ralph—I loved John—loved him, oh! +how I loved him. I pitied him because he could not win what should have +been his—I loved him for myself, and for all the others who were too +dull to realize his worth. It was like mother love and all the rest, in +one."</p> + +<p>"Yes; the most God-like love of all. Only women know it, I fancy," Drew +murmured.</p> + +<p>"And then"; the agonized eyes seemed to plead even while they confessed, +"then the awful thing happened. John took—he stole many thousands of +dollars from men who trusted and honoured him."</p> + +<p>"Ruth!"</p> + +<p>"I could never have believed it, but he told me so himself. To the day +of his death my father believed the half had never been told, but how +could I think that, when John told me himself that he was guilty? Father +was a judge—he was to have been the judge before whom John Dale was +tried, but they relieved him of that horrible duty. John Dale was +sentenced to five years—in prison! They said it was a light sentence."</p> + +<p>"My God! Poor Phil! How terrible for you all!"</p> + +<p>"Don't! don't!" Ruth Dale put out her hands as if warding off a blow. +"Haven't you guessed? Can you not think?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span></p> + +<p>Drew shook his head slowly. He did not seem to be able to think at all.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dale died soon after. She had a weak heart—it killed her. Philip +was everything to her—he was heavenly good in his attention and +devotion. Somehow, I wonder what you will think of me, but suddenly I +became possessed with a passion for making happier them whom John had +blighted. I grappled with my own love—I knew it would kill me if I let +it gain power over me. I knew I never could be anything to John—I was +not the sort of woman, Ralph, who could love the sinner—forgetting the +sin. I could forgive—I thought I could—but I remembered all the more +sharply.</p> + +<p>"Philip had always loved me. I saw my way. I would ignore the stigma on +the family, I would marry Philip and carry what joy I could to him and +his mother. My father tried to restrain me. He called me martyr, +sacrifice, and all the rest, but I married—and I know I took comfort +into poor Mrs. Dale's life, and—I never doubted what I did for Philip. +But—" Ruth whispered the horrible secret—"John Dale <i>took</i> the money +for—Philip! He never wanted it for himself. He never used one dollar of +it. It was Philip who ran the family honour, and his own, into +danger—he made it seem to John that to tide him over the critical hour +would be to save them all and bring no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> harm. But he was wrong. The +crash came. John never cringed under the blow. To his simple nature the +mere act was enough. He did not try to shield himself by one word of +explanation—he went away!"</p> + +<p>Drew's throat and eyes burned. He seemed to know all this like an +oft-told tale that still had power to awe and control him.</p> + +<p>"Then the years of agonized consecration began for Philip. I never knew +until a week before his death, but the memory scorches into my soul day +by day now.</p> + +<p>"You see I thought it was love for his brother, and the shame, that had +changed Philip—and <i>that</i> endeared him to me. All the lightness and +carelessness of manner departed. A great, strong, tenderness took their +place. But you know, it was so that he came into your life. He had a +wide sympathy and charity, for all—oh! how it drew people to him. But +think of his suffering—alone and through all those years!</p> + +<p>"The money that was John's ruin was the force that brought success to +Philip. You see—he could not explain—at least he thought he could not, +he was too cowardly—and the knowledge spurred him on. Wealth flowed in +and in. He paid, and with interest, all that had been taken. How the +world praised him—and how he suffered as they applauded him! He gave +great sums to charity—mostly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span> to those charities that mitigate the +misery of—the outcasts. Men and women who come under the law. Can you +understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! yes!" Drew's head was buried in his thin hands. His voice was full +of anguish.</p> + +<p>"They used to come to him, those sad creatures,—and he never turned +them away. I have seen and heard them bless him as they knelt beside +him. He helped them so wisely because—oh! because he was—one of them, +and they never knew! Then the disease came—the cancer. I think he +welcomed it—it was so sure to open the door for him—and I think he +even loved the suffering as a kind of expiation.</p> + +<p>"Never once did a murmur escape him of impatience or regret. It was he +who cheered us. It was he who stood by my father's death-bed and +comforted him, and strengthened me. Always cheerful, always helpful +until—just before he went. When he knew the days were few—when the +coward in him—his last enemy—died, he told me everything.</p> + +<p>"He said—" a sob choked the words—"that I must find—John. I must lay +waste the beautiful memory of him. Show the <i>coward</i> who had not been +able to stand before men! I must redeem the past as best I could. I must +begin with you—the friend he most loved—for you must help me +find—John."</p> + +<p>Ralph Drew rose weakly to his feet. Something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> had gone out of him. +Something that he groped after, but could not grasp. He felt as if he +and the stricken woman before him were lost upon a black and dangerous +road. Their only salvation was to cling together spiritually and bodily. +He caught the back of her chair for support, and bent over her.</p> + +<p>"Is there no one, who kept in touch with—the brother? Was he utterly +forsaken? God help him!"</p> + +<p>"They said it was his desire. But there was one—I never knew who it +was; that was part of the mystery—but some one claimed and claimed +money for him, for John. I knew sums of money were paid regularly, I +used to think it was another of Philip's charities—but I know now that +there was a constant lash laid upon him. Oh! if they had only known all.</p> + +<p>"Ralph, Philip left nearly all his fortune to his brother. There is only +my portion reserved for me. So you see I must find him. I was left sole +executor."</p> + +<p>"I will help you, Ruth."</p> + +<p>"I was sure you would. Philip spoke your name last; he said you could +see the man he tried to be, even in the man he was."</p> + +<p>"Yes! yes, a thousand times more than he ever hoped. What was the poor +crumbling shell compared to the splendid soul that he builded through +those horrible years? Years when he could not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span> quite free himself from +the craven thing that was his curse—the fear! fear! fear!"</p> + +<p>The two were silent for a moment while the red glow showed them haggard +and worn. Then it was the woman who spoke.</p> + +<p>"Ralph—do you think a woman can love—really love—two men?"</p> + +<p>He stared at her.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," he faltered; "perhaps, but in different ways."</p> + +<p>"I loved them both. When—when I find John—if he wants me—if he asks +me—I shall marry him." She shuddered.</p> + +<p>"Ruth!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I think Philip would give him even—me. His renunciation was wide +and deep. He, the great, strong soul of him, went on—alone. It had no +real part with his weakness and all that was bound up in his +weakness—he wanted John to have everything of which he had deprived +him. You can understand, can you not? At the last, when fear had no +further power, he was almost mad in his abandon of recompense.</p> + +<p>"He did not tell me this, that awful night when he told me—the rest; +but I felt it. I saw that I, with all else that had meant anything to +him, was included in his shame; and the new nature that had evolved from +the agony and remorse—had nothing to do with us any more!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span></p> + +<p>A deep sob shook the slim form. For a moment Ruth Dale rocked to and fro +in her misery, then she let the wild confession again have its way.</p> + +<p>"For myself—" the haunted eyes fixed themselves upon Drew's rigid +face—"for myself—in a strange fashion—and oh! you shall <i>not</i> +misunderstand me, I want to give to him that which I withheld from him +when he needed it most. I want to bring back the gladness of life to +him—if I can," she gasped; "it has all been such a hideous nightmare. +If he wants me—if he wants me, he shall have me!" The words were flung +out defiantly, fiercely.</p> + +<p>Drew started to his feet, and went quickly to her. In all his life he +had never seen on a woman's face such desperation and remorse.</p> + +<p>As his friend's wife he had loved her as a sister. Her beauty had always +fascinated and charmed him. To see her now, cast adrift on this troubled +sea of love and fear, was a bitter, almost a terrifying sight.</p> + +<p>He bent over her, and raised her face firmly and gently with one +trembling hand. He felt that he must calm and steady her by physical +control.</p> + +<p>"Ruth," he said gently, but distinctly, "why do you look as you do? Tell +me, what is in your heart?"</p> + +<p>The woman tried to shrink from the hold he had upon her. He saw that the +vital point of her confession she would keep from him unless he +commanded, and, if the future were to be saved from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span> the grip of the +miserable past, he and she must thoroughly understand each other.</p> + +<p>"Ruth, you must tell me everything."</p> + +<p>She panted, but no longer struggled mentally or bodily.</p> + +<p>"Because," she said, "even now, I could accept the man who was the true +sinner easier than the man who was sinned against! Not because of a +greater love; but because of the slime of the punishment that the one +was doomed to suffer.</p> + +<p>"That's what life has done for him—and me!" Again she shuddered. "Don't +you see, even when my heart is breaking with love for him—and the old +love is growing stronger as—as Philip seems to be going further from +me—I shall always think of the hideous—detail that—he suffered. It +was what Philip could not face—it is what I—must!"</p> + +<p>The words came pantingly, grudgingly and full of soul-terror.</p> + +<p>Drew sought for comfort to give to this poor, distracted woman whose +white, still face rested in the hollow of his hand, like a dead thing.</p> + +<p>"Ruth, you shall not lash yourself unnecessarily. God knows you have +borne the scourge of others bravely enough. It is not the detail alone +that rises before you, and keeps you from what you have set up as your +duty—it is the weakness of the man. That is the pitiful difference. The +sin is the sin—but the man who <i>planned</i> was more the master,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span> than he +who became the slave. Do not blame yourself entirely—can you not see, +it is the instinctive homage humanity pays to even an evil +interpretation of the Creator!"</p> + +<p>A blur, for an instant, shimmered over the beautiful, solemn eyes.</p> + +<p>"No." The woman would not shield herself in this hour. "No; for you +forget Philip's cowardice—and weakness. But he was not—smirched with +society's remedy for wrong-doing. No; even if I found John had come out +of the—the detail, strong and purified, I know, as God hears me, I +should always, when most he needed me, see the <i>prisoner</i> instead +of—him. Oh! Oh! Oh!"</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes, and the great tears were pressed from under the +quivering lids.</p> + +<p>Drew for very pity released the suffering face, but his hand rested on +the bent shoulder. Then out of the strain of the black hour, he asked a +question that seemed to have no part in the present trouble; no meaning.</p> + +<p>"Ruth have you ever loved just for yourself—just because <i>you</i> wanted +what you loved?"</p> + +<p>"Just for myself? Who ever does in this world, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>She sighed deeply, and sank back in the chair.</p> + +<p>It was over at last. There was nothing now to do but to take up her +cross and follow as she could; there was no more to be said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span></p> + +<p>Drew waited for her a moment, still standing behind the chair. Then he +spoke clearly and firmly:</p> + +<p>"Ruth, in Phil's going he left our love to us; for we are permitted to +remember the splendid man in spite of the weakness which crippled him. +We must carry out every wish of his. I think when this is done—his +brave soul will be free from every earthly stain. The good he did; the +man he was, must claim recognition as well as the sin that stamped him. +Both are actual and real.</p> + +<p>"We'll find John Dale if he is to be found. We'll give him all that is +his own—his own. But I pray God he is still man enough to claim no +more.</p> + +<p>"And now, go to bed. You may sleep safely, for you have made yourself +ready even for—sacrifice."</p> + +<p>"No! no! Ralph."</p> + +<p>"Yes! yes!"</p> + +<p>He opened the door of the study, and with bowed head she passed out. +Then Drew turned and mechanically banked the fire, and left the room +orderly, as was his habit.</p> + +<p>As he followed a few moments later, the little clock struck the +half-hour of one. Much had been lost and gained in an hour's time.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> + +<p>Billy arose the morning after his eventful evening, with a feeling of +physical discomfort. He attributed it to his neglected duty, when in +reality it was merely a disordered stomach.</p> + +<p>The past day or two, ending in a feast of unwonted dainties, had created +havoc with Billy's newly acquired, higher nature.</p> + +<p>He was sulkily belligerent with Maggie, but Maggie viewed the lapse with +considerable relief. Billy of the night before awed her in spite of +herself. Billy of the morning after cast no reflections on her own +inferiority.</p> + +<p>Poor Peggy wondered, in her dull way, if she had been dreaming the +astonishing things that had set her heart beating. To reassure herself +she took a candle and went out to the wood-shed. No; there, in the dim +shadows of the cobwebby place, was the stanza that was proof of her +son's genius. Then Peggy reflected with a glad heart that it was the +accepted belief of the world that geniuses were always cranky and +uncomfortable, and, womanlike, Peggy gave thanks that it was permitted +her to have a genius for her own.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span></p> + +<p>Soon after breakfast Billy began his life work with a dull pain in the +region of his heart.</p> + +<p>He went up to Filmer's shack and found him out; he then hauled and +pulled the tagged bundles of pine trees, which Jock had left standing by +the door, down to the Station.</p> + +<p>"What in the name"—Tom Smith paused to expectorate—"of all," (it is +needless to enumerate the name of the gods by which Tom swore) "yer +doing with them sapling pines?"</p> + +<p>"Mind yer business," Billy returned, panting under the last load. "Put +'em on the train; that's you're lookout; and here's the money to pay for +their ticket down State." Billy had found the money in an envelope tied +to the trees.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll—be—blowed." Tom spelled out the address and took the +money.</p> + +<p>"Where does these hail from?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"From the bungalow," Billy replied with unlooked-for promptness.</p> + +<p>Tom had nothing more to say. The bungalow people had the right of way on +the branch road. To and from the Junction the name of Drew was one to +conjure with.</p> + +<p>"I guess," Tom spat wide and far, "I guess she's aiming to decorate the +hull blamed town, back there, with greens. She don't mind slashing, she +don't."</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" Billy commanded. Tom turned to look at the boy, who in the +recent past had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span> his legitimate property, in common with others, to +kick and swear at.</p> + +<p>"Well by—" But he neither kicked nor swore at Billy. He relieved +himself by expressing his feelings to inanimate objects.</p> + +<p>Then Billy went up to the tavern. The dull pain was relaxing. The fine, +cold air was clearing his muddled wits, and he felt the milk of human +kindness reasserting itself in his new-born nature.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Tate," he asked boldly, stepping behind the screen to the men's +side. "Any letters here for Joyce?"</p> + +<p>Tate, bending over a cask of beer, raised himself, and gave Billy the +compliment of a long, hard stare.</p> + +<p>"Your voice changing, Billy?" he asked blandly. "Gosh! you've growed up +terrible suddint. What you doing home in the middle of the season?"</p> + +<p>"Got—sick," Billy muttered quite truthfully. "Any letters for Joyce?"</p> + +<p>"I don't keep letters on <i>this</i> side, son."</p> + +<p>Tate felt compelled to cater to what he recognized in Billy. "And +whoever heard of Joyce having letters? If you mean Gaston's mail she's +sent for, then I reply straight and honest, and you can tell her—I know +<i>my</i> business!</p> + +<p>"When Gaston calls for his mail, he gets it. When he wants Joyce to have +it—he's got to send order for same. The Government down to Washington,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span> +D.C., knowed who it was selecting when it chose Leon Tate for +Postmaster.</p> + +<p>"Billy, you've changed more in a few months than any one I ever seed. +You—" he hesitated, and grinned foolishly—"you feel—like a drink o' +anything?"</p> + +<p>The subtle compliment to his manhood thrilled Billy; but oh! if Tate had +only known to what that manhood was due.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," Billy replied, pulling his trousers up ecstatically. "I +don't want nothing to drink—to-day. But won't you please look and see +if there ain't a letter for Joyce—with her name to it?"</p> + +<p>Tate walked around the screen, followed by Billy, and began fumbling in +the row of slits that answered for letter-boxes.</p> + +<p>"Bet she's expecting word from Gaston."</p> + +<p>Tate moistened his dirty fingers, and shuffled the envelopes.</p> + +<p>"Here's five or six for Gaston hisself—one done up with a broad streak +of black round it. It's got a dreadful thick envelope! Well, if I ain't +blowed. Here <i>is</i> one for Joyce, and did you ever?" Billy was beside him +now. "Done in printing. Well, if that don't beat the Injuns. Mis' Joyce +Lauzoon—that's good, Lauzoon! No wonder it didn't strike me first; I +guess I read it Jude Lauzoon. Here, you want to tote it up the hill? +Shouldn't wonder if it was <i>from</i> Jude. If he's got over his sulks, and +finds no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span> one to do for him, it's just like him to wheedle his woman +into coming back and—beginning all over."</p> + +<p>Billy had grasped the letter with trembling hands. He was breathing +short and hard. Jared had evidently written the letter before talking to +Jude.</p> + +<p>"Do you know who that's from?" Tate eyed the boy suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"How should I?" Billy impudently turned away, "<i>I</i> ain't Postmaster, am +I?"</p> + +<p>Tate glared after the fleeing figure. He did not like the sense of +insecurity that pervaded St. Angé. If coming events cast their shadows +before, then Tate's future looked as if it might be one encompassed by +darkness.</p> + +<p>When Billy reached Gaston's shack a silence of desolation pervaded it. +Had all reputable St. Angé gone a-visiting?</p> + +<p>Jock's absence, and now Joyce's, gave Billy a creepy feeling such as a +cat must feel who has been deserted by them he trusted.</p> + +<p>But there had been no fire in Filmer's shack; on Gaston's hearth a +roaring, recently builded fire gave evidence of late companionship.</p> + +<p>"Joyce!" called Billy. There was no reply. Then the boy opened the door +leading into the lean-to. He had no reverence for retreats. If any door +opened to Billy's hand, Billy's feet carried him further.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span></p> + +<p>A fresh fire also blazed on the hearth of Gaston's sanctuary.</p> + +<p>All at once Billy's childhood rose supreme over his recently gained +moral viewpoint. Ever since he and the other St. Angé children had spied +upon Gaston as a stranger, Gaston's possessions had filled their souls +with curious wonder.</p> + +<p>Maggie was responsible for the story about a certain chest.</p> + +<p>"It's as big"—here Maggie had stretched truth to the snapping +point—"as this! And it's all thick with iron strips, and it has a lock +as big as my head. Once I saw him open it—I was in the next room—"</p> + +<p>"What was in it?" St. Angé youth whispered.</p> + +<p>"That's telling," Maggie had sniffed.</p> + +<p>But after all the earthly wealth that St. Angé greed then held in the +way of strings, old postage stamps, etc., had been laid at her feet, +Maggie revealed what she had <i>not</i> seen.</p> + +<p>"There's hundreds of dollars of gold. Umph! And candy +and—and"—Maggie's imagination in those days had been awakened by +Gaston's fairy-lore—"and a box tied up with a blood-stained cord! And a +gun, and a knife, with queer spots on it, and things that made me turn +sick as I looked!"</p> + +<p>As Billy viewed the chest now—somewhat dwindled as to size—the old +story moved him.</p> + +<p>There was no low curiosity of a thieving kind in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span> his feverish longing +to test the truth of that old story of Maggie's. Money had no lure for +him, candy he was surfeited with, but he'd chance much to get a glimpse +of the box tied with the blood-stained cord, and the knife with the +queer spots.</p> + +<p>Joyce had apparently gone on an errand. Billy stepped back into the +living room, then went to the wood-shed, and all around the house.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she had gone to the store by a back path—she had a love for +unfrequented places.</p> + +<p>Billy returned to the shack, laid the letter on the table of the outer +room, and tiptoed back to the lean-to.</p> + +<p>The particular kind of thrill he experienced then was delicious. Quite +different was it from the one that had driven him almost mad with fear +as he listened to Jude and Birkdale a time back. This was a thriller +that appealed to the familiar in him,—the impishness that died hard.</p> + +<p>He went across to the chest and leaned over it. The fire crackled—and +he leaped back! Then, loathing himself for his weakness, he knelt before +the treasure trove and tried the key in the lock.</p> + +<p>It turned easily, and the lid flew back; for the chest was filled to the +brim. Several small articles, like letters, pictures and books, fell +onto the floor; but Billy heeded them not. He was after bigger game. He +tossed the contents hurriedly out. Maggie had lied foully—not a blood +stain anywhere, nor knife,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span> string, nor box! Not even a gun, nor candy +nor gold dollars.</p> + +<p>Billy's contempt for Maggie at that moment was too deep for expression.</p> + +<p>Disappointedly he began to replace the poor trash that Gaston evidently +prized—the last thing to put back was a photograph—and from sheer +disappointment Billy was about to vent his disgust by tearing this in +two, when the face riveted his attention. It was a face that once seen +could never be forgotten. Pale and sweet it looked up at him. It was +part of the clean, better life that he was trying to lead. It made him, +all in the flash of an eye, see what a mean, low scamp he was to—</p> + +<p>The outer door of the shack opened and shut! Hurrying feet ran across +the floor of the living room, the lean-to door was flung back, and, all +palpitating and wide-eyed, Joyce confronted the boy.</p> + +<p>"You—Billy!" The glorious light died out of the big eyes, the pale, +expectant face set into lines of hopeless disappointment. "I thought—" +the mouth quivered pitifully, and Billy felt the added sting of +discovered shame.</p> + +<p>In a moment things steadied themselves, Joyce was mistress of the +situation.</p> + +<p>"What have you there?" she asked sharply. In the distraction she had not +noticed that the chest was open.</p> + +<p>"Her picture!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span></p> + +<p>"Her! Who?" Joyce came over to Billy, and looked at the face he held at +arm's length.</p> + +<p>Something numbed every sense but sight. That sense must convey the image +of the girl-face to Joyce's brain, and implant it there so effectually +that it could never be forgotten. And that very morning Joyce had seen +its counterpart on the highway!</p> + +<p>"Who—is—that?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"It's her up to the bungalow. They call her—Ruth. See! here it is writ +on the back—'Ruth'; her other name is Mis' Dale."</p> + +<p>The face was burned in now for all time; and the other faculties began +to throb into life.</p> + +<p>"Billy, where did you get that?"</p> + +<p>Then both boy and woman looked at the desecrated chest—and all was +told.</p> + +<p>Even while she was wildly pushing facts from her, Joyce saw, rising +before her, a completed structure of John Gaston's past.</p> + +<p>That exquisite girl was she who had held his love before—and she had +married the brother! Then Gaston's name was Dale. Oh! how vividly, +hideously clear it was. It seemed as if she had always known it. Even +the pictured face was as familiar now as Gaston's own. But Joyce's cold +lips were forming the words:</p> + +<p>"Billy you lie! You brought that over to show me. Tell me the truth." +She had him by the shoulder, and her fierce eyes frightened him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have told you the truth; so help me! There she is now; look!"</p> + +<p>Joyce turned as Billy pointed to the window.</p> + +<p>Outside, near the grave of <i>her</i> baby, stood Constance Drew and the girl +whose picture Billy held limply in his hand.</p> + +<p>Constance Drew was talking, but the stranger's sweet face was turned +toward the house, and Joyce saw that her eyes were full of tears.</p> + +<p>"Billy"; Joyce clutched the thin shoulder; "put that back! Now lock the +chest, and listen. If you ever tell a living soul what you have +done—Mr. Gaston will—kill you!"</p> + +<p>Billy obeyed with dumb fear.</p> + +<p>"Now, go out of the shed door. Go—don't let them see you!"</p> + +<p>Billy was gone, forgetting even to mention the letter lying on the +living-room table.</p> + +<p>Then Joyce waited. Out in front, they two—Miss Drew and that +girl—seemed rooted to the spot near the baby's grave.</p> + +<p>Feeling had departed from Joyce—she simply waited.</p> + +<p>Finally they, outside, turned. They walked directly to the house, and +knocked. They knocked again.</p> + +<p>"It's etiquette to go in, if the house is empty." It was Constance +Drew's voice. "St. Angé and New York have different ideas. Leave things +as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span> you find them, that's the only social commandment here." A hand was +on the latch.</p> + +<p>"Connie, I cannot! It does not seem decent." <i>That</i> voice sank deep into +the listening heart behind the barrier.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I'll write her a letter. I'm sorry I asked Jock Filmer to +take a verbal invitation. She might think—"</p> + +<p>"That's better, Connie, and while you and Ralph drive over to Hillcrest +this afternoon, I'll bring it here; perhaps she will be at home then."</p> + +<p>Joyce heard them turn. She watched them until the pine trees hid them; +then her heart beat feebly.</p> + +<p>Presently she went to the table, and there her eyes fell on the letter +Billy had brought. Quietly she took it up, opened it, and read it once, +twice, then the third time.</p> + +<p>Finally it dropped to her feet, and, with hands groping before her, +Joyce staggered to Gaston's deep chair and fell heavily into it.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Joyce did not faint, nor did she lose consciousness. A dull quiet +possessed her, and, had she tried to explain her state of mind, she +would have said she was thinking things out.</p> + +<p>In reality Destiny, or whatever we choose to call that power which +controls things that <i>must be</i>, had the woman completely in its grip. +Whatever she was to do would be done without any actual forethought or +preparation; she would realize that afterward as we all do when we have +passed through a crisis and have done better, perhaps, than our poor, +unassisted thought might have accomplished for us.</p> + +<p>Joyce was on the wheel, and the wheel was going at a tremendous speed. +There was no time for plotting or planning, with all the strength that +was in her, the girl was clinging, clinging to some unseen, central +truth, while she was being whirled through a still place crowded with +more or less distinguishable facts that she dared not close her eyes to.</p> + +<p>One cruel thing made her cringe in the deep chair. She was losing her +clear, sweet vision of that blessed night when Gaston and she had stood +transfigured! If only she could have held to that, all would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span> been +so simple—but with that fading glory gone she would be alone in a +barren, cheerless place to act not merely for herself, but for Gaston +also.</p> + +<p>She was no longer the beautiful woman in the golden dress; nor he the +man of the illumined face and pleading arms. No; she was old Jared's +wild little daughter; Jude Lauzoon's brutalized and dishonoured wife. +Nothing, nothing could do away with those awful facts.</p> + +<p>He, the man she loved—who thought in one wild hour that he loved +her—was not of her world nor of her kind. He had given, given, given to +her of his best and purest. God! how he had given. He had cast a glamour +over her crudeness by his power and goodness, but underneath +was—Jared's daughter and Jude's wife.</p> + +<p>If he took her courageously back to his world they, those others like, +yet unlike him, would see easily through the disguise, and would be +quick enough to make both him and her feel it.</p> + +<p>Without her, they would accept him. The past would be as if it had not +been; but if he brought her to them from his past, it would be like an +insult to them—an insult they would never forgive. And then—he would +have no life; no place. He would have to go on being kind and good to +her in a greater loneliness and desolation than St. Angé had ever known.</p> + +<p>She could not escape the responsibility of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span> part in his life. She +might keep on taking, taking, taking. On the other hand his old life had +come back to him, not even waiting for his choice.</p> + +<p>The woman who had misunderstood, had failed him in that hour of his +need, had been sent by an all-powerful Force into the heart of the +Northern Solitude to reclaim him, now that he had accomplished that +which he had set himself to do.</p> + +<p>Every barrier was removed. Even Death had been kind to that sweet, pale +girl—she was ready to perform the glorious act of returning Gaston's +own to him, if only she, Joyce, would let go her selfish, ignoble hold.</p> + +<p>Now, if she were as noble as Gaston had striven to make her, there was +but one thing to do. Go to that woman up at the bungalow, tell her all +that she did <i>not</i> know. All about the heavy penalty weakness had paid +for the crime committed by another. Tell of the splendid expiation and +the hard-won victory, and then—let go her hold and, in Love's supreme +renunciation, prove her worthiness to what God withheld.</p> + +<p>The little living room of Gaston's shack was the battle-ground of +Joyce's soul-conflict that winter day.</p> + +<p>Pale and rigid, she crouched in the deep chair, her head buried on the +arm where so often his dear hand had lain.</p> + +<p>No; she could not! She would not! Then after a moment—"I must! or in +all the future I shall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span> hate myself." Then she grew calmer, and +instinctively she began to plan about—going. She would leave both fires +ready to light—he might come now at any time.</p> + +<p>The letter Billy had brought had not for a moment deceived her. She +counted it now as but one of the links in the chain that was dragging +her away from Gaston.</p> + +<p>It was either Jude or her father who had sent the note. Well, it did not +matter, it was the best possible escape that could have been conceived.</p> + +<p>Then her plans ran on. She would pack her own pretty things—out of +sight! They must not confuse, or call for pity. There would be no note. +She, that woman at the bungalow would explain, and would tell him that +there could be no reconsideration, for she, Joyce, had gone to +her—husband!</p> + +<p>At that point Joyce sprang up, and her eyes blazed feverishly.</p> + +<p>No; she was going to do no such thing. She was going to wait just where +she was with folded hands and eager love. When Gaston came he should +decide things. She would not interfere with her future. She would hide +nothing; neither would she disclose anything. Why should she strangle +her own life, with the knowledge she had neither sought nor desired?</p> + +<p>The brilliant afternoon sun crept toward the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span> west, and it shone into +the side window and through the screen of splendid fuchsias which +clambered from sill to top of casement.</p> + +<p>Gaston might come—now! Perhaps he had failed to locate Jude, and would +return to consider. Well, then, she could put him on Jude's trail. +Gaston, not she, should meet the "woodsman" in Lola Laval's deserted +house.</p> + +<p>In the sudden up-springing of this hope, Joyce quite forgot the face of +the woman at the bungalow.</p> + +<p>A freakish yearning to reproduce the one crowning moment of her life +possessed the girl.</p> + +<p>She would build a great fire upon the hearth, and make the room +beautiful. She would don—the yellow gown, and, if he came, he should +find her as he had left her.</p> + +<p>If he still loved her—and she saw it in his eyes—then nothing, nothing +should part them.</p> + +<p>She would go with him to Lola's house and together they would finish the +dreary search. She would beg him never to return to St. Angé. What did +the world matter, the people of the world? Nothing mattered but him and +her.</p> + +<p>So Joyce flew to the bidding of her mad fancy. She drew the shades and +flung on log after log. She swept and dusted the room. Put Gaston's +slippers and house-coat close to the warmth. She lighted the lamp to +keep up the delusion, then stole to her room and made ready.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span></p> + +<p>Again, as the garments of the daily task fell from her, Joyce felt the +sordidness and fearsomeness depart.</p> + +<p>The lovely hair lent itself to the pretty design, and the golden gown +transfigured the wearer.</p> + +<p>She felt sure Gaston was coming. The premonition grew and grew. He would +never leave her to bear the Christmas alone. He might return later to +search for Jude but, remembering her in the shack, he would come to her +for that one, holy day.</p> + +<p>He would surprise her. And she?—why, she would surprise him.</p> + +<p>How he would laugh and take her in his arms!—for it was all clear ahead +of them now. She would lead him to Jude!</p> + +<p>A knock at the outer door startled her. She was about to leave her +bedchamber complete and beautiful—but the summons stayed the little +satin-shod feet, and the colour left the quivering face.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Gaston had knocked to keep up the conceit of his home-coming +surprise!</p> + +<p>Tiptoeing across the living room, Joyce took her stand by the table and +called timidly, expectantly and awesomely:</p> + +<p>"Come."</p> + +<p>The latch lifted and some one pressed against the door, and then, in +walked Ruth Dale.</p> + +<p>She wore the heavy crimson cloak of Constance's, the fur-trimmed hood of +which encircled her face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span></p> + +<p>Coming from the outer sunlight into the lamp-lighted room, Ruth Dale +stood for a moment, dazzled and confused. Then her grave, kindly eyes +were riveted upon the splendid, straight young form confronting her.</p> + +<p>Never in her life had Ruth Dale been so utterly confounded and taken +aback. For a full moment the two faced each other in solemn silence. It +was Joyce who spoke.</p> + +<p>"I heard you say you were coming. I was in when you and Miss Drew called +before, but I wasn't ready for company then. Won't you sit down?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale sank into the nearest chair from sheer helplessness.</p> + +<p>"Please take off your cloak. The room is very warm."</p> + +<p>It was stifling, and Ruth Dale unfastened and let fall the heavy +fur-lined wrap.</p> + +<p>Joyce took Gaston's chair. The contact seemed to strengthen her.</p> + +<p>"Miss Drew—has—sent—this note." Ruth held it out helplessly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I know what is in it; but I cannot come. I am going away." +The proffered note fluttered to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Going away?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." The word was almost agonizing in its intensity. "Yes!"</p> + +<p>"Please—Mrs. Lauzoon," Ruth Dale stammered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span> the name; "please may I +hear where you are going? My friends are so interested in you. I—I—am +sorry for you. We could not bear to have you lonely and sad here—on +Christmas—but if you are going away to be—happy, we will all be so +glad."</p> + +<p>"Please tell Mr. Drew," Joyce clutched the arms of the chair, and Ruth +Dale continued to stare helplessly at the exquisite beauty of this +mountain girl, "tell Mr. Drew—I am—going—to my husband."</p> + +<p>"Your husband!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he will be so glad, Mr. Drew will. He has always been so—good. +Tell him, please—and I think he will understand—that he made it +possible for me—to do this—thing."</p> + +<p>The human agony contained in these words carried all before it. Ruth +Dale got up from her chair, and almost ran across the room to Joyce's +side. She leaned over her and a wave of pity seemed to bear the two +women along to a point where words—words from the heart—were possible.</p> + +<p>"I—I have heard your story, dear. Ralph Drew is such a kind +<i>gentleman</i>, and he—we, all of us—pity you from the bottom of our +hearts. Believe me, you are doing the right thing, hard and cruel as it +may seem now. When God sets you free—then alone can you really be free. +I think every good woman knows this. Man can only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</a></span> give freedom within +limitations. I know I am right. Have you heard from—your husband?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He has sent for me."</p> + +<p>"Have you any message to leave? I will tell Mr. Drew anything you care +to entrust to me—he will deliver the message to—any one."</p> + +<p>"Please—sit down." Joyce motioned stiffly to a chair across the table. +"I have a great deal to say to you."</p> + +<p>Ruth obeyed with a dull foreboding in her heart. She felt constrained +and awkward. The unusual and expensive gown Joyce wore acted as an +irritant upon her, now that she considered it. It seemed so vulgar, so +theatrical for the girl to deck herself in this fashion; and the very +gown itself spoke volumes against any such lofty ideals as Ralph Drew +had depicted in the woman. Evidently Joyce was expecting Gaston back; +the statement as to her going to her husband was either false, or a +subterfuge.</p> + +<p>With Ruth Dale's discomfort, too, was mingled a fear that Gaston might +return and find her there. From Drew's description of Gaston she knew he +was a person above the ordinary St. Angé type, and might naturally, and +rightly, resent her visit. But Joyce, more mistress of the situation +than the other knew, was feeling her way through the densest thicket of +trouble that had ever surrounded her. Here was her chance, in +woman-fashion, to test that strange double code of honour about which +Gaston had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</a></span> spoken, and Drew had hinted. Here, woman to woman, she could +question and probe, and so have clearer vision.</p> + +<p>This woman visitor was from his world. She was kind and was, perhaps, +the best that existed down beyond the Southern Solitude. If she bore the +test, then Joyce would relinquish her rights absolutely—but only after +that woman knew why she did so.</p> + +<p>"I—I suppose you think I have been a very bad woman?" Joyce turned sad, +yet childlike eyes upon her companion.</p> + +<p>"I think you have acted unwisely." Ruth Dale crimsoned under the steady +glance. "You see, Mr. Drew has always had a deep interest in you. His +sister and I heard about you long before we came up here. He says you +had grave provocation. What you have done was done—in ignorance. It +would only be sin—after you knew the difference."</p> + +<p>"I see. But what—what would you think about Mr. Gaston?"</p> + +<p>The colour died from Ruth's face, only to return more vivid.</p> + +<p>"I think he has treated you—shamefully. He knew how such things are +viewed. He took advantage of your weakness and innocence. I hate to say +this to you—but I have no two opinions about such things. I think this +Mr. Gaston must be a very wicked man."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">322</a></span></p> + +<p>A sudden resolve had sprung up in Ruth's mind. If she could rescue this +poor, ignorant girl from the toils of the man who had misled her, she +would befriend her. She might even save her from the depraved husband +who was now her only apparent safety. The girl was lovely beyond +expression. It would be a splendid thing to do.</p> + +<p>With this in sight, her interference took on an appearance of dignified +philanthropy.</p> + +<p>"Will you let me help you?" she asked wistfully; "be your friend? I have +money; I would love to do what I can. I have deep sympathy with you +and—I am very lonely and sad myself. I have recently lost my husband—I +have no one."</p> + +<p>Joyce continued to hold her visitor with that solemn, intense glance.</p> + +<p>"You loved your—husband—very much?" Ruth winced. She could hardly +resent the curiosity, but she stiffened.</p> + +<p>"Of course. But if I had not, I should have been—lonely and sad. It is +a relationship that cannot be dissolved either by death or in any way +without causing pain and a deep sense of loss."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it can." Joyce spoke rapidly. "The loss may mean—life to you. +It may take fear away and a hideous loathing. It may let you be +yourself, the self that can breathe and learn to love goodness."</p> + +<p>This outburst surprised and confused Ruth Dale.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">323</a></span> The expression of face, +voice and language swept away the sense of unreality and detachment. +Here was a vital trouble. A tangible human call. It might be that she, +instead of Ralph Drew or Constance, or any other person, might touch and +rescue this girl who was finding herself among the ruins of her life.</p> + +<p>Ruth Dale was no common egotist, but her charm and magnetism had often +taken her close to others' needs, and she was eager, always, to answer +any demand made upon her.</p> + +<p>"Joyce," she said softly, "please let me call you that. You see, by that +name I have always heard you called, and Constance Drew and I felt we +knew you before we saw you. I believe you have suffered horribly. All +women suffer in an unhappy marriage—but you suffered doubly because you +have always been capable of better things, perhaps, than you have ever +had. You do not mind my speaking very plainly?"</p> + +<p>"No. I want you to."</p> + +<p>"But you cannot find happiness—I know I am right about this—by taking +from life what does not really belong to you. Do you see what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"No, but go on; I may see soon." The quiet face opposite made Ruth Dale +more and more uncomfortable. She had, for a moment, forgotten the +possibility of Gaston's return; the yellow gown was losing its +irritating power; she truly had a great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">324</a></span> and consuming desire to be of +service to this woman who was following her words with feverish +intensity, but she was ill at ease as she proceeded.</p> + +<p>"If we have bungled our lives, made grave mistakes, it's better to abide +by them courageously than defy—well, the accepted laws.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you ought not go back to your husband; I would not dare decide +that; Ralph Drew would know, but this I know, you should not stay here. +I will befriend you, Joyce, in whatever other course you choose. Please +let me help you; it would help me."</p> + +<p>She stretched her pretty, pleading hands across the table, and her eyes +were full of tears. She felt old, and worldly-wise beside this mountain +girl, and she was adrift on the alluring sea of personal service.</p> + +<p>Joyce took no heed of the waiting hands, the inspired face held her.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see, Joyce, even if this is love that controls you, you would +not want it to be selfish?"</p> + +<p>"No. Oh! No."</p> + +<p>"What do you know of this man Gaston, really? Mr. Drew says he is quite +different from the people hereabout. You do not even know the true man, +his name, nor antecedents. The time may come when he will return to his +former life, whatever it was; can you not see how you would—interfere +with such a plan? If he left you—what would he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">325</a></span> leave you to? And if he +were one of a thousand and took you with him—what then? In either case +it would mean your unhappiness and his—shame."</p> + +<p>Joyce winced, and Ruth Dale saw the hands clutch the arms of the chair. +She felt that she was making an impression, and her ardour grew.</p> + +<p>"I do not know Gaston," she went on, "but I do know the world; and for +women placed as you are, Joyce, there is no alternative. Your very love +should urge you to accept the situation, hard as it may seem."</p> + +<p>"It does." For a moment the lovely head drooped and the white lids +quivered over the pain-filled eyes.</p> + +<p>"No matter how—good a man—this Mr. Gaston has been to you—he knew the +price you would have to pay some day. He has been either wilfully +weak—or worse. A man takes a mean advantage of a woman in all such +matters. It is not a question of right or wrong altogether—it isn't +fair.</p> + +<p>"I have burned over such things ever since I was a girl—I am ready now +to prove to you my desire to help you. Will you let me, Joyce?"</p> + +<p>"You are very, very good. I can see you are better and kinder than any +other woman I ever knew. I believe all that you say is true. If I did +not think that, I could not do what I am going to do."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">326</a></span></p> + +<p>Joyce spoke very quietly, very simply. She was not even confused when +she poured out the deepest secrets of her heart. She was worn and spent; +loneliness, conflict and soul-torture had torn down all her defenses.</p> + +<p>"You are right in all that you have said—but you don't know all!" The +flame rose in the pallid face; "but if you did, the truth of what you +have said would be all the deeper.</p> + +<p>"My love has been a selfish one because I never thought it lay in my +power to do anything for—him. I see there is something now that I can +do—and I mean to do it so thoroughly that even his goodness cannot +prevent. He is so very, very good; oh! if you could only know him as I +know him!</p> + +<p>"I am—going to my husband, then—that will finish it! But I must tell +you something—first."</p> + +<p>Joyce caught her breath, and she sat up straight and rigid.</p> + +<p>"I suppose in your life you could not believe that a man like Mr. Gaston +could be just good to me—and nothing else?"</p> + +<p>Woman looked at woman. The world's woman noted the beauty and tender +grace of the unworldly woman, and her eyes fell.</p> + +<p>"It would be difficult to believe that. I have heard of such cases—I +never knew one—and for that very reason of unbelief, it does not +greatly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">327</a></span> matter—the outcome would be the same—for the woman and the +man."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but they would know, and God would know; might that not be +enough?"</p> + +<p>"No. Believe me—it would not be enough."</p> + +<p>"Do you believe me when I tell you that, in this case, it is true?"</p> + +<p>Again the two held each other in a long challenge. Then:</p> + +<p>"Joyce, as God hears me, I <i>do</i> believe you. Now I am more eager than +ever to be your friend."</p> + +<p>"You—cannot be mine—but you must be his!"</p> + +<p>"His?" Ruth started back.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I do know—something of his life. He belonged—to your world. He +had a great, a terrible trouble—but through it all he saw the stars, +not the mud, and he came out of it—a strong, tender, brave man."</p> + +<p>A dull sob shook the low, sweet voice.</p> + +<p>"All the shameful sorrow served as a purpose to make him noble—and +splendid; but his soul was sad and hurt. He never blamed any one, though +there were others who should have suffered more than he. He just gave +himself up to the chance of gaining good out of all the evil. Then he +came here—to rest. But he could not help being kind and helpful. He +found—me. He taught me, he gave me hope and showed me—how to live. Oh! +you can never understand. You have always had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">328</a></span> life—I never had it +until he took the blindness from me.</p> + +<p>"He tried to do the best for me—he wanted me to marry Jude Lauzoon. He +tried to make Jude good, too—but that was more than even <i>he</i> could +accomplish. Then I'm—afraid I cannot tell you—this it might—soil your +soul."</p> + +<p>"Go on." Ruth spoke hoarsely. She was spellbound and a deathly coldness +crept over her.</p> + +<p>"Well, Jude dragged all of me down, down, down—all of me but the part +that—Mr. Gaston had made. That part clung to him as if he were its +God."</p> + +<p>"I see, I see. Go on!"</p> + +<p>"It was all low—and evil, that life with Jude, except the poor baby. +That had a soul, too, but the dreadful body could not hold it. It had to +go—and oh! I am so glad.</p> + +<p>"Then, in all the world, there was nowhere for me to go but—here. I +did not mean to fling myself upon him. I came to save him. There was +money Jude had—oh! it doesn't matter, but anyway, things happened, and +I was left—on Mr. Gaston's mercy.</p> + +<p>"I had only one idea of men—then. You see Jude had almost made a beast +of me, too." The great eyes shone until they burned into Ruth Dale's +brain.</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Gaston rose high and far above my low<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">329</a></span> fear and thought. How I +hated myself then for daring to judge him by—Jude. No, he made a clean, +holy place for me to live in. He saw no other way to help me—perhaps he +did not look far enough in the future, it did not matter—but he never +came down from his high place except to make me better by his heavenly +goodness.</p> + +<p>"After a while it grew easy—after I comprehended his thought for +me—and we were very happy—just as we might have been had we been +brother and sister. I grew to think his own kind would know and +understand how impossible it would be for him to be other than what he +was; and for what the lower people thought I had no care. I was—just +happy!</p> + +<p>"But something happened. Perhaps being near such goodness made me a +little better; and a great happiness and lack of fear helped—I think I +got nearer to his high place. He loved to give me pretty things. He gave +me this"—the fumbling fingers touched the yellow gown; "and I suppose I +looked—different, and then he saw that I had—changed and—and +he—loved me! I know he loved me; women can tell. I could not be wrong +about that. You see I had always loved him—and had once hungered so for +his love that when it came I could not be deceived. +It—was—that—last—night he told me—about—the past! Then he went +away to find Jude—to get Jude to set me free—and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">330</a></span> we were—going +to—be—" the words trailed into a faint moan. "But I see, I see! Even +if it had come out right—I'd always be, for all his goodness, old Jared +Birkdale's daughter, and Jude Lauzoon's wife. That, he would have to +bear and suffer for me—and his world would never forgive him—nor me!</p> + +<p>"No; I do love him too well for that. I give him back to his place, and +you."</p> + +<p>"To me?" And Ruth Dale, haggard and trembling, came slowly around the +table, clinging to it for support. When she reached Joyce, she put out +cold, groping hands and clutched her by the shoulders.</p> + +<p>"You—give him back to me—why? Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"John Gaston is—John Dale. It has all come to me so suddenly, I cannot +explain, but there is no mistake. I am going to Jude Lauzoon, so that +neither you nor he can keep me—from what alone is mine; but be—good to +him—or God will never forgive you! Please go now. I must hurry. +Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Joyce!" Ruth Dale was crouching at her feet.</p> + +<p>"I am—so tired." A long sigh broke from Joyce's lips. "Please do not +make it harder. It <i>must</i> be; and I have much to do."</p> + +<p>"But—there may be some mistake." A horrible fear shook Ruth Dale. Joyce +rose and confronted the woman who knelt on the floor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">331</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you believe there is?" she flung the question madly. "Do you?" There +was no faltering, only a stern command.</p> + +<p>"No," shuddered Ruth Dale.</p> + +<p>"Then please, go. My part is all—over! But—be—oh! be heavenly good to +him."</p> + +<p>Blinded and staggering under the blow, Ruth Dale got to her feet and +went from the house. The outer cold steadied her somewhat, but when, a +half-hour later, she entered Ralph Drew's study, the man by the fire +gazed upon her as if she were a stranger.</p> + +<p>"What has happened?" he asked affrightedly, springing to her side.</p> + +<p>She let him take her icy hands in his. "I've found—John!" she gasped +hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"John—who? Sit down, Ruth. You have had a terrible fright." He put her +firmly, but gently in his own arm-chair. "Tell me all about it," he +urged quietly.</p> + +<p>"John Dale. Philip's brother."</p> + +<p>"In heaven's name, where!"</p> + +<p>"Up at Gaston's shack. Gaston—is—John Dale."</p> + +<p>Ralph drew back and repeated dully:</p> + +<p>"Gaston—is John Dale? Gaston—is John Dale?" Presently the wonder +became affirmation. "Yes," he almost groaned, "Gaston is—John Dale."</p> + +<p>A lurking familiarity of feature gained power in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">332</a></span> Drew's memory of +Gaston. It linked itself into other details. He had always known Gaston +had a hidden cause for being in St. Angé. Yes; he <i>was</i> John Dale.</p> + +<p>For Drew to become convinced was for him to act upon the impulse of his +warm heart.</p> + +<p>"Ruth, dear," he whispered, "make yourself comfortable. I will go to +him."</p> + +<p>Then Ruth raised her hands to hold him back. Her voice was deep and +awed.</p> + +<p>"No!" she commanded "neither you nor I, Ralph, is fit to enter—there. A +miracle has been performed up among the pines. A man and woman have been +created—that we are not worthy to—touch!"</p> + +<p>"Ruth what madness is this? What has occurred? You must explain to me +clearly."</p> + +<p>Then the story rushed out in a flood. Tears checked it at times; a +hysterical laugh now and again threatened; but Drew controlled the +excitement by word and touch.</p> + +<p>"And now," Ruth was panting and exhausted; "she, that—wonderful woman, +has given him back—to me. Can't you see? She loves the soul of him—the +great, strong man of him—but I—why even <i>now</i>, I cannot forget the +evil thing—that befell—the <i>body</i> of him while he was—in—"</p> + +<p>"Ruth! You shall not so degrade yourself."</p> + +<p>"Yes! Yes! it is quite true. That is what I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">333</a></span> meant. I am not fit to +touch—her nor him, and yet I shall shudder all my life—when I +remember."</p> + +<p>Drew saw that reason was tottering in Ruth.</p> + +<p>"He may—not—wish—to claim you, dear," he comforted.</p> + +<p>"But he must; he must! Now that she is going to her own; there is +nothing left for me to do—but to go to mine."</p> + +<p>"This can go no further, Ruth." Drew rose hastily. "I am going to send +Aunt Sally to you, and I must think things out. Calm yourself, dear. In +all such times as these, a greater power than is in us, controls and +gives strength. Let go—Ruth! Let the Power that is, take you in its +keeping."</p> + +<p>He touched her cold face with reassuring sympathy, and then went to find +Miss Sally.</p> + +<p>His next impulse was to rush to Gaston's shack; his second thought +restrained him. If Gaston had returned, he would rightfully resent any +outside interference with this crucial time of his life. If Joyce were +decided in the course she had laid out for herself—how dared he, how +could he, divert her from it without involving them all in a deeper +perplexity?</p> + +<p>So Drew resigned <i>himself</i> to the Power that is.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">334</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>It was Billy Falstar who broke upon Joyce's solitude after Ruth Dale had +left her.</p> + +<p>Worn beyond the point where conscious suffering held strong part, Joyce +was completing her final arrangements mechanically and laboriously when +Billy presented himself.</p> + +<p>"Say, Joyce," the boy faltered, standing in the doorway and kicking his +heels together, "I'm blamed sorry I done that sneak job."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter much, Billy. But now that you are here, will you help +me pack food and things? I'm going—away."</p> + +<p>Then Billy recalled the letter, and fear rose sharply to the fore.</p> + +<p>"You ain't going to go—no such thing!" he cried, coming in and slamming +the door behind him. "That's a—that's a fake letter."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. It doesn't make any difference. But tell me, Billy, is it +father or Jude down at the Laval place?"</p> + +<p>Billy was stricken with surprise.</p> + +<p>"How d' yer know?" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"Oh! it was all so foolish!" she answered smiling feebly. "If he—if Mr. +Gaston had sent it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">335</a></span> don't you see that there would have been no need of +this mystery? But is it Jude or father, Billy?"</p> + +<p>"It's old Birkdale," Billy burst out, and then between fear and relief +he related what had happened in the hut in the woods.</p> + +<p>"Then it's a longer way I must go." Joyce sighed wearily. "Do you think +I could get there—walking, Billy?"</p> + +<p>The boy eyed her as if she had gone crazy.</p> + +<p>"'Course not. But what you want to go for, anyway?"</p> + +<p>Joyce came close to him. He seemed the only human thing left for her to +cling to, the only one to call upon in her sore need.</p> + +<p>"Billy, I'm going to Jude because—he's mine, and I belong to him—and +it never pays in this world to take what doesn't belong to you."</p> + +<p>"But—Gaston—you belong to him—and I want—you—to have him!" Billy +felt a mad inclination to cry, but struggled against it.</p> + +<p>"No, I never belonged to him, Billy. Believe that all your life—it will +make a better man of you. He was heavenly good to me because he was +sorry for me—and wanted to see me happy. But happiness doesn't +come—that way. Sometimes it seems as if it did—sometimes it seems as +if God meant it so—perhaps He did—but the people out—in the +world—the people that should have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">336</a></span> known how—the people who had time +and money and learning, they've muddled things so—that we can't even +see what God meant for right or wrong.</p> + +<p>"Why, Billy, they punish the wrong people, and then when they find +out—they do not know the way to set it straight; but it doesn't matter, +Billy, we have to go on, on, on, the best we can!"</p> + +<p>Joyce put her arms around the boy, and bent her head on his thin, +shaking shoulder.</p> + +<p>She no longer wore the yellow gown. She was plain, commonplace Joyce, +familiar to Billy's unregenerated youth.</p> + +<p>But Billy did not fail her. Awkwardly, but with wonderful understanding, +he put his arms around her, and whispered:</p> + +<p>"I just wisht, Joyce, I was God for a minute—and it would all be right +or I'd be——"</p> + +<p>"Billy!"</p> + +<p>"I'd be gol-swizzled," Billy tamely ended.</p> + +<p>He could not master details. He only knew something had happened. Joyce +was going to leave Gaston and go to Jude, and he, Billy, must make the +way easy, and stand by her as a gentleman should. He patted her arm +reassuringly as he thought it out.</p> + +<p>"It's 'most night," he said; "I'll hitch up old Tate's mare to the sled. +He won't know! It's going to be a big night down to the Black Cat. I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">337</a></span> +drive you over to Jude—and wait for yer, if yer say so. If yer don't, +then I'll cut back—and I don't care after that."</p> + +<p>"Billy!"</p> + +<p>"When will you be ready?"</p> + +<p>Joyce glanced at the clock.</p> + +<p>"It's after six now. I'll be ready when you get back, Billy!"</p> + +<p>A moment later Billy had set forth in the black coldness.</p> + +<p>It was eight o'clock that evening when the revellers at the Black Cat +heard a crunching of the snow as a sled rapidly passed the tavern.</p> + +<p>Leon Tate was mixing drinks, with a practised and obliging hand, when +the unaccustomed sound struck his ear; he paused, but when the +unappreciative driver passed, he lost interest.</p> + +<p>"Thought some one was coming?" Tom Smith suggested.</p> + +<p>"No; going," Murphy, the engineer, slowly answered.</p> + +<p>"Where to, do you suppose?" asked Smith. Any new topic of conversation +early in the evening was welcome.</p> + +<p>"Like as not," Tate came forward with his brew, "like as not it's them +folks up to the bungerler. I heard Mr. Drew had a cutter an' horse over +from Hillcrest; and going out nights skylarking seems part of his +religion."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">338</a></span></p> + +<p>"Religion!" sniffed Smith; "they're a rum lot, all right!"</p> + +<p>"I wish they was!" Tate put in gloomily, but grinned as the others +laughed.</p> + +<p>"It's a durned shame to take an animile out nights for fun," Murphy +interrupted; "I'd hate to run even the injine 'less 'twas important. +Gosh! Tate, you must have let your hand slip when you mixed this."</p> + +<p>"Christmas comes but once a year." Tate beamed radiantly. It was good to +see that his Black Cat still had charms to compete successfully with the +bungalow.</p> + +<p>"That piece up to the minister's," Smith glowed inwardly and outwardly, +"is the nervy one, all right," he remarked.</p> + +<p>"Which one?" asked Tate; "the fixture or the transient?"</p> + +<p>"The steady. I was setting here musing late this afternoon, when in she +come over there," Tom indicated the woman's side of the screen; "and +first thing I knowed if she wasn't standing on a cracker-box on her +side, and a-looking <i>over</i> the screen."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be—" Tate stood straighter.</p> + +<p>"'Smith,' says the young woman, 'what does Mr. Tate have screens for?' +Then, with her blamed, sassy little nose all crinkled up; 'my! how it +does smell. I should think if Mr. Tate had <i>anything</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">339</a></span> he'd have an +air-tight and smell-proof partition.'"</p> + +<p>A roar greeted this.</p> + +<p>"Like as not." Tate was crimson, "the sentiments you're rehashing ain't +got constitootion enough, Smith, to stand much more airing. Something's +got to be done in this here place to set matters on a proper footing. +You let a woman come nosing around where she don't belong, specially one +with a loose-jointed tongue, and there's hell to pay. Our women is +getting heady. You men will learn too late, maybe, that you'd better put +the screw on while there's something to hold to."</p> + +<p>"It's sapping the juice, some." Murphy was beginning to relax. "But, +Lord! have you seen the duds for the kids, and the costumes for the +women? Mis' Falster had me in to show off hers. Every woman's to have a +new frock for the jamboree Christmas night; not to mention the trappings +for the kids. The old lady up to the bungerler give 'em."</p> + +<p>Tate scowled.</p> + +<p>Just then the door opened and Jock Filmer entered. He looked spent and +haggard; and his handsome, careless face did not wear its usual happy +smile.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" he said, slamming the door after him, and walking up to the +stove. "I thought I saw your Brown Betty kiting over toward the north, +Tate. I was afraid something had happened."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">340</a></span></p> + +<p>"No; Brown Betty's safe in the barn." Tate's gloom passed as he greeted +Jock. "The Reverend's got a new horse. What'll you have, Filmer?"</p> + +<p>"Plain soda," Jock replied and walked up to the bar.</p> + +<p>Tate almost reeled under the blow.</p> + +<p>"Plain—thunder!" he gasped, thinking Jock was joking. But Filmer fixed +him with a mirthless stare.</p> + +<p>"Plain soda, and no monkeying with it."</p> + +<p>The air became electrical.</p> + +<p>"Been away?" Murphy tried to break the spell.</p> + +<p>"Over to Hillcrest—on business." Jock was gulping down the soda. His +throat was dry and burning; and the unaccustomed beverage went against +all his desire. "I'm off—to-morrow—for a spell. Won't you join me in a +drink, boys?"</p> + +<p>The invitation was accepted with alacrity, and Smith asked cordially:</p> + +<p>"Where are you bound to, Filmer?"</p> + +<p>"Got a job?" Tate gave each man his choice of drinks and looked +dubiously at the treater.</p> + +<p>"What'll you have now, Filmer?" he asked, "maybe plain water?"</p> + +<p>Jock's eyes grew glassy.</p> + +<p>"No," he muttered; "make it another soda, Tate. Yes; I've got a job. +Such a thundering big one that it's going to take about all the nerve +I've got lying around loose."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">341</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bossing—maybe?" Tate cast a keen glance upon Filmer. Jock returned the +look. The gleam had departed from his eyes—he was Tate's master now.</p> + +<p>"That's about the size of it," he answered. "Bossing, and it's going to +be a go, or you'll never see me again. Here's to you!"</p> + +<p>Something of the old dash returned as Jock held his soda aloft.</p> + +<p>"Anything happened up to Camp 7?" Tate was uneasy.</p> + +<p>"Lord! It's further back than 7." Filmer set his glass down. "It's a new +cut—started late, but it's worth trying. So long!"</p> + +<p>The others stared after him.</p> + +<p>When the door had closed upon the tall, swinging figure, the company +turned upon themselves.</p> + +<p>"Things are going to—" Tate did not designate the locality. After all, +it was needless for him to go into particulars.</p> + +<p>An hour later Jock, sitting in his own shack before the warm fire, eyed +with satisfaction the preparations for his journey. They consisted of +certain comforts in the way of sleeping-bag, provisions, gun and a bag +of necessary clothing; and a general mass of débris, in the form of +smashed bottles and jugs. A vile smell of liquor filled the room, and +there were little streams of fluid running down any available slope +leading away from the rubbish.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">342</a></span> Jock, sitting before the fire, his long +legs stretched out and his hands clasped behind his head, eyed these +rivulets in a dazed, helpless way, while the foul odour made him half +mad with longing. His face was terrible to see, and his form was rigid.</p> + +<p>A knock on the outer door made no impression upon him, but a second, +louder, more insistent one brought a, "Why in thunder don't you come in, +and stop your infernal racket?" from his overwrought nerves.</p> + +<p>Drew entered. His fur coat had snow flakes on it. A coming storm had +sent its messengers.</p> + +<p>For a moment Filmer looked at his visitor with unseeing eyes, then his +consciousness travelled back from its far place, and a soft welcome +spread over the drawn face. So glad was he to see Drew that he forgot to +be patronizing. He was weakly overjoyed.</p> + +<p>Drew, with a keen, comprehensive glance, took in the scene and something +of what it meant. He smiled kindly, and pulled a chair up before the +hearth.</p> + +<p>"Been away Filmer, or going?" he asked as he sat down and flung off his +coat and fur hat.</p> + +<p>"Both," Filmer returned, and although his voice was hard and strained, +Drew detected a welcome to him in the tone.</p> + +<p>"I wanted you up at the bungalow," he said quietly; "the girls cannot +get along without you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">343</a></span> It's Christmas Eve," he added quietly, +"to-morrow's the big day, you know."</p> + +<p>"I shan't be here." The words came harshly. "See here, Drew," Jock flung +himself about and leaned toward his guest, his long, thin hands clasped +closely and outstretched. "I wanted you to-night more than any one, but +God, could know. I couldn't come to you—but you've come to me at the +right moment."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that, Filmer."</p> + +<p>"I'm not much of a hand for holding back what I want to give out," Jock +rushed on, "and I ain't much of an orator. What I'm going to tell you, +Drew, has been corked up for over ten years—it's ripe for opening—will +you share it?"</p> + +<p>"Can you ask that, Filmer?" The two men looked steadily at each other.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of Jasper Filmer on the Pacific Coast?" Jock asked +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Yes; he died a week ago. The papers were full of it. We noticed the +name—" Drew bent forward—"and wondered."</p> + +<p>"I'm his son. There ain't much to tell. It's a common enough yarn. The +world's full of the like. It's only when you tackle the separate ones +that they seem to differ. The old man—made himself. That kind is either +hard as nails or soft as mush. My governor had the iron in his. He +banked everything on—me—and I wasn't up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">344</a></span> to the expectation. I was +made out of the odds and ends that were left out of his +constitution—and we didn't get on. My mother—" Jock pulled himself +together; "she was the sort those self-made men generally hanker after, +all lady, and pretty and dainty. You know the kind?"</p> + +<p>Drew nodded. His face was ashen.</p> + +<p>"I wish you could have seen her, Drew, I've seen a good many, but none, +no, not <i>one</i>, who ever came up to her for softness, and fetching ways. +Lord! how I loved her. The old man might have known that if I could have +gone straight I'd have done it for—mother. She never lost faith in me. +Every time I went wrong—she just stopped singing for a time." Filmer +gulped. "Then when I pulled myself together, after a while she'd begin +again, singing as she went about, and smiling and laughing a laugh that +keeps ringing, even now.</p> + +<p>"At last the governor got tired of the lapses. I don't blame him; just +remember that. He thought if I went off and nibbled—what is it—husks? +that I'd come around. He didn't understand that it was the <i>motive +power</i> that was lacking in me.</p> + +<p>"Good God, Drew! I've been hungry and cold and homesick until I've +thought death was the next step; but I couldn't <i>stick</i> to anything long +enough to make good. Such men as my father never know what +hell-suffering men like me go through—before they fall, and fall, and +fall!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">345</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wrote—lies, home. I wanted to keep mother singing and laughing. I +was always doing fine, you know. Coming home in a year or so. I was in +Chicago, then New York; but I was getting lower all the time. I put up +in those haunted houses—the lodging dives, but I kept those letters +going to her, always cheerful.</p> + +<p>"Then I made another struggle. I cut for the woods. I got to +Hillcrest—when word came—that she had—died!" A dumb suffering stopped +the words. Drew laid his hot hand over Filmer's, which were clenched, +until the finger-tips were white.</p> + +<p>"It was the hope—of making myself fit to go home and hear her sing and +laugh that had brought me to Hillcrest. Well, I wrote the old man—that +I was going further north. You see, he blamed me. Said the longing for +me, the disappointment and the rest, had weakened her heart. I couldn't +bear the thought of ever going back—then; so I tramped over the hill +and—St. Angé adopted me. It's been a tame plot since then, but it's +never been as bad as it was before. I dropped into their speech and +ways, and things sank to a dead level. I got word from Hillcrest the +other day." Filmer looked blankly into the red embers. "The governor has +left—it all to me with this saving clause: if I have any honour I am +not to take the money until I can use it as my parents would desire. You +see, the old man had what I never suspected—a soft<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">346</a></span> place in his heart +for me, and a glimmer of hope. It might not have made any +difference—but I wish to God I had known it before."</p> + +<p>Drew could not stand the misery of the convulsed face. He turned his +eyes away.</p> + +<p>"Drew!" Filmer had risen suddenly and now confronted his companion with +deep, flashing eyes. "Drew, I'm not going to take the fortune +unless—I'm fit to handle it. I've been a tramp long enough to know that +I can keep on being a tramp, but I'm going to make one more almighty try +before I succumb. I may be all wrong, but lately I've thought the—the +motive power has—come to me." A strange, uplifting dignity seemed to +fall upon Filmer. Drew tried to speak; to say the right thing, but he +merely smiled feebly and rose unsteadily to his feet.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't blame you if you—cut me after this, Drew, but it's got to +be said. It's—your—sister."</p> + +<p>"My—sister? Connie?" Drew was never so surprised and astounded in his +life before.</p> + +<p>"Connie?" he gasped again. "Connie?"</p> + +<p>"If—if—I was what I might be? If I come into my own, Drew, do you +think she—could care—for me?"</p> + +<p>"How under heaven can I tell?" Drew said slowly; "she has never—how +could she? shown—" he paused.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">347</a></span></p> + +<p>"How indeed, could she?" Filmer laughed a hard, bitter laugh.</p> + +<p>"It would be a poor sort of reformation, Jock—" Drew was getting +command of himself—"if it were only to get—her! You've got to get +yourself, old man, before you'd dare ask any woman to care for you. I +often think the best of us ask a good deal—on trust; but at least a man +must know himself before he has a right to expect even—faith."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I've worked all that out, Drew, I've been to Hillcrest to talk the +beginnings over with a little lawyer fellow who's had my confidence all +along. I'm going back where I fell, Drew, in the start. I'm going back +there where the loss of her—the mother's laugh and song—will grip the +hardest and where the antidote will be the easiest to get. I'm going to +take only enough of the governor's money to keep me out of the filth of +the gutter until I can climb on to the curb or—go to the sewer, see? +But always there is going to be your sister above me. Just remember +that—and if you can help her to think of me, once in—a while—"</p> + +<p>"Filmer, until you climb up, you must not ask me to hold even one +thought of my sister's for you; except—" and here Drew looked frankly +in the anxious face—"except as the good fellow of—our Solitude."</p> + +<p>"Thank you! That's all I meant. And if I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">348</a></span> pull up—and stay up—she, not +I, will know how to use the money. She's got the heart that can reach +down to the suffering, and hold little dying kids on her breast. If I go +under, Drew, the money is going to her—anyway."</p> + +<p>"Filmer!"</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Drew. I know what I'm about. She'll brighten up all +the dark places—and remember me in that way if in no other."</p> + +<p>Long the two men looked at each other; then Drew extended his hand. Jock +took it in a firm grip.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Filmer, and God be with you!"</p> + +<p>"I'm ready to start, I'll tramp back with you as far as the bungalow."</p> + +<p>Jock dashed the crumbling, glowing logs with his foot, and left the fire +dying, but safe. Then, gathering his travelling things together, he went +out with Drew, closing the door behind him.</p> + +<p>It was a snowy night now, white and dry. In silence the two trudged on +to the bungalow, then Drew said, "and you won't come in, Filmer, just +for a word?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks; no."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going now?"</p> + +<p>"To Hillcrest. I start from there to-morrow morning, after another talk +with the little fellow I mentioned. I'm going to keep to the woods for a +few days—they always brace me—then I'm going to make a break—for the +coast."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">349</a></span></p> + +<p>"You'll—write—to—me—Jock?"</p> + +<p>For a moment Filmer hesitated; then he said eagerly:</p> + +<p>"Yes; as long as I'm fighting, I'll keep in touch. If I get down—you'll +know by my—not writing. And Drew, I want to tell you something. That +religion of yours is all right. It was the first kind that ever got into +my system and—stayed there. It's got iron, red-hot iron in it, but it's +got a homelike kind of friendliness about it that gives you heart to +hope in this life, and let the next life take care of itself."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Filmer. That's going to make me—fight."</p> + +<p>Another quick, strong handclasp—and then Drew turned toward the glowing +windows of his home.</p> + +<p>Filmer stood with uncovered head in the driving storm, and looked, with +a great, hungry craving, up to the house that held the motive-power of +his new life, and then, with a dull pain he grimly set his face +toward—the coast.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">350</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> + +<p>Drew waited until after Christmas before he took a decided part in the +affairs of Gaston and Joyce. Indeed he purposely avoided any information +regarding what was going on at the shack among the pines. He was +determined that St. Angé's first, true Christmas should be, as far as he +could make it, a perfect one; and it was one never to be forgotten. It +set a high standard; one from which the place was never again to fall +far below.</p> + +<p>The snowstorm raged furiously for hours, and then the weather cleared +suddenly and gloriously.</p> + +<p>Blue was the sky, and white the world. A stillness held all Nature, and +the intense cold was so disguised that even the wisest native was +misled.</p> + +<p>Early on Christmas morning, right after the jolly family breakfast, Drew +called to Constance as she passed his study door:</p> + +<p>"Connie, we cannot have Filmer with us, after all. He's gone away."</p> + +<p>The girl stopped suddenly. Her arms were full of gifts, and her bright +face grew still.</p> + +<p>"Where has he gone?" The question was put calmly, but with effort.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">351</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's quite a yarn, Con; can you come in?"</p> + +<p>"I can hear from here, Ralph; go on."</p> + +<p>"You know that rich old fellow on the Pacific Coast who has just died, +Jasper Filmer, the mining magnate?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"He's was Jock's—father."</p> + +<p>Drew heard a package drop from his sister's arms. She stooped and picked +it up. From his chair Drew saw that her face never changed expression.</p> + +<p>"So then, Filmer did not take the trouble to change even his name?"</p> + +<p>The voice was completely under control now.</p> + +<p>"No. I imagine this was no case of the town-crier being sent out. When +the prodigal got ready to return, under prescribed conditions—the calf +was there."</p> + +<p>"I see. And has he—has Jock accepted the—conditions?"</p> + +<p>"He's gone to make—a big fight, Con. He will not take the fortune +unless he wins. Filmer's got some of the old man in him, I bet."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Is—is his mother living? Has he any one to go to—out there?"</p> + +<p>"No one, Con. From what he told me, I gathered that it was to be a fight +with the odds—against him."</p> + +<p>There was a long pause. A package again<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">352</a></span> dropped to the floor. The girl +outside stooped to gather it up; dropped two or three more, then +straightened herself with an impatient exclamation.</p> + +<p>"He'll win out!" The words sounded like a rally call. With that the girl +fled down the hall, trilling the merriest sort of a Christmas tune.</p> + +<p>At three o'clock St. Angé turned out in force, and set its face toward +the bungalow.</p> + +<p>Leon Tate had decided that to put a cheerful front to the foe was the +wiser thing to do, so he closed the Black Cat and arrayed his oily +person in his best raiment, kept heretofore for the Government Inspector +and Hillcrest potentates, and drove his wife himself up to Drew's fête.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," he said, as they started, "Brown Betty looks as played +out as if she had been druv instead of loafing in the stable."</p> + +<p>"She do look beat," Isa agreed. "What's that in the bottom of the sled, +Tate?" she suddenly asked.</p> + +<p>Tate picked it up.</p> + +<p>"Now what do you think of that?" he grunted, and held the object out at +arm's length.</p> + +<p>It was a baby's tiny sock; unworn, unsoiled. The little twisted foot +that had found shelter in it for so brief a time had not been a restless +foot.</p> + +<p>"Give that to me," Isa said hoarsely, and tears stood in her grim eyes.</p> + +<p>"What the—what does that—mean?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">353</a></span></p> + +<p>"How should I know, Tate? But it set me thinking. Things often let loose +ideas, you know. This being Christmas—and the stable and the manger +and—and—the baby. It all fits in."</p> + +<p>Tate looked at his wife in an almost frightened way.</p> + +<p>"You mean"—he tried awkwardly to follow her confused words; "you +mean—a baby has been borned in—our manger?"</p> + +<p>"Lord! Tate what are you thinking of? St. Angé may be wilder than +Bethlehem in some ways, but there ain't never been no baby borned in +<i>my</i> manger."</p> + +<p>"Then what in thunder do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Tate"; and now the tears were actually falling from Isa's +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I guess"—she strangled over her emotions—"I guess—it's more like—a +flight inter Egypt—than—than—a birthday party."</p> + +<p>"Get up, Bet!" Tate was routed by the event. Finally he said slowly, +"See here, old woman, I'm going to look inter that—baby boot, and don't +you forget it. This ain't no time and place maybe, but Tate's going to +have his senses onter any job that takes his possessions for granted. +Give me—that flannel boot."</p> + +<p>"Tate—I can't."</p> + +<p>"Can't, hey?"</p> + +<p>"Well then"—and the declaration of independence rang out—"I won't!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">354</a></span></p> + +<p>"What!" Brown Betty leaped under the lash.</p> + +<p>"It don't belong to me."</p> + +<p>"Do you know who owns it?"</p> + +<p>"I can—guess."</p> + +<p>"Guess then, by thunder!"</p> + +<p>"It—belonged—to—Joyce's poor little dead young-un."</p> + +<p>"How in"—then Tate blanched, for superstition held his dull wits. "How +you 'spose it got there?"</p> + +<p>"How can I tell, Tate? But I'll ask Joyce, to-morrer."</p> + +<p>With that Leon had to be content.</p> + +<p>The feast began at five. Long, long did the youth of St. Angé recall it +with fulness of heart and stomach. Yearningly did St. Angé womankind +hark back to it. It was the first time in their lives that they had not +prepared, and were not expected themselves to serve, a meal. They +forgot, in the rapture of repose, their new and splendid gowns—the +comfort wrapped their every sense.</p> + +<p>"I was borned," poor Peggy confided to her neighbour, "to be a +constitootional setter, I think; but circumstances prevented. It's +curious enough how naterally I take the chance to set and set and enjoy +setting."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Murphy smoothed her dark-green cashmere with reverent and caressing +hand.</p> + +<p>"There's more than you, Mis' Falster," she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">355</a></span> said, "as is borned to what +they don't get, sure! Now me, fur instant, I find it easier nor what you +might think, to chew without my front teeth."</p> + +<p>This made Billy Falstar laugh. It was the first genuine laugh the poor +boy had had for many an hour. Constance Drew heard it, and it did her +heart good. For Billy, pale, wide-eyed and laughless, was not in the +order of things as they should be. She looked at Ruth Dale and +whispered, "Billy is reviving with proper nourishment."</p> + +<p>Ruth gave her a sympathetic smile. Ruth was, herself, working under +pressure, but she was successfully playing her part.</p> + +<p>"His face was the only grim one here," she said. "Just look at Maggie, +Con!" To view Maggie was to forget any unpleasant thing.</p> + +<p>Maggie Falstar was laying up for the future as a camel does for the +desert. Food and drink passed from sight under Maggie's manipulation +like a slight-of-hand performance, and through the effort, and above it, +the girl's expressionless face was bent over her plate.</p> + +<p>The Christmas tree, later, was in the hall. The party staggered to it +from the dining room with anticipation befogged by a too, too heavy +meal. But St. Angé digestions were of sturdy fibre, and fulfilled joy +brought about quick relief.</p> + +<p>Aunt Sally looked into the grateful eyes upturned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">356</a></span> toward the glittering +tree, and her own kind eyes were like stars.</p> + +<p>It was Ruth Dale who had taught the children to sing, "There's a +Wonderful Tree," and the Christmas anthem now surprised and charmed the +older people.</p> + +<p>Above the shrill, exultant voices, Ruth's clear tones rang firm and +true. Drew watched her from his place beside the tree, and his heart +ached for her. And yet—what strength and power she had. She so slight +and girlish. She had lost faith, and had had love wrenched from her. She +was bent upon a martyr's course, and yet she sang, with apparent abandon +of joy, the old Christmas song.</p> + +<p>Constance Drew was an adept at prolonging pleasure and thereby +intensifying it. With the tree bowed with fruit, standing glorified +before them, the rapt company listened with amaze to Maggie Falstar as +she sniffled and hitched through a poem so distorted that the only +semi-intelligible words were: "An—snow—they—snelt—at—the manger, +lost in—reverent—raw."</p> + +<p>This part of the programme affected Leon Tate in a most unlooked-for +manner.</p> + +<p>"Say, Smith," he remarked to the station-agent, who was gazing at +Constance Drew with his lower jaw hanging, "that beats anything I ever +heard in the natural artistic line. Blood's bound to colour its +victims—do you remember Pete's mother?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">357</a></span></p> + +<p>Tom Smith had forgotten the old lady.</p> + +<p>"Well, as sure as I'm setting here, old Mis' Falster uster come inter +the Black Cat when she'd had more than was good for her out of the +tea-pot, and recite yards of poetry standing on a chair and holding to +the top of the screen. There hasn't been a hint of such a thing since +then till—"</p> + +<p>But <i>the</i> moment had come. The moment when the heart leaped to meet its +desire. The moment when the desire materialized, and the soul asked no +more.</p> + +<p>Workworn faces quivered with happiness. Things that vanity had yearned +for, but stern necessity had denied, were held now in trembling hands: +precious gifts that one <i>could</i> do without, but were all the more sacred +for that reason. Jewelry and pretty bits of useless neckwear, and gauzy +handkerchiefs.</p> + +<p>Useless? No. For they were to win admiration that was all but dead, and +give sodden women an incentive to live up to them.</p> + +<p>Little hungry-hearted children hugged dolls so beautiful, yet so human, +that nothing more could be asked. Boys, awkward and red, shook like +leaves as they fumbled with "buzzum pins" and gorgeous ties and fancy +vests.</p> + +<p>Sleds, skates and books abounded, and St. Angé, on that sacred day, +revelled in the superfluous and the long-denied.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">358</a></span></p> + +<p>Constance Drew came upon Billy later, while games were in wild progress +in the hall and study, seated in a dark corner of the dining room +weeping as if his heart would break over a be-flowered vest and a rich +red tie.</p> + +<p>"Billy!"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm." Billy was too far gone to make pretence.</p> + +<p>"Don't you like—what you have?"</p> + +<p>"Gosh! Yes."</p> + +<p>"Are you happy, dear?" The gentlest of hands touched the red head.</p> + +<p>"Happy?" Billy blubbered; "I'm busting with it."</p> + +<p>"Billy!" and now Constance spoke slowly, impressively, "I want to tell +you—something. It's something we have all thought out. It is, perhaps, +another Christmas gift for you, dear. I—am—going—away!"</p> + +<p>"Going away?" Poor Billy accepted this Christmas offering with horrified +anguish.</p> + +<p>"Going—"</p> + +<p>"Wait, Billy, boy. When Christmas is all over and done with, I am—going +back to my other—home until next—summer. But Billy—I want a part of +St. Angé with me"—her eyes shone—"I have—been—so happy here—so +glad—and so different. I want something to make me remember—if I ever +<i>could</i> forget. Billy, I want you to come with me. There are schools +there,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">359</a></span> dear. Hard work, and a bigger life—but it will make a man of +you, Billy, if the thing is in you, that I believe <i>is</i> in you. It's +your chance down there, Billy, your best chance, I think, dear—and I'll +be there to help you—and to have you help me. Billy, will you come?"</p> + +<p>Then Billy dropped the red tie and the be-flowered vest. Everything +seemed to fall from him, but a radiance that grew and grew. He tried to +speak, but failed. He put his hands out, but they trembled shamefully. +Then all in a heap Billy sank at Constance Drew's feet and hid his +throbbing head in the folds of her white silk gown.</p> + +<p>The pale moon peeped through the wide window, and cast a strange gleam +over the tousled red head snuggled under the little, caressing hand. It +transformed a girlish face that was looking far, far beyond St. Angé's +calm and peace. The vision the girl saw was battle. Life's battle. Not +little Billy's alone, though God knew that was to be no light matter. +Not even Filmer's lonely struggle, but her own. Her fight against +Convention and Preconceived Ideas. Against all that Always Had Been with +What Was Now To Be.</p> + +<p>But as the far-seeing eyes gazed into the future, they softened until +the tears mingled with Billy's on the already much-stained silken gown.</p> + +<p>"Billy-boy, we're crying. I wonder—what for?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">360</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because," Billy's mouth was full of that silken gown; "because you and +me is so plum chuck-full of happiness we're nigh to busting."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Billy, is that really it, really?"</p> + +<p>Billy looked up from his shrine.</p> + +<p>"Ain't we?" he said solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Billy—I—believe—we—are."</p> + +<p>Late that night, standing alone by his study window, Drew's tired eyes +travelled over his parish. His people had gone. They were his people at +last. God-given, as he had been God-sent. He would work with them and +for them. He would live day by day, and not look to the eventide. He +would—then he looked down the moonlighted road to the stretch on beyond +the house, where the snow lay unbroken on the way up to Gaston's shack. +A tall, strong figure was striding into the emptiness. A man's form, +swinging and full of purpose. It was—John Dale himself going up to meet +his fate.</p> + +<p>There was no light of welcome in the shack among the pines. All was dark +and lifeless. Drew started back. Humanity seemed to urge him to follow +that lonely figure and be within call should his help be needed. Second +thought killed the desire.</p> + +<p>The man plunging ahead in the night was a strong man. A man who through +sorrow, sin and shame, had hewed his way to his own place. No one could +help him in this hour that awaited him. He must go up to the Mount +bearing his own cross—and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">361</a></span> accept the outcome according as his +preparation for the ordeal had fitted him.</p> + +<p>It was ten o'clock of the following day, when Drew was roused from his +reading beside the study fire by a sharp knock on the door.</p> + +<p>He was beginning, lately, to regard this room of his as a kind of +Confessional, and every knock interested him.</p> + +<p>"Come!" he called.</p> + +<p>Gaston strode in. Whatever the night had meant to him, his face bore +little trace of anything but stern purpose.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Drew," he said quietly. "Joyce Lauzoon has left my house. +Can you tell me anything about her?"</p> + +<p>"Very little, Gaston." The onslaught, so direct and unerring, rather +took Drew's breath, but he caught himself in time. "Lay off your coat," +he said cordially, "and draw up to the fire. The cold seems to be +increasing."</p> + +<p>Gaston flung hat and coat from him, and pulled a chair nearer the blaze.</p> + +<p>"It will continue to grow colder from now on until the break-up. Drew, I +cannot waste time, nor have I any inclination to mince matters. I know +that you have, in no small measure, influenced Joyce Lauzoon's thought. +I know she has spoken of the effect of your words upon her life and, +finding her gone upon my return, I naturally come to you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">362</a></span> thinking that +perhaps—and from the highest motives—you may have said something to +her that has led her to take this step.</p> + +<p>"Whatever has been said, has been said by some one who could affect her +as one speaking, if you can understand, from my side of the question. No +one else could have any power over her."</p> + +<p>"Gaston, I have not seen, nor have I had any communication with Joyce +Lauzoon, since you left this last time. While you were away before, she +came to me, and I talked with her as I felt should, under the +circumstances."</p> + +<p>"I know all about that"; a sharp line formed on Gaston's forehead; "it +was indirectly on account of that conversation between you that I left +so abruptly again. Pardon me, Drew, but don't you think your aunt or +your sister—might have followed up your line of argument by—their +own?"</p> + +<p>Drew flushed scarlet.</p> + +<p>"I am quite sure they did not," he said emphatically.</p> + +<p>"I've got to find her, Drew"; Gaston breathed hard; "none of you +understand the situation in the least."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we do, Gaston." The minister-instinct rose within the weak man, +and gave him the sudden dignity that had always impressed Jock Filmer.</p> + +<p>For the life of him Gaston could not despise the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">363</a></span> young fellow. There +was courage of purpose and conviction that ennobled his frail body. It +was no easy thing, Gaston felt sure, for him to place himself and his +youth in this attitude toward a man older than he. It was undeniable +Drew lost sight of himself every time he accepted the demands of his +profession,—and the renunciation won respect.</p> + +<p>"See here Drew, I do not often give my confidence. It does not often +appear necessary, and I think nine times out of ten it complicates +matters instead of solving mysteries, but I'm going to speak quite +openly to you—for Joyce's sake. It would not make any difference to +others—they think she deserves punishment for appearing to deserve it, +but I believe you will be able to comprehend the difference and perhaps +help me to help her.</p> + +<p>"Up to the night when she told me that she had seen you, and that your +conversation had emphasized some doubts of her own—she had been to me, +first a poor hounded creature, then, a striving, high-minded girl +endeavouring to free herself from the bondage of evil that had been her +inheritance. I'm not going to speak of myself in the matter, only so far +as to say that my own life, under different environment, has been +such—that I understood; I undertook the—task of helping her! Whatever +of temptation cropped up now and then, was strangled for her sake +always,—sometimes for my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">364</a></span> own, too—it died at last, and I was enabled +to serve her with single purpose.</p> + +<p>"What that task has meant to me—I cannot expect any living soul to +understand. I was very lonely. I never looked for reward nor recompense. +It was—I thought it was—enough in itself. But something had been going +on that was no part of my plan. Like a revelation it came to me, that +last evening I spent at home—that she was a splendid woman; and I knew +that I loved her!</p> + +<p>"That was why I went away. I went to find Jude Lauzoon. I meant to free +her, and marry her. Her love has always been mine. This may make no +difference—perhaps you cannot believe it—but it's God's truth, and now +you see why I must have her."</p> + +<p>Drew had never shifted his gaze from the speaker's face. Conflicting +emotions tore him—but there was no doubt in his heart, now, of Gaston.</p> + +<p>"In your profession, Drew," Gaston saw that he had gained his point, +"you do not want to condone sin, but you want to understand the sinner +as well as possible; and, Drew, you may take my word for it—I'm not in +an overwhelming minority."</p> + +<p>For a moment Drew tried to speak and failed. Every expression of his +true thought seemed inadequate and futile. Presently he stretched his +hand across the little space that divided him from his companion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">365</a></span></p> + +<p>"Gaston," he said, "I thank you. It does make a difference. It +makes—all the difference in the world."</p> + +<p>His thin, blue-veined hand fell upon Gaston's strong, brown one, which +lay spread upon the chairarm.</p> + +<p>Gaston did not flinch under the touch. He did not seem to notice it.</p> + +<p>"Drew," he continued after a long pause, "it will help me—to find her, +perhaps, if you tell me the little that you know. I am not going to let +her slip if I have to hunt every inch of the woods for her. You must see +that there is danger in every moment's delay.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me if any one has seen her and talked with her who might +influence her from an—outside point of view?"</p> + +<p>Drew was sorely perplexed. He realized that Ruth's wild description of +her encounter with Joyce had left many unexplained points. Evidently +Joyce herself had, in some way, learned more of Gaston's past than Drew +had at first supposed. Then, to tell Gaston, even in his trouble, that a +guest of his, Drew's, had gone into the other's home and caused this +calamity, was too cold-blooded a thing to do, without due consideration.</p> + +<p>He knew, better than his companion did, that if Joyce had carried out +her intention, there was no need of haste.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">366</a></span></p> + +<p>Gaston was looking keenly at him.</p> + +<p>"You are keeping something from me, Drew," he said slowly, "and you have +a reason for doing so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Gaston, I am; and I have."</p> + +<p>The further he became involved, the more hopeless the position became to +Drew. Gaston was seeking to solve Joyce Lauzoon's problem and his own, +without the test of Ruth Dale. Not only Ruth's confession as to Joyce, +but Ruth herself must enter into Gaston's future plan of action.</p> + +<p>"You know, Drew, who went to my house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know that Joyce had a visitor who might have influenced her to +take this step; but I have reason to believe that Joyce did not act upon +this other's initiative entirely. She had certain knowledge of her own +that—urged the course she has taken."</p> + +<p>"That is impossible!" Gaston's eyes flashed. Recalling that last scene +with Joyce, he could not doubt her simple faithfulness—unless that +faith of hers had been turned into a channel which she fondly believed +was for his greater good. Nothing could change Joyce Lauzoon. Whatever +had been the cause, Gaston knew, she had forgotten herself in her +decision.</p> + +<p>"I am—sure I am right, Gaston."</p> + +<p>"And you refuse to tell me who has seen her?" A slow anger was mounting +in Gaston.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">367</a></span></p> + +<p>Before Drew could reply, a merry call from the hall smote both men into +dead silence.</p> + +<p>"Ruthie! Ruth Dale, where are you? Come, let's go and see how things +look the morning after?"</p> + +<p>Constance Drew had given Gaston his answer. By the magic of that name +she had connected the Past and the Present. The shock was tremendous, +but Gaston bore it with only a tightening of the lips to show the agony +he was enduring.</p> + +<p>Presently an aimless question broke the unendurable stillness of the +room.</p> + +<p>"Who—is—that, Drew?"</p> + +<p>"Ruth Dale—your brother's widow."</p> + +<p>"So—he is dead?" At such vital times in life, the mind leaps over +chasms of events, and takes much for granted.</p> + +<p>"Yes; he died a year ago."</p> + +<p>"How long—have you known, Drew—about him and me?"</p> + +<p>"Only a few nights ago. He was my friend for a comparatively few +years—but he was—a dear friend!" Drew spoke as if defence were +necessary.</p> + +<p>"I wonder—how much you <i>do</i> know, Drew?" Gaston's face quivered. He +began to understand Joyce's soul-struggle.</p> + +<p>"Everything, Dale," the name clung uncertainly upon the speaker's lips; +"everything—vital. Philip confessed—the week before he died."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">368</a></span></p> + +<p>Both men lowered their eyes. They dared not face each other for a +moment.</p> + +<p>The fire crackled and the clock ticked. Every sense was sharpened and +quickened in Dale until it was painful.</p> + +<p>Objects in the room stood out clearly to his uncaring sight; the snap of +the fire, the tick of the clock smote like separate reports upon his +hearing; and while he lived he was to recall, when he smelled burning +pine, this tense moment. Presently he rose unsteadily and reached out +for his coat and hat like a blind man.</p> + +<p>"Well, Drew," he said, making an effort to speak evenly, "there doesn't +seem to be anything more to say. I am going. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Dale—where are you going?" Drew was beside him.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to try and find—Joyce Lauzoon."</p> + +<p>"She—has—gone—to—her husband! He sent for her—and she went." Drew +spoke with an effort; but before the look on John Dale's face, he +staggered back. Hopeless rage, defeated desire blanched and fired in +turn the strong features. Then without a word Dale strode from the +room.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">369</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> + +<p>John Dale went directly to his shack. What else was there for him to do +until he could find another trail through the blank that surrounded him?</p> + +<p>When he had entered his home the night before, God knew he had been +sorely distressed. He was going back to the woman he loved with her +fetters still unloosened. Worn and spent, he had permitted himself the +relaxation of spending a few days with her before he started out again +on the quest of Jude. He had found the shack deserted, but every pitiful +evidence of Joyce's thought for his comfort was apparent. He had lighted +the fire and lamp; had searched for note or other explanation, and, +finding none, he had eaten hastily and gone to Filmer's house. There +desolation again greeted him.</p> + +<p>Finally he had concluded that Joyce had gone to Isa Tate. This was a +poor solace, but it stayed him through the long night; an early visit to +the Black Cat proved this last hope vain.</p> + +<p>Now, with the later knowledge searching into his soul, Dale noticed the +careful arrangements Joyce had made, before she slipped back into the +hell from which he had once rescued her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">370</a></span></p> + +<p>She had taken only her own poor belongings. The shabby gowns and +trinkets that had been found among the ruins of the home Jude had laid +low.</p> + +<p>One silent token of the flight brought the stinging tears to Dale's +eyes.</p> + +<p>At the last, there must have been haste, for near the door of Joyce's +bedroom lay the mate of the baby's sock that Isa Tate was hiding at that +very moment.</p> + +<p>Poor, dead baby! He was pleading for the pretty mother who in his brief +life had so tenderly pleaded for him.</p> + +<p>Isa had wept over the tiny shoe, and now John Dale picked the mate up +reverently, and put it back where he knew Joyce always had kept it.</p> + +<p>Manlike he did not give himself blindly up to his misery. Life must go +on somehow—and while he sought a way out of the blackness that +enshrouded him, he must prepare himself.</p> + +<p>He replenished the fire, and then when high noon flooded the living room +with a pale glow, he set forth a meagre but nourishing meal.</p> + +<p>In the performing of these homely tasks he found a kind of comfort. It +brought Joyce back to him in a sense.</p> + +<p>During the early afternoon hours he smoked and thought. Things became +clearer, more fixed in his mind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">371</a></span></p> + +<p>Of course Joyce had been driven to Jude by a mistaken idea that she was +proving her deep love. Almost from the first, Dale thought of Ruth Dale +detached from the shock of her mere name as it had struck his brain and +heart in Drew's study. The old, vital charm of Ruth's personality; her +sweet, convincing power, when she chose to exert it, now rose in his +memory. Joyce would be but a baby in the hands of such a woman.</p> + +<p>A fierce indignation swayed the man. Gone was the sweet memory of the +control that that same charm had once had over him. Only as it now had +touched Joyce did he consider it, and every fibre of his being rose in +resentment.</p> + +<p>The savage in him gained strength. He would follow Joyce and have her +yet—in spite of all that had passed!</p> + +<p>When Joyce saw and knew—what would he and she care for the rest? He +could deal with Jude—there was still money.</p> + +<p>The wild claimed precedence over the innate refinement in Dale, and he +rose to begin his search. He glanced at the clock. It was four. He could +get—somewhere before dark.</p> + +<p>The prospect of action gave him relief and he was just turning to the +inner room, when a timid tap upon the outer door stayed him.</p> + +<p>His heart gave a great throb. Had she come? Had she returned to him? Had +she found the way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">372</a></span> back to hell impossible after he—the man she had +deserted—had shown her a path to heaven?</p> + +<p>"Come!" he commanded as if defying any other hold that might have power +over her.</p> + +<p>Pale, trembling and enveloped in the fur coat and hood, Ruth Dale +entered and closed the door behind her.</p> + +<p>Her eyes were wide and fear-filled, but self-possession was not lost.</p> + +<p>"John!" she cried pleadingly; "as soon as they told me—I came."</p> + +<p>Her outstretched hands recalled Dale to the present.</p> + +<p>"Ruth!" he whispered hoarsely, going to her; "this is—kind of you. Let +me take your wraps. Here, sit down."</p> + +<p>It was a relief to have her a little distance from him. He took a chair +on the opposite side of the hearth, and struggled to regain his +composure. For the life of him he could not fix his identity in the +place where the sudden convulsion of events had cast them all.</p> + +<p>He was an exile from the past of which this lovely woman was a part, and +the present had no space for her.</p> + +<p>In a dazed way he noted how exactly the same Ruth looked. When he had +dropped her hands—way back there in time, she appeared precisely the +same to him as she did now, with those same little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">373</a></span> jewelled hands lying +white and soft in her lap. She had worn a bright gown then, Dale +recalled, but even the gloomy raiment that now enfolded her had no power +to change the woman of her.</p> + +<p>Poor Dale could not comprehend in his new birth and life, that such +women as Ruth Dale are Accomplished Achievements of heredity and ultra +refinement. Generations ago Ruth's type had been perfected; she and +others of her kind, were but repetitions.</p> + +<p>Her girlhood had been a brief pause before she had entered her +fore-ordained womanhood—a mere waiting for the inevitable. Thus, Dale +had <i>last</i> beheld her—so his photograph of her had fixed her in his +mind. He saw her now the same, outwardly, and the placidity of the +oft-repeated type held her afar from his rugged place.</p> + +<p>Dale himself had been tossed into the fire of temptation, in the rough. +He had fallen to the depths but to rise—a better and stronger man with +the dross burned out. The strong, primitiveness of him was as alien to +anything that was in Ruth as if the two had never seen each other +before.</p> + +<p>Like a man struggling with the recollections of a pre-incarnation, Dale +sought to find a semblance of the old passion and fire this woman had +once roused in him. Not even a reflection of them could he summon. Had +she entered his life two years before she might still have been able to +fan the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">374</a></span> embers into flame among the ashes; now she was powerless! Love, +a great overpowering love, a love having its roots in the life of the +woods and primitive things—held the man for its own.</p> + +<p>Looking into the deep eyes that once had pleaded with hers, Ruth Dale, +sitting in the lonely shack, wondered why she could not cope with this +critical situation. It grieved and perplexed her—but it did not daunt +her. Sweet and retiring as she was, and <i>consciously</i> self-forgetful as +she believed herself, Ruth was what ages had made her. Had her +subconscious self asserted itself, it would have boldly proclaimed its +absolute superiority over other women of such make as poor Joyce +Lauzoon. Not merely in the other's shocking lack of moral sense—but in +very essence.</p> + +<p>John Dale had suffered—and had tried, in weak man-fashion, to solace +himself. The world had helped to train Ruth Dale. While not admitting +that there should be any palliation for the double code—or even the +appearance of it—such women as she recognized it, and were able, under +sufficiently convincing circumstances, to deal with it. There were +reasons, heaven knew, why she, Ruth Dale, should be lenient with this +silent man across the hearth. The white-souled innocence in her thanked +God, in this brief silence, that the man was <i>not</i> as evil as many a +man, under the circumstances, might have been. She believed Joyce's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">375</a></span> +statement. It was wonderful, it was most weirdly romantic—and it could +be overlooked!</p> + +<p>It would have been absolutely impossible for Ruth Dale to conceive that +John Dale had so far outgrown her in the great human essentials of life, +that he had no further need of her. The life of which she was a part, +the life of which she was, she and her detached kind, the shining +centre, had not enough vitality to hold this man of nature to it. But +the pause was growing painful.</p> + +<p>"John—I have come to tell you all."</p> + +<p>He overleaped the poor past, and in his hunger to know of her part in +the present, said eagerly:</p> + +<p>"Ruth, I am waiting to hear. I might have known you would come."</p> + +<p>Then, to his surprise, the pretty sleek head was bent upon the arm of +the chair, and Ruth Dale wept, as the man opposite had forgotten women +<i>could</i> weep. The sobs shook the slender form until pity for her moved +him to touch and soothe her; while the savage in him held him back. +Somehow, in a rough way, it seemed retribution. He was glad she could +suffer. But presently the flood ceased, Ruth looked up, tear-dimmed and +quivering. The torrent had borne away much sentiment; she was able to +face reality.</p> + +<p>She told of Philip's dying confession. She delicately and graphically +told of the broken life—after he, John, had passed out of it—and they, +who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">376</a></span> remained, bravely wound the tangled ends into a noble whole.</p> + +<p>Dale followed her words as if the story were of another—and of a life +he had never shared.</p> + +<p>"Philip wanted you to have all—everything—of which his weakness had +deprived you!"</p> + +<p>Dale started.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Yes," he said vaguely; "I see. Well, I can understand that. But +Ruth—not even God could accomplish that miracle. In all such cases it +has to be what a man himself can get out of the wreck. It has to be +<i>other</i> things. New things—or he is—damned."</p> + +<p>It was the word more than the thought that caused the shudder in the +crouching woman.</p> + +<p>"You have never forgiven us," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have, Ruth. When I got to a place, cleansed by suffering, where +I could forgive myself—everything else was easy."</p> + +<p>"Oh! John, why could you not have trusted me with your—your brave +secret?"</p> + +<p>Why, indeed? John Dale could not have told; he only knew he had never +paused to consider when it came to telling Joyce Lauzoon. The thought +gripped him hard.</p> + +<p>"It had to be, Ruth, I imagine. All the ugly factors had to be taken +into consideration when the plan for re-making Phil and me was +designed."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">377</a></span></p> + +<p>A grim smile touched the corners of the stern mouth.</p> + +<p>"He left his fortune to you!"</p> + +<p>"I cannot take it." Dale raised one hand as if pushing aside an +insulting offering.</p> + +<p>"John—I have my share—and my father's money. Think! Philip meant that +you should prove your forgiveness by—finishing his work. I never saw +greater anguish than in his desire. Can you, dare you, refuse?"</p> + +<p>A mist rose in Dale's eyes. Ruth saw it, and it gave her courage.</p> + +<p>Strangely enough, now that she groped toward this new man she saw before +her, her aversion to the man she once knew was lost sight of. A dim fear +arose that her sacrifice might escape him and her. Not through any +unwillingness on their parts, but through a misunderstanding. She +bravely strove to down the menace.</p> + +<p>"John—I came to this house a few days ago to help a weak, erring woman, +if I could. That is all I knew. Almost at once she made me see the +strange thing that had happened here through the goodness of a strong +man, and the simplicity of—a weak, but loving woman.</p> + +<p>"All unknowingly I yearned to help her—save her, but she wanted to save +herself more than I understood at first. She was so brave and direct; +once she saw where her weakness had placed her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">378</a></span> and the man she loved, +she was strong in her determination to right the wrong. For her, poor +soul, there was but one way—she returned to her husband!</p> + +<p>"John—<i>she</i> told me who you were. In some way she knew who I was. I was +so distressed and surprised at the time that I did not question how she +knew me—but she did and"—Ruth could not bring herself to say, "she +gave you back to me."</p> + +<p>"John—let the cruel, cruel past be forgotten. Come back to your own. +The world will see you righted. John, say that it shall be as I—as +Philip—desire."</p> + +<p>She looked like a spirit as she bent toward him full of compassion, of +entreaty, and the kinship with that which she believed was still in him, +and only waiting for her to call to action.</p> + +<p>The minutes passed—her call brought forth no rush of checked emotion +and controlled passion.</p> + +<p>Dale looked at her coldly. He was far too simple a man, intrinsically, +to gather the true, inward drift of her thought. He was now seeking to +understand the change that had overcome him. She, the girl of his Past +who had held his love, hope and desire; she no longer moved him except +in wonder and aversion. But he felt that it was due her that he should +meet her as far as possible on this new way they were travelling. He +shifted his position. He knew something more was expected of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">379</a></span> him than +he could give; but he must give as he could.</p> + +<p>"Ruth," he began, and, because his inclination was to move away, he +purposely drew nearer; "I am sure you meant nothing but kindness in +coming to Joyce Lauzoon; I can see that you mean only great good to +me—but you cannot understand. You haven't even touched upon the truth. +I suppose some people are born complete in the little; they only have to +develop. Others are—well—thrown together, and they cannot assume form +and shape until by blows and chiselling they come through the +machine—moulded. You have always been good and true; what you knew of +me, long ago, died and was thrown aside; what little survived, was +nourished apart from, and upon a life you have no conception of. I think +only lately have I realized this myself. I'm a bigger and a smaller man +than you knew, Ruth; I'm stronger and weaker; better and worse," his +hand clenched over the arm of her chair, and her eyes dilated. She was +frightened. She felt his blood rising and she shrank back. It was +horrible to be there—with him alone!</p> + +<p>"You cannot understand, but that old life seems to me now to be—used +up, colourless and flabby. The people seem small and—all alike. This +life—is big, free and—in the making. There are souls here that are +only touched by sins that have drifted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">380</a></span> to them—they are possible of +great things. They are new and keen, and they ring true when you strike +them. The woman who left this house—the other day," Dale's words came +hard and quick, "is the most glorious creature that ever lived. The life +back there could not produce her. Strong, tender, and love itself! Not +for one instant did she pause when she knew who and what I was—she +loved—that was enough! God! how she loved. You—and women like you, +Ruth, might lead the men you love toward heaven; she would go her way +alone to perdition to add to the happiness of the man she loved. But it +would be alone, mind you.</p> + +<p>"She's gone back to such a man as your books, even, forbear to portray. +Jude is one of the creatures up here who was born without a soul. She's +gone to him to save me, as she thought—but she'll live alone, alone as +long as she lives at all.</p> + +<p>"So you see what trouble comes from such civilization as yours grafted +on to the primitive passions of the backwoods."</p> + +<p>"John!"</p> + +<p>There was no fear in Ruth Dale now, only a horrible conviction that John +Dale, the man she had come to reclaim and give back to his own, would +have none of her!</p> + +<p>"John! John!" So he had sunk so low.</p> + +<p>"Do you know where she is?" Dale looked at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">381</a></span> his companion without noting +her pallid astonishment.</p> + +<p>"No; I do not."</p> + +<p>"Then—and you will let me see you back to Drew's? I must go and find +her. She shall have the truth, the whole truth, by God! to cool the +fires of that hell she has been thrust into."</p> + +<p>Ruth covered her face with her trembling hands. Never before had she +been so near the bare, throbbing heart of things.</p> + +<p>Oh! from what had she been saved? And yet—he was standing above her and +he was superb in his strength and power. He was holding her cloak for +her; helping to rid himself of her. The old half-dead, but vital call of +the aboriginal woman rose in her, then ebbed away at birth in a feeble +flickering jealousy.</p> + +<p>"I do not wish you to go with me." Ruth felt timidly out for her sweet +dignity; the perquisite and recompense of exquisite refinement. "I +prefer going alone."</p> + +<p>"It is quite dark."</p> + +<p>"I shall not be afraid," Dale walked with her to the door. Just before +the blackness engulfed her, she turned her little, flower-like face to +him:</p> + +<p>"John—I shall always be ready to be—your—friend if you need me."</p> + +<p>"I shall remember. Good night."</p> + +<p>An hour later Dale walked into the Black Cat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">382</a></span> Tavern and made a ruinous +bargain with Tate for the use of his horse and sled for an indefinite +time. "I'm going up into the woods," he explained, "I may be gone a +week, a month, I cannot tell; when I reach Camp 7, I'll send your rig +back."</p> + +<p>"Going to join Filmer, maybe?" Tate's little eyes rolled in their +cushions of fat.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps." And Tate took this as affirmation. Now that Joyce had +rejoined her rightful lord and master—for the story had leaked out—it +was quite natural that Gaston should take to the woods.</p> + +<p>"It's one on 'im," Tate confided, as Brown Betty and the sled dashed by.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>When Dale started out his purpose was very vague. If he reasoned at all +it was to the effect that Jude, after Joyce rejoined him, would seek +employment as near at hand as possible. It would be like his weak vanity +to parade his victory by going to the men who had known of his defeat. +Besides, if he had sent for Joyce, he must have been in the +neighbourhood. The heavy storm, in any case, would hinder a long +journey, and the men at Camp 7 might perhaps have news of Lauzoon either +before or after Joyce had met him a day or so ago.</p> + +<p>It had been a short time. He and Brown Betty were a better pair than +Jude and a heavy-hearted woman. So Dale drove on toward Camp 7.</p> + +<p>He tried to keep to the trail, once he struck the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">383</a></span> forests, but the snow +was unbroken—the heaviest fall had occurred after Billy's return—and +Brown Betty intelligently slackened her speed and felt her way gingerly +through the darkness. It was still as death. Above the trees the stars +pricked the sky, and the intense cold fell like a tangible thing upon +the flesh exposed to it. Dale pulled his fur cap lower, and gladly let +Betty have her will.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>Now when Billy had left Joyce at the end of their flight, it was near +the door of the woodman's hut.</p> + +<p>"Billy," Joyce had said, lingeringly clinging to him as the last +familiar thing in her happy span of life; "Billy, you must turn back, +and God bless you, dear. You see Jude must not know anything about +you—and it's all right now, Billy."</p> + +<p>Billy made an effort to speak, but ended in a sob.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Billy, it's <i>all</i> right now. Just remember that. Kiss me +Billy."</p> + +<p>And Billy kissed her like the true gentleman he was on the way to being. +Then Joyce, with her shabby baggage, and basket of provisions went on +alone.</p> + +<p>She was stiff and cold, and her heart was like lead within her. With +surprise she noticed that the door of the hut was partly open, and the +snow had drifted in. It was dark and lifeless apparently, and for a +moment Joyce thought that Jude had gone away, and she turned to recall +Billy before it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">384</a></span> too late. Then she boldly entered the house. The +little entry was covered with snow and the room door, too, stood as the +outer one did, ajar. Joyce paused and listened—then a horrible fear +took possession of her. The still house overpowered her for a moment, +but she knew that death awaited her in the outer cold and loneliness, so +by superhuman determination she felt her way toward the fireplace—she +had been in the hut more than once and memory served her now. She forced +herself to think only of lighting the fire. Even when she struck a match +she would glance nowhere but at the hearth.</p> + +<p>Her teeth were set close, and her breath hardly stirred her bosom. There +had been a fire recently—but the ashes were cold. There was, however, +wood nearby, and Joyce tore the paper from one of her packages and used +it to ignite the smaller wood.</p> + +<p>There was a puff, a flare, and the wood caught.</p> + +<p>With the growing heat and light a semblance of courage returned, still +Joyce kept her eyes rigidly upon her task. She laid on more wood, and +yet more. It was past midnight and the terrible stillness Was numbing +her reason. Presently she cautiously turned—something compelled her. +She did not expect to find—anything, but she had to look! Away from the +red glare, the shadows concealed their secrets from the fear-haunted +eyes, but only for a moment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">385</a></span></p> + +<p>Jude was there! He was lying stretched upon the floor. A bottle was near +his outspread hand. He was asleep.</p> + +<p>Joyce did not try to get upon her feet, but she crept toward the still +form. She touched, with stiff fingers, the hand of the man she had come +to meet—the man who was to save her from her love.</p> + +<p>"Jude!" she whispered hoarsely; "Jude!"</p> + +<p>A falling log started the others to a redder glow. The face of the man +upon the floor lay exposed. The eyes were open—but unseeing, and Joyce +knew that Jude was frozen to death!</p> + +<p>She made no cry. Had she been capable of sensation she would have gone +mad, but she was conscious of no emotion whatever.</p> + +<p>The room grew hotter and brighter. She drew away from that horrible +shape upon the floor. She must forget it or her head would burst. In the +morning, and it would soon be morning, she could go for help—but for +now she must forget.</p> + +<p>Still creeping, she regained the fireplace; there she huddled with her +back to—that long black shadow. Yes; it was but a shadow. She would not +think of it but as a shadow.</p> + +<p>She braced against the chimney corner, and set her face to the warm, +soothing light. Once she stirred and threw on more wood, then she +returned to her corner; and kept her eyes in one direction.</p> + +<p>An hour passed. The slight form by the fire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">386</a></span> relaxed, and sank gradually +to an easy position far enough away from the fire to be safe. The pretty +head fell upon a bundle that had earlier been dropped carelessly +there—and a great peace rested on the worn face. Suffering, +hopelessness and fear fled as the calm gently settled from brow to chin; +and all that was conscious of Joyce Lauzoon drifted into the oblivion +that has never been fathomed.</p> + +<p>Behind the sealed doors—the miracle was performed. The spirit freed +from its suffering body—but not claimed by Death—was strengthened and +purified. Where it fared—who can tell? How near the Source of eternal +things it wandered none may know, but it drank deep and lost its +earth-stain long enough to carry back with it a faith that would enable +it to live.</p> + +<p>The rosy light of day was showing ruddily in the window of the hut when +Joyce opened her eyes. The returning spirit came slowly back with +stately serenity. There was no shock nor start of wonder; it took +possession of the refreshed body that was awaiting it, and accepted its +responsibilities.</p> + +<p>Joyce was lying on her back, her hands crossed upon her bosom. The fire +still glowed at heart, and the room was warm. A calmness and saneness +reigned supreme. Joyce wondered what had befallen her? Then slowly, like +a wise mother, Nature gave into her conscious thought the knowledge of +things as they were.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">387</a></span></p> + +<p>She turned—yes! there was Jude. But she did not shrink nor shudder now. +Young as she was, she had seen death many, many times. She had gone to +the portals, alone, with others beside her poor baby. She rose now, and +walked over to Jude's side. The night had wrought a change in him, +seemingly; or perhaps it was Joyce's regained sanity. The man on the +floor looked calm, peaceful and strangely dignified. His helpless +peacefulness appealed to Joyce. She began to take away all signs of +degradation that remained. The inanimate tokens of poor Jude Lauzoon's +weakness and undoing.</p> + +<p>The empty bottle was hidden from sight; the disordered clothing was +straightened, and the hands that were never to work harm again, were +folded over the quiet breast.</p> + +<p>God had set Joyce free! and as she did the last, sad service for the man +who had no real place in her life, the words of Ruth Dale recurred to +her.</p> + +<p>No; she had never been free before. She never could have been free while +Jude and she walked the same earth. There had been an intangible link +that only death could sever.</p> + +<p>Her freedom had come too late—but no! Sitting beside Jude's body, Joyce +felt the convincing truth that, come what might, she could, she would +live as John Dale had shown her how.</p> + +<p>Softly, with reverent touch, Joyce covered the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">388</a></span> grim, white face, and +turned away to prepare for her home journey. She must get others to come +for Jude's body. Her part was all past now forever. She must go to face +her new life, whatever it might be.</p> + +<p>As she opened the outer door, the clear, stinging cold brought a sense +of freshness and sweetness with it. It was so alive, and it called to +all that was awakening in her. Her slow blood tingled and her breath +came quick and deep.</p> + +<p>For very relief she took off her close hood, and flung her arms wide as +if in welcome to what awaited her.</p> + +<p>The unbroken snow spread on every side. Like the first-comer in this +new, pure world she set forth with a high courage and a strange faith.</p> + +<p>So she came upon John Dale's vision, and he started back, fearing that +his weariness and heavy heart were playing havoc with his senses. Having +seen smoke rising from the chimney of the hut, he had left his horse and +sled a short distance away, and had come to investigate.</p> + +<p>So absorbed was Joyce that she neither saw nor heard the approach of the +man she had put from her life.</p> + +<p>Her pale beauty, as she came quickly toward him, struck Dale as almost +unearthly. She was within a few yards of him when she saw him. A rich +colour flushed her face as she recognized him and her eyes widened.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">389</a></span></p> + +<p>"Jude—is dead!" she said simply. She thought he was still upon his +quest; still ignorant of the happenings that had driven her away from +the shack.</p> + +<p>The words had the effect of paralyzing Dale. Had this woman taken a life +in self-preservation? Then the sweet, innocent calm of her face +reassured him. Jude was dead! Every barrier was removed—every obstacle +overcome.</p> + +<p>Dale rushed toward her with outstretched arms. The look on his face awed +Joyce—but before she was swept into a bliss that might not be +rightfully hers, she shrank from him. She put her hands out pleadingly +as if imploring him to withhold what her soul was hungering for. Dale +understood.</p> + +<p>"Joyce—I have been home. They have told me—all!"</p> + +<p>"All?" Joyce panted the one word. "All?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Everything. Now—will you come?"</p> + +<p>To his dying day Dale was never to forget the look she cast upon him as +he and she stood alone in the white trackless forest.</p> + +<p>Love, such love as worn-out civilization knows not, took possession of +Joyce Lauzoon. A love that controlled and uplifted.</p> + +<p>Dale waited—then she came to him, glorious and strong in her power of +joy-giving. She clasped her hands around his neck, and lifted her face +to his; their lips met and their eyes grew wondrously tender.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">390</a></span></p> + +<p>"And now,"—it was Joyce who recalled him to duty—"where shall we go?"</p> + +<p>His promise to Drew followed close on the question; and Ruth Dale's +farewell to him as she slipped from his life came with a new meaning.</p> + +<p>"Sweet," he whispered, "they are waiting for us—Drew, and my sister, +Ruth Dale."</p> + +<p style='text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 3em;'>THE END</p> + +<hr class='full' /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3> +<p>1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards.</p> +<p>2. The Table of Contents was not present in the original book.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Joyce of the North Woods, by Harriet T. Comstock + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS *** + +***** This file should be named 19225-h.htm or 19225-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/2/2/19225/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/19225-h/images/illus-076.jpg b/19225-h/images/illus-076.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..33e2b76 --- /dev/null +++ b/19225-h/images/illus-076.jpg diff --git a/19225-h/images/illus-114.jpg b/19225-h/images/illus-114.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d05cd53 --- /dev/null +++ b/19225-h/images/illus-114.jpg diff --git a/19225-h/images/illus-188.jpg b/19225-h/images/illus-188.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3882073 --- /dev/null +++ b/19225-h/images/illus-188.jpg diff --git a/19225-h/images/illus-fpc.jpg b/19225-h/images/illus-fpc.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc4c5e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/19225-h/images/illus-fpc.jpg diff --git a/19225.txt b/19225.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a705f6d --- /dev/null +++ b/19225.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11328 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Joyce of the North Woods, by Harriet T. Comstock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Joyce of the North Woods + +Author: Harriet T. Comstock + +Illustrator: John Cassel + +Release Date: September 9, 2006 [EBook #19225] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: "YOU'VE GOT THE WINNING CARDS, MY GIRL ... IT'S ALL IN +THE PLAYING NOW"] + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS + +BY + +HARRIET T. COMSTOCK + +AUTHOR OF JANET OF THE DUNES, TOWER AND THRONE, THE QUEEN'S HOSTAGE, ETC. + +ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN CASSEL + +GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN +LANGUAGES INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + +COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +TO + +EVELINA HEMINWAY SMITH + +"SISTER--FRIEND" + +Accept the dedication of this book of mine as a very slight recognition +of your encouragement in my work; your faith in me. + +To you I first read the story; from you I received my first approval; I +believe its chances will be brighter in the book-world if your name and +good-will go with it. + +HARRIET T. COMSTOCK + +Flatbush--Brooklyn, N. Y. February, 1910 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +CHAPTER I 3 +CHAPTER II 24 +CHAPTER III 46 +CHAPTER IV 65 +CHAPTER V 78 +CHAPTER VI 98 +CHAPTER VII 111 +CHAPTER VIII 134 +CHAPTER IX 154 +CHAPTER X 177 +CHAPTER XI 198 +CHAPTER XII 212 +CHAPTER XIII 231 +CHAPTER XIV 251 +CHAPTER XV 273 +CHAPTER XVI 301 +CHAPTER XVII 312 +CHAPTER XVIII 334 +CHAPTER XIX 350 +CHAPTER XX 369 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +PREFATORY NOTE + +"Love is the golden bead in the bottom of the crucible." And the +crucible was St. Ange. + + * * * * * + +Fifty years before this story began, St. Ange was a lumber camp; the +first gash in that part of the great Solitude to the north, which lay +across Beacon Hill, three miles from Hillcrest. + +When the splendid lumber had been felled within a prescribed limit, +Industry took another leap, left St. Ange scarred and blighted, with a +fringe of forest north and south, and struck camps farther back and +nearer Canada. + +Then Nature began to heal the stricken heart of the Solitude. A second +growth of lovely tree and bush sprang to the call, and the only +reminders of the camp were the absences of the men during the logging +season, and the roaring and rushing of the river through Long Meadow +every spring, with its burden of logs from the distant camps. + +In the beginning St. Ange had had her aspirations. A futile highway had +been constructed, for no other purpose apparently, than to connect the +north and south forests. A little church had been built--there had +never been any regular service held in it--and a small school-house +which promptly degenerated into the Black Cat Tavern, General Store, and +Post Office. A few modest houses met the highway face to face; a few +more turned their backs upon it and were content with an outlook across +Long Meadow and toward Beacon Hill, beyond which lay the village of +Hillcrest which grew in importance as St. Ange degenerated. There were +scattered houses among the clumps of maple and pine growths, and there +was a forlorn railroad station before which a rickety, single track +branch ended. Sometime during the day a train came in, and after an +uncertain period it departed; it was the only link with the outer world +that St. Ange had except what came by way of Hillcrest. + +Toward Hillcrest, as the years went on, there grew in St. Ange a feeling +of envy and distrust. Its prosperity and decency were a reflection, its +very emphatic regard for law and order a menace and burden. St. Angeans +sent their aspiring youths to the Hillcrest school--it was never an +alarming constituency--it was cheaper to do that than to support a +school of their own. There were emergencies when the Hillcrest doctor +and minister were in demand, so it behooved St. Ange to keep up a +partial show of friendliness, but bitterly did it resent the +interference of Hillcrest justice during that season immediately +following the enforced sobriety and isolation of the lumber camp. + +Were men not to have some compensation for the hardships of the +backwoods? + +And just at that point in the argument Beacon Hill received its name and +significance. From its top a watcher could view the road leading to +Hillcrest, and by a well-directed signal give warning to any chance +wrongdoer on the St. Ange side. Many a culprit had thus been aided in +his plans of escape before Justice, striding over the western hill, bore +down upon the town. + +Beautiful, unappreciated St. Ange! The trees grew, and the scar was +healed. The soft, pine-laden breezes touched with heavenly fragrance the +dull-faced women, the pathetic children, and the unambitious men. +Everything was run down and apparently doomed, until one day the endless +chain which encompasses the world, in its turning dropped the Golden +Bead of Love into St. Ange! Down deep it sank to the bottom of the +crucible. Jude Lauzoon was blinded by it and stung to life; Joyce +Birkdale through its power came into the heritage of her soul. Jock +Filmer by its magic force was shorn of his poor shield and left naked +and unprotected for Fate's crudest darts. John Gaston, working out his +salvation in his shack hidden among the pines, was burnt by the divining +rays that penetrated to his secret place and spared him not. And then, +when things were at their tensest, Ralph Drew came and tuned the +discordant notes into sweet harmony. St. Ange became in time a home for +many whom despair had marked for its own; a Sanctuary for devoted +service. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +"You've got the winning cards, my girl ... It's all in the +playing now" Frontispiece + + FACING PAGE + +"Once I went so far as to go up there with my gun" 76 + +That pictured Mother and Child were moulding Joyce's character 114 + +Presently he opened his eyes ... and there sat the girl of +his dreams near him 188 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS + +CHAPTER I + + +The man lying flat on the rock which crusted Beacon Hill raised his head +with a snake-like motion, and then let it fall back again upon his +folded arms. His body had not moved; it seemed part of the stone and +moss. + +The midsummer afternoon was sunny and hot, and the fussy little river +rambling through the Long Meadow was talking in its sleep. + +Lazily it wound around young maples, and ferny groups--it would crush +them by and by, poor trusting things--then it would stumble against a +rock or pile of loose stones, wake up and repeat the strain it had +learned at its mother's breast, far up in the North Woods. + +"I'm here! here! here! I'll be ready by and by, by, by, by." Then on +again, a little faster perhaps, but still dreamily. Children's laughter +sounded far below; a slouching man or woman making for the Black Cat +bent on business or pleasure, passed now and then; all else was still +and seemingly asleep. + +Again Jude raised his head and gave that quick glance around. + +Jude was awake at last. Little Billy Falstar had roused him two days +before and set the world in a jangle. The child's impish words had +struck the scales from Jude's eyes, and the blinding light made him +shrink and suffer. + +"Him and her," the boy had whispered, hugging his bruised and dirty +knees as he squatted by Jude's door; "him and her is sparking some." +Then he laughed the freakish laugh of mischief. + +Jude was polishing the gun which John Gaston had given him a year +before, and had trained him to use until he was second only to Gaston +himself for marksmanship. "Him and her--who?" he asked, raising his dull +eyes to Billy's tormenting face. + +"Joyce and Mr. Gaston. Him and her is beaux, I reckon. She goes to his +shack; I listened outside the winder once--he reads to her and tells her +things. They walks in the Long Medder, too, and once I saw him kiss +her." + +Again the teasing laugh that set every nerve tingling. + +Then it was that Jude awoke, and his hot French blood, mingled with his +canny Scotch inheritance, rose in his veins and struck madly against +brain and heart. + +He stared at Billy as if the boy had given him a physical blow--then he +looked beyond him at the woods, the sky, the highway and the dejected +houses--nothing was familiar! They all seemed alive and alert. Unseen +happenings were going on--he must understand. + +"You saw--him--kiss--her?" The gun fell limply across the man's knees. + +"Yep," Billy whipped his dramatic sense into action. He arose and strode +before Jude with Gaston's own manner. "This way. His arms out, and him +a-laughing like, and Joyce she kinder run inter his arms and he held +her, like this--." The close embrace of the childish gesture seemed to +strangle Jude, and he gave a muffled cry. This acted like a round of +applause upon Billy. + +"Yep, and he kept on hugging and kissing her like this--" Billy went +into an ecstasy of portrayal. Suddenly, however, he reeled into sanity, +for Jude had struck him across the cheek with the back of a hand +trembling with new-born emotion. + +"Take that, you impish brat," he had said, "and more like it if you +stand there another minute with your lying capers." + +"They ain't lies," wailed Billy, edging away and nursing his smarting +face; "he did! he did! It was in his shack--I saw 'em!" + +"Get out," yelled Jude, glowering darkly; "and you tell that to any one +else and," he came nearer to the shrinking child, "I swear I'll choke +yer till yer can't speak." So changed was Jude that Billy trembled +before him. + +"I won't," he whispered, "I swear I won't, Jude; don't--don't hit me +again; I won't tell." + +He was gone, but the old Jude was gone also. The new man finished the +gun cleaning, his breath coming hard and fast meanwhile, and then, +taking the gun with him, he went into the deep woods on the northern +edge of the village. + +All the rest of the day he watched Gaston's shack from a distance; as +the darkness drew on he crept closer. + +Joyce did not come near the place, and Gaston himself only returned when +the night was well advanced. + +Jude watched him light his lamp, and prepare his supper. Watched him, +later, go into the inner room, and then he crept close to the broad +window to see what Gaston was doing in there where no foot but Gaston's +own, so it was said, ever entered. As he had raised his eyes to the +level of the casement, Gaston's calm gaze met his with a laugh in it. + +"Hello, Jude," the voice was unshaken; "playing Indian Brave? Got your +gun, too? What you after, big game or--what?" Jude rose to his feet. He +was trembling violently. Gaston watched him closely. "Come in?" he asked +presently. + +"No. I was only passing--thought I would look in. I'm going now." + +"Hold on there, Jude, what's up?" Gaston leaned from the window. "Are +you alone?" + +"Yes. There ain't anything the matter." + +"All right." Gaston looked puzzled. "Good night." He watched Jude until +he was lost in the shadows, then he drew the heavy wooden shutters +close, bolted the door and placed his pistol near at hand. + +All the next day Jude haunted the vicinity of Joyce Birkdale's home, but +he kept hidden, for Joyce was safe within doors and a drizzly rain was +falling. Night again found him on guard; and now he lay on Beacon Hill +in the hot sun, napping by snatches (for he was woefully tired) and +scanning the Long Meadow, with his feverish eyes, in between times. + +In his dreams the scene Billy Falstar had so luridly described was +enacted again and again, until he felt as if he, Jude, had been the +onlooker. + +The people whom he had taken for granted in the past now assumed new +meaning and importance. Gaston had slipped in among them three years +before, and after the first few months of observation he had aroused no +interest. He had minded his business, paid his way, taken his turn in +camp at greenhorn jobs, accounted for his presence on the ground of +seeking health, and that was all. Life went on as usual, sluggishly and +dully--but on. + +Jude had, before Billy's illumination, been thinking that after the next +logging season he would annex Joyce Birkdale to his few belongings--the +cabin, his dog and gun. The idea had not roused him much, but it had +been a pleasurable conclusion to arrive at; and now? Every nerve was +aching and the boy's heart was thumping heavily. Again he dropped his +head, and he cursed everything his thought touched upon--even the girl +he meant, in some way, still to have. + +One, two, three hours passed. Jude's hilltop was touched by the sun, but +in the meadow the purpling shadows were gathering slowly. + +Suddenly Jude sprang up--something was happening down there below. +Something in him had warned him. + +From the southern edge of the meadow a tall man was swinging along with +easy strides. He carried his broad-brimmed hat in his right hand and +waved it as if in greeting. From the opposite direction a girl was +approaching. She wore a blue-checked gown, and her pale hair seemed to +shine in the dimming light. She wore no hat, and she walked with the +quick freedom of a child who longed to reach something precious. + +Midway of the meadow the girl and man met. He stretched out his arms, +and they closed about the slim form. + +Then he bent his head over the fair one on his breast--but he did not +kiss it! Jude was burning and palpitating. He strained his hearing, +forgetting time and space. They were talking, and he would never know +what they said. + +Presently the girl slipped from the enfolding arms, and, clinging to the +man's hands, looked up into his face. Sometimes she bowed her head, and +once she passed her hand across her eyes as if to wipe away tears. Then +the man drew her close again. He raised the face that was crushed +against his shoulder; he kissed the brow, the eyes, the chin--and then +the lips. + +Something blinded Jude. Something thick and hot like blood, and when he +could see again, the two had parted. The man stood with bared head +watching the slim, drooping figure as it retraced its steps with never a +backward turn. When it was gone he replaced his hat and took his +way--this time, toward the Black Cat. + +Jude stood alone on his hilltop and watched the lights spring to life in +cottage and tavern. The stars twinkled above him in the calm evening +gloaming. The little river trilled a vesper hymn as it felt its way +along the dark rocky path--and then tears came to Jude's relief, +impotent, boyish, weak tears, such tears as he had not shed since his +father and mother lay dead, and in childish fright and sorrow he had not +known what to do next. But now, as then, he pulled himself together and +set his teeth grimly. + +He did the wisest thing he could have done. He went down the hill and +strode toward the Birkdale house. + +But he did not walk alone. Almost forgotten memories rose sharply and +kept him company as he pushed on to meet his Fate. + +Womankind in St. Ange was monotonous. There was a shading of +individuality in the girls and newly-wed women, but it faded soon into +the dull drab that seemed the only possible wearing-colour of the place. +Occasionally, though, the sameness had been relieved by a vivid touch, +but only for a short hour. The Fate who snips the threads, had +invariably clipped such colouring from the St. Ange design, and tossed +it aside as useless. + +Jude remembered Marsena Riddall. What a woman she had been! What a +menace to man's rights and woman's position. + +She had demanded, and got her husband's wages as he returned from camp. +She met him at the edge of the North Wood, and held him up, morally and +physically. That she kept a clean and respectable house; that her +children were well fed, clothed and cared for, had not counted to her +credit one jot among the powers that be. Her husband was not safe on the +man's side of the Black Cat screen. At ten o'clock, did Riddall brave +his chances to that hour, Marsena would march boldly into the arena and +claim her quarry. If a man rose to expostulate, Marsena was equal to him +with tongue and wit. Masculine superiority trembled during Marsena's +reign, which lasted five years; then Fate downed her. + +Riddall was called away from his jailer by the command that even Marsena +could not defy, and she and her children faced life in a village where a +man was an absolute necessity unless there was money to take his place. +Jude grimly smiled as he recalled how the men and boys gave Marsena and +her brood a jeering send-off as the rattling train bore them away soon +after Riddall had been laid behind the disused church. + +So while Marsena was still in Jude's memory, he came upon the deserted +and decaying cottage where once Lola Laval had sung her pretty +French-Canadian song. + +It was odd how Lola came always with that song accompaniment. Try as he +might, even now, in this disordered moment, Jude heard the rippling +little lark song rise and fall in the fragrant darkness. + +Jude, while but a boy, liked to draw water for Lola and run her errands +when young Pierre, the husband, was in camp. When the logging season was +over, Lola's cottage vied with the Black Cat in popularity. Pierre was a +noted card player, but, oh! Lola's song sounded above the slap of +pasteboard and the click of glasses. How pretty she was--and how the +women hated her! The men were eager to serve her. She had no need to +command; her desires seemed granted before she voiced them--poor, pretty +Lola! + + Alouette, alouette, alouette, alouette. + Oh, alouette, chantez alouette, + Alouette, je te plumerai. + Alouette, chantez alouette, + Alouette, je te plumerai. + Je te plumerai le bec, + Je te plumerai le bec + A le bec, + A le bec, + Alouette, + Alouette. + +Lola had not lasted long; only nineteen she was when Pierre in his +jealousy struck the light from her eyes by a cruel blow, and the song +fled from her lips; then taking warning from a well-directed signal from +Beacon Hill, he had sought the Southern Solitude just before Justice, in +the form of the Hillcrest constable, came stalking into St. Ange. + +But the song was not dead. Again and again a man or woman would revive +it and so it had become a part of the place. To Jude, now, it was +painfully evident as he again plunged forward; it followed him sweetly, +mockingly as it used to when Lola sent it after him to keep him from +being afraid as he left her for his lonely home; he, a neglected little +boy. + +And now here was Joyce! With a stinging consciousness Jude realized this +new personality that heretofore he had not suspected. Even as jealous +anger spurred him on, a vague something he knew awaited him, calmed him +and made him cautious. + +While he longed to grip and command the situation, he was aware of a +power in Joyce--a power he had unconsciously, perhaps, sensed +before--that bade him stand afar until she beckoned him. + +As he neared her little house, before even he saw the lights, he heard a +song. It was that song! It met the rhythm in his own heated fancy--he +and Joyce seemed to be singing it together: + + Alouette, + Alouette. + +The light was streaming through open window and door. Inside Joyce was +preparing the evening meal, stepping lightly between table and stove as +she sang. Jude dared not enter unannounced, and his pride held him +silent. + +What was he afraid of? Was he not he, and Joyce but a girl? Still he +kept his distance. + +"Joyce!" The song within ceased, and the singer stepped to the open +doorway. + +"That you, father?" No answer came. "Father?" + +Then Jude came into the light. + +"You, Jude? Come in; father's late. I never wait for him and I am as +hungry as a wolf." + +Joyce had been one of the few girls who had gone to the Hillcrest school +as long as paternal authority permitted, and she showed her training. + +"I ain't come for no friendly call," muttered Jude, slouching in and +dropping on to a wooden chair beside the table. + +Joyce turned and looked at him, and the glow from the hanging lamp fell +upon her. + +She was tall and slim, almost to leanness, but there were no awkward +angles and she was as graceful as a fawn. + +Her skin was pale, clear and smooth, her eyes wide apart and so dark as +to be colourless, but of a wondrous softness. Her hair was of that shade +of gold that suggests silver, and in its curves, where the sun had not +bleached it, it was full of tints and tones. + +"What have you come for?" she asked, as a child might have asked it, +wonderingly and interestedly. + +"I want to ask you something, and I want the truth." + +"Oh!" Joyce sat opposite, and let her clasped hands fall upon the table +laid out for the evening meal with the brown bowl of early asters set in +the centre. She forgot her hunger, and the steaming pot on the stove +bubbled unheeded. + +"What you want to know, Jude? You look mighty upset." + +Jude saw with his new, keen vision that she was startled and was +sparring for time. "It's about," he leaned forward, "it's about you +and--and him. I saw you in the Long Medder. I saw him hold your hands +and--and kiss you." The words smarted the dry, hot lips. "I--I want to +know what it means." + +Jude was trembling visibly as he finished, but Joyce's silence, her +apparent discomfort, gave him a kind of assurance that upheld him in his +position. + +The girl across the table had been awakened several weeks ago in +Gaston's little shack among the pines. Since then she had been living +vividly and fervently. The question with her, now, was how best to voice +herself--the self that Jude in no wise knew. Womanlike, she did not want +to plunge into what might prove an abyss. She wanted to take her own +way, but with a half-unconscious coquetry she desired to drag her +captives whither she went. + +In the old stupid life before her womanhood was roused, Jude had held no +mean part in her girlish dreams. He was the best of the St. Ange boyhood +and Joyce had an instinctive relish for the best wherever she saw it. +Whatever the future held she was not inclined to thrust Jude from it. In +success or failure she would rather have him with her than against her. +Not that she feared him--she had boundless belief in herself--but, +hearts to the woman, scalps to the savage, are trophies not to be +despised. + +"I--I want to know what it means." Again Jude spoke, and this time a +tone of command rang through the words. + +The corners of Joyce's mouth twitched--she had a wonderfully expressive +mouth. Suddenly she raised her eyes. They did not hold the expression +Jude might have expected from her disturbed silence. His growing courage +took a step back, but his passion rushed forward proportionately. + +The witch-light danced in the steady glance she turned upon him; she +threw her head back and her slim throat showed white and smooth in the +lamp's glow. + +"Suppose he did hold my hand and--and kiss me, Jude Lauzoon, you'd like +to do the same yourself, now wouldn't you?" + +She was ignorantly testing her weak, woman's weapon on the man's metal. + +Jude felt the mist rising in his eyes that once before that day had hid +this girl and Gaston from his sight. Like a mad mockery, too, Lola's +lark song sounded above the rush of blood that made him giddy. He got to +his feet and staggered around the table. He held to it, not so much to +steady himself as to guide him, but as he neared the girl the blindness +passed, and the tormenting song stopped--he stood in an awful silence, +and a white, hot light. + +"Yes, by God, I do want to, and if yer that kind I'll take--my share and +chance along with the rest of 'em." + +It was his own voice, loud and brutal, that smote the better part of him +that stood afar and alone; a something quite different from the beast +who spoke, and which felt a mad interest in wondering how she would take +the words. + +"You go and sit down over there!" + +No clash of steel or dash of icy water could have had the effect those +quiet words had, combined with the immovable calm out of which they +came. + +The instinct of frightened womanhood was alive. If she could not down +the beast in the man by unflinching show of courage--she was lost. + +They eyed each other for an instant--then Jude backed away and dropped +into the chair across the table. + +Still, like animal and tamer they measured each other from the safer +distance. Presently the girl spoke, laying all the blame upon him for +the fright and suffering. + +"What right have you, Jude Lauzoon, to come here insulting me?" + +"What right had you," he blurted out, "to make me think you was +that--that sort?" + +"I didn't make you think it--you thought it because you--wanted to think +it--it was in you." + +The beast was quelled now, and a stifled sob rose to the boyish throat. + +"I--I didn't want to think it--God knows I didn't, Joyce, it was that +that drove me mad." + +"Can a man only think bad when he sees what he doesn't understand?" + +Revulsion of feeling was making Joyce desperate. While her new power +brought her a delirious joy, it also, she was beginning to understand, +brought a terror she had never conceived before. She wished the house +were nearer the other human habitations. + +"If you're that kind, Jude, you had better take yourself to the Black +Cat; you'll find plenty of your liking down there." + +Jude was visibly cowering now. + +"Why did he kiss you?" he pleaded. + +"Suppose I gave him the right?" + +"Then what am I to think? Have you given him the right? Does he want the +right? I mean the right first--and last?" Jude was gaining ground, but +neither he nor the girl to whom he spoke realized it yet. Joyce drew +back. + +"What is that to you?" she murmured hanging her head. For the moment she +was safe--but she felt cornered. + +Jude again bent toward her over his hands clenched close. + +"It means everything," he panted, "and you know it. I've always liked +you best of anything on earth--ever since I went to school, to please +you, over to Hillcrest; ever since I tried to keep from the Black Cat, +because you asked me to. I've gone following after you kinder +heedless-like till--till he gave me a blow twixt the eyes, with his +hand-holding and kissing. It drove me crazy. I never thought of any one +else with you--least of all John Gaston and you. He didn't seem your +kind--I don't know why, but he didn't. Howsomever, if it's all +right--God knows I ain't in it--that's all." + +A hoot of an owl outside made Joyce start nervously. She was unstrung +and superstitious--the fun of the game died in her, and she felt weak +and nauseated. She spoke as if she wanted to finish the matter and have +done with it forever. + +"Well, I didn't give him the right. He didn't want it. I guess it was +all foolish--everything is foolish. When he found out how I liked books, +and how I wanted to know about things, he just naturally was kind and he +let me go to his shack to read. Sometimes he was there, sometimes he +wasn't. He just thought about me as if I was a little girl--Maggie +Falstar used to go sometimes--he told her fairy stories--it was all the +same to him, until--" the wonderful colour that very pale people often +have rose suddenly to Joyce's face, and the eyes became dreamy--"one day +a week ago." + +"Well," Jude urged her on--he was sensing the situation from the man's +standpoint. + +"It was nothing. I had been reading a book there by myself. It was the +kind of story that makes you feel like you was the woman it tells about. +Then Mr. Gaston came in, and stood looking at me from the doorway; he +seemed like the man in the book too. We looked at each other, and--and I +was frightened and I guess he was--for I was grown up all of a sudden. +Jude"--the girl was appealing to the familiar in him, the comradeship +that would stand with her and for her--"he took me in his arms +and--and--kissed me. Then he begged my pardon--and he pushed me away; +then he led me to the door and said he--he didn't understand, but I--I +mustn't come again to the shack alone, but to meet him in the Long +Meadow to-day." + +"Curse 'im," muttered Jude; "curse 'im." But the move was a wrong one. +Joyce rose to her own defence and Gaston's. + +"If you feel that way," she cried, "you can take yourself off." + +"I--I don't feel that way," Jude returned illogically and meekly; "go +on." + +"He's a good man, Jude Lauzoon; better than any one here in St. Ange; +and he isn't our kind--not mine, yours, or any one else's around here. +He just made me feel ashamed of myself out in the Meadow to-day. I felt +as if I had been bold and--and all wrong, but he wouldn't let me feel +that way. He acted like I was a little girl to him again--only +different; and--I'm going to tell you something." The pink flush dyed +even the white throat now. "He said he wished I would get married--it +was for the best. That's the way he wanted me for himself!" Joyce +laughed with a bitterness that changed suddenly as she recalled the +subtle power she had felt over Gaston even while he was forcing her out +of his life. + +"He asked me about Jock Filmer." + +"Jock Filmer?" Jude's jaw dropped. Was all St. Ange hurtling around +Joyce? "Jock Filmer--why--why--" Words failed him and he laughed +noisily. + +"Oh, I don't know," Joyce tossed her head. "You seem to think nobody +would want me--I guess--they would--if I wanted them!" The girl was worn +out; racked by the emotions that were reflected from the new attitude of +others toward her. + +And now Jude came around the table again. This time he walked steadily, +and he was quite himself. The best self he had ever yet been. + +"I want you Joyce--God knows I do." + +"He said you did." + +"Who?" + +"He--Mr. Gaston." + +"He--said that? Then why in thunder did--he kiss you?" + +That rock Jude dashed against at every turn. + +"He didn't until--until I told him--I liked you." + +Poor Joyce! She was never to tell any one that that admission had been +wrung from her in order to make Gaston think he himself had not been +deeply in her thoughts. It had been a difficult fencing match that +afternoon. + +"You told him that?" A light came into Jude's handsome, heavy face, +which quickly vanished as the torturing jealousy, feeding upon a new +hope, rose, defiantly. "You told him you cared--and then he kissed you, +damn him! Maybe he thinks he'll get you to take me, and then he'll go on +with hand-holding and kissing all the safer." + +"Take that back," cried Joyce harshly. "Take that back, Jude Lauzoon." +Yet as she resented the implied insult, the primitive woman in her +admired Jude as it had never admired him before. + +"I didn't mean it against you, Joyce, I swear it. Can't you see how I +love yer and I don't want yer hurt? No one ain't going to hurt yer!" He +had clutched her to him roughly but tenderly. "Maybe he wouldn't want +ter, maybe I don't understand--but he can't, anyway!" + +She was sobbing hysterically against his breast. + +"You're mine, lass; you're just a little one; you don't know things. +You're no older than you was when you toted over to Hillcrest and--and +never felt afraid." + +Jude tried to kiss the tear-stained face, but she pressed it closer +against him. He had to be content with the satin softness of her thick +hair. + +Suddenly she sprang from him. A sickish odour was filling the room. + +"Everything's burned," she gasped; "everything!" She drew the pot from +the stove and ruefully carried it outside. "Nothing left, Jude;" she +laughed nervously. "Nothing but crusts and leavings." + +"You go to bed," commanded Jude authoritatively; "that's what you need +more than anything!" + +"Yes, yes, that's what I need--sleep. I'm almost dead, I'm so tired." + +Jude looked at her hungrily. The sudden happy ending of his torture gave +him an unreal, unsafe feeling. + +He wanted to touch her again in the new, thrilling way, but she was +forbidding even in her sweet yielding. + +"You go to bed," he said vaguely; "I'll go down to the Black Cat, and +see that your father gets home all right." + +Joyce stepped backward to the chamber door beyond. + +"Thank you," she murmured; "I certainly am dead tired." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +There was only a path leading from the highway to John Gaston's shack. A +path wide enough for a single traveller, and the dark pointed pines +guarded it on either side until within ten feet of the house. The house +itself sat cosily in the clearing. It was a log house built by amateur +hands, but roughly artistic without, and mannishly comfortable within. + +The broad door opened into the long living room, where a deep fireplace +(happily the chimney had drawn well from the first, or the builder would +have been sore perplexed) gave a look of hospitality to the otherwise +severe furnishings. The fireplace and mantel-shelf were Gaston's pride +and delight. Upon them he had worked his fanciful designs, and the +result was most satisfactory. There was a low, broad couch near the +hearth piled with pine cushions covered with odds and ends of material +that had come into a man's possession from limited sources. A table, +home-made, and some Hillcrest chairs completed the furnishings, except +for the china and cooking utensils that ornamented shelves and hooks +around the room. + +An inner door opened into Gaston's bedchamber and sanctum. No one but +himself ever entered there. + +There was a broad desk below the one wide window of that room and a +revolving chair before it. A boxed-in affair, filled with fragrant pine +boughs, answered for a bed. This was covered with white sheets and a +pair of fine, handsome, red blankets. An iron-bound chest stood by the +bed with a padlock strong enough to guard a king's treasure, and around +the walls of the room there were rows of books, interrupted here and +there to admit a picture of value and beauty out of all proportion to +the other possessions. + +Over the window hung a large-faced clock that kept faultless time, and +announced the fact hourly in a mellow, but convincing, voice. Just below +the window and over the desk, was a pipe-rack with pipes to fit every +mood and fancy of a lonely man. There were the short stumpy ones, with +the small bowls for the brief whiff when one did not choose to keep +company with himself for long, but was willing to be sociable for a +moment. There were the comfortable, self-caring pipes that obligingly +kept lighted between long puffs while the master was looking over old +papers, or considering future plans. Then there were the long-stemmed, +deep-bellied friends for hours when Memory would have her way and wanted +the misty, fragrant setting for her pictures that so comforted or +tormented the man who wooed them. + +By the rude desk Gaston was sitting on the evening that Jude and Joyce +were clinging to each other in the house under the maples. His hands +were plunged deep in the pockets of his corduroy trousers, his long legs +extended, and his head thrown back; he was smoking one of his +memory-filled pipes, and his eyes were fixed upon the rafters of the +room. + +He was a good-looking fellow in the neighbourhood of thirty-five; +browned by an out-of-door life, but marked by a delicacy of feature and +expression. + +The strength that was in Gaston's face might puzzle a keen reader of +character as to whether it were native, or the result of years of +well-fought battles. Once the will was off guard, a certain softness of +the eyes, and a twitching of the mouth muscles came into play; but the +will was rarely off guard during Gaston's waking hours. + +An open book lay upon the desk, and the student lamp cast a full light +upon the words that had caught the reader's thoughts after the events of +the day and their outcome. + +"In the life of every man there occurs at least one epoch when the +spirit seems to abandon the body, and elevating itself above mortal +affairs just so far as to get a comprehensive and general view, makes +this an estimate of its humanity, as accurate as it is possible, under +the circumstances, to that particular spirit. The soul here separates +itself from its own idiosyncrasy, or individuality, and considers its +own being, not as appertaining solely to itself, but as a portion of the +universal Ego. All important good resolutions of character are brought +about at these crises of life; and thus it is our sense of self which +debases and keeps us debased." + +Poe and Gaston were great friends. The living man knew that had he known +Poe in the body he would have feared and detested him, but there was no +doubt he had left trails of glory in his wake, for the comfort of +struggling humanity, if only one could lose sight of the man, in the +spiritual effulgence of his genius. + +Gaston, in his detached life, practised many arts upon his individuality +and character. He had time and to spare to "abandon the body," and he +was growing more and more confident, that in these self-imposed crises +he was gaining not only strength, but a keen and absorbing interest in +others. If the sense of self debased, then this detachment was his great +salvation. + +The rings of smoke curled upward, lost shape and formed a haze of +blueness. The heat became intense, and the noises of the summer night +magnified. The windows and doors were set wide, Gaston's wood-trained +senses were alert even in this abstraction. + +"What next?" That was the question. He had just come through a conflict +with flying colours. He was flushed with victory, but the after details +annoyed him. With the waning enthusiasm of achievement, from his point +of vantage of abandonment, he was trying to see beyond this confident +hour--see into the plain common days when a sense of self would control +him, tempt him, lure, and perhaps, betray him. What then? + +The realization of Joyce Birkdale's womanhood a time back had shaken him +almost as much as it had the girl herself. + +It had all been so peaceful, so elemental and satisfying before: that +companionship with the little lonely, aspiring, neglected child. She was +so responsive and joyous; so eager to learn, so childishly interested in +the fairy tales of another sort of existence that he kept from decay by +repeating to her. And then that sudden, upleaping flame in the +purple-black eyes. The fierce rush of hot, live blood to the pale face. +The grip of those small work-stained hands as they sought dumbly to stay +the trembling until he had taken them into his firm control. + +Well, confronted by the blinding flash, he had acted the man. That was +good. He had not acted thoughtlessly, either. He had sent the quivering +little thing away quietly, and with no sense of bitterness, until he had +threshed the matter out. And then in the Long Meadow, he had set the +girlish feet upon the trail he had blazed out for them during the +nights of temptation and days of lonely self-abnegation. + +It was a hard, stumbling way he had fixed upon. His heart yearned over +the girl even as he urged her on. But Joyce was demanding her woman's +rights. Demanding them none the less insistently, because she was +unconscious of their nature. He knew, and he must go before her; but +there was small choice of way. + +When he had held her in his arms out there in the open, he had bidden +her farewell with much the same feeling that one has who kisses the +unconscious lips of a child, and leaves him to the doubtful issue of a +necessary surgical operation. + +But the victory over self was his, and Joyce was on Life's table. There +was a sort of feverish comfort now in contemplating what might have +been. Many a man--and he knew this only too well--would have put up a +strong plea for the opposite course. + +What was he resigning her to at the best? There was no conceit in the +thought that, had he beckoned, Joyce would have leaped into the circle +of his love and protection. Not in any low or self-seeking sense would +the girl have responded--of that, too, he was aware; but as a lovely +blossom caressed by favouring sun and light, forgetting the slime and +darkness of its origin, she might have burst into a bloom of beauty. + +Yes, beauty! Gaston fiercely thought. Instead--there was honour! His +honour and hers, and the benediction of Society--if Society ever +penetrated to the North Solitude. + +Joyce would forget her soul vision, she would marry Jock Filmer--no; it +was Jude Lauzoon who, for some unknown, girlish reason, she had +preferred when she had been cast out from the circle of his, Gaston's +protection. + +Yes, she would marry Jude--and Jock might have made her laugh +occasionally--Jude, never! She would live in cramped quarters, and have +a family of children to drag her from her individual superiority to +their everlasting demands upon her. Perhaps Jude would treat her, +eventually, as other St. Ange husbands treated their wives. At that +thought Gaston's throat contracted, but a memory of the girl's strange, +uplifted dignity gave him heart to hope. + +Again the reverse of the picture was turned toward him. He saw her +flitting about his home--who was there to hold her back, or care that +she had sought dishonour instead of honour? + +He might have trained and guided that keen mind, and cultivated the +delicate, innate taste. Yes; he might have created a rare personality, +and brightened his own life at the same time--and the years and years +would have stretched on, and nothing would have interrupted the pure +passage of their lives until death had taken one or both. Gaston sat +upright, and flung the pipe away. Suppose he should choose to--go back? +Well, in that case it would have gone hard with Joyce. The soul he had +awakened and glorified would have to be flung back into the hell from +which its ignorance shielded it. + +That was it. In giving the girl the best--yes, the best, in one +sense--he must forego his own soul's good; forego the hope that he might +some day choose to go back--and in that hope, lay Joyce's damnation. + +Through dishonour--as men might have classified it--he might have lifted +Joyce up, but to save her soul alive from the hope he reserved for +himself--his open door--he must drive her back to squalor and even +worse. + +He had chosen for her and for himself. He had his hope; Joyce was to +have her honour; and now, what next? + +His renunciation had strengthened him. His good resolutions steadied +him; in the regained empire of his self-respect he contemplated the +loneliness of exile, self-imposed, but none the less dreary. He was so +human in his inclinations, so pitifully dependent upon his environment; +and since he had stepped from the train three years ago, these rough +people had taken him at his face value; desired nor cared for nothing +but what he chose to give. Desolate St. Ange was dear to him. + +No, he would remain. There was really no reason why he should abdicate +the little that was his own. All should be as it was, except for Joyce, +and even she, now that he was sure of himself and had the rudder in +hand, even she might claim his friendship and sympathy in her new life. + +He started. His quick ear detected the slow step outside. + +"Hello, Jude," he called without getting up. "Step in; I'll fetch a +light." + +"How did you know 'twas me?" Jude asked from the outer darkness. The +salutation made him feel anew the awe of constant supervision. + +"I thought you'd drop in," Gaston carried the lamp into the living room +and set it upon the table. + +Jude shambled in, drew a chair up to the table and sat down. Gaston took +his place opposite and kept his eyes upon his caller. Jude grew restless +under the calm inspection. He had come with a goodly stock of +self-assertion and sudden-gained dignity, but they withered under the +inquiring gaze. + +"You've come from Joyce Birkdale's? I congratulate you, Jude." + +So he knew that too! Jude felt a superstitious aversion to this man he +had but recently begun to have any feeling toward whatever outside the +ordinary give and take of village life. + +Over the ground he had come laboriously to discuss, Gaston strode with +unerring instinct. There were no words ready for this friendly advance, +so Jude halted. He had meant to approach the announcement of his +engagement to Joyce by telling Gaston what he had seen from the hilltop +that afternoon and what he had gained since, and then he had intended, +in man-fashion, to warn Gaston off his preserves. Instead, he sat +twirling his cap and foolishly staring. + +"Smoke?" Gaston felt his guest's discomfort and tried to ease the +strain. He pushed the tobacco-jar forward; no St. Ange man ever +travelled without his own pipe. + +"Given it up," muttered Jude, "and cards likewise, and--and drink; I'm +going to get married right away." + +This was rather startling. Gaston had expected some faltering on Joyce's +part, some dallying with the past. The smoke of his burning bridges was +still in Gaston's consciousness. He had lighted the fuse, to be sure, +but had not expected the demoralization to be so prompt. + +For a minute his gaze faltered, then he said cordially: + +"Good! And you won't drink to it--or smoke over it? Well, then, shake, +old man." + +For the life of him Jude could not decline. So their hands met over the +bare table. + +An awkward pause followed. Gaston took refuge in smoke. He drew the +inevitable pipe from his pocket, filled and lighted it, and during the +time of grace, got himself in hand. + +"Jude," he said between puffs, "I want to see her married." + +Jude's anger rose. The words and the tone brought back his suspicions +and jealousies. + +"I want that girl to have a chance at life." Gaston looked over Jude's +head, and drew hard upon his pipe. "She's never really waked up. Just +got the call, you know. Before this, she's been dreaming, and God alone +knows where she got her dream material. Like the rest of us, until she +finds out, she's going to expect her dream to come true. In heaven's +name, Lauzoon, help her to make it true." + +The import of all this touched Jude not at all, but the meddling of this +outsider did mightily stir him to depths he had never fathomed before. +Suddenly a kind of courage came to him, partly worthy, but wholly +unreasonable. + +"I ain't no wooden-head, as some thinks I am," he blurted out, while his +dull eyes flashed; "and, by gosh, I want that darn well understood +between you and me, Mr. Gaston! I don't want any interference in my +affairs; but as to what you're drivin' at, perhaps, I'll say this. I'm +going to let Joyce have her head--in reason." + +"You better," Gaston laughed unpleasantly. He rather liked Jude the +better for his uprising; but he had no intention of showing a flag of +truce now. + +"Why?" asked Lauzoon; the laugh irritated him. + +"Oh, it's plain common sense to be with her, instead of against her, +when she gets fully awake. Her kind goes well enough in harness if the +other one pulls a fair share--if he doesn't--why, the chances are--she'd +break the traces and--clip it alone." + +"Alone, hey?" It was Jude's turn to laugh now. "You ain't got the lay of +the country yet, Mr. Gaston, not so far as the women is concerned. How +in thunder is a woman to go alone, I'd like to know, in St. Ange? Once +she's married, she's married, and she knows it. Go alone? I'd like to +know where she'd go to?" + +A breeze was now stirring outside. Gaston felt it and he shivered +slightly. + +"Jude," he continued after a moment, "they sometimes go to the devil, +you know. Even St. Ange's ideals do not prevent that, judging from +things I've heard." + +"Not her kind," Jude muttered. He was harking back to Lola Laval. How +the girl rose and haunted him to-night! "Not her kind, Mr. Gaston." + +"No, you're right, Jude--not her kind as she is now. That's just the +point. It's poor work, though, to draw on your bank account without +noting how your balance stands. If you do, you'll get a surprise some +day. Joyce wants the best she can get out of life. She's had a vision, +poor little girl, and she's making for that vision, believing it a +reality. We all do that, old man, and it's up to you to give her as much +of what she wants as you can. She's been building a place for her +soul"--Gaston was thinking aloud. Jude had vanished from his +horizon--"and she's going up to take possession some day. God, how that +woman is going to love--something!" + +And just then Jude shifted into view again upon the line of Gaston's +perceptions. He had risen to his feet and was glaring at his companion. +There was an ugly look on his face, and his hands trembled with the +effort he made to restrain himself. + +"Say, Mr. Gaston," he blurted out, "all that talk is damned moonshine, +and I ain't such a fool but what I know it. Such gaff ain't nourishing. +Now as to Joyce, I'm going to do the square thing by her. Her +book-learning is all right if she keeps it to herself, and don't let it +get mixed up with her duties 'long of me. And right here, Mr. Gaston," +Jude choked miserably, "I guess her and me don't want no coaching from +you. No harm intended, understand, but just a clean showing." + +Indignation and a realization of his own insignificance, had hurled Jude +along up to this point, but he was suddenly landed high and dry by the +calm, amused look in Gaston's eyes. + +"Too bad you don't smoke, Jude," Gaston said quietly, refilling his +pipe. "But sit down, and loosen your collar. The room is infernally +close. I've been thinking some of leaving St. Ange--" + +"When are you going?" Jude broke in with an eagerness that intensified +the smile on Gaston's face, and bade the devil in him awake. The same +devil that in boyhood days had made him such an irritant to the bullies +of his class. + +"Oh, I'm not going," he replied, puffing luxuriously upon his pipe; +"I've changed my mind. All I wanted was new scenes and occupations. I've +decided to stay on awhile. But I've been thinking, Jude, you don't want +to take Joyce into your shack. Let's build her another up on the sunny +slope beyond the Long Meadow on the Hillcrest side. I'm gaining strength +each year; I like to keep myself busy and the work would be a godsend to +me. What do you say? I can lend you a little money, too, if you need +it." + +Need it? Unconsciously Gaston had touched the spring that unlocked the +evilest part of Jude's nature. Jealousy, love, hate, were blotted out by +this unlooked-for suggestion. His dark face flushed and his dull eyes +gleamed. Money! Money! To handle it, spend it and enjoy it without great +bodily effort in earning it. This had ever been a consuming passion +with Jude. A passion that had remained smouldering because no favouring +chance had ever fanned it. Lazy and hot-blooded, Jude, in a prosperous +community, might have developed criminal tendencies young; in St. Ange +there had been nothing to tempt him--until now. + +"Thank you," he said, and Gaston saw the change in him. "I--I may be +glad of a small loan--just at the start, you know, and before I get my +pay from the camp boss. It's almighty kind of you, Mr. Gaston, to think +of this here building and all. Me and Joyce will take it grateful, I can +tell you." + +"Going?" Gaston asked, for Jude had risen and was awkwardly shifting +from foot to foot. "Well, so long! Good luck--and a speedy marriage." + +Then the door closed upon the transformed Jude. + +"Now, what in thunder," mused Gaston in the hot, smoky room, "has got +into that fellow, I wonder!" Could they know of his money? The amount, +and manner of getting it? Was he, in offering Jude this assistance, +letting the leak in upon his own safety? + +A cloud gathered on Gaston's face. A sensation of coming evil possessed +him. He felt as if, in an unguarded moment, he had given an enemy a +power over him. + +The memory of the look in Jude's face when the money cast a gleam over +his hate, repelled him. Gaston was as fully alive to the possibilities +now as Jude was--perhaps more so; but there stood the pale, innocent +girl between them. He recalled her hurt, quivering face when he had +urged her into Jude's keeping. It had seemed her only salvation--hers +and his! But it began to look now like a hideous damnation. + +"Poor little devil," he murmured taking the lamp and going back into his +bedroom. + +The window of this room he closed carefully, and set the lamp upon the +rude desk. He drew the pistol from the drawer, and laid it conveniently +at hand, then he turned to the chest with the mighty lock and, having +unfastened it, drew forth a small package and went back to the chair +before the desk. + +The package contained a photograph and some letters. The letters were +tied together, and these the man placed beside the pistol. The +photograph he took from its various wrappings of tissue paper and braced +it against the lamp. + +The big clock hanging over the window frame struck one. The heat in the +little room became stifling, and the lamp flickered in its duty--for the +oil was running low. + +With arms folded before him Gaston gazed upon the pictured face. It +broke upon the senses like a revelation of womanhood. At the first +glance it seemed as if just that type had never been conceived before. +The artist had grasped that conception evidently, for with no shading or +background, with only a filmy scarf outlining the form from the +colourless paper, the compelling features started vividly upon the +vision, as the individuality of the girl did upon the imagination. An +irritation followed the first impression. Was this child, or woman? What +was she to become, or what had she become already? Was she a soul +reaching out for realization, or a well-developed personality, having +gained, with all its other attainments, a power of self-concealment from +the inquisitive eye? + +The brow, low and broad, bespoke gracious womanhood and a possible +radiant maternity, rather than intellectuality. The masses of hair were +braided and wound coronet-style about the small uplifted head. The eyes, +deep, dark, and mystical gave no clue to the inner woman; but the mouth, +while it was tender in its curves, had a rigidity of purpose in its +expression that fixed the attention. A pretty, rounded chin, a slender, +slightly tilted nose, an exquisite throat set off by the cloud of +lace--such was the face that Gaston beheld, and presently it wrung a +groan from him. + +"Ruth, Ruth, Ruth," he muttered, and then his mind took to the +memory-haunted highway that led back, back of the lonely years of St. +Ange; past a certain black horror that had stood, and would always +stand, as a thing that should not have existed; but which had been, and +would always remain, an object that cast a shadow before it and behind +it. + +"Did you do this thing?" + +"I did." + +Question and answer made up the vital happening in Gaston's life. +Everything before led up to them, and all that had occurred since was +the outcome. + +They had admitted--or so he once thought--of no shading nor explanation. +The questioner was not the type to deal unsteadily with a problem, and +Gaston had been too simple and direct to note fine points or shadings. +Perhaps neither of them had understood. Life had been so fair until the +terrible thing had loomed up. It had come like a cataclysm--how could +they, young and inexperienced as they had been, deal with the situation +justly? + +Suppose _now_ she stood before him, wonder-eyes raised, seeking his +soul's truth; hands resting in his until he should speak. Would he speak +again those two crude, fatal words? Would she drop her hands letting his +soul sink, by so doing, into the blackness which had engulfed it? + +That was the torturing problem that Gaston was working out up in the +lonely St. Ange woods; but he seemed no nearer the answer than when he +had come to the place, by mistake, a few years back, and decided to stay +there simply because it was as desirable as any other forsaken spot, +while he was debarred from the Paradise of life. + +The lamp flickered fretfully, and the spasmodic flare showed the rigid +face torn with the emotions that were racking the soul laid bare before +its God and its own consciousness. + +What had the dreary, desolated years done for him? He was a fool. Why +had he not taken what was possible, since the ideal was dashed from him? + +This girl, way off there behind the hideous shadow, had been wiser. She +had replaced his memory by living love; why should not he take the poor +substitute that the Solitude offered, and warm the barren places of his +heart and life with the faint glow? + +It was a bad hour for Temptation to assail John Gaston. + +The armour of self-wrought strength was off. Suffering was flaying the +naked despair and yearning; and just then Temptation knocked softly and +pitifully at the door of the outer room! + +Gaston had done more while he had hidden in the woods than he was aware +of. He had developed something akin to second sight. Loneliness and +empty hours had strengthened this as blindness intensifies other senses +to abnormal keenness. Gradually he had grown to believe that a man's +life, complete and prearranged, lies stretched before, and occasionally +some, when the circumstances are propitious and the soul has a certain +detachment that ignores the bodily claims, can leap over the _now_ and +here, and catch a glimpse of the future and what it holds. This vague +sense had come to Gaston more than once during the past year or two--the +seeing and hearing of that which had held no part in what was, at the +moment, occurring, but which he noted later had become a fact in his +life. + +That feeble knock dragged the man's consciousness away from the pictured +face; away from his wavering indecision; away from the darkening room +with its foul smell of oil: he knew who stood outside in the +moonlighted, fragrant summer night, and he wondered if he were going to +open that barred door to her. He waited for a glimpse of what was in +store for them both. + +But his spiritual sight was blinded by a firm, deadening blankness! +Whatever was to be the outcome must be of his own choosing. + +Again she knocked, that poor little temptress in the dark. What had Fate +decreed that he was to do? Gaston knew as well as if Joyce had told him, +_why_ she had come. Her soul had revolted from her concession to Jude. +In the bewitched hours of darkness, the primitive, savage instinct had +driven the girl to the only one who could change her future. Worn, +weary, defiant, she had come to him; not questioning further than her +despair and his power. + +Well, why not? Who would be the worse, and who the better--if he drew +her within and closed the door upon--St. Ange? + +Another tap--this time upon the wooden shutter of the bedchamber! + +Gaston shivered and trembled. He was not outside; he was stifling in the +dark room. The light had gone entirely, and he was struggling to free +himself from an intangible enemy or friend; a thing that had, unknown to +himself, evolved during those isolated years among the pines, and was +restraining his lower nature now. + +He battled to get to that little, insistent girl. He heard her sob, a +childish sob, half desire, half fear. The veins stood out on his +forehead and his hands gripped the edge of his desk as he got upon his +feet. + +The sob outside was echoed by a stifled groan from within--then all was +still. + +Slow retreating steps presently sounded without. She, that sad, broken, +little temptress, was going to meet the fore-ordained future that lay +before. There was nothing else left for her to do. All her reserves were +taken. + +Then Gaston, when all was beyond his power of recall or desire, opened +the window. + +Softly, sweetly, the fresh morning air entered. It was a young and good +morning. A morning cool and faintly tinted, a morning to soothe a hurt +heart, not to stimulate it too harshly. + +Gaston's lined face smoothed under the caress. His armour arose as if +unseen hands guided it, and placed it again upon him. Once more he was +the strong, quiet man that St. Ange had taken upon faith, and accepted +without question. + +As he looked at the scene, his self-respect giving him courage to meet +the day, Jude Lauzoon's soft-stepping figure materialized upon the edge +of the pine woods. + +The humour of the situation for a moment gripped Gaston's senses. Had +all St. Ange stayed awake and been on guard while the night passed? But +the smile faded. How long had Jude been there? Long enough to _know +all_, or just long enough to know half? + +What should he do? If Jude knew but half, no explanation could possibly +avail. If he knew all; if he had been on guard before Joyce came--been +camping out with no definite purpose, since his late talk in the +shack--why, then it was simply a matter to be settled between Lauzoon +and Joyce. God help her! He, Gaston, could serve best by retiring. This +he did physically. + +He put away his treasures and locked them fast; then, flinging himself +upon the pine-bough bed, dressed as he was, he soon fell into a troubled +sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Jared Birkdale, with a contemplative eye, looked at his daughter through +the haze of his tobacco smoke as if seeing her for the first time. In a +way this was so. He was not one to take heed of time or happenings. When +he was not obliged to work, he was enjoying himself in his own way, and +so long as nothing jarred him, life slipped by comfortably enough. + +When he worked he was away, as all St. Ange men were, in the camps. +Occupation, outside of Leon Tate's profession, was the same for all the +men after first boyhood was past. When the logging season was over +Jared, more temperate, perhaps more cruel for that reason, settled down. +When he was not occupying the chair of honour at the Black Cat--given +him by common consent because of his superior mental endowments--he was +lounging at home and idly appreciating the plain comfort for which Joyce +was responsible; a comfort Jared neither understood nor questioned. + +But little Billy Falstar, the day before, with the fiendish depravity of +a mischief-making child, had set the match to a fuse of gunpowder all +ready for it down at the Black Cat. + +Resenting the treatment Jude had given him when he had voiced his +observations about Gaston and Joyce, he had gone to the tavern to nurse +his wounded feelings where company and safety abounded. His fear of Jude +had departed. + +Several men, Birkdale among them, were sitting about when Billy, +sniffing and rubbing his knuckles in his eyes to such an extent that of +necessity notice must be taken, drew their attention. + +"What's up, Billy?" asked Jock Filmer good-naturedly; "shingle struck a +thin place in your breeches? Go around and buy a peppermint stick. +Here's a cent. Peppermint ought to be as good for a pain in your +hindquarters as it is for one in your first cabin. Let up, kid, and get +cheerful!" + +Billy accepted the coin, but turned a calculating eye on the others. If +his news had had power to rouse Jude, how would it act now? Billy, +freckled and sharp-eyed, was a born tragedian. + +"'Tain't Ma," he said. "No more was it Pa; it was that Jude what beat me +most to a jelly." + +This was startling enough to awaken a new interest. Jude was too lazy on +general principles to reduce any one to jelly unless the provocation had +been great. + +"What divilment was you up to?" Filmer asked with a leer. + +"I didn't do nothing! 'Pon my soul, I didn't. I swear!" + +This Billy did, fervently and fluently. The children of St. Ange swore +with a guileless eloquence quite outside the sphere of wickedness. The +matter was in them. It must, of course, come out. So Billy swore now +with only an occasional hitch where his indignation muddled +pronunciation. + +"Billy's got a fine flow of language," Birkdale put in amusedly. "For a +youngster, I don't think I ever heard it equalled." Birkdale was about +to urge Billy to renewed effort, when something the boy was wedging in +among his evil words caught his attention. + +"I was just a-telling him--" more lurid expressions--"'bout Joyce and +Mr. Gaston. It didn't seem like nothing; just them two being beaux like +all girls and fellers, but Jude he did me dirt, he did!" Billy stopped +rubbing his eyes. + +He was interested, himself, in the effect his words now had. For a +moment he feared all the men were going to rise up against him as Jude +had done. A silence fell upon the group. Filmer gave one keen glance at +the imp on the doorstep, and then refilled his pipe and leaned back in +his wooden chair. + +Tom Smith, the ticket agent of the Station, looked as if some one had +dashed water in his face, so startled was he; and Jared Birkdale simply +stared open-mouthed at the spy in their midst. Then Tate, the +proprietor, with the tact for which he was noted, went to the bar and +began filling glasses. + +St. Ange had received a shock; but St. Ange took its shocks in a +peculiar way. It reserved its opinion until it had drunk on them. + +Soon after the revelation Birkdale went home without a word having been +spoken by any one on the subject so suddenly thrust upon their notice. + +Jared had gone home to assure himself that Joyce had actually grown up +to the extent of making Billy Falstar's remarks possible. + +The afternoon's contemplation had caused him some astonishment. + +Joyce _was_ grown up! Then he had slept on the knowledge, and dreamed of +other days--a life apart, and beyond St. Ange. + +St. Ange was a young place; it had no antiquity; almost all who lived +there had had a setting in some other time and environment. + +Jared recalled, in his thoughts that night, the beginnings of things in +his life. Joyce's mother, and the babies who had come and gone like +little ghosts, each one taking more of the wife's and mother's beauty +and power. + +Then that flight to the St. Ange lumber camp--it was really that, +nothing less--the attending discomfort and paralyzing reality of what +lay before! + +Joyce was born the year after the settlement in the rough forest home, +and then poor Mrs. Birkdale gave up the struggle. + +She told Isa Tate that had the baby been a boy she would not have felt +the way she did, but to face the life of another woman in her own life +was more than she could bear. + +Isa had tried to hold her to her responsibility: Isa had more than her +own share of trouble--but Jane Birkdale had slipped away in the middle +of the severest winter St. Ange had known for many a year and Isa had +been obliged to have "an eye" to the baby Joyce. The small girl +responded in health and joyousness, and Jared, when he was himself, had +had the grace to be grateful. + +As the years slipped by the fire of Jared's own little private hell +aroused him to a consciousness that he deserved anything but a happy +future. + +He hoped, in due season, that he would forget the wrongs he had done his +wife, but they gathered strength with time. His sins walked with him +through the sober lumber season; their memory drove him to the Black +Cat; but his keener wit evolved a desire to "make good," as he termed +it, in his relations with his daughter. + +He would so conduct himself with her that she, at least, should have +nothing against him; and when age, sickness or accident befell him, he +might turn to her and find refuge. Jared had always had some kind of +sanctuary to flee to when overtaken by the results of his own evil +nature. + +And now, by the impish words of Falstar's Billy, he was brought face to +face with a possibility that staggered and unnerved him. + +Joyce and Jude, or Joyce and Jock Filmer, had been possibilities in +Jared's distant future. But Joyce, already a woman, and that silent man +Gaston who had come from a Past that he rigidly reserved for his own +contemplation--Gaston, who lived among them as a traveller who might +depart with the day into a Future Birkdale instinctively knew would hold +no possible connection with St. Ange--Joyce and Gaston! Here was a +situation indeed. + +Astonishment, anger, a dull fear and a determination to grip something +out of it all for himself, swayed Jared as he sat tilted back, eyeing +his daughter after the night's travail. + +He had come from his troubled thought imbued with a forced strength and +singleness of purpose that made themselves felt by the quiet girl at the +window. + +Joyce had brought no strength from her disturbed night. She was +ill-fitted for the encounter. + +"By Jove," Jared suddenly ejaculated, "it's just struck me all of a +heap, Joyce, that you're more than ordinary handsome." + +The girl raised her eyes with a dull show of surprise, then went on with +her sewing. + +"With the learning I've given you over and above the other girls of the +place, you _ought_ to do pretty good for yourself--and me--and no +mistake. You always was a real grateful child, and you ain't one ever +to forget the fifth commandment, Joyce--the only one with a promise." + +"The only one needing it," Joyce returned, with a bitterness for which +she was sorry the moment after. But when Jared turned to quoting +Scripture the girl grew rebellious. It was always distasteful to her to +see, or hear, her father parade his superior knowledge. For some reason +she always felt more ashamed of him then than at any other time. + +"You've got a nasty bit of a temper, Joyce." Jared's eye gleamed. "I +hope you ain't going to take the first chance you get to shirk your duty +to me." + +"I guess not, father, but I hate to be dragged to my duty; and I have a +headache." + +"What give you that, Joyce?" + +"I don't know." Again the fair head bent above the coarse sewing in the +trembling hands. + +She had seen the light in the chinks of Gaston's shutter. She had felt +his nearness, but rigid aloofness. The memory of these things had +tortured her and left their trace in worn-out nerves and hurt pride. She +felt that she hated Gaston and in revolt her thought now clung to Jude. +She forgot her father. + +"Joyce!" + +"Oh, yes, father." How the insistent invasion of paternal intimacy +jarred. + +"I've been thinking lately how you and me might do better than stick +here in St. Ange." + +A sudden illumination flashed into the pale face. Was there a +possibility of escape that did not include Jude? + +"Where could we go, father?" Joyce was all attention. + +"Oh! there are several places. I wasn't always here by a long shot. I've +always meant to tell you some day, Joyce. It has sometimes struck me as +singular that you never asked." + +"I never cared. I was here--and the rest didn't matter--or it never did, +until now." + +"Well I was a handsome young buck once, my girl." Jared glanced at the +mirror hanging over Joyce's head, and smirked. "I ain't a bad looking +feller now. A little trimming of the beard, fashionable clothes, refined +surroundings and you'd have a father that any girl might be proud of!" + +Joyce noted now, as she had more than once before, since Hillcrest +training had given her a certain power of discrimination, her father's +style of speaking. + +"What happened, father, before you came here?" she asked quickly. Her +directness, and the slight she paid to his personal reflections, ruffled +Jared's complacency. He was not ready to confess more than was +absolutely necessary. + +"Just one of them misunderstandings," he replied, slipping into St. +Ange's carelessness of speech, "that happens now and again to any young +man with a fine taste and slim purse. A matter of business! I always +calculated to go back and make it straight, after the first flash had +passed and I had money enough. I never give up or got discouraged. It +was your mother losing grip sort of set me back; and then your raising +and expenses here, kinder held me down. But the spirit in me has soared +nevertheless." + +"Sometimes it seems to me," Joyce's eyes grew dreamy, "that every one in +St. Ange has something to keep still about. Every one seems to be here +because he has to, not because he wants to. People seem to drift in here +like logs after a spring freshet--and they get jammed." + +Jared laughed. The idea caught his fancy. + +"You've hit it, Joyce!" he said, "You've hit it all right. Jammed, by +damn! that's it; but to carry the simile further, when the jam is +loosened up, there's going to be some logs as gets away." + +"_Where_ could we go, father, and how?" + +The pleading intensity of the girl encouraged Jared. He refilled his +pipe, imagined himself in the mirror trimmed up and fashionably attired, +and then drove his axe to the heart of the matter. + +"When all's said and done, girl," he began, "I've been a pretty good dad +to you. Given you years of schooling and stood by you when I might have +skipped and led my own life. Many a man with his wife dead, and a kid +on his hands, _has_ done it. I've worked for you, and given you the best +home in St. Ange; and now if you let me play the cards that you've got +in your hands, we'll get out of this and live in clover to the end o' +time." + +"I don't know what you mean," Joyce gasped. + +This was no idle talk. She was fascinated and frightened. It seemed as +if her father had his fingers on the rope that was strangling the life +out of her. + +"You've got the winning cards, my girl, if I don't miss my guess. It's +all in the playing now. I've had one eye on you all along, Joyce. I've +seen, like any kind father might, that there ain't a young feller +between here and Hillcrest but would be glad to have you. But like a rap +on the _shut_ eye it has just been sprung on me that Myst. has had his +mind on you as well!" + +Joyce's eyes dilated and the colour rose through her soft paleness, but +she did not speak. + +"It's always the way. Them most concerned gits wind of scandal last. +Even the brats have caught on before me. But once your father has both +eyes open, folks better watch out." + +"Who do you mean by Myst.?" asked Joyce, and her strained voice sounded +unnatural. + +"Gaston, to be sure! I've got a wit of my own, Joyce. Myst.--short for +Mystery. That's what Gaston is. No one knows a damned thing about him." + +"Well, that's to his credit, anyway." Joyce flung up a defence now. She +must fight, but she must keep herself out of sight. + +Jared glared angrily. He did not like the tone. + +"Oh! I ain't the one to object to you keeping your mouth shut," he +returned. "Jammed logs"--the phrase stuck in his mind--"jammed logs +don't creak any; but when it comes to joining forces, like two jams +together for instance, there's got to be, in the nature of things, some +demonstration. What I'm aiming at is this. Has this here Myst. meant +business or has he not? I'm a man of the world--so is Gaston--he ain't +never hoodwinked me. I had my reasons for coming here, and likewise, so +has he. That's my business and his, by thunder! but when _he_ meddles in +my affairs he's got to show his hand. Now is it, or ain't it, business +'twixt you and him?" + +"What kind of business?" Joyce's voice was low and even. She was +approaching her father cautiously and fearfully. + +"Honourable--or otherwise?" + +A silence followed. Something was born, and something died in the +sunlighted room while that silence lasted. + +The child's dependence upon its father fell, torn and quivering, before +the new-risen self-protection of the pitiful girlhood. + +For the first time, consciously, Joyce experienced the soul-loneliness +for which there is no aid. Her deep eyes pleaded for help and mercy +where there was no help, and alas! no mercy. Birkdale had his answer +now, though no word had been uttered by those quivering lips. + +"You can't be expected to act for yourself in these matters." Jared put +his pipe on the table and brought his chair to the floor. "You ain't the +first girl as has been game for such as Myst., but he's made a damned +mistake if he thought two couldn't play at his game here in St. Ange. +We'll make something out of him no matter which way you put it." + +"Make something--out--of--what?" Joyce bent forward and real horror +filled her eyes. Was even the security of Jude to be wrenched from her? + +"Out of Myst. He's got money, It comes in letters--checks. Tate has ways +of finding out. Myst. has a fat account over to Hillcrest. He thought we +took him on trust. We knowed what we wanted to know." + +"And so, and so," panted Joyce, "what next?" + +"Well, by the living God, if he wants to marry you, let him come out and +say so, and I won't hold back my presence nor my blessing." + +It was quite plain now. Gaston was the target at which Jared aimed. In +some way she must shield him and shield him so effectually that no harm +could reach him. There was no escape for her. Every path was closed +through which she had hoped to go free and happy. + +"I ain't going, though," Jared was whining in his semi-religious tone, +"to have my reputation smirched. Either he marries you, or he pays well, +and we'll get out. See?" + +"Oh, yes, I see!" Joyce shivered in the hot room; "I see what you think, +but _why_ do you suppose I'd marry Mr. Gaston if he _did_ want me? +Sometimes girls don't--marry--men even when they are asked. Books are +full of such things." A heavy sob came after the pitiful words. + +"Oh! that's your dodge, eh?" Jared laughed comfortably from the secure +position he had gained for himself from this misery. "Trying to shield +him, eh? It won't do, Joyce. Your daddy's too much a man of the world +for that. Now here it is in a nutshell: The boys at the tavern are back +of me. How do I know? You leave that to me. Now I calculate that Gaston +don't want any of the dust of his past stirred up by us. If he's been +playing with you, it's for _you_ to say whether you'd rather have him +forced to marry you, or have him pan out money enough to hush the matter +up. I'm willing to sacrifice something for you, Joyce. I'm willing to go +so far as to say I don't want the dust of _my_ past raised--I'm actually +willing to sacrifice--anything." + +"Even me!" The words were a moan of fear and misery. + +"Sure!" Jared did not catch the point. "This is an opportunity that +don't come often. Retribution for Myst., by thunder, and clear gain for +me and you! Out beyond the high trees, girl, there's better diggings for +us. God! how I've smothered, these long years. The end justifies the +means--you will say so, too, when you see what lies down to the south." + +Jared laughed wildly as if the ambition of all the desolated years had +been achieved. Joyce, compelled by his delirious words and excitement, +almost felt a responsive sympathy; but her words, slow and hard, brought +her and Jared down to the bleakness of St. Ange again. + +"You are wrong, terribly wrong. Mr. Gaston never wanted to marry me, and +I can take care of myself--I always have--taken care of myself! +Why--why, I'm engaged to Jude Lauzoon. I'm going to marry him right +away. We can't even wait for him to build a new shack. If a minister +doesn't happen this way, we're going over to Hillcrest. Oh, what a joke +we've played on you!" + +Jared stared idiotically, and Joyce's laugh rang wildly out. + +"Mr. Gaston and me! What an idea! Why, he's helping us"--the +inspiration to say this came from a blind belief in Gaston's quick +adaptability--"he's helping me and Jude--to what we want." + +"The devil he is!" It was all that Jared could clutch from the rout. +"I--I believe it's a thundering lie," he added as an after-thought, and +as a cover to his retreat. + +"It's no lie." Joyce had regained her calmness. She was panting, but she +had reached safety and she knew it. An unlovely, unhallowed safety, but +such as it was it was her salvation and Gaston's. + +When she had stolen to him the night before it was her last ignorant +impulse to gain her own ends. From now on she must be on guard, or her +world would come clattering about her heart and soul. It took Jared some +minutes to digest the information that had been flung at him so +unexpectedly, and then anger and baffled hope swayed him. Joyce married +to Jude would make _his_, Jared's, future no securer than it now was. +Indeed it might complicate matters, for Jared had no belief in Jude +rising above the dead level of St. Ange standards. + +"You're a durn fool!" he ejaculated at last, while the new impression of +his daughter's beauty stirred him painfully. "You are a durn fool to +fling yourself away on Jude when you might have done most anything with +yourself--if you was managed right." + +Then in an evil moment Joyce laughed. Her lips parted in an odd little +way they had showing the small white teeth and forming the dimples in +cheeks and chin. So great was the girl's relief; so appalled was she at +what might have been, that the conflict of emotions made her almost +hysterical. + +"Daddy," she said, between ripples of laughter, "you thought you had me +then, didn't you? But being your daughter, you know, I had wit enough to +take care of myself." + +Jared listened to this outburst in sheer amazement. Unable to +understand, in the least, what was passing over the girl before him, he +weighed her by his own low standard, and drew the worst possible +conclusion as Jude had done before him. + +He looked steadily at Joyce, and he saw the colour and fire come to +cheek and eye. The ringing laughter struck through his brutality and +hurt something in him that was akin to paternal love; but so long had +that protecting tenderness been ignored by Jared, that now when it was +called upon to act, it did so in a savage rage. + +"By heaven!" he thundered, "I catch your drift, you young divil. And if +that Myst. ain't a slick one! Going to use Jude is he, to pull his +chestnuts out of the fire?" + +Then Jared strode forward with arm upraised as if to strike and, by so +doing, again command the situation. In like manner had he downed and +controlled Joyce's mother. But he paused before the pale undaunted girl. +Her laugh died suddenly, to be sure, so suddenly that the gleaming +teeth and pretty dimples outlived the mirth long enough to give a +stricken, death-like expression to the face, but the change brought no +fear; it brought something worse. + +Joyce's moral sense was an unknown quantity in her present development. +Her father's true meaning affected her not at all; what she felt was--a +loathing disgust, and a conviction that if she was to hold even Jude for +herself against her father's anger and purpose, she must flee to other +shelter. + +She drew herself up and cast a look upon Jared that he never forgot to +his dying day. It was an added faggot to that hell of his. + +"Isa Tate," the even voice broke upon him, "Isa Tate said you killed my +mother. But I'm not afraid of you, and I'm going to live my life. You +can't kill me! I know when and where to go." + +With that she gathered up the work that had fallen to the floor, and +almost ran into the little bedchamber beyond the kitchen, closing the +door after her. + +Jared sat dumbly staring at the wooden barrier. He longed to call her, +but his tongue pricked with excitement. + +He dared not go to her--so he waited. He heard her moving about inside +the room. A half-hour passed, then an hour. Noon came and went. The fire +was out, and dinner, apparently, was as distant as it had been two hours +before. + +Jared fell asleep in his hard chair, his dishevelled head lying on his +arms folded on the bare table. When he awoke it was three o'clock and +Joyce stood before him. + +She was very white, and the drawn look was still in evidence. She wore a +blue-and-white checked gown; short and scant it was, but daintily fresh +and sweet. She had her poor little best hat on--a hat with a bunch of +roses on the side--and she carried a large basket in her hand. + +Jared stared at her as if she were part of a nightmarish dream. + +"Where are you going?" he asked hoarsely, a new fear gripping him. + +"It doesn't matter to you, father. I'm just--going." + +Jared experienced a shock as he realized how far this girl had already +gone from him. + +"Good-bye," she faltered; "good-bye, father." + +She turned from him and walked to the door. Then a latent power for good +roused Jared. + +"Joyce," he called after her; "there's twenty dollars left--take it all, +girl." + +"No." + +"Then for God's sake take half!" He was pleading, pleading with a woman +for the first time in his selfish, depraved life. + +Joyce turned and looked at him, and the tears filled her eyes. + +"No," she repeated, "I--I couldn't take it. I don't want it; but I'm +going to Isa Tate, father." + +How frightfully still and lonely she had left the little house. Jared +looked at the old furniture and found it strange and unnatural. The +summer day grew dim as he waited there among the ruins of all that he +thought had been his own. No dinner; no probable supper--Jared thought +upon the physical discomfort, too, but he was sober enough, and shocked +enough to give heed to the graver side of the situation. + +What he suffered as the afternoon faded and the ticking of the clock +thudded on his senses, no one could ever know. + +We may leave retribution for sin out of our scheme of +things-as-they-should-be for others. Each sin takes care of itself, and +burns and blisters as it strikes in. Men may suffer without giving +outward sign. Justice is never cheated, and we may trust her workings +alone. Jared suffered. Suffered until nerves and body could bear no +more, and then he went down to the Black Cat to face the situation Joyce +had created and deal with it in his own fashion. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +When Joyce went with bowed head from the only semblance of a home that +had ever been hers, she carried with her, in the rough basket, all that +she could rightfully call her own in personal effects. The load was not +heavy and she scarcely noticed it as she walked rapidly through the +maple thicket which divided her father's garden-place and the Long +Meadow. + +She felt like an exile, indeed. A friendless creature who had no real +hold upon any one. + +She thought of Gaston--but he no longer suggested safety to her. She +thought of Lauzoon, and a wave of fear and repulsion swept over her. She +knew she was driven to him. She knew she must accept whatever fate he +offered, but with the remnant of her intuitive belief in her personal +charm and beauty, she paused at the edge of the wood, to plan some sort +of attitude that would secure Jude's admiration as well as his +protection. She must not call upon him in a moment of weakness and +defeat. That would be putting a weapon in his hand that no St. Ange man +could be trusted to wield mercifully. + +She must hide all traces of outraged feeling; she must find a vantage +point from which Jude might take her. He must come to her; she must not +go to him. Thus she pondered. For one wild instant she turned her face +toward Hillcrest. There were those over the hill who might give her +work--what work? What could she do? But granting that she obtained work, +how long could she retain a position, with her father and Jude in +pursuit? No; she was a product of St. Ange and had all the faltering +distrust of other environments common to the shrinking childhood of the +poor village. + +Down beside the last tree of the thicket the girl crouched with her +shabby basket beside her. + +The elemental woman in her saw, as clearly as any cultivated sister +might have seen, that if she hoped for success in her married life, she +must not throw herself upon Jude crushed and downed. A brave front must +be the breastwork behind which she was to fight. + +When she had told her father she was going to Isa Tate, she had spoken +wildly; but the inevitable closed upon her. Every one went to Leon Tate +in trouble. Leon, like the old gods, first made mad whom he wished to +destroy; for the trust that all St. Ange put in Leon's bland generosity +was nothing short of madness. When any difficulty arose, private or +public, it was carried to the Black Cat for adjustment and final +settlement. By putting every individual under deep obligation to him, +Leon controlled money, loyalty and obedience. Every man in St. Ange was +in his debt, and every woman had accepted, in some form or other, his +wife's services. The difference between Isa and her husband was, +however, vital. Tate was a friend to man in order that he might draw his +victims into his net. Isa had a woman's soul hidden under her rough +exterior and, while she played the part assigned her by her diplomatic +lord, she found comfort for her own lonely nature in giving comfort. + +Joyce, in going to Isa for protection, would in no wise interfere with +her father's welcome at the tavern. Leon would arrange that, and bring +about a brilliant climax for himself; at least he always had done so in +emergencies. + +Crouching under the tree, as the sun went down behind Beacon Hill, Joyce +saw the future unfold itself. There was nothing to do but go to Isa. +Then Leon would, by his subtlety, make it seem that she had come there +to get ready for her marriage to Jude. He'd even arrange, perhaps, the +marriage, and so clutch Jude and her closer to his power. He'd smooth +the way for her father, too, and hush tongues and smile--oh, how he +would smile on them all!--and no one would ever know. + +The sun went down and the stars came out. Still the girl sat there; but +presently a healthy appetite was the call that roused her. She had not +eaten since noon of the day before. She was weak and suffering. She +thought with a kind of comfort that perhaps it was hunger alone that +was now causing her mental and physical agony. After she had eaten, all +would be well with her. She could control Jude and her own fate. She +would never let any one think--Gaston above all--that she was not +mistress of her own shabby little life. + +She got up dizzily, and was shocked to find how heavy the basket was; +still, with a constant shifting from hand to hand, she could manage it. + +Lola's giddy little lark song sprang to memory out of the ashes of her +hurt and pain, and rose and rippled in the fragrant darkness as she +entered the Long Meadow. + +Beacon Hill stood gloomily to the west, and above it gleamed a +particularly bright star. Across Long Meadow the lights in the houses +flickered from open windows, and the Black Cat's glare seemed to control +her motions. It drew her on and on. It was to play a part in her future +as it did in the futures of all--sooner or later. + +Wearily she mounted the steps of the tavern and went to the side door +that opened into whatever there was of privacy in Leon's establishment. +Isa was washing the supper dishes. She was a tall, gaunt woman with a +kindly glance that Nature had, for a safeguard, hidden under heavy black +brows. + +"You, Joyce?" she said, going on with her task. "I thought maybe it was +some one else." + +"Isa," the girl stepped cautiously forward, "I want to tell you +something." + +The gathering hilarity in the tavern made this moment secure. Isa put +down her dish and faced the girl. + +"What?" she asked bluntly. + +Quickly, breathlessly the truth, with all its hideous colouring, truth +bald, and yet with a saving clause for Gaston, was whispered in Isa's +ear. + +When the parting with Jared was confided, the woman put her arms about +the girl. + +"Now you hush, Joyce, I've heard enough. This is a man's world, God help +us! Us women, when we can, must cling together. Me and Tate pull in +harness because we find it pays--we'll help you out--Tate in _his_ way, +me in mine, but, Lord a-mighty, don't I hope there'll be a heaven just +for women, some day! + +"Sit down, you poor, little haggled thing, I don't believe you've eat a +morsel. You look fagged out. They ain't worth it, Joyce, men ain't. +Father, husband--not one of them. But since we've got to use them, we +must make out some kind of game. Here!" + +She set food before the wan girl, and the readjustment of life, in her +masterful hands, seemed already begun. + +It was comparatively easy, later on, to go into particulars with Isa. +With the roar and clatter growing hourly more deafening in the tavern, +Isa and Joyce, sitting on the back porch under the calm stars, spoke +freely to each other. + +Isa, like a dutiful wife, had, while Joyce satisfied her hunger, +confided as much of the girl's trouble to Leon as she thought advisable. +Leon had recognized the opportunity as one by which to capture what was +left of Jared's independence, and rose to the emergency. + +"Leave it to me," he said. "Everything will be blooming to-morrow +like--like a--garden--er--Eden." + +So now Isa had only Joyce's sore little heart to deal with. + +"Come, girl," she began at last; "tears never yet unsnarled a knot. Be +you, or be you not, going to marry Jude?" + +"Yes--I am." There must be no doubt upon that score and Joyce sat up +stiffly and faced her helper. + +"Well, then, look at the thing sensible. In a place like St. Ange, where +there ain't women to spare, you either got to be a decent married woman +or you ain't. Long as I've lived in St. Ange, and that's been more'n +twenty years, I ain't never yet seen a comfortable, respectable, +satisfied, old maid--they ain't permitted here, and you know it. In +season, of course, you'd marry--that's to be looked for. It chances to +be Jude--and after you get over the strangeness, he'll do as well as any +other. They are all powerfully alike when they have their senses. The +sameness lies in their having their faculties. The only man as was ever +different in St. Ange was Timothy Drake. He got smashed on the head by a +falling tree up to Camp 3, and his wits was crushed out of him. But do +you know, what was left of Tim was as gentle and decent and perticerlar +as you'd want to find in any human. He never drank again, never cussed +nor stormed, and I've laid it by as an item, that the badness and +sameness of men lies in their wits--if you want a companionable, safe +man, you've got to turn to sich as are bereft of their senses--and most +women is that foolhardy they prefer wits and diviltry, to senselessness +and decency." + +Joyce smiled feebly at this philosophy. + +"You are the one to decide," Isa went on. "Now see here, girl, I ain't +lived fifty years for nothing. I ain't been in and out of my neighbour's +houses, in times when all the closets are open, without learning a heap +about things. Men is men and there's no getting around that. So long as +you can, you better let them think they amounts to something even when +you own to yourself they don't. Private opinions ain't going to bring on +trouble; it's only when they ain't private. Now granting that man is +what we know he is--it's plain common sense to get as much out of him as +you can. Make the place you live in the best thing he's got; and just so +long as you can, keep yourself a little bit out of his reach--tantalize +him. There ain't nothing so diverting to a man as to claw after a woman, +when he's got the belief in himself that when he _wants_ to clutch her, +he can. + +"I know the kind of naked feeling you've got when you sense your power +with men first; but that wears off when you get your bearings and find +out that it's only a shuffle in the game, anyway. Land of love! if man +and woman was _all_, then when they came face to face with life they +would get smashed; but housework tempers the matter powerfully; and +man's work out among other men; and then when children come and you have +to contrive and pinch, why you just plod along and don't ever get +flustered. It's just the first dash of cold water in the face, child; +after that all lives is pretty much the same." + +Joyce had grown quieter as Isa's words droned on. It was, for all her +commotion, a very humdrum thing that had happened to her. + +As it was she, Joyce, was going to be very respectable. She'd manage, +and Jude would always find her worth his while to be decent for. She +would wrench what she could from him and St. Ange and be a commonplace +married woman. + +Now that all the fuss and fury were over, it seemed quite a silly +exhibition she had made of herself. She almost wished that she had +stayed at home. + +"The little loft room is yours, Joyce, for as long as you want it," Isa +was saying, through the sobering silence. "I ain't going to side with +Jared Birkdale when a woman's sense of right has been roused. Jared's +wits are the keenest and the cruelest round here, and the poison in his +tongue is the deadliest; I guess _I_ know. Are you coming in, child? The +bed's made, but you best carry a pitcher of fresh water up with you." + +"I'll be there in a minute, Isa, and the cracked pitcher's by the well, +isn't it?" + +"Yes," Isa replied; "and I'll leave a lighted candle for you, the ile is +pretty low in the lamp. Good night, child, and don't fuss. I never saw +fussing hurt any one but the fusser." + +Joyce rose stiffly and stood by the open door. She stretched her limbs +and winced at the pain in them. Then she clasped her aching hands above +her head and permitted her tired spirit one long, heavy sigh. + +She stood for some time in that relieved state. The chill of the +deepening night soothed her, and the late new moon looked down through +the pines at her--then she turned sharply. Some one was near! + +Her startled glance fell upon Jude Lauzoon. He was crouching upon the +step of the porch. + +"I thought you was sleeping, standing up," he whispered hoarsely. "I +didn't want to scare you none." + +"Why are you here?" Joyce's heart fluttered. Had he heard all? + +"Why are you?" Jude turned the tables. + +"Where else should I be--to--to--" she looked at him appealingly, "to +get ready to be married?" + +Jude was master of the situation in a way Joyce did not know. He could +afford to be condescendingly gracious. He, of all who had taken part in +this poor little drama, now held the centre of the stage, and the +knowledge gave him a certain manliness highly becoming. + +"Stay here until we get married--is that it?" + +Joyce nodded. + +Jude felt a pity for her that would have been contempt had not her +beauty and charm mastered him. He was going to clutch her once and for +all, but he was willing to let her see that he only meant, since he must +have her, to clutch close enough to bind her to him. He was not going to +strangle her: he meant only to stifle her. Jude was cool now, and alert. + +"I've got something to say to you, Joyce, and it better be said and done +with. I slept on it last night and most of to-day. I went to your +father's this evening to have it out, but you wasn't there. I met Jock +Filmer in the Long Medder and he told me where you was, and why. Your +father had aired his affair in the tavern." + +Joyce clasped her cold fingers nervously. There was nothing for her to +do but wait Jude's pleasure. Leon had not been able to overpower Jared's +personality evidently. + +"I saw you go to Mr. Gaston's shack night before last! I'd been there +before you, and I was lying off in the pine grove when you came +a-visiting." + +The widening eyes of the listener were the only sign that this +information was startling. + +"Do you know," Jude gave a chuckle, "up to that minute when I saw you +a-knocking, and him taking no heed, I had thought 'twas him as had been +shining up to you. I was actually hard agin him, and once went so far as +to go up there with my gun!" Joyce shivered. "Yes, by gosh! with my +gun. Just suppose I'd killed him, and him not to blame either? + +"Now there be some men, Joyce, that wouldn't have you after knowing what +I know, but I ain't one as goes off the handle without looking on both +sides. Since I know _he's_ all right, I can manage you proper +enough--and I own up to wanting you, and I'm willing to let bygones _be_ +bygones, only--and you might as well know this--once I've had my eyes +open, I ain't going to shut them again. I'll always be within call if +you should forget yourself, and take to attracting Mr. Gaston's +attention. He's my _friend_ now, by gosh! He's going to stand by me. +He's the real stuff and shows up to me in the finest colours, never once +hinting that your seeking him had made you cheap. He's a bigger feller +than I ever thought, and I ain't going to have no foolishness. You +understand?" + +"Yes; oh, yes; I understand!" Again the shivering seized Joyce. + +"I should think to have a man turn a deaf ear to you like that, would +end any nonsense without more fuss." + +"It--it will." The low voice shook. + +"But you see, protecting a young girl agin herself is one thing. He +might feel different if a married woman wanted to turn fool. Now, Joyce, +I ain't ever going to say anything more about this, 'less it's +necessary. I know you're pretty and maybe a bit more flighty along of +that, but being married and having your own work, may tone you down. If +you'll stick by me, I'll stick by you; and in time Mr. Gaston can be a +friend to both of us and no harm done. You understand, don't you? I +ain't hard, I'm only letting light in on the whole thing." + +"I--I understand, Jude." + +"And now, as to marrying. Mr. Gaston is going to lend me money, and I'm +going to put up an addition to my shack, and get some fixings over to +Hillcrest. If you want, we'll get married over there and rough it +together before the buildin's done." + +"I--I'd rather wait, Jude if you're willing. I want to get some--some +things." Joyce's teeth were chattering. "But if a minister should +happen in St. Ange in the meanwhile, I'd--I'd marry you." This seemed a +reasonable request--"I don't like the minister over at Hillcrest, he's +so fearful in his sermons, he makes me afraid." + +"Well," Jude rose, "when the house gets along, we'll see. Things are +tight and trim now. Good night! Go to bed--and forget it." + +He put his hands on her shoulders and bent and kissed the cold, upturned +face. Then he laughed: for he had got what he wanted, and she was very +sweet and pretty. + +"Go to bed now--trot on!" + +Joyce staggered indoors and hurriedly bolted the door behind her. She +took the spluttering candle and mounted the steep stairs. Once alone in +the small stifling room, she gasped, and put her hands to her throat as +if to remove a pressure that was there. + +Presently she blew out the light, set the shutters wide to the pale +moonlight, and undressed herself quietly and methodically. + +Already she seemed used to her lot. It was very ordinary, tame and +familiar. + +She had received the first dash of cold water in the face, and had +accepted the new situation. + +There was no longer even the excitement of trying to dangle a little +above Jude. He had her close in his grip. She must accept whatever he +doled out to her--and that was the fate of all respectable married women +in St. Ange. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The late September afternoon held almost summer heat as it flooded St. +Ange. The breeze gave a promise of crispness as it passed fitfully +through the pines; but on the whole a calmness and silence pervaded +space which gave the impression of a summer Sunday when a passing +minister had been prevailed upon to "stop over." + +However, it was not a summer Sunday, as St. Ange well enough knew, for +every able-bodied man in the place had that day signed a contract with +the Boss of Camp 7 for the lumber season; and the St. Angeans never +signed contracts on Sunday. + +The calmness was accounted for by the fact that Joyce Birkdale was to be +married. The circumstances leading up to this event had been +sufficiently interesting to demand sobriety. St. Ange did not believe in +putting on airs, but it had its own ideas of decorum; things had sort of +dovetailed lately, and, according to Leon Tate, "it was up to them to +spread eagle and plant their banner for knowing a good thing from a +rotten egg." + +Leon was above consistent figures of speech. He had power of his own +that controlled even language. + +[Illustration: "ONCE I WENT SO FAR AS TO GO UP THERE WITH MY GUN"] + +After Jared Birkdale had defied Leon in his own stronghold, and, instead +of agreeing with Tate that Joyce had come to Isa as to a mother, had +insisted upon bare, unglorified fact, he had betaken himself into +oblivion. Tate was confronted with the predicament of having a helpless +girl on his hands to do for--unless another man was forthcoming. + +Jude rose to the occasion. He confided to Jock Filmer his desire for +immediate marriage, and good-natured Jock, his system permeated by +gossip, consented to send down to the Junction--since Joyce objected to +the hell-fire minister at Hillcrest--and bring a harmless wayfarer of +the cloth, who Murphy, the engineer of the daily branch train, had said, +was summering there. + +"He's a lean, blighted cuss," Murphy had explained; "what God intended +for an engineer, but Nature stepped in and flambasted his constitootion, +and so he took to preaching--that not demanding no bodily strength. + +"He comes pottering round the engine, using the excuse of saving my +soul, and I don't let on that I see through him. I give him pints about +the machinery; and if I tell him he can ride in the cab with me +anywhere, he'd marry a girl, or bury a tramp, if he had to go to hell to +do it." + +So Jock detailed Murphy to decoy the side-tracked gentleman at the +Junction up to St. Ange. + +The stranger was expected on the afternoon train, and Tate had the +guest room of the Black Cat in readiness. + +Jock had lazed about the Station since noon. The wedding preparations +bored him, and the train's delay angered him. + +"See here!" he exploded to Tom Smith, the agent, "ain't it stretching a +point too far when that gol-durned train gives herself four hours' +lee-way?" + +Tom spat with dignity, and remarked casually: + +"Long as she ain't likely to meet any train going down, seems to me +there ain't any use to git warmer than is necessary." + +"If she keeps on," drawled Jock, "she'll have a head-on collision with +herself some day. Is that the dying shriek of the blasted hussy?" + +Tom stopped the imminent expectoration. + +"It be," he announced, and went out on the track to welcome the guest. + +"She do look," he contemplatively remarked, "like she had an all-fired +jag on." + +The train came in sight, swaying unsteadily on its rickety tracks. +Puffing, panting and hissing, it reached the platform and stopped +jerkily. + +Murphy sprang from the engine; the conductor strode with dignity worthy +a Pullman official, to the one passenger coach behind the baggage car, +and assisted a very young and very sickly man to alight. + +Tom Smith, with energy concentrated on this single activity of the +twenty-four hours, began hurling mail-bag and boxes about with the +abandon that marks the man whom Nature has fitted to his legitimate +calling. + +Filmer eyed the passenger with disapproving interest; Murphy, after +looking at some part of the machinery, lolled up to Jock. + +"Is that it?" Filmer nodded toward the stranger, who sat exhaustedly +upon a cracker-box, destined for the Black Cat, with his suit-case at +his feet. + +"It ain't, then," Murphy returned. "It got on the Branch 'stead of the +Mountain Special, by mistake. It's a lunger bound for the lakes, and +some one gave him a twist as to the track an' we caught 'im. But shure, +the rale thing, the parson, when I was after tellin' 'im of the job what +was at this end of the game, he up and balked--divil take 'im!--an' said +he wasn't goin' to tie for time and eternity, two unknown quantities. +What do ye think of that?" + +Jock thought hotly of it, and expressed his thought so fervidly that the +boy on the cracker-box gave attention. + +"Say," Murphy continued, "give it straight, Filmer; does it be after +meanin' life or death for Birkdale's girl? What's the almighty hurry, +anyway?" + +He leered unpleasantly. Jock squared himself, and faced the engineer. + +"Come off with that guff!" he drawled. "What hurry there be is _my_ +hurry, you blamed idiot! And my reasons are my own, confound you! I've +set my mind on having that affair come off to-morrow, gol durn it, and +I'm going to have a parson if I have to dangle down to the Junction on +that old machine of yours, myself." + +A few added words of luridly picturesque intent gave force and colour to +this declaration. + +The stranger on the cracker-box rose weakly and drew near. + +"Excuse me," he began, in a voice of peculiar sweetness and earnestness, +"I wonder if I can be of any service? I am a minister!" + +Filmer reeled before this announcement, took the stranger in from head +to foot, then remarked in an awed tone: + +"The hell you are!" + +"I am. My name's Drew, Ralph Drew." + +Murphy beat a rapid retreat. The scene was too much for him. Filmer, in +doubt as to whether this was a joke or not, stood his ground. + +The young fellow laughed good-naturedly. + +"I know what you think," he said, and coughed sharply; "I got my +credentials all right. I nearly finished myself in getting them, but +they're all right. Graduated last June, went under soon after, got on my +feet two weeks ago, and am making for Green Lake. I got side-tracked at +the Junction through my own stupidity, and landed here. Perhaps you can +direct me to a quiet place for the night, and I'll be glad to help you +out in any way along my line, if I can." + +This lengthy explanation was interrupted by short, hacking coughs, and +Filmer's eyes never dropped from the eager boyish face through it all. + +Presently he leaned down and took the dress-suit case from the other's +hand. + +"Drop that," he drawled, "and you follow me. There's the Black Cat +Tavern, but I guess that ain't your kind. Do you think you can make my +shack? It's a half-mile, and pretty uppish grade." + +The boy began to thank Filmer. + +"Hold on!" Jock commanded. "Keep your wind for the climb, and stop +gassing." + +The two started on, and the climb was a silent one. Filmer +appreciatively strode ahead, speechless. Drew, panting, accepted the +situation gratefully, and made the most of his position and his leader's +silence. + +Filmer's shack was a lonely place, standing on a little pine-clad knoll +facing the west. It had four small rooms, a broad piazza, and a thrifty +garden at the rear. + +The room assigned to Drew had a cot-bed and rough, home-made toilet +accommodations that suggested comfort and a sense of refinement. When +Filmer made him welcome to it, he said quietly: "Now kid, you make +yourself trim and dandy. Come out on the piazza when you get good and +ready, and we'll have supper out there later." It was evident that +Jock's sympathies had been touched. + +Once alone, Drew sank upon the low bed, and permitted the waves of +weakness and weariness to engulf him. + +The young face grew pinched and blue, a faintness rose and conquered +him. The eyes closed, and the breath almost stopped. But it was only +momentary, and with returning consciousness came renewed hope and sudden +strength. + +From the broad open window the boy could see the western hills, already +gay with glistening autumn colour, shining under the glowing sunset sky. +The tall pointed pines, standing here and there in clumps, rose sharply +dark in the early gloaming of the valley. + +"It's my chance," thought the boy, his eyes widening with enjoyment of +the beauty; "and, by Jove, I believe I've caught on!" + +He got to his feet. The giddiness was gone. He flung off his +dust-stained garments, as if they held all of his past weakness and +misery. He plunged his head into the clear, cold water in the big basin +on the pine table; when he emerged, colour had mounted to his pale face, +and depression was a thing of the past. + +"Hang it!" he exclaimed, rubbing his face and head with the rough towel +that he took from the back of a chair; "this is good enough for me. No +Green Lake in mine! I'll send for my trunk"--he had begun to whistle in +the pauses of his thought--"and put up my fight right here. Filmer's +good stuff; and there's a job ready-made for me, I bet! This is where I +was sent, and no mistake. What's that?" + +It was the odours of supper, and Drew stood still, inhaled the fragrance +and grinned broadly. + +"Gee whiz!" he cried; "I'm as hungry as a ditch digger." He dashed over +to his suit-case, opened it and pulled out the contents. A pair of +flannel trousers, a heavy flannel shirt and thick shoes were selected, +and soon Drew, radiant and revived, went forth from the disorder he had +created, eager for the meal that he heard Filmer placing on the piazza +table. + +Drew was to eat many of Filmer's meals in the future; he was to learn +that Jock was a master-hand at cooking, but he was never again to know +just the positive joy that he felt during that first meal; for he +brought to it an appetite made keen by the hope of recovered health--the +health he had squandered so foolishly, poor fellow, while he was making +for his goal at college. + +At last he tilted his chair back and laughed. + +"I haven't eaten like that," he said, "nor with such enjoyment, since I +went tramping up in the Maine woods when I was a youngster." + +Filmer was removing the empty dishes. There was a sense of delicacy +about his host that was compelling Drew's notice. He watched him +passing from kitchen to piazza, and he saw that he was big, strong and +handsome, but with a certain weakness, of chin, and a shyness of +expression that came and went, marring the general impression. + +Filmer's shyness was increasing. Never before in his life had he been +brought into close personal contact with "the cloth" as he termed it, +and even this "swaddling garment" was having a slow-growing hold upon +him. + +Presently Jock came timidly out, after his last visit to the kitchen, +with pipes and a tobacco-box. + +"I'm not certain," he began, "how your kind takes to tobacco, but if I +don't get my evening smoke, I get a bad spell of temper--so, if you +don't object--I'll light up." + +"If you'll wait a moment," Drew returned, "I'll join you. I always smoke +my own pipe--I've got sort of chummy with it--but I'll share your +tobacco." + +Filmer grinned, and the cloud passed from his face. + +"I calculated," he said, "that your kind classed tobacco with cussing +and jags. Light up, kid." + +They were soon lost in the fragrant smoke, the bliss of satisfied +appetite, and a peaceful scene. The sun went down, and left the hills +and valley in an afterglow of glory. The beauty was so touching that +even Filmer succumbed, shook the ashes from his pipe and delayed +refilling. Presently he looked at Drew's face. It had paled from +emotion, and shone white in the shadow of the porch. + +"You look peaked." Filmer's words brought the boy back to earth. "Been +through a long siege, maybe?" + +"Oh, overstudy and weak lungs!" Drew spoke cheerfully. "Bad combination, +you know, and I didn't pull in as soon as I should have. I crammed for +exams. Made them, and then collapsed. I'm all right now, though. All the +struggle's over. I've only to reap the reward. There was a big doctor +down in New York who told me that the air up here was my one chance. I'm +going to take it. A few months here, and a life anywhere else I may +choose, he said. + +"What do you say to letting me have your room and company--you needn't +give any more of the latter than you want to, you know--for a spell? +You'll find me easy to get on with, I fancy, no one has ever complained +of me in that way. I don't care what Green Lake is like, I like _this_ +better. I like this, way down to the ground. I've gone daffy over the +whole thing." He drew in a long, happy breath. "What do you say?" + +"I'd like to ask, if it ain't too inquisitive," Jock inquired, ignoring +the boy's eagerness, while he put forth his own claims, "why in thunder +a chap like you took to the preaching business? Somehow you look like a +feller that might want to enjoy life." + +Drew laughed heartily. + +"Why, I mean to enjoy life," he replied, "and I chose this profession +because I like it. I believe in it. You see, I was born to be a fighter. +If I'd had a big, lusty body like yours, I might have been--anything. As +it is, I had to choose something where I could fight with other weapons +than bone, muscle and bodily endurance. I'm going into the fight of +helping men and women in the best way I can, don't you see? I suppose I +must sound cheeky and brazen to talk this way, but I'm full of the joy +of it all, and I've made the goal, you see, and for all the breakdown +I've come out ahead. It's enough to stir one, don't you think? + +"The night I graduated, I don't mind telling this to you, I went down on +my knees when all the excitement was over and the lights were out, and I +said, 'I am here. I've got money; the good God need not have me on his +mind along that line; he can send me where he chooses, to do his work; +I'm ready.' + +"It was like consecrating myself, you know. Well, when the sickness +came, I thought perhaps he didn't want me or my money either; but I came +out of the Valley and here I am now, and I tell you--it seems good." + +Filmer folded his arms across his chest, and looked steadily ahead of +him. + +"Do you know," he said at length--"and I hope you'll excuse me--I think +you're the most comical cuss that ever happened." + +Drew met this frank opinion with the boyish laugh that was having the +effect of clearing up all the dull places in Filmer's character. He had +never heard that laugh equalled but once, and he rarely went back to +that memory--the path was too hard and lonely. + +The reserves were down between the two. Without reason or cause, +perhaps, they had fallen into a confident liking. + +"Have you done much marrying and burying yet?" The question startled +Drew, then he recalled the conversation on the Station platform. + +"Well, no," he said, "practical demonstration comes after graduation +generally. I've substituted for ministers--preached a Sunday, now and +then, you know; but of course, I _can_ perform the marriage ceremony, or +read the burial service." + +"You look pretty young," Jock spoke slowly; he was noting the strange +dignity of his guest. Any reference to his profession brought with it +this calm assurance that held levity in check; "but it's this way. +There's a wedding fixed for to-morrer. I've set my heart on it coming +off, and there ain't a durned parson to be had, that the girl favours. +Now under these circumstances, you can't afford to look a gift horse in +the mouth so to speak, and no offence intended. I can give you a tip or +two before you trot in, and as for you, why you know, there ain't +nothing equal to being thrown neck and crop into a job. + +"The first time I went logging I got one leg broke and my head smashed, +but I haven't ever regretted it. That accident, and the incidental +scare, did more for me than any two successful seasons could have done. +Now, your plunging right into a marrying may prove providential. Sermons +and infant christenings will seem like child's play after. What do you +say?" + +Drew was laughing and the tears stood in his eyes. + +"I'll--I'll do my level best," he managed to say through his spasms of +mirth. "This seems like a horrible approach to anything so serious, but +it is the way you put it, you know, and--and the air, and the supper. +The laugh comes easy, you see." + +"Oh! enjoy yourself." Filmer waved his pipe aloft. "I'm glad you _can_ +take life this way, with the handicap of your trade, I don't quite see, +by thunder, how your future parish is going to account for you, but so +far as I'm concerned you can laugh till you bust." + +Filmer was delighted. Not in years had he been so taken out of himself. + +"Now this here town," he explained, "likes to have its buryings and +weddings set off with a sermon with the principal actor as text. They +like to get their money's worth. See? This girl, what I want spliced, +is a devilish--" he paused--"you don't mind _moderately_ strong +language, do you?" he asked. "We all get flowery up here. What is +lacking in events, talk makes up. I'll hold back when I can--in reason." + +"Don't mind me!" Drew was trying to control his mirth. + +Filmer nodded appreciatively. + +"Well, as I was remarking--and I've got to be open with you--this here +girl will be safer married, and so will some other folks. I ain't much +of a reader of character, but I sense things like all creation, and I +_feel_ that getting the girl in harness as soon as possible is the only +plain common-sense method. She's mettlesome, you know, the kind that +kicks over the traces, and slams any one happening to be handy. She +ain't never done it yet--but she's capable of it." + +"Is--is the girl a relation or----?" + +Jock flushed. + +"Neither. Nor the man. The feller--Jude Lauzoon is his name--I don't +care a durn for, but he's all gone over this girl, and if any one can +steer him straight she can, and when she gets the reins in her hands, I +believe she's going to keep her head, in order to steer straight. + +"The girl's name is Joyce Birkdale. Mother dead; raised sort of +promiscuous on the instalment plan. Father an old buck who only keeps +sober because he want's to see what's going on. He lit out and made +himself scarce a time back, and this here Joyce took refuge after a hell +of--excuse me! after a row with the old man--up to the Black Cat. Leon +Tate acts the father-part to any one in a fix--it helps his trade--keeps +folks in his debt, you know, but he ain't going to hamper hisself past a +certain point, and if this here Jude Lauzoon should get a beckon from +old man Birkdale he'd skip as quick as thunder--that's what is troubling +Tate, and, by gosh! it's troubling me, but for another reason what +needn't enter into this here conversation. + +"If it was trusting you with a funeral or a christening," Filmer felt +his way gingerly, "I wouldn't care a durn. You can't hurt the dead and +the kid might outgrow it; but when it comes to tying folks together +tight, it's a blamed lot like trusting something brittle in a baby's +hand. It mustn't be broke, you see, or there'll be h--I mean trouble, to +pay." + +"See here!" Drew sat up straight, "I'm not much younger than you, if the +truth were known. So let us cut extreme youth out of the question." + +"Maybe you are about my age, kid," Jock gazed indulgently upon him, "and +don't let your necktie choke you; but you're pretty raw material, and +I'm seasoned. That's the difference. It ain't anything against you. It's +the way you've been handled. Burying is looked upon by young _and_ old, +solemn-like; but I didn't know how you looked upon--marrying." + +"It's the solemnest thing in life." Drew spoke clearly and impressively. +"I think death is a light matter in comparison. I've always thought +that--since, well--for several years." + +"Now you're talking!" Jock leaned over and gave Drew a friendly slap on +the shoulder. "Now you're getting on the right course, and I want to +give you this tip. Lay it on thick with Jude. Tell him he'll be +everlasting blasted in kingdom-come if he don't act clean and hold on. +Specially slap it on about holding on. Jude's intentions are good +enough. He's powerful promising at the start, but he's the d----, the +gol-durndest quitter anywhere around. + +"Every new boss bets on Jude when the season begins, but every man of +them would like to kick him out of camp before the spring sets in. All +the hell-fire threats that that religion factory of yours drilled in +you, you plank on Jude to-morrow, when you make him and Joyce man and +wife. How fervent was that factory of yours? There is a difference in +temperatures among them, I've heard." + +"Oh! mine was mild," Drew was again helplessly convulsed, "so mild that +I'm afraid you'd call it frigid. But that doesn't matter. Future +damnation is a poor threat when every man among us knows that a present +hell is a much worse affair. It's the awakening of a soul to _that_ +fact, that is going to save the world of men and women." + +A full moon was sailing high in the heavens now, and Drew's animated +face showed clear in the pale gleam. Jock hitched his chair nearer. + +"Do you mean to insinuate," he asked, "that you've been wasting your +time and health studying a line of preaching that hasn't got a red-hot +hell in the background for sinners?" + +"I mean just that." Drew threw back his head proudly. + +"What in thunder do you do with them, then?" + +"We try--by God's help _I'm_ going to try--to take fear from them. Make +them _want_ to be decent. Make them _want_ to use the powers they have +in themselves. Make them want to work _with_ God, not alone _for_ God." + +Jock's face was a puzzle. Admiration, pity, bewilderment, and a desire +to laugh, waged war. Finally he drawled: + +"Well, I'll be eternally durned, if I ain't sorry that a bright chap +like you has wasted his youth, and pretty nearly drowned the vital +spark, in arriving at such a cold-storage conclusion as this here one +you've been airing. Why any one with half an eye can see that if +hell-fire can't stir sinners, a slow call to duty ain't going to get a +hustle on them. I swear if it wasn't so late, I'd get Gaston over here +to listen to your views. Gaston is open to all kinds of tommy-rot that +has a new mark on it. I'll be jiggered if I don't believe Gaston will +want to pay you a salary to keep you here just for a diversion. But take +my advice, and keep to old-fashioned lines, to-morrer 'specially, when +you come to the marrying. Lord! Lord! But Jude would be having a picnic +if he grasped that rose-coloured streamer of yours." + +Drew made no reply. He was thinking, and his thoughts led where he knew +Jock could not follow. + +Presently a thin, blue-veined hand stole out in the darkness and found +Filmer's. + +"I--I--didn't know such men as you--such a place as this--existed," said +the low, eager voice. "It's like having died and awakened in a new +atmosphere, where even the people are different. It's--it's quite an +inspiration." + +Jock kept the hand, delicate as a woman's, in his strong, rough palm. + +"You're somewhat of an eye-opener yourself," he said. "I've always held +that mixing is learning on both sides. As long as you've got strength +and inclination to stretch out, you'll always find something stretching +out to you. + +"And now as to that proposition of yours a time back, about bunking here +for a time. I'm agreed, with this understanding: I've got a devil of a +disposition, but it ain't ever going to be no better and them as don't +like it can find new quarters. I came here over ten years ago to indulge +my disposition, and I'm going to indulge it. When I don't want folks, I +take to the forest, or, if the weather is bad, I shut and lock my door. +If, after knowing this, you care to take that room I gave you this +afternoon, it's yours for as long as you want it. I like you. I'm sudden +in my likes, but I don't like your hell-less doctrine. I advise you not +to turn that loose in St. Ange. We're none too good now, but if a +soothing syrup was poured out, them as valued their lives would have to +navigate to the Solitudes." + +"I don't believe it!" cried Drew. "As God hears me, I believe it is just +the place to try it." + +"Oh! Get to bed." Jock stood up and laughed good-naturedly. "Go to bed +and get up steam for to-morrer. When you see the whole collection you'll +warm up your ideas. You're a terrible plucky kid to trust your own soul +on a trifling little raft like this religion of yours. You better not +overload it with more souls, though; the risk's too tremendous. + +"Go sleep on your fairy story, boy. I don't see for the life of me how +your health could have broken studying such a mild mixture as that. You +must have been real run down at the start. But never mind, don't lay the +laugh up against me, kid, I ain't enjoyed myself so much in ten years as +I have to-night." + +The two parted the best of friends. Drew fell quickly into a deep, +undisturbed sleep, but Filmer tossed about till morning. The grim Past +gripped him; he pulled the flask, that stood ever ready, nearer; but +the cowardice of the act swayed him, and he flung the bottle to the +floor. + +Then he swore, and tried to sleep again, but the Spectre jeered him. + +"The powers they have in themselves." The words struck again and again +on Filmer's aching brain. + +What powers? Oh! he had had powers. He might have been--what? He might +have been where? If--if---- + +The sunrise of Joyce's wedding day was just breaking when Filmer's +Spectre gave up the struggle and sleep came. The only trophy of the +victory was the discarded flask, which lay untouched where the hand of +the master--for that time at least--had flung it. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The word had passed along, and all St. Ange knew that Jock Filmer had a +raw specimen of a parson up at his shack, in safe keeping for the Sunday +events. For Joyce's wedding-day fell upon a Sunday. + +"He's fattening him up," said Tom Smith, "and the Lord knows he needs +it! Such a spindling youngster I _never_ saw--a parson!" The contempt +was too deep for Smith's expression, so he gave up. "And to think," +added the train conductor, stretching his long legs in Tate's tavern, +"there he was on my car, and I never sensed his ideas. Talk about +entertaining angels unaware, it ain't in it! He even cussed mild when I +told him his ticket was punched for Green Lake, and he was headed for +St. Ange. I never would have took him for anything but a plain milksop +till he let forth his opinions." + +"I don't call it a proper attitude," broke in Tate, mixing a glass of +vile dilution for Murphy's consumption. "I don't call it a _proper_ +attitude for a parson to appear so much like other folks that you can't +tell 'im. It's suspicious, says I. How do we know as he _is_ a parson?" + +This suggestion caused the company a moment's pause. + +"He better be!" muttered Peter Falstar. "He'd better be what he claims +to be, even if it _is_ a parson. We don't stand for any tricks from +strangers." + +This lifted the spirits somewhat. Looked at _that_ way, they had the +matter in their own hands. + +"I wonder"--Tate's face assumed its cheerful placidity--"if his marrying +of Jude and Joyce would hold in any court o' law?" + +At this the listeners laughed. + +"Who ever heard of a marriage in St. Ange getting to a court o' law?" +asked Tom Smith. + +"But Jared ain't never had a daughter married before." Tate nodded his +head sagely. "Jared's a deep one, and, taken off his guard, shows he +knows more about law and order than any one man I ever let my eyes fall +on." + +"He must be all-fired off his guard," jeered Falstar, "when he talks +order of any kind. Where is he, anyway?" + +"Exactly." Tate held his own glass high and firm. "_Where_ is he? Here +is his daughter's wedding day--Where is he? I tell _you_ if that +marriage ain't hard and fast, it's _my_ opinion Birkdale will trifle +with it to suit his own ends. Jude's taking chances when he annexes +Jared to his responsibilities, and don't you forget it! If that marriage +ain't hide-bound, or if Jude don't provide for Birkdale, it's going to +be broke if Jared has to raise all damnation to do it. He's got his eye +to a knothole somewhere, you bet your life on that." + +By superhuman sacrifice St. Ange had kept itself sober the Saturday +night preceding the wedding but it did not sleep much. The male +population discussed the day's doings and the women searched their +meagre belongings for appropriate trappings for the next day's +festivities. + +Their resources were limited, and the day being Sunday, added to the +difficulty. + +"You can't," said draggled Peggy Falstar, "put on real gay toggings in a +church and on a Sunday." + +Isa Tate, as leading lady in the place, solved the problem. + +"We've got our mourning," she said to Peggy and the others gathered in +Peggy's dirty kitchen. "We always have that on hand. Now we can leave +off the long veils and put some false flowers on our bonnets--real +spruce ones. They will lighten up the black. Them as has black gloves +can wear them, but by carrying a clean handkercher real conspicuous, the +gloom will be brightened some." + +"I ain't had a pair of gloves in seventeen years," moaned Peggy. + +"Well, you can sort of wind yer handkercher around your hands," +comforted Isa. + +"My feelings may be overcome," said Peggy; "they generally is in +public, and then I'll have to use my handkercher and show my hands." + +"You'll have to control yourself." Isa looked grim. "And, land o' love, +a wedding ain't no place for wailing. Tate and me has given Joyce a real +smart white dress, and she's trimmed her old hat all up with little +frost flowers. She's a dabster at fixin' things. She's going to look +real stylish. You know her mother was that way, though it was sorter +knocked out of her, but the last thing she said to me was, 'Isa, I want +you to put my grandmother's specs on me when I'm gone. Specs is dreadful +stylish, and I've always looked forward to my eyes giving out so I could +wear them. My eyes,' says she, 'has lasted better than me, but I want to +be buried in my specs'; and so she was!" + +The women all wiped their eyes. + +"She was a powerful impressive corpse," whimpered Peggy, "but them specs +gave me a terrible turn when I saw them first. The second look sorter +took away the shock. I do hope," Peggy sighed, "I do hope them specs was +long-distance ones. The good Lord knows Mrs. Birkdale had favourable +reasons for seeing as far off as possible!" + +"They was," Isa nodded. "I tried 'em, and things was all blurred to me." + +And then the women parted gloomily, to meet again at Joyce's wedding. + +It was such a day as only the mountains know. A hushed, golden day with +a mysterious softness of outline on the distant hills. + +The little crumbling church was open to the beauty of the morning, and +John Gaston had decked it within with every flowering thing he could +gather from wood and meadow. + +Jock came early and stood in one of the narrow doors of the church, +opening upon the highway. His hands were plunged in his pockets, and a +look of concentration was on his handsome face. + +He was going to "set," so he thought, his baby parson on to Jude. There +was excitement in the idea. While he stood there Gaston came and took +his stand at the other narrow door. The architect of the St. Ange church +had had ideas of propriety in regard to established rules. + +"Looks--some! don't it?" Jock asked. + +"Yes," Gaston replied; "I was bound to have it look as wedding-like as +possible." + +"You did the decorating?" Jock asked, and a curious frown settled +between his eyes. "I thought it was the women." + +"They're thinking of themselves. Is your parson on to the game, Filmer?" + +"He's all right. Gone off to commune with Nater. There he is now." + +Drew had entered the rear door, and went at once to the small bare +pulpit. + +"Umph!" whispered Gaston. "Looks like a picture of John the Baptist." + +"He don't act like it." Jock was in arms at once against any suspected +criticism. "He's got more sand than many a blasted heavyweight. You +ought to hear his gab--it's the newest thing in soul-saving. Sort o' +homeopathic doctrine. Tastes good, but bitter as pisen under the +coating. Real stuff inside, and all that. Get's working after it's +taken, and the sweet taste lasts in your mouth while your innards are +acting like--" + +The people were gathering. They passed by Jock and Gaston without +recognition. Social functions in St. Ange ignored all familiar +intimacies. + +Jude and Joyce came through the rear door, and sat in the front pew. + +The girl moved with the absorption of a sleepwalker beside Jude whose +shufflings bespoke nervous tension. Every now and then he glanced +sheepishly at Joyce. Even to his senses, accustomed as they were to the +girl's beauty, there was a slight shock of surprise. + +The little round hat was gracefully wound with frost flowers until it +looked like a wreath upon the pale gold of the glorious hair. The face +was white and luminous, and the eyes looked as if they were expecting a +vision to appear. + +The white dress, home-made and cheap, had the unfailing touch that +innate taste always gives, and it fell in soft lines about the slim, +girlish figure. The little work-worn hands were folded loosely. They +were resting a moment before taking up the labour of the new, untried +life. + +Drew glanced down as the two came in, and when he saw Joyce he started, +and leaned forward. + +He tried to take his eyes from that pale, exquisite face, but could not. +It moved him powerfully not only by its beauty, but by its expression of +entranced expectation. + +Could the crude fellow at her side inspire such emotion? It was puzzling +and baffling, but it roused Drew's sympathy, and held him captive. The +rough faces of the men, the pitiable, worn faces of the women, the +sprinkling of freckled, childish faces were blotted out for him. Like a +star in blank space shone that one sweet, waiting face with its wreath +of fairy-like flowers. + + * * * * * + +She was waiting for something she expected him to give. Drew became +obsessed with this thought. Not the consecration of marriage--No! but +something she--the soul of her--wanted. + +Out among the pines in the early morning Drew had made a few notes, +these he clutched in his feverish right hand. When the hour fixed upon +arrived, he arose and stood beside the rickety pulpit stand. He made a +short prayer; he knew it was feeble and rambling. + +"Scared to death," thought Gaston, and he heard Filmer breathe heavily. +Then Drew lifted his notes to the desk; tried to fix his eyes and +attention upon them, failed and gazed helplessly at that one face in the +appalling vacancy. Presently the bits of paper fell from his nerveless +hand and fluttered to the floor. + +Back in his college days he had had his dream of the vital word he would +say to his people--_his_ people--on that first day when he was to come +to his own. Strangely enough he felt that his time had arrived. Called +only by God, to a people who would never think of desiring him, he must +say his word though only that pale, wonderful face thrilled to his +meaning. If only he could make _her_ understand, he would take it as a +sign from on high that his mission was not to be an unworthy one. + +Drew always had the power, even in his weakest moments, to utilize his +panic to more intense concentration. It was the faculty that had made +his college president point to him on more than one occasion as a +success. Now, with the anchor of his notes fluttering in the September +breeze, he put out to sea. + +"We brought nothing into this world, and it's certain we can carry +nothing out." + +"He's mistaking this for a funeral," thought Gaston, and he struggled to +conquer his inclination to laugh. + +But what was happening? The boy up aloft was refuting the statement. His +voice had a power wholly out of proportion to the frail body. He was +getting hold of the people, too, Peggy Falstar was crying openly, and +slow, hard-brought tears were dimming many eyes. + +They were being told, those plain, dull people, and by a mere boy, too, +that they had brought something into the world. A heritage of strength +and weakness; of good and evil, bequeathed to them by those who had gone +on. From these fragments their souls must weave what is to be taken with +them when Death comes. The effort, the struggle, the success or failure, +will be the part that they leave behind for them who remain, or who are +to come later. In words strangely adapted to his listeners, that frail +boy, with glorified face, was beseeching them, as they valued their +future hope, as they desired to make better the ones who must live +later, to gain a victory over their heritage of weakness and sin by the +God-given elements of strength and goodness, and to blaze the trail for +themselves, and to leave it so free behind them that weak, stumbling +feet might easier find the way. + +He was speaking to fathers and mothers for the sakes of their children. +He was urging the two about to marry to see to it that they prepare by +their own consecration, the _path on before_. + +A silence filled the little church. The boy, pale and exhausted, was +asking Jude and Joyce to come forward. + +Gaston saw them go, side by side, Jude shambling as usual, Joyce +stepping as if hastening to receive something long-desired. + +It was the briefest of services. Simple, unadorned, but dignified and +solemn. + +Amen! + +It was over. Jude and Joyce were married! The people were stirring; were +moving about. The sodden, familiar life was awaiting every one of them. +No; something had happened in St. Ange. Gaston knew it. Filmer knew it. +Peggy Falstar had hold of her little Billy's hand, and Peter followed +with his little daughter Maggie drawn close to him. + +Leon Tate was red in the face, and Isa looked stern and thoughtful. Yes; +something had happened in St. Ange. It would never be the same. + +Drew went outside the church and joined Filmer. He had seen the uplifted +expression on Joyce's face. He had had his answer from on high; and he +was strangely moved. + +He stood beside Filmer, motionless and flushed. Jock contemplated him +from his greater height as if he were a new and startling enigma. + +"Say, kid," he drawled presently, striving to hide the excitement that +was causing the perspiration to stand on his forehead; "what got into +you?" + +"I reckon it was something getting out of me," Drew replied with the +short cough. + +"I don't know as them few words you spoke are capable of holding Jude +and Joyce eternally. What you think?" + +"If they cannot, no others could." Again the quick, harsh cough. + +"But that sermon!" Jock shrugged his shoulders nervously; "that's what's +shook the foundations of this here town. Leaving out the fact of you +being _you_, standing up there handling folks's feelings as you did, I +want to know if you stand by them ideas you passed out?" + +"With all my mind!" + +"Not elocuting and acting?" + +"Surely not." + +"Why, see here, kid, if what you said is true--which, by thunder it +ain't!--don't you see that doctrine, 'bout coming with an outfit, adding +to it, and taking away what you want, and leaving what you must; blazing +trails, clearing away underbrush and what not; why, don't you see that's +worse, by a confounded lot, than the old-fashioned hell?" + +"Much, much more solemn." Drew leaned against a tree. His new strength +was exhausted. Jock was too absorbed to notice the weakness and pallor. + +"Why," he went on excitedly, "when you know you're going to frizzle at +the end--just you, yourself, you can see the justice of it, and respect +what sent you there, but to eternally be thinking of others, and messing +up their lives--why that's durn rot." + +"Filmer," the tone was low and faltering; "we're all one with God, no +matter how you put it. All working together; all bound on the same +journey. Think back; was there never one you loved who suffered with you +and for you? Have you ever considered how much of that one's life you +were hampering, when you dragged him--or her--down?" + +Filmer's face twitched. + +"Now, see here," he blurted out, and his eyes flashed, "the folks round +here ain't going to stand for this rot, and I don't blame 'em. When they +think it over, they'll get drunker than ever, and they'll even up with +you later. You've got to learn more than you've learned already. +Feelings are private property and outsiders better keep off. Come home +to dinner. You look like a pricked bladder. This here gassing 'bout +things what ain't worthwhile don't pay. Here, lean on me. It's all +gol-durned nonsense using yourself up so." + +He took Drew firmly by the arm, and led him away. + +Drew was too weak to continue, even had he desired to do so, the +conversation Filmer had forced upon him, but when they were smoking in +the late afternoon Jock returned to the subject. + +"I was just wondering," he said, through the haze; "ain't there never no +let up to that new-fangled idea of yours?" + +"None. That's the beauty of it." + +"Beauty? Huh! Well, we'll drop it. Feel like toddling down to Gaston's?" +Drew rose at once. + +They passed down the pine-covered path slowly, and as they neared +Gaston's shack, Filmer paused. + +"Wherever you be," he began slowly, "as occasion permits, you're going +to air them sentiments?" + +"I'm going to live them. I may never have a chance to preach them. I'm a +bit discouraged about the weakness that followed my first attempt." + +"Oh, thunderation! You're going to pick up flesh and strength fast +enough--it's that slush you've got on board that's getting my grouch. +I'd rather you had a natural death, kid. I've taken a liking to you; and +you don't know St. Ange." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Joyce stopped her wild little song, and stood still to listen. Then she +stepped to the window, drew aside the white muslin curtain, and looked +out upon the white, white world. + +She had thought she heard a step on the crisp snow, but probably it was +the crackling of the protesting trees, for the weight of ice was almost +more than they could bear. + +The lights in the scattered houses shone red and steady in the still +glitter. A full moon dimmed the stars, but a keen glance showed that +every one was in its place and performing its duty in the glorious plan. + +A white, holy night! Only such a night as comes to high, dry places +where the cold is so subtle that its power is disguised; where the +green-black pines stand motionless in the hard whiteness, and where the +silence is only broken by mysterious cracklings and groanings, when +Nature stirs in the heart of the seeming Death, while she weaves the +robe of Spring. + +Joyce was beginning to feel the wonders of her little world; she was +timidly feeling out the meaning of things. Sometimes the sensation hurt +and frightened her; often it soothed and thrilled her to deep ecstasy. + +Presently she left the window, and turned to the warmth and glow inside. + +Jude's old cottage had been transformed, and Joyce was developing into +one of those women who are inherent home-makers. Such women can +accomplish more with the bare necessities of life than others with the +world's wealth at their command. It is like personal magnetism, +difficult to understand, impossible to explain. + +Comfort, grace, colour and that sweet disorder which is the truest +order. Chairs at the right angles, tables convenient, but never in the +way. A roaring wood fire on a dustless hearth; pictures hung neither too +high nor too low, and no sense of emptiness nor crowding. A room that +neither compelled attention, nor irritated the nerves--a place to rest +in, love in, and go out from, with a longing to return. + +On the south side of the room, Jude, with Gaston's financial and +personal assistance, had added a bay window. + +That innovation had quite stirred St. Ange. Ralph Drew had designed it +and, through the summer, while the building was in process, the +inhabitants had watched and expressed their opinions freely and +enjoyably. + +"Up to Joyce's," Billy Falstar, that indefatigable gatherer and +scatterer of news, announced, "they are smashing a hole in the off side +of the house." + +An hour later, a good-sized audience was occupying the open space on +the south side of the garden. + +"Why don't you have it run _in_, instead of out?" Peter Falstar +suggested. "It's just tempting Providence to let out more surface to +catch the winter blasts." + +"And it's wasteful as thunder," added Tom Smith. "Just so much more +heating of out-door space enclosed in that there semi-circle." + +"There ain't nothing to see from that side, anyway," Leon Tate remarked, +as if possibly the others had not considered that. "If you want a more +extended, and rounded outlook, you'd better smash the north side out. +From that hole you could see the village, and what not." + +"And the Black Cat," Jock Filmer drawled. + +"It's no kind of an outlook at all that don't include the Kitty, eh, +Tate?" + +Tate scowled. He held a grudge against Filmer. It was he who had +discovered, sheltered, and abetted the young minister who had so +interfered with trade a time back. Tate held his peace, but he had never +forgotten. + +The laugh that followed Jock's interruption nettled the tavern-keeper. + +But the pretty window had been finished before Drew and the autumn went. +It was Joyce's sanctuary and pride. In it stood the work-basket, a gift +from the mystical sister of Drew, who lived off somewhere beyond the +Southern Solitude, a girl about whom Drew never tired of talking, and +about whom events seemed to cluster as bees round a hive. + +In that nook, too, hung the three wonderful pictures--Gaston's wedding +gift. + +There were spaces between the sides and centre of the window, and in the +middle place hung a modern Madonna and Child. This Joyce could +comprehend. Gaston knew the older, rarer ones would be beyond her. + +That pictured Mother and Child were moulding Joyce's character. Gaston +had wondered how they might affect her. + +To the left of the Madonna was an ocean view. A stretch of sandy shore, +an in-rolling, white-crested wave--with a limitless beyond. + +To the wood-environed mind of the girl this picture was simply a +breath-taking fairy fancy. + +It existed, such a thing as that. Gaston had sworn it, but it was +incomprehensible. However, it led the new-born imagination to expand and +wander, and when Joyce was at peace, and the sun shone, she went to that +picture for excitement and worship. + +To the right of the Madonna hung a photograph. Gaston had taken it +himself long ago. A foreground of rugged, cruel rock; black where age +had stamped it; white where snow traced the deep wrinkles of time. But +out of this rough light and shade, rose a glorious peak, sun-touched and +cloud-loved. A triumphant soul reaching up to heaven out of all the +time-racked rock. + +[Illustration: THAT PICTURED MOTHER AND CHILD WERE MOULDING JOYCE'S +CHARACTER] + +The dwarfish peaks, that had surrounded Joyce's outlook all her life, +made one understand the girl's love for this picture. As this was great, +compared to the small things she knew, so life held possibilities that +her life hinted--she might struggle with that ideal in mind. + +The ocean scene was her fancy's fairy space; the towering peak, her +philosophy. + +But Joyce knew nothing of all this, consciously. Marriage, as Isa had +foretold, brought its many cares and new interests. The strangeness and +importance dwindled. No one considered the matter different from any +other joining of St. Ange forces into a common life--the girl herself +grew to take it for granted and sometimes wondered why she _imagined_ +her lot different. + +She piled on more wood now, and laughed at the roar and glow. Then she +drew up the arm-chair that Jude liked; he would be cold and tired when +he returned. With a little laugh she pulled her own chair, a low, deep +rocker, from the bay window, out into the fire's warmth, opposite Jude's +spacious chair. Between them she placed a hassock--it was nearer her +rocker than Jude's chair. + +This she evidently noticed after a moment's contemplation, for the smile +faded, and with strict impartiality she moved the stool to a position +exactly between the two chairs, and directly in front of the fire's +full light and heat. + +"There!" she said, as if satisfied with her own sense of justice and +propriety. "That ought to suit everybody." + +The smile returned, and the little neglected song was taken up where the +imagined footsteps had interrupted it. + +The room was rosy and warm; even the window that was to tempt Providence +was cosily heated, and the box of plants that fringed its outer edge +stood in no danger of the frost's touch. + +A plate of deep-red apples on the table sent forth a homely fragrance, +and they were almost as beautiful as a vase of roses would have been. + +Presently there was no mistake--steps were approaching. The crusted snow +gave way under the heavy tread, the steps of the little porch creaked +under the weight of strong bodies. It was Gaston's voice that came first +to Joyce. + +"It's too late, Jude. Past nine." + +"Come in! Come in!" Jude was stamping noisily. "It ain't never too late, +when I say come. Maybe Joyce can tempt you with a mixture she's a +dabster at. After the walk you need it, and so do I." + +The outer door was pushed back, the waiting cold rushed in with the two +men, but the home glow killed it as the kitchen door swayed inward, and +Jude and Gaston stepped toward Joyce. + +She stood with her back to the fire, a pale straight figure against the +red light. + +"Hello! Joyce." Jude was energetically pulling off his short, thick +jacket. "Get busy at that 'mix' of yours. Put plenty of the real thing +in and don't be sparing with the tasties. Off with your coat and hat, +Mister Gaston. Make yourself comfortable. To folks as is already up, +what's an hour or two?" + +Gaston had taken Joyce's hands in welcome. + +"It's too bad," he said, "to set you to work after your stint's over. +The room looks as if you'd bewitched it. I tell you, Jude, there never +was a man yet who could juggle with a house and put the soul in it." + +Joyce flushed happily, and took Gaston's hat from him, as he pulled off +his coat. + +"I'll have everything ready in a jiffy," she said briskly. "Sit down, +and tell me about it, while I mix the brew." + +Jude sank, without giving Gaston a choice, into his own chair. Gaston +took Joyce's--he knew her fancy for the stool when he and Jude were both +present. + +"Well," said Jude, stretching his legs out toward the blaze, and putting +his heavy, snow-covered boots so near the fire that an odour of +scorching leather filled the room; "we got some men over to Hillcrest, +and we've bargained for lumber and other materials; we're going to begin +at once, clearing, and soon as the cold lets up, we'll start building." + +"Just think!" Joyce stirred the concoction in the jug jubilantly. "Just +think of Mr. Drew coming here and bringing folks with him. Isn't it +wonderful?" + +She was all aglow with interest, excitement and pleasure. Gaston looked +at her musingly. + +"I used to think," she went on, coming forward with the jug and setting +it on a low table near the hearth, "that nothing could ever happen here +in St. Ange. Nothing that hadn't already happened over and again. Isa +has always said the place would get a jog some day. She always seemed to +sense that," the girl smiled; "and she was right. Didn't you have to put +money down for men and things, Jude?" + +"Sure!" Jude spoke from the depths of his mug. + +"Did Mr. Drew send money?" + +"Send nothing." Jude laughed foggily from the depths. "That's how I got +the deal so prompt, I told him I'd undertake the job without any +settlement till he got here to boss the doings." + +"But where did you get the money, Jude?" + +"It's partnership, Joyce," Gaston broke in. He set down his own emptied +mug, and drew a little farther from the fire's revealing light. +"Lauzoon, Filmer and Gaston, Contractors and Builders.' How does it +sound?" + +"But the money?" There was a little line of care, now, between the +girl's deep eyes. + +"Oh, that's all right! When Drew planks down the dollars, Mr. Gaston +will get them back." Jude wiped his heavy lips on the back of his hand. + +"But--it must have taken--a good deal?" + +"Come, Joyce," Jude scowled, "you creep back to your corner. When women +get to tangling up money with their own doings, it's the devil. You keep +to your business, girl, and leave deeper matters alone." + +Gaston frowned. Something lay back of that care-traced line on Joyce's +forehead. Something lay back of her questioning--what was it? And Jude's +assumption of the male superiority over his young wife disturbed Gaston. +He had not noticed it so sharply before. + +Presently Joyce took the low stool, and clasped her knees in her +enfolding arms. The two men had filled their pipes, and now, through the +dim haze, looked at the fair, dreamy face between them. Then Jude laid +his pipe aside--and snored. The clock ticked softly. The logs fell apart +in a red glow. In drawing away from the flying sparks, Joyce placed her +stool nearer Gaston, and the pretty bent head came within easy distance +of the hand lying inert on the chair arm. + +"Jude gets awfully sleepy in the heat," Joyce whispered; "you don't +mind?" + +"No, why should I? But I ought to be going. You are tired, too?" + +"No." The sudden upward glance was all a-quiver with alertness. "I don't +ever seem tired now. Keeping one's own house--is great! and it seems +like everything is waking up every minute. Sometimes I hate to go to +sleep for fear I'll miss something." + +And now Gaston's hand touched the heavy curves of pale, gold hair. + +"You have made a _home_," he said; "I wonder if you know what a great +achievement that is? I wonder if Jude knows?" + +Joyce winced. + +"Oh! if he's a bit cross with me," she whispered softly, "don't you +mind. He thinks that's the way, you know. _I_ understand." + +"I suppose you do," Gaston smoothed the silken hair, "but make _him_ +understand, Joyce. It takes understanding on both sides, you know." + +"And, Mr. Gaston"--the girl changed the subject as adroitly as a more +worldly wise woman might have done--"you helped me make this home. I +ain't _ever_ going to let you forget that. These pictures," her loving +glance took them all in, "and the books coming and going just fast +enough to keep me nimble. It seems like you'd opened a gate and let some +of the big world in." + +"There's plenty of it on the other side of the two Solitudes, Joyce." +Gaston's hand fell gently along the warm throat and rested on the bent +shoulder. + +Jude gave another gurgling snore. The two did not change their +positions, but there was silence for an instant. + +"That mountain-top, all jagged and high--my! how it just makes me want +to climb; climb through my work all day long; climb to getting somewhere +out beyond. And that great empty picture with the awful white wave +coming from nowhere--it just makes me hold my breath. Sometimes it seems +as if it was going to swallow up everything and--me. It don't ever do +that, does it, Mr. Gaston?" + +"It has done damage of that kind in its time; but generally it obeys +orders and stops at the safety line." Gaston smiled into the wondering +eyes. + +"I like the--picture--I like it terribly," breathed the girl, "but I'd +_hate_ the real thing. I am sure it makes a terrific noise." Gaston +nodded, and old memories seemed beating in upon him. "It would wear me +out by its own----" + +"Restlessness." Gaston's thought ran along with the cruder one. "Its +restlessness is at times--unbearable, unless--one is very young and +happy." + +"But I am young--and happy." Joyce spoke lingeringly and her eyes grew +fixed upon the heart of the coals. "Still I would hate it--and be afraid +of it. It's beautiful--but it's awful. I don't like awful things. I +like to look up at that brave old mountain, and know--it will always be +the same no matter what happens down below." + +Suddenly Gaston felt old, very old, beside this girl near him with her +intuitive soul-stretches and her hampered life. + +"So the mountain is your favourite picture, Joyce?" + +A grandfatherly tone crept into his voice, and the caressing hand +touched the round, pale outline of cheek and chin with the assurance of +age and superiority--but the girl tingled under it. + +"No," she said, almost breathlessly, "I like _that_ best of all." And +she pointed a trembling finger toward the Madonna and Child. + +Gaston was conscious of a palpitating meaning in the words and gesture. + +"Why?" he asked softly. + +"Because," the fair head was lowered, not in timidity, but in deep +thought, "because I want it--my baby--to look like that one. I look and +look at the picture, and I dream about it at night. I know every little +dimple and the soft curls--and all. I pray and pray, and if God +answers--then--" a gentle ferocity rang through the hurried words--"I'm +going to _keep_ it so. It's going to be different from any other little +child in St. Ange. And it all fits in, now that Mr. Drew is coming back. +It's just wonderful! It was Mr. Drew that set me thinking about leaving +something better for them as come after. He said terrible strange +things--but you can't forget them, can you? I've been--well, sort of +weeding out my life ever since he was here--and there can't be so +much--for my baby to do--if I clear out my own faults. Can there?" + +The girl's absolute ignoring of any reason for withholding this +confidence from him at first staggered Gaston, and then steadied him. + +Never before had Joyce so appealed to him, but the sacredness of the +position she had thrust upon him for a moment appalled him. He looked +intently at the girlish, innocent face. What he saw was a blind woman, +groping through the child, seeking a reality that evaded it. + +Never greatly impressed with his own importance, Gaston became cruelly +aware, now, that in a marked way he still was the one being in the +girl's world to whom she looked for guidance. The knowledge made him +withdrawn for an instant. + +Drew had appealed to her spirit--but he was elected Father Confessor, +Judge and General Arbiter of her daily life. For a moment Gaston's sense +of the ridiculous was stirred. Suppose they--those--people who +inhabited the Past, and peopled the possible Future--suppose they should +know of this? The eyes twinkled dangerously, but the girl in the glow of +the red fire was terribly in earnest. + +"You are perfectly happy, Joyce?" It was an inane question, but like +some inane questions it touched a vital spark. + +"Why, if I get on the top of the things that might make me unhappy if +they conquered me; and if I shut my ears and eyes--why, then, I guess +I'm perfectly happy. I won't _let_ myself feel sad any more, and I make +believe a lot--about Jude. You have to when you've been married long; +and I guess he has to about me. So you see, living that way it comes out +all right. And then when you have beautiful things, like this house, and +the books and pictures, and some one ready to help--like you--why +_those_ things I just hold up in the light all the time. Isn't _that_ +being happy?" + +"What a philosopher!" Gaston bent forward and again pressed the slim +shoulder. The piteousness of this young wife getting her happiness, all +unknowingly, by self-imposed blindness of the inner soul, clutched at +his heart. + +"Hold hard to that, Joyce," he said. "Hold fast to that. Let all the +light in that you can upon your blessings, and as to other things, why, +don't acknowledge them! You're on the right track, though how you've +struck it so early in the game, beats me." + +"Well," Joyce was all aglow, "Mr. Drew helped. He was so funny and +jolly. Just a big boy, but he had the queerest ideas about things. When +I think of him, sick and weak like he was, and yet living out all his +brave thoughts just as if he was a giant--why, sometimes I go off and +cry by myself." + +Jude from his shadow and aloofness was staring dumbly at the pair +opposite while the low-spoken words sank into his drowsiness. Jude was +primitive. Actions were _things_ to him; things that admitted of no +shades of meaning. What the two were saying in no way modified the +situation. Gaston's hand was caressing his wife--his woman, Jude would +have expressed it--and the bald fact was enough. + +A hot anger rose in him--an anger calculated to urge a personal assault +then and there, upon the two who dared, in his own house, set his +rights--his alone--aside. + +The sleepy eyes widened and closed; the teeth showed through the rough +beard--and then, like a smarting blow, came the memory of all that +Gaston meant to him. Money! Gaston's money. There had been loans, +trifling, but many, and now Gaston stood ready to advance money for this +new building project. Money enough to make Jude master of the situation. +But with this thought came others that crushed and bruised him. + +He had been wrong. It was not his wife's folly alone that stood between +him and her. Gaston _had_ been using him. He was lending him money--hush +money! And while he had gone his stupid way, thinking he held the whip +hand over Joyce, the two had had their laugh at him. Money has done +much for good and evil in this world, but it saved Gaston that night +from a desperate attack. + +A low cunning crept into Jude's thoughts. Very well, two or three could +play at the same game. + +More money! More! More! and who knew? Why he might make a choice in the +future--a choice for himself. + +He settled back and snored long and deep. Then he stretched and yawned +and gave ample notice of his advance, in order that the conspirators +might cover their tracks. + +When he opened his eyes, Gaston was leaning forward with clasped hands +stretched out toward the fading glow, and Joyce, crouched upon her stool +with huddled knees, gave no sign that confusion held part in her +thoughts. + +"Say," Jude had already adopted the guise of the man with a purpose, +"you don't suppose, do you, that that young parson is coming up here +with any idea of saving souls?" + +"Only his own, I fancy." Gaston replied, without turning. "He wants to +keep his soul and body together. Seeking his lost health, you know." + +"What makes him fancy he lost it up here?" + +"He doesn't. He lost it down there among books, bad air, and foolish +living. His physicians tell him his only chance for life is up in this +region. Some day more of the big doctors will shut down on drugs and +give Nature a try." + +"Umph!" Jude shook himself. "Put a log on," he commanded Joyce. Then: +"He preached a durned mess of nonsense the last time he was visiting +us," he continued. "I didn't have any inclination to take his guff +myself, but I don't half like the idee, now that I've slept on it, of +his coming in here as a disturbing element, so to speak. Living and +minding your business, is one thing; interfering with other folks' +business is another. Filmer, he told me a time back that he ain't had a +comfortable spree since that young feller was here. He sort of upset +Jock's stomach with his gab. The women, too, was considerable taken with +him--he's the sort that makes fool women take notice. It ain't pleasant +to think of that sissy-boy actually setting up housekeeping here, and +reflecting upon old established ways, with any tommy-rot about clearing +trails and such foolishness." + +Joyce smiled. So that thought rankled in more lives than her own? + +"Going to retire from the contractorship, Jude?" Gaston got up and +crossed the room for his coat and hat. + +"Not much!" Jude rose also. "Only beginning right is half the battle, +and I say for one, and Tate he was saying the same this morning, that +we'd better stamp out any upraisings in the start, now that it's likely +to be a staying on, 'stead of a visit. When I select a teacher," Jude +was following his guest to the outer door, "I ain't going to take up +with no white-livered infant. See you to-morrow, Mr. Gaston?" + +"Oh, certainly. Good night, Jude. Good night, Joyce." Gaston looked back +at the little figure by the fire, and he saw that the upturned eyes were +fixed on the Madonna and Child. + +"Why don't you speak, Joyce? Mr. Gaston is saying good night." Jude's +words reached where Gaston's had failed. The girl rose stiffly. + +"Good night," she said slowly, and a great weariness was in her face. + +When Jude returned she still stood in the middle of the room, her hands +hanging limply by her side. + +Something had gone out from her life with Gaston's going. But she was +still thrilled and her soul was sensitive to impressions. + +"What's up?" + +Jude came close to her and stared boldly into the large, tired eyes. + +"Nothing, Jude." + +"You ain't so spry as when--there's company." + +"It's late--you've had a nap. I'm dead tired." + +"That's it," Jude laughed coarsely. "I've slept and kept out of +mischief--you've been too durned entertaining--you're feeling the +strain. See here, Joyce, maybe you better not be so--amusing in the +future. Maybe you better leave Gaston to me--business is business and I +guess we can do without petticoats in this camp." + +He was losing control of himself. + +"Jude," Joyce came close and tried to put her hands on her husband's +shoulders. "Jude, I want you to pay Mr. Gaston back as soon as you can. +It's been on my mind for quite a spell. We must owe him a lot. How much, +Jude?" + +"None of your--durned business." + +"And Jude--don't borrow any more. I know Mr. Drew would advance anything +for the building. His family is terribly rich. Mr. Gaston knows about +them. I'd rather owe Mr. Drew than Mr. Gaston. Please, Jude!" + +For a moment the sweet, quivering face put forth its appeal to the lower +nature of the man. The girl was young enough, and new enough to sway +Jude after a fashion, but the charm died almost at birth. + +"See here." Jude slipped from the clinging hands, and glared angrily. +"You ain't ever properly learned your place. You better let go any fool +idee that you can budge me with your wiles. I don't have to buy your +favours--they're mine. What I do, I do, and you take what I choose to +let you have. See? If you get more than what is rightfully yours, don't +get sot up with the notion I don't know what I'm permitting. I guess +I've got to let you see what you're up against a little plainer. I had +a kind of dim idee that your schooling and book-learning made you a bit +keener than most about the real facts of the case, but you're all alike. +Don't you question me in the future, girl, and you go your way--the way +I _let_ you go--and be thankful, but don't you forget you and me is +_man_ and _wife_, and that means just one durned thing in St. Ange and +only one." + +Joyce staggered back as if the man before her had dealt her a blow. + +What had happened? Then she remembered that Jude was always irritable +when he had been roused from sleep, or when he was hungry. + +The blindness was mercifully clouding her soul now; but its duration was +brief. It only gave her time to stand upright. + +"Did you think I was asleep to-night?" Jude almost hissed the words. + +The suddenness of the question had all the evil power of reducing the +girl to an appearance of guilt. + +"You were asleep," she whispered back. + +Jude laughed cruelly. + +"With my eyes opened," he snarled--"It pays to _seem_ asleep, when you +want to catch on to some kind of doings. Your old man, Joyce, ain't half +the fool you'd like him to be. I wasn't napping when Billy Falster +blabbed his warning. I wasn't napping when I saw that hand-holding and +kissing from the top of Beacon Hill. I wasn't snoozing that night when +you went crawling to Gaston's shack just after you'd given your word to +me, and"--Jude had worked himself into a quivering rage--"I wasn't +sleeping when you and him sat _there_ to-night, blast ye!" + +The convincing knowledge broke upon Joyce with full force. She would +never be able to ignore the fact again. Try as she might, dream as she +could, she was but a St. Ange woman, and he a St. Ange man. + +There was only one way. She must deal with the rudest of materials. + +"Jude," she said slowly, "you pay Mr. Gaston back all that you owe +him--I'll stint here in the house--and I'll promise never to speak to +him again. Could anything be fairer than that?" + +She was in deadly earnest; but Jude laughed in her face. + +A fear grew in the girl's heart at the sound. Not even an appeal to his +selfishness could move him. She had lost the poor little power she once +possessed. He did not care! And when that happened with a man like +Jude--well, there was reason for fear. + +"I'm the boss, girl, and you better hold to that knowledge. Keep your +books, your pictures and what not as long as I say you can, and let that +do you for what _I_ am getting out of it. See?" + +"Yes--I see!" And so she did, poor girl; and it was a long barren +stretch on ahead that she saw. A stretch with hideous possibilities, +unless luck were with her. + +"Don't you let on." Jude was striding toward the bedchamber beyond. "I +guess you're smart enough to hold your tongue, though. Pile on a log or +two, before you turn in; and you better draw the shutters to the north +window--it's getting splitting cold." + +Joyce turned to obey the commands. Not slavishly; after all it was but +part of her woman-task. Jude feeling it necessary to tell her was the +lash. It was cruelly superfluous--that was all. + +She laid two heavy logs on the red embers, and stooped to brush the +ashes from the hearth. Then she went to the north window and raised the +sash. Before she drew the shutters she stood and looked out into the +brilliant night. + +Black and white. Sharp, clean and magically glittering it all looked; +and the keen cold cleared the fear and fever from her head and heart. + +Yes, off there in the distance Gaston was entering the pine thicket +through which his private path ran. He must have walked slowly--or had +all this new knowledge come so rapidly? + +Gaston stood still at the entrance to the woods. Was he looking back? + +Then something occurred. Once or twice before Joyce had been conscious +of this. Something seemed to go out from her and follow Gaston. She, or +that strange something, escaped the fear and smothering closeness of the +little house. It was free and happy out there with Gaston in the night. +He was strong--stronger than anybody in St. Ange. Nothing could really +happen while _he_ was near. She saw his smile; felt his compelling +touch--no, not even Jude would dare hurt her, or go too far. + +Gaston passed into the dim thicket. Joyce, too seemed to be going on +quite happily and lightly, when---- + +"I say, Joyce, shut that winder, can't you?" + +A silence. As Joyce had followed a certain call the night she had +promised to marry Jude, and had gone to Gaston's house, so now she was +going on--and on--and---- + +"Joyce!" At last the real clutched the unreal. The girl, for the first +time, was conscious of the biting cold. She shivered and seemed to +travel back to that rough call over frozen distances. With stiff fingers +she drew the heavy wooden shutters together and lowered the sash. Then +feeling her way with outstretched hands, like a bewildered child, she +made her way to the inner chamber and Jude. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +The following June Joyce's little boy was born. It was a most +inconvenient time for him to make his appearance. + +The late spring had delayed the logging season. The winter had been a +long-continued, cold one; the men at the different camps had fretted +under the postponed ending of their jobs, and severe discipline had been +necessary in more than one camp. Hillcrest's ideas of decency had been +deeply outraged; its courts of justice had been kept busy by men, who, +unable to resist temptation after restraint had at last been removed, +carried lawlessness to an unprecedented excess. + +The river, too, with the depravity of inanimate things, had taken that +occasion to leap all bounds and run wild where never before it had +ventured. Not being content in carrying its legitimate burden of logs to +the lower towns, it bore away, one black night, more than half of the +lumber that Jude had piled near the clearing for Ralph Drew's new house. + +This occurrence sent Jude into one of the fits of sullen frenzy which +were becoming more and more common to him. He had been obliged to track +the stolen lumber many miles to the south, seize it there, and make +arrangements for bringing it back. This absence from the scene of his +life battle, turned Jude into a veritable fiend for the time being. He +had enough self-confidence to believe he could hold things in his own +hands, when his hands and eyes were on the spot, but with absence and +distance--bah! + +Many a horse and man suffered that spring from Jude's evil temper. + +Whether Gaston was aware of conditions or not, who could tell? He took a +keen delight in the manual labour of working on Drew's house. He and +Filmer, with or without Jude, hammered, sawed and made rough designs +that filled their days with honest toil and brought healthy sleep to +their tired bodies. + +And just when the early wild flowers were timidly showing themselves, +after the winter's long reign, little Malcolm Lauzoon opened his eyes +upon the scene. + +How could he know that the festivities at the Black Cat were interrupted +by Jude's necessary absences, and Isa Tate's voluntary visits to Joyce's +home? + +Leon Tate, good-naturedly reaping a belated prosperity, had insisted +that his wife serve Joyce how and as she might. + +Jude was becoming a man to be considered. He evidently had a future, and +the tavern's attractions had never held a sure power over Jude. Here +was Leon's opportunity for putting Jude under obligations. + +Tate thought fit to place himself and his wife on a social equality with +the Lauzoons. So Isa was in command when small Malcolm arrived. + +It was an early June morning, after a night of black horror, when Joyce +became aware of the singing of birds out of doors, and a strange, new +song in her heart. + +The latter sensation almost stifled her. She tried to raise her head and +look about the room, but the effort made her faint. She waited a moment, +then slowly turned her head on the pillow and opened her eyes. There by +the low, open window sat Isa Tate, swaying back and forth in the +old-fashioned rocker, with something on her lap. + +Again the strange faintness overpowered Joyce, and the big tears rolled +down her face. It had not, then, been all a hideous nightmare? Something +sweet and real had remained after the terror and agony had taken flight? + +"Isa!" So low and trembling was the call that Isa, drowsing luxuriously +as she rocked to and fro, took no heed. + +It was many a day since she, detached from the demands of home cares, +could make herself so comfortable. + +"Isa!"--and then Isa heard. + +"What is it?" she turned a steady glance toward the bed. She did not +intend that Joyce should be exacting. Women were apt to be unless the +nurse was rigid. "Do you want anything?" + +"Oh! Isa is that--my baby?" There was such a thrill in the voice that +Isa was at once convinced that Joyce was delirious. + +She was going to have her hands full. A mere baby, to Isa, was no cause +for that tone, and the glorified look. + +"I guess there ain't any one else going to put in a claim for him," she +replied with a vague sense of humorously calming the patient. + +"Him!" Joyce's tears again overflowed. "Did you say 'him' Isa?" + +"There, there! do be still now, Joyce, and take a nap. You won't have +any too much time for lazing. You better make the most of it." + +"It's a boy. Oh! It seems too, too heavenly. _My_ little boy! Isa, +is--is--he beautiful?" + +And now no doubts remained in Isa's mind. She must pacify this very +trying case. + +"'Bout as beautiful as they make 'em," she said slowly, and tried to +remember what was given to patients when they became unmanageable. + +"Does--does he look--like--" the words came pantingly--"like the picture +in the other room?" + +Isa was sitting opposite the door leading into the living room, and her +eyes fell, as Joyce spoke, upon the Madonna and Child. + +Then, in spite of her anxiety and weariness, Isa laughed. The entire +train of events since her arrival the day before had appealed to her +latent sense of humour. + +"Oh! exactly," she answered and rolling the baby in a blanket she strode +over to the bed, and placed him hastily beside Joyce. + +"There," she said soothingly; "now lay still or you'll hurt the little +beauty. I'm going to fix something comforting to drink." + +She was gone. In the mystery of the still room and the early morning, +Joyce was alone with her little son! + +As she felt, so all motherhood, as God designed it, should feel. Before +the acceptance of the wonderful gift, motherhood stood entranced. Fear +and awe hold even love in abeyance. Into poor, loving, human hands a +soul--an eternal soul--was entrusted. No wonder even mother-love held +back before it consecrated itself to the sacred and everlasting +responsibility. + +Joyce only dumbly felt this. All that she was conscious of was a fear +that her joy, when she looked upon the blessed little face, would kill +her, and so end what had but begun. + +A new and marvellous strength came to her. She raised herself upon her +elbow and reverently drew the corner of the blanket from the tiny head. + +Suddenly the birds ceased singing. The June morning was enveloped in a +black pall. The ominous stillness that precedes an outburst of the +elements held breath in check. + +Joyce was perfectly conscious. In the hideous blackness she saw her +baby's face clear and distinct, and with firm fingers she tore the +wrappings from the small body--she must see all, all. + +Misshapen and grim in its old, sinister expression of feature, the baby +lay exposed. The face was grotesque in its weazened fixity; the little +legs were twisted, and the thin body lay crooked among its blankets. The +big eyes stared into the horrified ones above them as if pleading for +mercy. The sight turned Joyce ill. + +"In spite of all," the stare seemed to challenge, "can you accept me?" + +In that moment when the bitter cup was pressed to motherhood's lips, +Joyce received the holiest sacrament that God ever bestows. In divine +strength she accepted her child. This little, blighted creature would +have no one but her to look to--to find life through. All that it was to +receive, until it went out of life, must come first through her. Should +she fail it? + +With fumbling and untrained hands she drew it to her, and pressed it +against her breast. With the touch of the small body at her heart, the +dawn crept back into the room, and from afar the birds sang. + +With all her striving, poor Joyce had not eliminated from the baby's +life the inheritance of others' sins. He had come, bearing a heavy load +of disease and deformity. All that was left for her to do now, was to +lift the cross as she might from this stunted and saddened life, and +walk beside him to the farther side. + +The poor, little wrinkled mouth was nestling against the mother-breast. +Instinct was alive in the child. Joyce laughed. At first tremblingly, +then shrilly. Suddenly she began to sing a lullaby, and the tune was +interrupted by laughs and moans. + +Higher and higher the fever rose. Isa Tate, beside herself with fright, +screamed for help, and for days Jude Lauzoon's house was the meeting +place of Life and Death; then Life triumphed, and people breathed +relievedly. + +"A homely young-un often makes handsome old bones," comforted Isa. Now +that Joyce was creeping back from the dangers that had beset her, Isa +felt a glow of pride and interest. She was an honourable diploma to +Isa's skill as nurse. In the future, Mrs. Tate was to feel a new +importance. She was assuming the airs of a woman who has learned the +market value of her services. Tate was to reap the effect of this later. + +"Oh! It doesn't matter much with boys," Joyce answered, indifferently. +"A girl would have been different." + +"That's a sensible way to look at it," Isa agreed. "I often think that a +man with good looks has just that much temptation to be a bigger fool +than what he otherwise would be. It's one agin 'em whichever way you +take it. They don't _need_ looks. They gets what they wants, anyway, and +if they are side-tracked by their countenances, it's ten to one they +will get distracted in their aims, and make more trouble than usual. + +"Now that I hark back, the only men as I can remember that amounted to +enough to make you willing to overlook their cussedness, was men as had +a handicap in looks. + +"There was Pierre Laval's brother Damon. He was born with twelve toes, +twelve fingers--two extry thumbs they was--and four front teeth. + +"He certainly was the most audacious ugly young-un I ever set eyes on. I +wasn't much more than a girl, to be sure, when I saw him first, but I +went into yelling hysterics, and took to my bed. Pierre was +handsome--and, you know how he ended? Damon, he gritted his teeth--and +in his case he could do that early--and made up his mind to make good +for his deficiencies--if you can say that 'bout one as had more rather +than less than Nature generally bestows. Land! the learning that child +was capable of absorbing! Hillcrest School just sunk into him like he +was a sponge. When he got all he could over there, he just walked off +as natural as could be, without a cent to his name--and they do say, so +I've heard, that down the state they set an awful store by his knowledge +of stars and moons and such-like. And Mick Falstar, cousin to Pete--" + +"Never mind, Isa." Joyce looked wan and nerveless. These tales only +accentuated the agony she felt whenever she was forced to concentrate +her thoughts upon actualities. + +When she was left to herself, she was beginning to regain the power of +ignoring facts and living among ideals. She was growing more and more +able to see a little spiritual baby at her breast--a beautiful child. +And with that vision growing clearer she felt her own spirit gaining +strength for flights into a future where this little son of hers, borne +aloft by her determined will and purpose, should hold his own among men. +Surely, she thought, God would not cripple mind, body and soul. God +would be content with testing her love by the twisted body. The mind and +soul would be--glorious! + +Day by day, the young mother, creeping back into the warm, summer life, +watched for intelligence to awaken in the grim little face; the first +flying signal of the overpowering intellect that was to make recompense +for all that had been withheld. + +The misshapen body was always swathed in disguising wrappings; even the +claw-like, groping hands were held under blankets when curious eyes +were near. Isa had won Joyce's everlasting gratitude by holding her +tongue regarding the child's bodily deformity; and the Hillcrest doctor, +who had been summoned when the fever grew, did not consider the +circumstance important enough to weigh on his memory when once the +payment for his services was, to his surprise, forthcoming. + +But the sad, little old face with its fringe of straight black hair! +That must be public property, and its piteous appeal had no power beyond +the mother, to stay the cruel jest and jibe. + +"Say, Jude," Peter Falstar had said in offering his maudlin +congratulations, "what's that you got up to your place--a baby or a +Chinese idol? That comes of having a handsome wife, what has notions +beyond what women can digest." + +Jude did not take this pleasantry as one might suppose he would. His own +primitive aversion to the strange, deformed child made him weakly +sensitive. He recoiled from Falstar's gibe with a sneaking shame he +dared not defend by a physical outburst. + +"He ain't a very handsome chap," he returned foolishly, "don't favour +either father or mother--hey?" + +Gaston overheard this and other similar witticisms, and his blood rose +hot within him. + +The cruelty and indelicacy of it all made him hate, where, heretofore, +he had but felt contempt. + +He realized most keenly that in his lonely life among the pines the few +interests and friendships that he had permitted himself were deeper than +he had believed. + +Jock Filmer, during the closer contact of daily labour, had become to +him a rude prototype of a Jonathan. They had found each other out, and +behind the screen that divided them from others, they held communion +sacred to themselves. They read together in Gaston's shack. They had, at +times, skimmed dangerously near the Pasts that both, for reasons of +their own, kept shrouded. After one of these close calls of confidence, +they would drift apart for a time--afraid of each other--but the growing +attraction they felt was strengthening after the three or four years +wherein an unconscious foundation had been laid. + +Then Gaston, too, realized that he had banked much upon the marriage he +had brought about between Jude and Joyce. In saving himself from +temptation, he felt he had sacrificed the girl, unless he could bring +into her life an element that would satisfy her blind gropings. + +To argue that in saving himself he had saved her, was no comfort. He had +not been called upon to elect himself arbiter of Joyce's future. No; to +put it baldly, in his loneliness he had dabbled in affairs that did not +concern him--and he must pay for his idiocy. + +To that end he had, at first, put himself and his private funds at +Jude's disposal. He had had hopes that by so doing he might help Jude to +decent manliness. But that hope soon died. Jude, lazy with the inertness +of a too sharply defined ancestry, became rapidly a well-developed +parasite. + +Even when he accepted the contract to build Ralph Drew's house, he had +done so from two motives. By this means he could, he found, command more +of Gaston's money than in any other way, and by assuming the +responsibility he placed himself on a social pinnacle that satisfied his +vanity. He became a man of importance. Gaston and Filmer, glad with the +intelligence of men who know the value of work, took the actual burden +upon themselves. Lauzoon had the empty glory; they had the blessing of +toil that brought their faculties into play, and gave them relief from +somberer thoughts. But Gaston was too normal a man not to consider the +gravity of conditions that were developing. His hopes of Jude had long +ago sunk into a contemptuous understanding of the shiftless fellow. He +had, however, believed that the hold he had upon him insured a +comparatively easy life for Joyce. This, too, he now saw was a false +belief. + +He knew the girl. He knew that mere housing and assured food were little +to her, if deeper things failed. + +It was this essentially spiritual side of Joyce that had interested him +and appealed to him from the beginning. + +One by one he gave up his hopes for her happiness. He saw that Jude was +impossible long before Joyce did; then he put his faith in the little +child--and now that had failed! Poor girl! he thought; and in the inner +chamber of his shack with the doors and shutters barred, the pistol +lying at hand upon his desk, he cursed himself for a fool who had tried +to enrich his own wasted life with an interest in the lives of others +that had brought about as bad a state of affairs as any meddler could +well conceive. + +Then he grew reckless. Things couldn't be much worse, anyway, and if he +might brighten that dull life in the little house, he'd brighten it and +Jude be--the laugh that Gaston laughed was perhaps better than the word +he might have used had he finished his sentence. + +There was the regular income from the outer world; as long as that was +at Gaston's command he felt he could control Lauzoon, and who else +mattered, except Filmer? Well, Filmer had sense to keep his opinions to +himself--although the look in his eyes when he disapproved of anything, +was unpleasant and--impertinent. + +A clam like Filmer had no right to personal opinions of other folks' +conduct. Unless he let light in upon his own excuse for being, he +should withhold condemnation. + +So Gaston spent his days' ends on Jude's little piazza, or in the bay +window of the sitting room when the air was too cool for the baby +snuggling against the young mother's breast. + +Gaston brought his fiddle along, and those were wonderful tunes he drew +from the strings. Sometimes he explained what they meant, his words +running along in monotone that yet kept time to the alluring strains. + +Joyce smiled, and her ready tears came, but the colour was coming back +into her beautiful face; the brooding eyes once again had the glint of +sweet mischief in them, and the lip curled away from the pretty teeth. + +She had never been so beautiful before. Living in the ideal where her +baby was concerned made it perilously easy for her to live ideally in +all other ways. + +Jude became a blurred reality. He was, when she thought of him at all, +endowed with the graces and attractiveness of Gaston. Joyce did not +consider Jude as he really existed. She smiled vaguely at him--his +personality now, neither annoyed her nor appealed to her. While living +with him outwardly, she was to all intents and purposes, spiritually +living with Gaston. For she gave to Jude the attributes that made Gaston +her hero, just as she gave to her poor, twisted baby the beautiful +contours and heavenly beauty of the Madonna's exquisite Child. + +The summer throbbed and glowed in St. Ange. + +Was it possible that things were as they always had been? Jared Birkdale +kept his distance and silence; and Joyce grew to forget him. + +The Black Cat flourished, and Jude made no attempt to curb his growing +desire for popularity there. He was developing a talent for instructing +his elders, and laying down the law. He was endeavoring to fill +Birkdale's place. Jared had always been the tavern orator. Some one has +to occupy that pedestal in all such places, while the others enjoy their +pipes and mugs in speculative contemplation. + +But nothing was as it _had_ been with Joyce. She had the look of one on +the threshold of big happenings. Her pale beauty had a new glow. The +thinness of girlhood had given place to a slender womanhood, all grace +and charm. + +She was rarely seen without her baby on her bosom. Even in her work she +managed to bear him on one arm. + +Away from her, he wailed pitifully and almost constantly; while pressed +against the warm, loving heart he sank into comfort and peace. When he +was awake his elfish eyes were fixed in solemn stare upon the +mother-face. Not knowingly nor indifferently, but intently, as if from +the depths of past experience he was wondering and endeavouring to +understand. + +One evening, and such an evening it was in late July, Joyce, in her low +rocker, the baby on her knees, sat on the piazza facing westward, when +Gaston came around the house, fiddle in hand. + +"Alone, Joyce?" It was an idle question, but it would do. + +"Yes; Jude seems to have a lot to do about Mr. Drew's house, you know." + +Joyce still kept up a pretty defence of Jude. Not that it was in the +least necessary, or even sensible, but it had its part in her detached +and dreamy life. + +"The house is about finished," Gaston replied, tuning up the fiddle. +"And then what?" he said, placing the instrument. + +"I wonder?" Joyce looked down happily upon her child. + +It did not greatly matter, for now Gaston had struck into one of those +compelling airs, so intensely sweet and melodious that it all but hurt; +and the red sunset trembled as the tear-dimmed eyes beheld it. + +The tune changed. It danced elfishly, and trippingly--for very joy it +made one laugh. The tear rolled down Joyce's face, as the smile replaced +it, and dropped upon the thin cheek of the baby. He did not flinch, and +the staring eyes did not falter, but something drew the mother's +attention. As the final tripping notes died away, she said softly. + +"Mr. Gaston, just look--at the baby." + +The child had rarely drawn them together. It was to make her forget the +child--and other things--that Gaston called so often. + +He came now, and bent over the two. + +"Does--he--look--just the same to you?" she asked. + +"Why, yes!" Gaston repressed the desire to laugh. "You see babies are +not much in my line. I don't think I ever saw such a little fellow +before. They look about the same for a long time, don't they?" + +"Oh! no. They change every day, and many times during the day. I weighed +baby to-day," she faltered, "and do you know, he weighs _less_ than when +he was born!" + +"The ungrateful little heathen!" + +"I'm afraid--I'm not a good mother." The sweet face quivered. "And I +want to be that more than anything else on earth. You see if I can get +him through--through this awful time when I can't tell just what might +be the matter--it will be easy enough. But young babies are +so--so--unreal. You don't know whether you've got them to keep or not. +They seem to be kind of holding on to another life, while they clutch +this. A good mother knows how to unloose them from that other hold." + +Gaston was touched by the yearning in the low voice, but the weazened +face of the child repelled him, even while it attracted him. + +"Would it be so--so terrible if he did not let go that--other hold?" + +It was a stupid thing to say, and Gaston despised himself for being so +brutal when he saw the look of horror on the upturned face. + +"Terrible?" Joyce gasped. "Why, if--if he should leave me, I couldn't +live. You don't know how it seems to have him warm and little and soft +against your heart. The whole world would be empty--empty, until it +would kill me with the emptiness--and I'd always think, you know, he'd +found out I wasn't fit to be his mother. It's a foolish fancy, but you +know, Mr. Gaston, I think they come to try us mothers--if they find us +out--not fit--they don't stay. Such a lot of babies don't stay!" + +"Why Joyce!" Gaston tried to turn his gaze from that awful baby-stare. +"Full of whim-whams and moonshine. You must get about more. You must +come up to Drew's house to-morrow. It's a palace of a place--and Filmer +had a letter from Drew to-day. He's coming before the autumn cold sets +in--he's going to bring an aunt and a sister--just get your idle fancy +on the doings, and let Master Malcolm jog along at his own pace. If he +doesn't like you for a mother, he isn't worth considering. Look at him +now--he sees the joke, the brazen little cuss, he's actually laughing in +our faces." + +"Oh!" Joyce sat rigidly up, and her own face became transformed. The +moment she had lived and waited for had come! The blank stare gave place +to a broken, crinkling expression; the thin shapeless lips trembled over +the toothless gums, and into the big eyes a wonder broke. A light seemed +to shine forth--and the baby smiled into the adoring face looking down! + +To Gaston, the sight was, in a sense, awful. The majesty of Joyce's +attitude toward the change in the child, was the only thing that saved +the occasion. + +"Is--it hungry?" he asked with the same dense stupidity he had displayed +before. + +"Oh, no!" Joyce laughed gleefully. "Don't you see, he--he knows me. +He--he--_does_ like--me--he's going to stay, and he takes this heavenly +way to show it." + +"The deuce he does!" and now Gaston laughed. "He's going to be a comical +imp, if I don't miss my guess. See, he's calming down now, and +regulating his features." + +"But--he--smiled!" And just then Jude came around the corner of the +house. + +Gaston saw the expression of his face, and something stifled him for a +moment. He wondered if money was always going to be a check to Jude, +after all. + +And if it should cease to hold him in leash--then what would happen? + +He went away soon after, but he sat up until toward daylight, just +outside his shack. He feared something was going to occur. But nothing +did; and the next thing in Joyce's life story that tugged at his +heart-strings, was the sickness and sudden death of little Malcolm. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +It was the evening of the day that the baby had been laid under a slim, +tall young pine tree back of the little house. + +Jude felt that he had borne himself heroically throughout the trying +episode. + +Never having cared for the child in life, he considered himself a pretty +good father to hide his relief at its early taking off. + +As a man of means--what mattered if they were Gaston's means?--he had +had a really impressive funeral for his son. + +The Methodist minister from Hillcrest had preached for full an hour over +the tiny casket. Not often did the clergyman have so good an opportunity +to tell the St. Angeans what he thought of them. + +He dealt with them along old and approved lines. He had heard of Drew's +religious views and he took this occasion to include a warning of the +damning influence that was about to enter the vicinity with the young +minister's return. + +"I warn you now," he thundered over the dead baby, "to make the life of +this infidel, this God-hater, a burden to him." + +Filmer from his rear corner, winked at Gaston at this. Gaston could see +nothing amusing in the service--it was all in the passing show--a +pitiful and added agony. + +In that the show was a little grimmer than usual he found his resentment +rising. So Gaston did not return the pleasantry of Jock's wink. + +After the service, Jude had insisted that there should be no unseemly +haste, and had instructed his chosen representatives to form a line and +walk from the house to the tavern and back twice with the tiny remains, +before they were finally laid to rest. This show of respect was talked +of in St. Ange for days. + +Through all the bitter day Joyce had followed dumbly whatever others +did. It was like walking in her sleep, and she was grateful that she +felt no sorrow. + +She had feared if the baby died it might kill her, and now that it was +dead she did not mind at all. + +Her arms ached a little at times. She thought that was queer; they had +never ached when they bore the baby. + +At last she and Jude were back in the awful, quiet house. It was more +awful now that Jude was there. For after the burial, and before the +evening meal, he had been lessening his tension with some boon +companions, down at the Black Cat, and Joyce had had the place to +herself. + +Jude, having relaxed to the state of geniality, was willing to let +bygones be bygones in the broadest sense of the word. He had big plans +afoot--he had had them the night he came home and found Gaston and Joyce +hanging over the baby. These plans had been set aside while the baby was +taking his pitiful leave of life after his one smile, but Jude must +hurry his case now. Nothing stood in the way--and, although many a woman +might get what she deserved, Jude was going to forgive Joyce again and +take her to his bosom in a new life, and they'd both forget what was +past. + +The hold of youth and beauty clutched the man's inflamed senses. The +evening meal, which Joyce had mechanically prepared, had been partaken +of--by Jude--until little but fragments was left. + +A black shower, which had passed over St. Ange in the late afternoon, +had changed the sultry heat to ominous chill. The wind among the pines +sobbed dismally as if it were a human thing and could understand. + +Jude got up and shut the door. It was quite dark outside, and the lamp +flickered in the breeze. + +At his action Joyce sprang from the chair, and the dull calm that had +possessed her for the past day or so was shattered. Her eyes blazed, and +the colour came and went in the stern, white face. + +"Don't--do--that!" she panted, springing to the door and flinging it +back. + +"What in thunder is the matter with you?" Jude stepped aside. Something +in this change and fury startled him. + +"Don't shut--the--door, Jude. We--we--can't leave him out there alone in +the cold. He's so little--our--baby!" + +Jude had a moment of doubt as to how he should deal with this foolery. +If he were quite sure it was just Joyce's nonsense--but perhaps she had +gone crazy. The thought stayed him. + +Then he considered that in either case he must get the upper hand, and +at once. All depended upon that. + +"Go and set down," he commanded, eyeing the girl as she stood in the +open doorway. "You don't 'spose we're going to live with open doors, do +you?" + +There was mastery in the tone, and, to gain her end, the woman resorted +to her only course. + +"Just--for to-night, Jude--just a little way open. I'd choke if I--shut +him away so soon--and he so little and--and--all." + +Fear of what he did not understand roused in Jude a brutish desire to +overcome this something that threatened. For a moment he decided to rush +from the house and leave the thing to work out its own way; but second +thought brought with it his plans, which must be set in motion at once. + +This attitude of Joyce's was a new obstacle, but if he conquered her, he +might overcome it. So by sheer force of weak will he strode over to the +woman who defied him, even while she pleaded, and grasped her roughly by +the shoulder. + +In that touch Joyce recognized what all suppressed and deprived +womanhood has always felt, and she recoiled to reconnoitre. + +"You do as I tell you, Joyce, and go and set down. The door is going to +be shut and you take that in, plain and quick." He drew her away, and +slammed the door with a crash. + +Joyce went quietly to her chair, but a new and terrible look came into +her eyes. + +Jude sat on the edge of the table, disregarding the spotless cover and +soiled dishes. He wanted to be near Joyce in case of an outbreak, and he +had much to say. + +"Are you listening to me?" he asked slowly, as if he were speaking to a +child. + +"Oh! yes," Joyce replied, and her tone reassured him; "I'm listening." + +"Do you think you've ever taken me in any?" + +The man's sullen black eyes held the clear, bluish-gray ones. + +"Oh, never, Jude! You're terribly smart. I've always known that--but +please--" the strained eyes turned for the last time toward the door. + +"Cut that out!" said Jude. "You're just acting. You can't pull me by the +nose, but it will pay you to calm down and listen to what I've got to +say. I've heard from your father!" + +"Have you?" The white impassive face did not change expression. + +"Yes; by thunder! I have; and as it concerns you as much as it does me, +you better take more interest. I heard from him more'n two weeks ago. I +met him, too, in the south woods, a few nights back." + +"What's he hiding for?" the monotonous tone jarred Jude more than any +outbreak of temper could have done. His recent restraint, and his +pent-up plans had worn his nerves to the raw edge. He was in the slow, +consuming stage of emotions that was likely to lead him to a desperate +move if he were balked. + +"Now look here," he blurted out; "you and me has got to get down to +business, and that to once! I've kept mum long of the kid's taking-off." +Joyce's eyes widened as she stared through the open window over which +the rose-vine was being lashed by a new storm. + +"I've bided my time, and it was more for you than for me, you can bet. + +"This is the big time of our lives, and I ain't going to hold back any +facts what can make things clear and reasonable. Me and your father want +you, maybe for different reasons, maybe not. You ain't the common sort, +and we know you can help us. If you was like most women, him and me +wouldn't have no compunctions about cutting, and leaving you to ways +what you seem to hanker after. But he's actually pining for a sight of +you, and even knowing what I do about you, I can't give you up! That's +the plain situation as far as you're concerned, and you can take it for +what it's worth. Are you listening?" + +"Oh! yes, yes, I'm listening, Jude." And so she was. She was listening +to the moan in the tree-tops. It sounded like the last plaintive cry her +child had made, and it hurt her cruelly. + +"I've got more money in hand, Joyce, than what I ever had--I've got +fifteen hundred dollars." + +Somehow this had power to reach the listener as nothing before had done. +Her aching eyes fell upon Jude, and a new fear contracted them. + +"Where did you get it--the money--Jude?" + +"That's my business. I'm only dealing with facts." + +"Yes, but I must know. It--it isn't yours, Jude." + +"Isn't it?" Jude laughed. "Well, then, we'll call it mine for argerment. +That pa of yours is a slick one!" The sudden change of subject relaxed +the brief interest Joyce had shown in the conversation. + +"Leaving here in the sulks about you, what does he do but go down to +what he calls civilization, and strikes a rich claim first thing. All +that was lacking was ready money. Back he comes, and finds out the lay +of the land here, without so much as showing his nose. He says he had +several plans to get money--but this plan of mine is the easiest, so +we're going to work it. All my life I've dreamed by day and night"--a +sudden glow illumined Jude's dark face,--"of the road and where it +leads. Always, as true as God hears me, Joyce, always, as boy and man, +when I've fancied myself on the road, and beyond the forests, I've +always seen you beside me. I don't care what you are, or what +temptations beset you--you've always been the one girl for me. We're +going to begin a new life now--with no back flings at each other. Give +me a kiss on it, girl." + +Jude came over to her, and she felt his hot, excited breath on her cheek +and throat. + +Dazed as she was by what he had said, she was frightened at his manner, +and drew back, warding him off with rigid hands. + +"Don't!" she cried, hoarsely. "Don't touch me. You're all wrong--I'm not +going anywhere with you. I'm going to stay right here--I swear it!" + +"You won't go?" Everything swayed and trembled before Jude. "But if I +promise to--to--pay it back? You know there was no time set." This was +the last concession Jude was to make. His horrible suspicions were +choking him. + +"I'm not going. I--I couldn't--I--couldn't leave--him." The white face +quivered and the big eyes overflowed with tears. + +Jude had only one thought--a thought lashed to the fore by his jealous +rage, and defeated hopes. And poor Joyce, distraught and grief-crazed, +realized not the terrible blunder he was making. + +"You're--staying--just--for him?" Jude was close to her now, and his +breath came short and hard. + +"Yes; I know you won't ever understand. If I was away, I couldn't bear +my life--this--this longing would be always tugging at me--and I could +never help it. If we stay here, Jude, I'll go on just the--same; it's +being--near--that counts!" + +"You--tell me this to my face--you fool!" + +For an instant Joyce's dull agony wavered, and an inkling of what Jude +meant rushed upon her. + +"Oh!" she gasped, and put her hands out to him. But it was too late. The +hot blood was surging in the weak brain. With a violence he had never +shown before, the man flung the outstretched hands from him, then he +struck viciously the white terrified face twice, leaving dull, red marks +to bear witness. + +His rage fed upon the brutality. Now that he had let himself loose, he +gave full rein to his hate and revenge. + +He gripped the slim, childish arm, and pushed the shrinking form before +him. + +"Go--you!" With one hand he drew the door back, and hurled the girl out +into the black storm. "Go to _him_!" + +Joyce kept her feet, but she staggered on until a tree stopped her +course. The contact was another hurt, but she gave small heed to it. + +Like a burning flash she seemed to see two things: Jude's true +understanding of her blundering words; and her possible future, after +she had made him understand. For, of course, she must go back and _make_ +him understand, and then--well, after such a scene, a woman's life was +never safe in St. Ange. It was like a taste of blood to a wild animal. +Still she must go back. In all the world there was nothing else for her +to do. + +Her face stung and throbbed, her arm ached where Jude had crushed the +tender flesh. She leaned against the tree that had added to her pain, +and wept miserably for very self-pity. She was downed and beaten. After +all she was to be like the rest of St. Ange women. + +Sounds roused her. Strange, terrific sounds. + +What was Jude doing? + +Trembling in every limb, she went forward and peered through the +rose-vine into the room. + +The rain was cooling her face and the wind was clearing the agonized +brain. + +Inside, the scene struck terror to the watcher's heart. + +Jude was crashing the furniture to pieces in a frenzy of revenge. + +The chairs were dashed against the chimney; the books hurled near and +far. One almost hit the white face among the vines, as it went crashing +outward. + +Then Jude attacked the pictures--her beautiful pictures! + +The mountain peak was shattered by a blow from the remnant of the little +rocker, then the ocean picture fell with the sound of splintered glass. +Last the Madonna! Joyce clutched her heart as the heavenly face was +obliterated by the savage blow. Then, maddened still further by his own +excesses, Jude laughed and struck with mighty force, the lamp from the +table--and the world was in blackness! + +How long Joyce stood clinging to the vine in abject terror, she was +never to know. + +Consciousness of the live, vivid sort, was mercifully spared her for a +space. She knew, but did not comprehend, the true horror of her +situation. + +No thought of explaining now to Jude occurred to her as she stood +cringing and trembling against the house in the darkness. Only one +thought possessed her vitally--Jude must never see her again. If he did, +he would kill her. Kill her as Pierre was said to have killed poor +little Lola, long, long ago. + +Joyce's teeth chattered and she gripped her shaking hands over them. +When her heart _did_ beat--and minutes seemed to pass when it made no +motion--it hurt her cruelly. + +What was he doing in there? The storm was gaining power, and no other +sound rose in the blackness. Then suddenly Jude rushed from the house. +He passed so close to Joyce that his coat touched her. By some power +entirely outside of ordinary hearing or seeing, Joyce knew that he was +making for the Black Cat with the tale of his wrongs. They all did that. +It was the finishing stroke for the woman. + +Alone, in the blackness and storm, reason reasserted itself in Joyce's +mind. It brought no comfort with its restored poise; rather, it brought +a realization of her true position. Her life was as utterly shattered +and devastated as was the little home. Everything was gone. The future, +with pitiful choice, was as densely black as the night that shut her in +with her dull misery. With Jude, there could be no possible +understanding. To confront him, even with the powers of the Black Cat at +call, would be the wildest folly. There was nothing to say--nothing. + +Still, Jude had money. It was quite plain to the keen mind now--it was +Gaston's money! Ralph Drew had probably sent the money in payment and +instead of passing the amount on to Gaston, who had advanced the +different sums, Jude was making off with it. She must stop that. For +herself, what did it matter? But still, if Gaston, who had such power, +could hold Jude and claim the money, he might find a way out of this +awful trouble. She must go to Gaston, and at once. + +Aching in every limb, and soaked to the skin, Joyce turned toward the +North Woods. The howling wind was with her, and it was the only help she +had. So she came at last to the lonely little shack among the pines. + +Gaston had built a roaring piney fire upon the hearth of his outer room. +He was luxuriating before this with a long-stemmed pipe between his +lips. + +The day had perplexed and touched him deeply. Never before in all his +St. Ange life had he seemed to get so close to the heart, the human +heart, of things. Joyce's white, still anguish over the death of her +baby had tugged at his feelings. + +So _that_ was what mother-love meant the world over? + +A sharp, quick knock startled him. Gaston rose at once. He knew upon the +instant who it was. He knew that from some dire necessity Joyce was +calling for his aid. + +There was no time nor inclination for him to fall back upon that inner +sense of his and seek to peer beyond the present and its need. He strode +to the door, flung it open, and Joyce and the terrific storm burst into +the room together! + +"He--he's driven me from the house." The girl's wild face made +unnecessary the idle question that Gaston spoke. + +"Who?" + +"Jude." Then Gaston shut and barred the heavy door. He could at least +exclude the rain and wind. + +"Look here! and here!" the girl pointed to her bruised face upon which +the storm's moisture rested, and the slender arm with its brutal mark. + +"Good God!" ejaculated Gaston, as he gazed in horror, "and on this day!" + +Rage against Jude, tenderness for Jude's victim, struggled hotly in +Gaston's mind; but presently a divine pity for the girl alone consumed +him. + +Her misery was appalling. Now that she was comparatively safe, bodily +weakness overpowered her. She swayed, and put her hands out childishly +for support--any support that might steady her as her world went black. + +Gaston caught her and placed her gently in his deep, low chair. + +"Poor girl!" he murmured, "Poor Joyce! You're as wet as a leaf. Here!" +He quickly brought one of the red blankets from the inner room. "Here, +let me at least wrap you in something dry. And now drink this, it will +do you good." + +He poured some wine into a glass and held it to her blue, cold lips. + +"Come, Joyce! We'll straighten things out. Trust me." + +She gulped the warming wine, and shivered in the blanket's muffling +comfort. + +"And now," Gaston was flinging logs on the blazing embers, "you're +coming around. Whatever it is, Joyce, it isn't worth all this agony of +yours." + +"I'm--I'm afraid they'll come and kill us." Joyce's eyes widened and the +old fear seized her again. The momentary comfort and thought of safety +lost their hold. + +"In God's name, Joyce, hush! You're safe and I'm not afraid. Come, don't +you see if you want me to help you, you must pull yourself together?" + +"Yes; yes; and we--I must hurry." + +Now that he had time to think, Gaston knew pretty well what had +occurred. The vulgar details did not matter. The one important and +hideous fact was, that for some reason, Jude, with the crazy brutality +that had long been gathering, had flung his young wife from his +protection on to Gaston's. + +Well, he would accept the responsibility. He was quite calm, and his +blood was up. A pleasurable excitement possessed him, and he laughed to +calm the fear he saw in Joyce's eyes. + +The clock struck nine. All that was respectable and innocent in St. Ange +was in bed at that hour. + +Gaston wondered what he was going to do with the girl. The thought did +not disturb him; but, of course, he must make arrangements. + +Long ago he had so shut out his own world that he could not, now, call +upon it for Joyce's protection. St. Ange was impossible as a working +basis--his thoughts flew to Filmer. Yes; as soon as Joyce could explain, +he would go for Filmer and together they would solve this riddle for the +poor, battered soul, shrinking before him. + +He must hurry her a little. St. Ange and nine o'clock must be +considered. + +The wine had brought life and colour into the white face. The glorious +hair, now rapidly drying in the warm room, was curling in childish +fashion above the wide eyes. + +She was certainly too young and pretty to run the risk that the night +might bring. + +A complication arose. Divine pity made way for a sense of the girl's +beauty and helplessness. The bruise upon the soft cheek cried out for +tenderness and protection. Gaston strove to detach himself from the +personal element. He strove to feel old and fatherly but he was still +young; Fate was tempting him in the subtlest manner. The best and the +worst of the man came to the fore. + +The wind howled outside; the warmth and comfort held them +close--together, and alone. + +What did anything matter? They had both done their parts. They had tried +to be what the world called good--and here they were tossed back upon +each other, and not a hope beyond. + +Then Gaston found himself speaking quite outside of the consciousness +that was almost stifling him with its allurement. + +"Joyce, I must take you home as soon as you can walk. I can straighten +this out. It shall not happen again. You forget I have a certain hold +over Jude." + +"There is no home." The words fell dully from the girl. "He--he broke +and destroyed everything before--he went to the Black Cat." + +Gaston started. + +"But he--did not know you came here? You see it will be in your favour, +if they find you there among the ruins. I'll see to it--that they go and +find you there. Can you walk now?" + +"Yes, but--but you do not understand. The money--it was that I came to +tell you about--Jude has a great deal of money--I think Mr. Drew has +just sent it. He's going to--get away--with my--father." + +Gaston now saw that no time must be wasted. If necessary he must carry +Joyce, and set her down near her fallen shrine--then he must stop Jude. +The money did not matter; but a frenzy of self-preservation, mingled +with his desire to save Joyce, rose within him. The money was his hold +on Jude; it was the only salvation for this critical moment. + +Now that he faced the grim possibility, he found that he was as eager to +preserve a clean future for himself as for her. + +He must get her back. He must find Filmer, and he must lay hold of Jude. + +"Come, Joyce, trust me, I swear to you that it will be all right." + +He took her hand and led her toward the door. Then a confused noise +outside stayed them. + +There was a crushing of underbrush as if a light wagon was being driven +over the narrow path; a mingling of voices rose excitedly. + +"You damned scoundrel!" It was Filmer's voice. "Don't you utter that lie +again until he's had a chance to fling it back in your teeth. Whatever +your cursed row has been, he's got nothing to do with it. Shut up!" + +"Hold on there, Filmer." It was Tate speaking. "This here wagon's got +wedged in the trees. I want to see this thing settled square. If +she's--" a bristling string of epithets followed, then Tate apparently +freed the vehicle he was in, for he jumped to the ground and joined the +knockers at the door. + +So the morality of St. Ange was at stake! Gaston showed his teeth in a +hard smile. There was but one conclusion for them all to come to, of +course. + +"Say, Gaston, old man!" Filmer shouted; "open up. I thought maybe you'd +like to bid Jude an affectionate farewell before he skipped. If he owes +you--_anything_, here's your chance!" Another knock shook the door. + +The two inside looked at each other--man and woman! They both knew with +what they had to deal. A dare-devil expression rose to Gaston's face. He +tossed precaution to the winds. + +Abject terror possessed Joyce and she reeled as she stood, clutching the +blanket closer. Gaston put an arm about her, strode to the door, +unbarred it, and flung it back. + +"Well," he said to the men on the threshold, "what are you going to do +about it?" + +Filmer staggered as if Gaston had struck him, and the look in his eyes +went scathingly to Gaston's heart. But while it hurt, it aroused +resentment. What right had Filmer to judge--Who knew _his_ past? But +Gaston knew Filmer was _not_ judging. He knew he was only bidding +farewell to his one friend of the Solitudes. The friend he had trusted +and revered. + +The effect upon Jude was quite different. No doubt swayed him--he was +merely debating in his mind whether he could now get away with the +money and the wagon he had hired. + +"Since you've got her--" he stammered, "how about--the--the money?" + +The question nerved Gaston. + +"Money?" he cried; "get out with it, you thief and would-be murderer. +Use it to get as far from here as you can, for as true as there is a +heaven above us, if you ever interfere with me or--mine--again, I'll +shoot you at sight. Get out--all of you!" + +He slammed the door violently shut, and with clenched hands and blazing +eyes, he faced his companion. + +He and she were the only ones in the new world. Stung by the memory of +the look of lost faith in the eyes of the one friend to whom he had +planned to turn in this emergency; recalling Jude's glance of triumph as +he turned away, Gaston's moral sense reeled, and the elemental passions +rose. + +Joyce stood shrinking before him. Beaten, bruised and trapped, she +awaited her doom. + +Her primitive love for this man held no part in her present condition. +Whatever he consigned her to, that must she accept. St. Ange standards +were well known to her. The people would be quick enough to spurn +personal responsibility for her, but if she were independent of +them--well, they were not the ones to hold resentment! + +No moral training had ever had part in this girl's life; nothing held +her now but a fear, born of her past experience with man's authority, as +to her future fate. + +She was abandoned and disowned. Her recent loss and grief had bereft her +of any personal pride and hope--like a slave before its master, she +faced Gaston--and mutely waited. + +The unexpected happened. Gaston laughed. Laughed in the old, unconcerned +way; but presently the rising awe and question in the lovely eyes +looking into his own, sobered him. He began to understand and to get her +point of view. He stood straighter, and a new expression passed over his +face. + +"Sit down, Joyce," he said, urging her gently toward the chair, "I must +mend the fire. Things look as if they had fallen to pieces, but they +have not. Believe me--they have not. For heaven's sake stop trembling; +every shudder you give is an insult to me. There, there, you don't +understand, but, it's coming out all right. It was only when others were +meddling that we got on the rocks. I've got the rudder in my hand now, +and by God's help," he was fiercely flinging on the logs, "we'll sail +out into the open with colours flying. When did you eat last?" + +She was watching him with alert, feverish eyes. Like an ensnared animal +she felt a frenzied eagerness to be ready for the snarer's next move. + +"Eat?" she faltered, "why, why, I have forgotten. +Yesterday--to-day--oh! does it matter? I'm not hungry." + +"Well, I am. I always wanted a snatch after the play." + +"The--the play?" Joyce leaned forward. + +"After an infernal row, if you like that better. They both play the +dickens with your digestion." + +Bringing out the food, and making coffee eased the tension of the +situation and after they had eaten, for Joyce struggled to follow his +example, the atmosphere was less electrical. + +The hands of the clock got around to ten-thirty; it was of no +consequence, however, and then Gaston cleared the table, kicked a +rebellious log back to its duty, and drew a chair beside Joyce. + +The little bruised arm lay stretched pitifully along the arm of the +chair. Gaston winced as he saw it, and he laid his strong, warm hand +over the cold fingers that did not draw away. + +"Joyce." His voice was almost solemn in its intensity. "I don't believe +there is anything I can say that you would understand now. God knows, I +pity you from the bottom of my soul and, God helping me, I'm going to +help you in the best way I can. You need rest more than any other little +woman in the world to-night, I reckon, go in there," he nodded toward +his own chamber, "and try your best to sleep. I want to smoke and think +it all out here by the fire. Remember, you are safe." + +She rose stiffly and stood before him. Fear was gone from her; weakness +remained; a horrible, sickening weakness, but no fear. Vaguely, +gropingly, she tried to understand what lay behind his slow, solemn +words, but the effort was too great. She sighed and looked down upon him +as if he had suddenly become a stranger to her, then, stepping backward, +with uncertain faltering movement, she gained the door of that room +where no foot but Gaston's had ever before stepped. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +It was mid-October when Ralph Drew, his pretty sister Constance and his +devoted maiden aunt--Miss Sally Drew--arrived in St. Ange and took up +their new life in the bungalow which, under Jude Lauzoon's +contractorship, had been made ready. + +During his first short stay in St. Ange young Drew had regained not only +his lost strength, but he had gained an insight into the needs of the +men and women of the small place. He had always intended doing something +for the village and its inhabitants after his return to town for they +had appealed strongly to his emotional and sympathetic nature. But what +St. Ange had vouchsafed in the way of restored health, she had +begrudgingly bestowed. To have and to hold what she had given, the +recipient must, in return, vow allegiance to her, and, forsaking all +others, cling to her pines and silent places. He must forswear old +habits and environment--he must give up all else and fling himself upon +her mercy. + +It had been hard. Back there in the town, where the pulse of things beat +high, he had fought the knowledge inch by inch. + +"Would a year be enough?" It would be useless. "If winters were spent +there--several winters?" The big specialist shook his head. + +High, dry mountains, somewhere, were the only hope. St. Ange was +comparatively near, she had given a hint as to what she could do--better +trust her. + +One after another the outposts of lingering hope were taken by the grim, +white Spectre. He must abdicate, and accept what terms the enemy +offered. + +Wan, and defeated, but still with the high courage that was his only +possession, Drew tried to get the new outlook. + +If there were to be--life, then there must be work, God's work; he was +no coward, he would do his part. + +Mingled with the many, dear, familiar things of the life that no longer +was to be his, was a slim, pretty, little girl whom he had enshrined in +his college days, and before whom he had laid his heart's sacredest +offerings since. She, and his splendid courage would make even St. Ange +a Paradise. + +Raising his eyes to her face, as she sat beside his bed the day the +specialist had given his final command, Drew whispered his hope to her. + +The soft, saintly eyes fell before the trusting, pitiful ones. + +"Dear," he said, a new doubt faced him--one he had never believed +possible; "they say I will be well--quite well, there if I stay. And +you and I--" but that drooping face drove him back among the shadows. + +"We--must--think of others." It was the voice of a self-sacrificing +saint, but the heart-touch was lacking, and Drew received his sentence +then and there. + +For a few, weak days he decided to remain and finish it all and forever. + +Then his manly faith bade him sternly to gather the poor remnant of his +strength together; grasp the broken blade that was his only weapon, and +finish the fight how and where he could. + +"We'll go with you, laddie," Aunt Sally whispered, hanging over this boy +whom she loved as her own. + +"And, dear," Constance sobbed on his pillow, "she wasn't worth your +love. I just knew it from the start. She's a selfish--egotistical--" a +thin, feverish hand stayed the girlish outburst. + +"Never mind, Connie, we'll fly to the woods, and try to forget all about +it." And taking advantage of the golden October calm, they came to St. +Ange. + +Lying upon his bed in the bungalow chamber, looking out over the hills +and meadows, gorgeous in autumn tints, Drew began slowly, interruptedly +to be sure, but perceptibly, to gain strength. + +Having relinquished finally the old ideal of life, it was wonderful, +even to Drew himself, to find how much seemed unimportant and trivial. +It was rather shocking, in a mild way, for him to realize that a certain +girl's face was growing less and less vivid. At first he attributed this +to bodily weakness; then to weakness of character; finally, thank God! +to common sense. With that conclusion reached, the present began feebly +to be vital and full of meaning. + +Had perfect health been his, a call to serve the cause to which he had +dedicated himself might have taken him farther than St. Ange from his +old life. It was the finality of the decree that had put him in that +panic. Well, he would not permit finality to hold part in his plans. He +would live as if all things _might_ come to him, as to other men. It +should be, day by day, and he would accept these people--if they would +accept him--not as minister and parishioners, but in the larger, deeper +sense--as brothers. With this outlook determined upon, a change for the +better began. Before it, while the old weakness possessed him, Jock +Filmer, sitting daily by his bed, was merely some one who was helping +nurse the fever-racked body; afterward, Jock materialized into the most +important and satisfying personality to be imagined. He was untiring in +his devotion and gentleness. Caught on the rebound from the shock Gaston +had caused him, Filmer went over to the new call to his friendship with +an abandon that proved his own sore need of sympathy. + +The family, grateful for the signs of returning health in the sick man, +thankful for Jock's assistance and enlivening humour, disregarded +conventions, and admitted the new friend to the holy of holies in their +bungalow life. + +Jock had not been so supremely happy in years. The companionship healed +the wound Gaston had given his faith, and he found himself shielding and +defending both Gaston and Joyce against his own crude judgments. + +Before coming to St. Ange, Drew had been kept in touch with all that the +men who were working for him considered his legitimate business. +Anything pertaining to his house was fully explained; village scandal, +however, had been ignored, and when Drew was able to be moved in a +steamer-chair to his broad porch facing the west, he had many astounding +things to learn. + +One morning, lying luxuriously back among his cushions and inhaling the +pine-filled air with relish, Drew electrified Filmer, who sat near him +on the porch railing, by observing calmly: + +"Filmer, I've a load of questions I want to ask." + +"Heave 'em out." Jock sighed resignedly. Of course, he had anticipated +this hour, and he knew that he must be the high priest. "Heave 'em out, +and then settle down 'mong facts." + +"Where is Jude Lauzoon?" This was hitting the bull's eye with a +vengeance. + +"Gone off for change of air and scene--somewhere." Jock presented a +stolid, blank face to his inquisitor. + +"Gone where?" + +"Now how in--how do you expect I know? Just gone." + +"Taken that pretty little wife of his to new scenes, eh? Well, she never +seemed to me to belong here rightfully. I hope they'll do well." + +Jock hitched uncomfortably. + +"Well," he broke in, feeling it was inevitable, "Joyce didn't, as you +might say, go with Jude. She's stopping on here." + +"With the baby? There was a baby, I recall. My sister talked of it a +good deal. She was interested in Joyce Lauzoon from what I told her." + +"Well," Filmer felt his way, "there was, as you say, a--a baby, at least +a kind of--a--baby. It was about as near a failure as _I_ ever saw; but +Joyce was plain crazy about it." + +"Was? Is--the child dead?" Drew's big eyes were full of sympathy. + +"Well, I should say so! And women is queer creatures, Drew. Now any one +with an open mind would have been blamed glad when that poor little cuss +cut loose. It never would have had a show in life; it was a big mistake +from the beginning, but after it went, and was comfortably planted +behind the shack, what do you think? Why, she came back one night and +dug him up and put him--" In his endeavour to keep Drew from more unsafe +topics, Filmer had plunged straight into an abyss. + +"Put him where?" Drew felt the gripping of life. It hurt, but it +stimulated him. He was suffering with his people--his people! Joyce's +lovely face, as he remembered it, pleaded with him for sympathy. It was +her face that had first given him assurance. She should not call in +vain. + +"Oh! back of where she is stopping now. They've made the spot quite a +little garden plot, and--" + +"Filmer, see here, tell me all about it!" + +"Well, by thunder, then, here is the yarn. You see in the first place, +you didn't marry Jude and Joyce as tight as an older and more +experienced hand would have done. I ain't blaming you, but I've used the +thought to help me to be more Christian in my views about what happened. +The knot you tied was a slipknot all right." + +A shadow passed over the sick man's face. + +"You mean--" he began. + +"I certainly do. There was a hell of a--excuse me--there was a rumpus of +some sort the night the kid was buried. It ended up with a general +smash-a-reen of furniture, pictures and such--and I guess Joyce came in +for a share of bruises, from what has leaked out since. But the outcome +was, she walked up to Gaston's shack that same evening, and what +happened there hasn't got into the society news yet; but when Jude and +me and Tate went up to straighten out what _I_ thought was a drunken lie +of Lauzoon's, there she was all right, wrapped up in Gaston's red +blanket, his arm around her, and him asking what we was going to do +about it?" + +"What have you--done?" the even words came slowly. + +"Nothing. Jude evaporated. I got a bit of a jog about Gaston; I ain't +over virtuous, but Gaston was a sort of pattern to me, and I'd got him +into my system while we was working on your house. He made me--believe +in something clean and big--and I didn't enjoy seeing him spattered with +mud of his own kicking up. But Lord! It ain't any of my business." + +"And the others here? Do they make her and him--feel it?" + +Filmer laughed. + +"You forget," he replied; "Gaston's got about all the floating capital +there is around here. Where he gets it, is his own affair, and him and +Joyce don't ask no favours. The whole thing has settled into shape. You +needn't get excited over it. Of course, the women folks have warned your +aunt and sister off. I believe they call Joyce the worst woman in the +place--when they're whispering--but they don't take any chances of +giving offence by speaking out loud." + +"Poor little girl!" Drew's eyes were misty. He shivered slightly and +pulled his fur coat closer about his chin. "How does she look, Filmer?" + +"As handsome as--well, a queen would give her back teeth to look like +Joyce. I never seen the like. Head up, back as straight as a pine +sapling, eyes shining and hair like--like mist with sunlight in it. +Gaston has taught her to speak like he does. You know he always kept his +language up-to-date and stylish? Well, she's caught the trick now. You'd +think she'd travelled the way she hugs her g's and d's. She trips over +the grammar rules occasionally--but I always said they had to be born in +your blood to make you sure, and even then--you have to exercise them +daily." + +"Poor little Joyce! I always felt she was only half awake, as she stood +that day before me. If I had it to do now--I would wake her up, before I +made the tie fast." + +"Lord help us!" Jock felt the relief of an unburdened mind; "is it in +your religion to tie anything fast?" + +"Yes; yes." Drew was looking over the sunlighted hills and thinking of +that lovely, dreaming face of a year ago. + +"And now," Filmer was drawling on, "while you and me are on this sort of +house-cleaning spell, let me drop another item of interest into your +think-tank. We-all up here ain't going to stand for any preaching +business. I say this outspoken and friendly, meaning no ill feeling; +just plain, what's what. You see them ideas of yours what you handed out +last year set folks thinking. They sounded so blasted innercent and easy +that we all chewed on 'em for a time, and some of us got stung. Now them +as is native here can't think without suffering; and them as came here, +came to get rid of thinking, and so you see none of us want to be riled +along that _line_. See?" + +"I see." Drew smiled, and stretched his thin white hand out to Filmer. +"Thanks. But if they'll let me live--that's all I want. It's my only way +of preaching, anyhow--and Filmer, I _am_ going to live. I feel the +blood running to my heart and brain. I feel it bringing back hope and +interest--a man can make a place for himself anywhere if there are men +and women about. _I_ thought first--back there--when I dropped +everything, that there never could be anything else worth while, but I +tell you old man, if you take even a remnant of life and love to Death's +portal you're always mighty glad to get the chance to come back and see +the game out. It's when you go empty-handed, that you long to slip in +and have done with it. Filmer, there's something yet left for me to +do." + +Jock was holding the boyish hand in a grim grip. He tried to speak, but +could not. He stared silently at the muffled figure in the long chair, +then with an impatient grunt, dropped his hold and actually fled in +order to hide the feelings that surged in his heart. + +Left alone, Drew sank wearily back and closed his eyes. The +lately-acquired strength proved often a deserter when it was tested, and +for the moment the sick man felt all the depression and inertia of the +past. He _felt_, and that was his only gain. Before, he had been too +indifferent to feel or care. + +"Poor, little, pretty thing!" he thought, with Joyce's face before him +against the closed eyelids. "She couldn't stand it. She didn't look as +if she could. I'm sorry she had to find her way out by such a +commonplace path. What was Gaston thinking of to let her? He knew--he +should have kept his hands off and not blasted what little hope might +have been hers." + +Half dreamily he recalled what Filmer had just told him. His weakened +body held no firm clutch on his imagination at that time of his life--it +ran riot, often giving him abnormal pleasure by its vivid touches; +occasionally causing him excruciating pain as he suffered, in an +exaggerated way, with suffering. + +He saw Joyce, bruised and shuddering as a result of Jude's cruelty; he +saw her poor little idols dashed to pieces before her eyes; he felt her +grief for the dead baby, and when he remembered Jock's account of her +taking the small casket to the only spot where she herself was safe, the +weak tears rolled down his cold, thin face. He was too exhausted and +full of pain to wipe them away. + +He heard his aunt and sister come out of the house. + +"Asleep!" whispered the older woman in a glad tone. + +"I'll go for a walk," Constance added, tip-toeing away. "Have the milk +and egg ready when he wakes, auntie. Did you ever see such a day? I feel +as if I had just been made, and placed in a world that hadn't been used +up by millions of people." + +They were gone, and Drew sighed relievedly. + +Presently he opened his eyes, if he had slept he was not conscious of +it, and there sat the girl of his dreams near him. + +"Mrs.--" he faltered, "Mrs. Lauzoon, how good of you to come and see me. +I hope you know I would have come to you as soon as I was able?" + +Joyce had been studying his face--nothing had escaped her: its wanness, +the sharp outline, and the tears congealed in the hollows of his cheeks. +She pulled her chair nearer, and took his extended hand. + +"I'm sorry you've been sick," she said simply. + +Then they smiled at each other. + +[Illustration: PRESENTLY HE OPENED HIS EYES ... AND THERE SAT THE GIRL +OF HIS DREAMS NEAR HIM] + +It was hard for Drew to readjust his ideas and fit this beautiful woman +into the guise of the Magdalene of his late thoughts. + +Vaguely he saw that whatever she had undergone, she had brought from her +experiences new beauty; a new force, and a power to guard her +possessions with marvellous calm. She was being made as she went along +in life. Her spiritual and mental architecture, so to speak, could not +be properly estimated until all was finished. This conclusion chilled +Drew's enthusiasm. He would have felt kinder had she been less sure of +herself. + +"You are looking--well, Mrs. Lauzoon." Drew felt the awkwardness of the +situation growing. + +"Please, Mr. Drew, I'm just Joyce again. Perhaps you have not heard?" +Her great eyes were still smiling that contented, peaceful smile. + +"I've heard. Need we talk of it, Joyce?" + +"Unless you're too weak, we must; now or at some other time. You see I +have been waiting to talk to you. I've been saying over and over, 'He'll +understand. He'll make me sure that I've done right.'" + +Drew, for the life of him, could not repress a feeling of repulsion. +Joyce noticed this, and leaned back, folding her hands in her lap. + +Drew saw that her hands were white and smooth. Then she gathered her +heavy, red cloak around her, and hid those silent marks of her new +refinement. + +"They call me"--the old, half-childish smile came to the face looking +full at Drew--"the worst woman in town. At least, they call me that when +they think I won't hear. You know they were always afraid of Mr. Gaston +a little. But I hear and it makes me laugh." + +The listener closed his eyes for a moment. He could better steady his +moral sense when that sweet beauty did not interfere with his judgment. + +"You see, if I had stayed on--with Jude, and lived--that--awful life": a +sudden awe stole into her voice--"then, if they had thought of me at +all, they would have thought of me as--good. It would have been--good +for me to have--poor, sad little children--like--like my--my +baby--You've heard?" Her lips were quivering. The play of expression on +her face, the varying tones of her voice unnerved Drew. He nodded to her +question. + +"It was such a--dreadful, little, crooked form, Mr. Drew--such--a +hideous thing to hold a--a--soul. Just once, the _soul_ smiled at me +through the big, dark eyes--it wanted me to know it _was_ a soul--then +it went away." + +Even while the smile trembled on the girl's lips the tears stood in her +eyes. + +"You see," she went on, "no one would have blamed me if I had gone on +like that--the misshapen children, and soon they would have stopped +having souls--and Jude's cruelty,"--again that fearsome catch in the +voice--"they would have called me good--if I had stayed on--but you will +understand?" She bent toward him with pleading and yearning in her face. +"Oh! how I have just hungered to talk it over with you--and to feel +sure! There isn't any one else in all the world, you know, to whom I +could say this." + +"How about Gaston?" Drew heard his own words, and they sounded brutal, +but they were forced from him. + +Joyce stared surprisedly. + +"Why--we never talk of--of that. How could we? But I read--and Mr. +Gaston has taught me to think--straight--and don't you notice how much +better I talk?" + +"Yes--and dress." All that was hard in Drew rose in arms. This girl was +like the rest of her kind for all her wood-setting and strange beauty. +The only puzzling thing in the matter was her desire to talk it out with +him. + +"I have lots of pretty things to wear." Joyce smoothed her heavy cloak. +"He's the kindest man I ever knew. That's another reason I had for +wanting to come to you. I want you to show him just _how_ you +understand. I begin to see how lonely he is--how lonely he has always +been up here--there is no one quite like him--but you. But Mr. Drew, do +you remember what you preached that day you--married us--Jude and me, I +mean?" + +"I'm afraid not--so many things have happened since." Drew tried to keep +his feelings in check. + +"Well, I remember every word." The glowing face again bent toward Drew. +"Can't you think back? It was about what we've brought into the world, +what we get here and shape into _our_ lives, and then what we leave when +we go--away. The blazed trail, you know, and clearing the way for +others. Oh, it was the sort of thing that when you thought about it you +didn't _dare_ go on being careless." + +"I do--recall." Her intensity was gripping Drew in spite of himself. "It +was an old fancy. But it has helped me to live." + +"It has _made_ me live. I tried it fair and honest with Jude, Mr. Drew, +but no one could do it with him. The trail got choked with--awful +things--and I only had strength enough to run away, after one year. If I +had stayed--I--I would have rotted as I stood." She breathed thick and +fast. Her old life, even in memory, smothered her. Drew caught a slight +impression of what it must have been for this strange-natured woman. He +began to think she was not yet awake, and the thought made him kinder in +his estimate of her. + +"But," he said gently, "was there no other way out of your difficulty?" + +She looked pityingly at him. + +"I didn't go to Mr. Gaston to--to stay," she whispered: "there was a +reason for my going--a reason about Jude--then things happened that I +guess were meant to happen. There was no other way out for me--but I had +not thought that far. I guess if God ever took care of any one, he took +care of me that night." + +This utterly pagan outlook on the proprieties positively stirred Drew to +unholy mirth. But it did something else--it made him realize that the +girl before him was quite outside the reach of any of his preconceived +ideas. He could afford to sit down upon her plane and feel no moral +indignation. Perhaps, after all, she had brought his work to him when +she came herself. + +"You see, after Jude and Mr. Tate and Jock Filmer found me there late at +night--there was nothing else for me to do. Jude would have killed +me--if I had gone away alone--he was--awful. Besides, where could I have +gone?" + +"Gaston should have acted for you. He knew what he was doing to you." + +The righteous indignation confused the girl. + +"Why, he did act for me." The fire sprang to the wondering eyes. "He is +the best man on earth. There are more ways of being good than one. The +people here can't see that--but surely you can. Mr. Gaston made my +life safe and clean. I could grow better every day. Why, look at me." +She flung her arms wide as if by the gesture she laid bare her new life. + +"He has taught me until I can see and think, wide and sure. He is always +gentle--and he never lets me work until--until I'm too tired to want to +live. + +"Isn't it being good when you are growing into the thing God meant you +to be? Ought you not to take any way God offers to reach that kind of +life?" Joyce flung the questions out fiercely. She was perplexed by +Drew's attitude. If he were as much like Gaston as she had believed, why +did he look and act as he was doing? + +"If--if you have, and if you are, all that you say, why do you question +me so?" Drew asked. He was feeling his way blindly through this new +moral, or unmoral, thicket. + +"Because sometimes a queer thought comes to me. I know it is because +these people can not understand; but _you_ can, and when you have told +me it is all right--I shall never have the thought again." + +"What _is_ the thought, Joyce?" + +"You see," she almost touched him now in her intensity, "I do not know +anything about Mr. Gaston--really. About what he was, what his life was +before he came here. I would not hurt him for anything God could give to +me--and sometimes I have wondered if--if in that life that was; the +life that _might_ come again to him, you know,--for for he is _so_ +different from any one here--I wonder if what he has done for me, could +hurt him? Could anything that is so heavenly good for me--hurt +him?--tell me, tell me!" + +And now Drew dropped his eyes and sent a swift prayer to God for +forgiveness. + +He had thought her without conscience, without soul. He felt himself in +a dim valley, and he hardly dared to raise his eyes to her. + +"I am perfectly happy." The words quivered to him, and belied +themselves. "And he says he--is--but would he be if he were back +there--where he came from? In my getting of _my_ life, am I taking from +_his_?" + +"Good God!" + +"You--you do not understand, either?" + +"Yes; I do, Joyce--I understand. I understand." + +"Am I hurting him?" + +"He must answer that, Joyce, no one else can. He must face that some +day, and also whether he is hurting you or not. We cannot any of us +choose a little sunny spot in life for ourselves and shut out the past +and future by a high wall. The present faces both ways, Joyce, and light +is let in from all sides. Light and blackest gloom, God help us! + +"What Gaston's other life was--he alone knows--he ought to tell you if +he hopes to help you really. If he's the good man he seems to you, +Joyce, he _will_ tell you, and give you a chance to play the game." +Suddenly an inspiration came to Drew. "Tell him," he said slowly, "that +I have friends coming here--friends who will probably build summer homes +and introduce a new life. It's none of my business, perhaps, but you've +come to me for help--and as God shows me, I must help you. Gaston has no +right to injure your future by playing a game with you that you in no +wise understand. It isn't fair--and he knows it, if he stops to think. +Perhaps there was no way for him to help you that night, but the way he +took. Perhaps he nobly did the only thing he could--I hope to God this +is true; but there are other ways now, Joyce--he must know and give you +a choice." + +"I--I--do not see--what you mean?" A frightened look spread over Joyce's +face, and she shivered even in the full glow of the autumn sunlight. "I +feel--you make me feel--as if I had been--as if I am--shut in a little +room, with the doors and windows about to be opened. What is coming in, +Mr. Drew? What am I going to see? You--you frighten me. I cannot--I will +not believe--anything dreadful could happen to him or me--when I am so +happy and safe." + +The excitement was wearing upon Drew frightfully. His ghastly face +appealed suddenly to Joyce as she looked at him through her own growing +doubt. + +"I'm going," she said, starting up; "I've made you worse. What can I +do?" + +Drew smiled wanly and held out a trembling hand. + +"Come again," he whispered. "It's all right, I'm much better--than when +you came." + +And so he was, spiritually, for he had retained his belief in God's +goodness, somehow. Just why, he could not have told, but had the girl +been what he had, for a moment, believed, it would all have seemed so +uselessly hopeless and crude. + +From the strange confession he had obtained but a blurred impression, +but that impression saved his faith in Joyce, at least. She was not a +bad, ignoble woman. Whatever she had done, had been done from the best +that was in her, and if Gaston had accepted her sacrifice he had, in +some way, managed to keep himself noble in her sight. + +It was a baffling thing all around. A thing that he must approach from a +new standpoint; the one, the only comfort was, the girl's own evolution. +It was not possible Drew thought, that all was evil which had produced +what he had just seen. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Gaston often took a trip to Hillcrest, remaining several days, at times, +and Joyce never questioned. Gradually she had accepted the place in +Gaston's life that he had allotted her without expectation or regret. To +live in the light and joy of his presence had become enough--almost +enough. She studied, and sought to be what he desired. She was, after +the very first, genuinely happy and full of quaint sweetness. As the +black interval of her life faded, she turned with grateful appreciation +to the present and played the part expected of her in an amazing manner. + +Sometimes that disturbing doubt, hardly strong enough to be classified, +made her pause, wide-eyed and still, but it fled before Gaston's laugh +and jest. + +With Drew's coming she grasped the subtle restlessness and comforted +herself with the thought that he who understood so much, he, who was, in +kind, like Gaston, he would clear away the elusive doubt forever. + +She had never forgotten that it was Drew who had first set her feet on +the upward path; he, above all others, would be glad of her better life, +and sympathize with her happiness. + +When she pondered upon Gaston's possible past, she felt guilty. What he +did not entrust to her, she had no right to consider--so she tried to +push the thought away. She was glad of so good an excuse for putting a +fretting thing aside. But it would not remain hidden. During Gaston's +absences it reared its hated head--with his return it slunk into shadow. + +Taking advantage of one of Gaston's brief visits from home, Joyce had +gone to Drew, timing her call when she knew his womenkind were away. She +had an instinctive aversion to her own sex. She had thought it was +contempt for St. Ange womanhood; she did not speculate about these +others. + +Her talk with the young minister, instead of clearing her sky of the +tiny cloud, had resulted in a general atmosphere of doubts and shapeless +fears that doomed her days to unhappiness, and her lonely nights to +actual misery. + +Things were _not_ right. That was the overpowering conviction that grew +apace. If she knew all--all what? Well, if she insisted upon knowing +all--what would happen? + +She caught her breath sharply, and frantically turned to bodily toil in +order to down the spectre which now confronted her with brazen +insistence. Things must go on as before. Ralph Drew was nothing but a +boy--what were his opinions compared to Gaston's? Gaston could do no +wrong. She was content to abide by his decree. + +She sang, and turned from one task to another with determined haste. At +one moment she vowed the subject should never be thought of again; the +next, she promised herself that she would put the whole matter before +Gaston as soon as he returned, and, by so doing, prove the unimportance +of the thing. But whichever way she looked at it, she hourly grew to +dread Gaston's return. Life was never going to be the same. Something +was going to happen! + +Oh, she had often had these premonitions before. Gaston laughed at them, +and called her funny names when she voiced them to him. + +Three days and nights dragged on, after that visit to Drew, before +Gaston came back. + +The house had been cleaned and recleaned until it shone. The fire was +kept brilliant, and Joyce donned, in turn, every pretty bit of adornment +that she owned. She decked the pictures with ground-pine, and, in the +act of preparing the dishes for supper that Gaston liked best, he found +her. + +"Hello, little girl," he called cheerily; "it look like Christmas. It's +lucky I have some presents in my pack. I believe you fixed up to catch +me, and make me feel like a tight-wad. But I'm one to the good. Don't +peek. After supper we'll have a lark. Have you a kiss by way of +welcome?" + +Joyce turned from the lamp she was lighting, and put both her hands on +his shoulders. + +"Oh, but it's good to have you back!" she said, and raised her lips to +his. + +This fond response to him was the greatest recompense the change in +their lives had brought to Gaston. It warmed the lonely places of his +heart. + +It was a jovial meal that followed. Gaston was hungry, the food was +excellent, and Joyce glowed and beamed in the atmosphere of regained +trust. + +It was, though, a fleeting peace. When the dishes were removed, Gaston +noticed how tired she looked. + +"Happy?" he asked, with a laugh. + +"Perfectly." Joyce was filling his pipe. + +"Perfectly _nothing!_" he exclaimed, drawing her down to the arm of his +chair. "Now own up, my lady, what have you been doing?" + +Gaston expected a rehearsal of daily tasks, more energetically +performed, perhaps, than was necessary. + +"I went to see Mr. Drew." The smile fled from Gaston's face. So it was +not housework! + +"How is the young D. D.?" + +"He looks very ill, but they say he is getting better." + +"Did you have a pleasant call?" + +Gaston was unreasonably annoyed, but he was curious also. + +Joyce dropped her eyes. In a subtle way Gaston felt a change in her. She +was never anything but direct and truthful with him, her attitude was +now, therefore, more significant. He had beaten his life, his personal +life, into a monotonous round outlined on that first night when Joyce +had been thrust into his care. He had grown to think that emotions were +dead and done with; this sudden realization that the first touch from +the outer world could disturb his calm, irritated him beyond measure. + +"Mr. Drew was very--kind," Joyce's voice fell dully upon Gaston's +impatience; "he's coming--to see us!" + +"The devil he is!" The outburst seemed so childish that Gaston laughed, +and his gloom passed. + +By persistent practice he had felled every circumstance to a dead +level--he would raze this new element, too, to the ground, and things +would assume the old placidity. + +"We'll welcome him when he comes, Joyce. I'm a selfish brute and don't +want to be disturbed; but of course any one who cares to come will be +welcome." + +She shot a swift glance at him, then her eyes fell. + +Gaston stared at her, and his face flushed. It had not been easy during +the past year to keep the man in him under control, but he had begun to +think, lately, the victory was assured. So confident was he of himself, +that he had planned a final test in order to make sure the future held +no danger for him--and her! + +He sometimes wondered, if she were placed in different environment, +surrounded by luxuries and admiration, how she would appear; and how she +would affect him. In a way he had educated her and refined her. He had +grown used to her and taken her for granted, but there were moments when +she perplexed him. + +His visit to Hillcrest was connected with his little plan to test, in a +fashion, this woman he had helped to form. + +Her announcement about Drew had diverted his thought, but he returned +now to his own interests. Again he wondered if, after all he had done +for her, she could rise above Jude and St. Ange to a degree that might +touch him--that part of him that he hoped he had conquered forever. + +If she could--then--but he would not anticipate. Drew's advent had +focussed his desire to put himself, and her, to the test. Joyce had +precipitated matters, that was all. + +"Joyce!" + +She was bending to place a log upon the fire. + +"None of that! When I'm at home, the big logs are for me." + +She laughed brightly. To be so guarded and cared for never ceased to be +exciting. + +"And now for my surprise! It's a corker this time, Joyce." + +Gaston walked to the lean-to room and brought out two boxes. + +"Take them to your room, and put them on," he said. + +There were always surprises when Gaston returned from Hillcrest. From +out the Somewhere, somehow there drifted marvellous things--books, +pictures, dresses, dainty slippers and home furnishings. Things that St. +Ange gaped silently upon. Joyce never asked questions. Like a child she +shielded this fairy-like mystery from her own curiosity. She was happier +not to know. + +But to-night the boxes seemed heavy. Not from what they held, but from +the weight of her unrest, which was returning with added force. + +She obeyed, however, with that quivering smile still upon her lips. +Almost staggering under the load, she turned and entered the chamber +that had once been Gaston's. It was a woman's room now in every sense. +Gone were the rough furniture, the pipes and books. In their places were +the white bed, the low rocker, the many trifles that go to meet the +endless whims of a woman's fancy and taste. It was an odd room for the +shack of a backwoodsman. It had taken Joyce long to settle into it +comfortably. Her brief apprenticeship in the home that Gaston had helped +Jude make for her was the only preparation she had had for ease among +these refinements. + +Once within the shelter now, Joyce almost flung the boxes from her. It +was dark and cold in the room, and the stillness soothed her. She +groped her way to the window and looked out at the little mound near the +pines, where all that was really her own--her very own--lay. It had +always been a comfort to have the little body so near her place of +safety. She had ceased to grieve when once the baby was brought away +from the ruin of the former home; but to-night the small oval, under its +crust of glittering snow, made her shudder. It was her own--but oh! it +was cold and dead like all the rest of her hope and joy. She knew it +now. Not even Gaston's coming had cleared the doubt. + +She had believed herself so good and happy--and here it was made plain, +horribly plain. Everything was wrong. It had always been wrong. + +But she dared not shrink into her pain. She must obey, and play her +part. Awkwardly she lighted her lamp; tremblingly she untied the +boxes--they bore the same mystic signs and the oft-repeated words, "New +York." It did not matter. New York or the New Jerusalem, one was as +unreal as the other to the backwoods girl. + +Oh, but here was surprise indeed! + +Joyce had not, as yet, sunk so far in doubt and apprehension, but that +the contents of the boxes moved her to interest and delight. + +A gown of golden silk, clinging and long. The daintiest of gloves, +silken hose, and satin slippers. Filmy skirts, and bewildering ruffles +of cobwebby lace. What wild imagination ever conceived of such +witcheries; and what power could command their materialization in the +North Woods? + +Joyce sank beside the boxes, gasping with delight. Then suddenly, as the +shock of pleasurable surprise passed, the mockery of the gift struck +her. Down went the humbled head, and the girl wept as if her heart would +break. + +Gaston was playing with her. She had not been keen enough to understand, +but all along he had amused himself at her expense. Having had her +thrust upon him by circumstances, he had accepted the situation in his +good-natured way, but underneath it was as cruel as--all else in her +life. + +She had been an ignorant, blind fool. Never had Gaston been so daring +with her. Other pretty gifts had found a place, and supplied a want, in +their common life; but this--this--oh! the incongruity was cruel +and--insulting. + +Joyce could not analyze all this--she merely felt it. But when it had +sunk to the depths of her aroused instinct, the reaction took place. Had +the girl been ugly physically, or had Gaston debased her, her doom would +have been fixed; but there was a--chance! + +In the death throes of her false position, she retraced the steps of her +life with Gaston. With a sickening shudder she recalled her mad fear +that first awful night when he had shut the door upon Jude and the +others. How he had made her feel, and at once, that from the high place +that was his, he could afford to help her, and only the low and vile +would misunderstand. It was because she was low and vile as Jude had +made her that she had feared--what? + +How the knowledge had stung, then stunned her! She might have known, had +she remembered, from the first Gaston had always driven her back upon +herself when her foolish passion for him reared its head. + +No one of his own kind would ever have been led into a misunderstanding +of his motives and goodness. + +Then in the days that followed that first terrible night, she had abased +herself and striven to fill the role Gaston prepared for her! + +Later she studied and silently prayed that, in a small way, she might +repay him for his divine kindness! + +But with the patient effort and the marvellous results of quickened +mentality, a clear space was left in the new woman for harrowing doubt. +She never again sank to the thought that Gaston could love her; but she +could not utterly blind herself to the fear that he might be hurting +himself through others _not_ realizing the difference between him and +her. Naturally she could not go to Gaston with this doubt--it would seem +an insult to him, and a shameless suggestion. + +Therefore she hailed Drew's advent with mingled apprehension and relief. +Had he taken for granted that all was well; had he seemed glad that +Gaston had saved her from her evil fate; then she would have known that +such people as Gaston and Drew would understand and think no evil. But +the effect of Gaston's training and influence had sunk deep. Joyce had +risen above the vile thing Jude and St. Ange had tried to make her. She +was, for all the wide difference between her and Gaston, a woman! A +woman beautiful and alive to the highest degree. She dared not any +longer ignore that. For Gaston's sake she must face the blinding truth. + +Crouching beside the boxes of finery that he had thought she could not +understand, Joyce clenched her hands in an agony of consecration and +renunciation. Then despair seized her, and for a wild moment she was +tempted to use Gaston's own weapon against him. + +Heretofore she had accepted his gifts with a child's delight--what a +fool she had been! Suppose now she should--well, take what she could get +from life in spite--yes, in spite of Gaston himself? + +Dare she? Could she? Would she be able to do anything when she faced +him, but fall at his feet, beg for mercy, and implore him to tell her +what her awakened conscience demanded? + +She would try. + +The colour rose and fell in the lovely face. She was beautiful, and she +loved him. She had never let him see how much; or how. He should see +now! She would try her meanest and basest weapon--and if--if--it +conquered, she would make--terms. She, poor, dependent Joyce of the +backwoods. Old Jared's girl. Jude Lauzoon's discarded wife. If she won a +victory, _what_ a victory it would be! + +It would prove to Drew--she rose defiantly, and snatched the finery from +the boxes. Her eyes were blazing and her blood ran hotly. Before her +little mirror she let the garments of her past life fall from her. She +unpinned her glorious hair, and thrilled as its convincing beauty gave +added power to her plans. + +Slowly, carefully, with a pictured ideal in her memory, she fashioned +the wonderful tresses into form. High upon her head the glistening mass +was fastened, then cunningly the little curls were pulled loose, and +were permitted to go free about the smooth brow and white neck. + +Then with an instinct that did not play her false, she donned the +marvellous garments. + +She was finished at last. The new, palpitating woman. All that belonged +to the old Joyce seemed to have fallen, with the discarded garments, to +the floor. + +She did not doubt her power now. She was not afraid. Something was going +to happen--again she experienced the sensation. It had come first in +this very shack, when her childhood had departed, and the woman in her +had been born. A poor, dull woman, to be sure; still, a woman. + +She had felt it, too, the Sunday of her marriage, when Drew had called +to her conscience and spirituality, and set the chords of suffering and +hope vibrating. From that hour to this she had been climbing painfully +to what was about to occur. + +Well, she was ready. The bewitching smile played over her face. +Tiptoeing across the bedroom floor, she noiselessly unfastened the door, +and silently reached Gaston's side. + +He had quite forgotten her. Weary from the day's work, perplexed by +later developments, with closed eyes, and hands clasped behind his head, +he was lost in thought. + +Joyce touched him lightly, and he looked up. + +She had taken him off guard. Her bewildering beauty attacked his senses +while his shield of Purpose was down. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed staring at her. "You--you glorious creature!" + +She laughed, and the sound thrilled the man as her beauty did. It was +new, and wonderful. He staggered to his feet and reached out to her like +a man blinded by a sudden glare. + +She evaded his touch, and gave that wild little laugh again. + +"You like it?" she asked, from across the table. + +"Like it? You--are--divine!" + +"Why--did--you--do it?" + +"I had a mad fancy to see just how great your--beauty was." + +"And--you see?" + +"Heavens! I do see." + +"And you think?" + +"What any man would think," Gaston's excitement was rising, "who had +been starved for--years--and then finds all he's hungered for--alone in +the North Woods. Think?" + +The breaking of a flaming log startled them, and it steadied Gaston for +a moment. Joyce had herself well in hand. The victory was hers if only +she could command this new power long enough. + +"Please," she pleaded, "please sit down. I have something to say to +you." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Gaston sank back in his chair, and Joyce sat down opposite. The table +was between them, and the light of the fire and lamp flooded over the +girl. + +She was wonderful in that gown, and with her splendid, pale hair framing +her face with its fair glory. + +The shock of surprise was passing, but Gaston still looked at the girl +as if he had never seen her before. + +"What is it, Joyce?" he asked presently; "what has changed you so?" Then +he smiled, for the question seemed crude and ill-advised. + +"The dress--isn't that what you wanted?" + +"I do not mean the dress--there is something else." + +"So there is--but it came with the dress. Perhaps you--did not order +that--well, then, it must be _your_ part of the surprise. Don't you +remember that story you read to me once--about the mantle of Elijah? You +know it made the humble wearer--great. Well, these pretty things,"--she +touched them lightly--"they make me--a woman. The sort of woman who +must--ask questions--and get answers--true answers." + +"Why, don't you trust--me?" + +The pained question was wrung from Gaston's lips. The steady look from +the big eyes went strangely to his heart. + +"I--do--not know--you--as you--are now," she said firmly. + +"It is not I who am changed, Joyce, it is you. Everything is just the +same except that I see you are more--wonderful than I dreamed." + +"Nothing is going to be the same again. I knew it while Mr. Drew was +talking the other day--I have thought it all out since." + +"Curse him!" Gaston broke in; "what did he say? Why did you go to him +Joyce? How could you?" + +There was pain in the words--pain and a dumb fear. + +"It only happened to be Mr. Drew. Some one would have made me know in +time." + +"Joyce;" he was actually pleading with her! The knowledge burnt into the +quickening soul. "Joyce, what did you trust in me, before you went to +Drew?" + +"Your goodness--your--unselfishness. I knew the goodness--I have only +begun to see the--unselfishness." + +"My unselfishness? Good heavens!" In spite of the strangeness of it all, +Gaston laughed. Then an impatience stifled him. A brute instinct drove +him on. Her beauty had captured his senses, and he meant to tear down +the pitiful wall he had upbuilded between her and him, and force her to +see the inevitable. + +He had wondered if she could stir him--well he knew now. What idiots +they had both been! + +He was through with the Past forever. The Past that had held him to a +false ideal. There should be no more imbecile philosophy in the North +Woods as far as he and she were concerned. + +"See here," he began, and his voice was almost hard; "don't you know +when I shut you away from what you knew as danger--Jude and all the rest +of the hell that went with him--I shut you away from what people--people +like Drew and his set--know as mercy?" + +Joyce's eyes widened, but she did not speak. Gaston rushed on--he wanted +the scene over. She was too heavenly beautiful sitting there, he must +bring her closer. + +"They would call you--well, they wouldn't call you a good woman. They +are very particular about their women. In a way, you must have known +this, Joyce. You've played the game like a thoroughbred, and when one +considers _how_ you've played it, the wonder grows--but they'd never +believe that--even if we told them. Great heavens! how could they, if +they saw you? + +"That there was no other way for me to help you then, that you had no +other shelter in God's world would not alter the case at all. And I've +been a fool, Joyce, a maudlin fool--all along!" + +The woman opposite was looking at him through tears, but the sweet mouth +was quivering pitifully. + +"Joyce"; the tone caused the tear-dimmed eyes to close; "let us face the +music--and--dance along to the tune." + +Gaston leaned toward her and when she dared to look at him she saw that +the future was in her hands! + +"You--you thought I knew this all along?" + +"In a way--yes!" + +Joyce's eyes dropped and a flush rose to her pale, still face. + +"Then those--those people--the good people, what would they have thought +about you?" + +"Oh! some would have thought me a--damned scoundrel; and they would have +been right had I ever intended to leave you to their mercy. +Others--well, others--" + +"Please tell me, you see I want to understand everything and that world +is not mine--you know." + +"The others,"--and now Gaston dropped his own eyes--"the others would +have forgotten all about it--had I chosen to go back!" + +"But they--would not have forgotten about me?" + +"No. That is their imbecile code." + +"And--and men know that and yet--" Her eyes widened in a dumb +terror--"why, they are worse than--the people of St. Ange!" + +Suddenly Gaston flung his head back and looked full at the beautiful +face. It was radiant, but the eyes were overflowing. It seemed to him as +if she, coming out from her shadows, were bringing all wronged womanhood +with her. + +"You know Joyce, you must have known no matter what else you thought, +and you must know now, I never meant to leave you to their--mercy?" + +He knew that he was speaking truth to her and it gave him courage. + +"Yes; yes!" she cried. "I know that above all and everything." + +Joyce saw that she was gaining power. She knew that, marvellous as it +seemed, she was to shape their future lives. But she must have the sky +clear. Gaston, she felt, recognized this as well as she. He expected but +one outcome; he saw her love, and was willing to show his own, now that +the barriers were down. + +"We need ask nothing!" he said softly; "and there are deeper woods to +the north, dear." + +"Can you--will you--tell me about yourself before--you came here?" + +The question was asked simply and it was proof, if any were needed, that +the past false position was utterly annihilated. + +Gaston accepted the changed conditions with no sense of surprise. He +acknowledged her right to all that she desired. + +"When I said, a time back"; he began slowly; "that they--those good +people we were talking about--would let me into their world if I--left +you"; his fingers closed firmer over her hands; "I did not tell you that +there is another reason why they would _not_ let me in. They could +overlook some things--but not others. Suppose I should tell you that I +had done a wrong that was worse, in their eyes, than almost anything +else?" + +"I would not believe it!" + +"But that is God's truth." + +She grew a little paler, but she did not withdraw her hands. + +With smarting recollection Gaston remembered how, back there in the old +life, two small hands had slipped from his at a like confession. + +"I've been a weak fellow from the start, Joyce. I haven't even had the +courage to do a big, bad thing for myself. I've let them I loved, use +me. I've lost my idea of right in my depraved craving for appreciation. +That sort of sin is the worst kind. It damns one's self and makes the +one you've tried to serve, hate you." + +He saw that she was trying to follow him, but could not clearly, so he +dropped all but brutal facts. + +"When I stepped off the train at St. Ange, a few years back, I took the +name of Gaston, because I dared not speak my own name, and I didn't +like to go by the number that I had been known by for--five years." + +"Number?" she whispered, and her frightened eyes glanced about. She was +not afraid of him, but _for_ him. Gaston saw that. + +"Never fear," he reassured her; "it was all worked out. I paid that +debt, but I wanted to forget the transaction. I thought I could, up +here--but I reckoned without you!" + +"Go on," she said hoarsely. The clock struck eleven, the logs fell +apart--she was in a hurry. + +"You know there is an odd little couplet that used to please me when I +was--paying up. It goes like this: + + Two men looked out of the prison bars, + The one saw mud, the other, the stars. + +"There were a lot of us who saw stars, for all the belief to the contrary; +and even the mud-seers had their moments of star-vision--behind the +prison bars. + +"Birthdays and Christmases played the deuce with them." Gaston was off +the trail now that he dared voice the memories of the past. They had so +long haunted him. They might pass if he could tell them to another. + +"Go on," Joyce said, impatiently glancing at the clock as if her time +were short. "Please go on. It doesn't matter about that. What was +before, and--and what must come, now?" + +"It does matter," Gaston came back. "It was that determination of mine +not to be finished by that phase of my life, that left strength in me to +be halfway decent since. I only meant to regain my health up here. I +meant to go back to the life I had deserted and make good before them +all--but something happened." + +"Yes." Gaston's face had clouded, and Joyce had to recall him. + +"You see it was this way. There were a lot of people--but only four +mattered. My mother, my brother, the girl and her father." + +The hands under Gaston's slipped away, but he did not notice. + +"My mother had a heart trouble, she could not bear much--and she always +loved my brother best. He had the look and way with him that made it +easy for her to prefer him. I believed the--girl cared most for me--that +was what kept things going all right for a time--her father liked me +best, I knew. + +"I had a position of trust, the control of much money, and my head got +turned, I suppose--for I felt sure of everything; myself included. Then +things happened all of a sudden. + +"My brother found that the girl cared for me, not him; it broke him up, +and that brought on an attack of sickness for my mother. She never could +bear to see him suffer. My own happiness was twisted out of shape by +what I saw was to be the result of my gain over his loss. + +"One night he came to me and told me that his investments had gone +wrong; our mother's fortune along with the rest. A certain sum of money, +right then, would tide over the critical situation. + +"There was no chance but that all would come out right. He had private +information that a few days would change the current. He would come out +to the good--if only--" + +"And you?" Joyce held him with her wide, terrified stare. + +"Oh, yes! I didn't think there was any danger, and it seemed a chance to +help when everything was about to come clattering around our ears. I +helped. Good God, I helped!" + +Gaston dropped his head on his folded arms. + +"What happened when they all knew? When you explained--couldn't they +help you?" Gaston flung his head back and looked at her. + +"But they didn't find out. At least, they found out that I took the +money--there wasn't anything else to tell. That damnable fact was +enough, wasn't it? No amount of whimpering as to why I'd done it would +have helped." + +"But your brother?" + +"He tried to get me to go away. He said in a few days all would be +right. He could then save everything. I could return and +repay--and--well! I wasn't made that way. I stayed." + +"And--the girl?" + +"She asked me if I had done it--she would believe no one else. I said +yes; and that ended it. Her father tried to get me to explain--he was +the Judge who was to have tried me--I refused and he begged to be +released from sentencing me--that's all he could do for either of us." + +"And--your--mother?" A sob rose in Joyce's throat. + +"I think, even in her misery, she thanked God, since it had to be, that +it was not my brother." + +The room was growing cold. Joyce shivered. + +"And then?" she faltered. + +"Oh! then--" Gaston's face twitched, and his voice was bitter, "then +came the star-gazing through the bars--and all the rest, until I came up +here. Only one stuck to me through thick and thin." + +"Your brother?" Joyce interrupted. + +"My brother? No! Just a plain friend. I told him I did not want to hear +a thing while I was shut away. I knew it would hold me back from getting +what I could out of the experience. It's like hell to have the outside +troubles and joys brought to you while you are bound hand and foot. I +saw enough of that--it did more to keep men in the mud than anything +else. I just kept that space of my life clear for expiation. When the +gates opened for me one day--my friend was there with all the news in a +budget. + +"You see the lash that had cut deepest when I went away was something my +mother said; 'You've broken the hearts of them who loved and trusted +you.' + +"Nothing had mattered so much as those words--and out of the disgrace, +the loneliness, the misery and deadly labour, I had worked out a plan to +make up to them for the wrong I had done. It was going to be about the +biggest job a fellow ever undertook; but, do you know, I had hoped that +I could do it? + +"Well, my friend's words drove me back upon myself. There was nothing +for me to do." + +"Why?" + +"The hearts were all mended--after a fashion, without my aid." + +"Your mother?" + +"She had died soon after I went away." + +"And your--brother--he surely--" + +"Oh! he had gone booming ahead like a rocket. The tide turned a bit too +late for me--but it carried him to a safe harbour. In a generous and +highly moral way he stood ready to repay me--but conditions had changed; +I must accept certain terms." + +"The--the--girl?" + +"She'd married my brother. She it was who changed the conditions, you +see. It had been a noble sacrifice for her to marry into _such_ a +family--so, of course, due consideration must be shown her. Would I live +abroad on an ample allowance?" + +Joyce flinched before the tone. Gaston stood up and flung his arms out. +"No! by God, I would not live abroad. I chose my own place of hiding. He +paid, though--I saw to that--he named no allowance, it was I; but he +paid and paid and paid all that _I_ thought he should. He bought me off +at my price--not his. I left all in the hands of the only friend I had +on earth--I never wanted to hear of the others again until I was ready +to go back--and I haven't. I wanted time to think out my way. I wanted +strength to go back, take my name and fortune, ask nothing of the +world--but a chance to defy it. I got as far as that--" He dropped back +into the chair and bowed his head. + +The hands of the clock were past midnight, the fire was nothing but +glowing embers; a chill was creeping through the room. Presently Gaston +was aware of a nearness--not merely bodily, but spiritually. He looked +up. He had forgotten Joyce and his thought of comfort in knowing that +she would stand by him. To see her close now, to gaze up into her +glorious face was like an awakening from a hideous dream to a safe +reality. + +"You got as far as that," she said in the saddest, softest tone that a +woman's voice ever held; "and then I came into your life. Oh! how hard +you tried to set me aside with Jude--but again and again I returned +to--hold you back." + +"Why, Joyce, what is the matter?" + +A paralyzing fear drove anguish before it. Gaston strove to recall +passion, but that, too, had deserted. He and Joyce were standing in a +barren place alone--nothing behind, nothing before! + +"Can't you see what is the matter?" + +The coquetry had left the girl, she stood fair, cold and passive like +some wonderful goddess. + +"Don't you think I see it all now? + +"When I came out of that room I was a--bad woman! You were mistaken, I +never understood before--about us! + +"You see when--when I came to you that night--after Jude--" she +struggled with her trembling--"I did not know such men as you--lived. I +was what Jude and St. Ange had made me. I was afraid of you--but," she +bent over him in divine pity pressing her wet cheek to his bowed head; +"but I grew to know! You were far, far above me, I soon saw how far. You +never thought about it, but it made it safe for you to help me. I can +see it all so plain now. + +"Then the evil that was in me, the evil that some might have made so +vile, slipped away. I tried hard to be what you wanted me to be for my +own sake. You did not think of the past and I tried to forget it, too; +and so we came along to this night. + +"In that room"--she looked quiveringly at the closed door--"for a +moment, I misunderstood again. I thought you were trifling with me. I +think I felt for the first time that perhaps I was _not_ what I had +been--when I came out of the old life! I wanted to make sure, and I +stooped to the meanest way." + +Gaston drew her close. Vaguely he feared that she was slipping farther +and farther from him for all her sweetness and nearness. + +"Joyce!" he cried wildly. "_You_ are not going to desert me--now?" + +She dropped beside him and clasped her hands over his knee. There was no +need of reserve, she knew that better than he. + +"Can you not see what sort of man you are?" she asked fiercely; while +the tears fell thick and fast. + +"Oh! I love you many, many ways. I can tell you this now and you must +not stop me. I love you for them who left you alone to suffer. I love +you just for myself, and I love you as I would have loved my poor baby +had God let me keep him. And that is the best way of all, for it holds +all other loves. + +"Oh, you must see! You shall see! The men out in your world--could any +of them have done what you have done--for me? Even Mr. Drew could not +understand. Even _he_ thought you must have harmed me--he felt sorry for +_me_! And knowing what _I_ know, do you, could any of those others, +think I would let you harm--yourself? + +"You have made me a stronger woman than even you tried to make me, and I +thank God for that--for you need me so very, very much!" + +The deep sobs choked her, and she buried her head against his arm. Out +of a desolation her words were creating, Gaston spoke desperately. + +"I do need you, and by heaven, I mean to have you!" + +"You're right. I did not know what you meant to me; I know now, and +since Fate has played us false, we'll--we'll turn our backs on her." + +"Joyce, are you willing to--trust me?" + +Almost roughly he raised her face and forced her to look at him. + +"I--trust you! You could never be anything but good and noble. I know +that. You never have been--but, there are going to be other days and +nights--just plain days and long black nights--and--I think we have +almost forgotten--but there is always--Jude!" + +Then like a bewildering flash the words lightened the dark place of +Gaston's character. + +This woman whom--he saw the fearful truth--this woman whom he had helped +to form, had outgrown him and left him far behind! + +Now that she understood; now that her womanhood could stand alone, she +rose pure and strong above his passion and the thing he called love. +She only thought he had forgotten, when God knew he did not even care +for the rough fellow who had all but strangled the life out of her. + +"Besides"--he heard her as from a distance--"besides, you must go back!" + +"Go back--good God! to what?" + +"To all that you had to go back to--when you turned to help me!" + +Then Gaston bent and raised the shrinking woman beside him. Face to face +they stood in the cold, still room. "Joyce," he said thickly, "what I am +going to say--you may never be able to forgive--but I must say it. + +"It is quite true, I gave no thought to what I was doing when I shielded +you from Jude. St. Ange did not matter; there seemed no other way--and I +never considered others coming to complicate things. + +"I was miserable and lonely; but I felt sure of myself and in helping +you I found an interest in life. Lately, almost unconsciously, I've felt +the change in you--the new meaning. I wanted to make sure and then be +guided, since others had entered this--this fool's paradise of mine. You +are very beautiful--the most beautiful woman, I think, that I have ever +seen--and I know now that you are--the best! + +"Joyce--your beauty crazed me, and I had not forgotten Jude; I did not +care!" + +"Stop!" The little cold hand was pressed against his lips, "you shall +not! It was I who tempted you--you would have remembered--everything. It +is you who must forgive me--I am going--now!" + +The slow, pitiful words fell lingeringly. + +"Going--where can you go?" Gaston stared dumbly at her. + +"I think Mr. Drew will help me. I am going to tell him everything--and +he will--find a way." + +"You shall not!" Gaston drew her to his breast. The primitive rose +within him. + +"There is another way. The only way. Drew shall not meddle in my +affairs--nor yours. You will stay right here in your home until I +return. I'm going to Filmer; he's the only one we need, he'll act for us +both." + +"But--what then?" Joyce felt her heart stand still. + +"Then? why I'm going to find Jude. I'm going to buy him off--if +necessary. He shall free you--and then--then!" + +Gaston held the pale face off from him and searched the wide, startled +eyes. + +"And then?" The words fell into a question. + +"But how"--Joyce panted; "how could I feel sure this great thing you +plan is not another--unselfish act? Suppose, oh! suppose--_she_, +that--that other girl--should come back--what then?" + +"Hear me, Joyce. There is never going to be any one else. We are going +back together--into that other life. Why, the possibility almost blinds +me. + +"They shall see what I've brought out of my experience. We'll make a +place for ourselves and redeem the past. They shall seek us, my darling, +and they shall see at last that I am master of my life!" + +His enthusiasm and exaltation carried Joyce along with him. + +"Dare I trust--not you--but myself?" she whispered. "After everything is +said--I am--what I am!" + +"Yes--you are what you are!" Gaston pressed his lips against her +trembling mouth. "And now, good-bye!" he released her, and led her +toward her door. "I must make a few preparations--then get to Filmer. +It's all very wonderful, but it is more true than wonderful. Until I +come, then--and it may take time, dear--you will remember?" + +"Always--until you come--and after!" + +Gaston bent again, but this time he only pressed his lips to the soft, +pale hair. + +When the door closed behind her; he stood for a moment dazed and +bewildered. Mechanically he turned to the first task that lay at hand. +He rebuilt the dead fire. It seemed symbolic, somehow, and he smiled. +Then holding to the fancy that touched him, he piled on log after log. + +There should be no lack of warmth and glow in the new reincarnation. + +An hour later he left the house, with the needful things for his +possible, long absence packed in a grip and flung across his shoulder. + +He had attended to so many small comforts for Joyce--the fire, the +writing out of directions, where to find money, etc.--that he had been +hurried in the details of his own affairs; he had forgotten to take the +key from the lock of the chest! + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Jock Filmer was coming to the belief that there was a Destiny shaping +_his_ ends _roughly_, smooth-hew them as he had ever tried to do. Jock +was pursued, there was no doubt of that. For reasons of his own he had +drifted into St. Ange when very young. Most conveniently and soothingly +memory and old habits dropped from him--they had clung tenaciously to +Gaston. Jock adapted himself to circumstances and new environment with +flattering promptness. + +The Black Cat felt no resentment toward him after the first few months. +His English became blurred with regard to grammar; the local speech was +good enough for him. When Jock's Past became troublesome, as it had done +from the very first, the Black Cat had consolation for its latest +recruit; and, while he did not sink quite so far as some of the natives, +the shortcoming was attributed more to youth than to the putting on of +airifications, as Tate said. + +In a boyish, off-hand way, Filmer had always regarded Gaston as a +sign-board in an unexplored country. If things ever pressed too close, +Filmer believed Gaston would point him to safety. + +A mystic something held them together. A common interest, consciously +cast into oblivion, but perfectly tangible and not to be denied, was the +unspoken passport in their intercourse. + +Later, during the building of Drew's bungalow and their joint sympathy +for, and with, Joyce, Filmer had acknowledged Gaston, as a superior and, +spiritually, regarded him as a leader in an interesting adventure. + +Gaston, the night when he faced Jude and him with the pointed question, +"What you going to do about it?" had fallen from Jock's high opinion, +and the crash had affected him to a painful extent. + +"Oh! what's the good?" he had finally concluded. + +Another friendship that had been formed in the lonely woods yet remained +to him, and he made the most of that. Drew's personality had stirred +Jock's emotions from the start. To look forward to a renewal of the +companionship was a distinct pleasure in the time when the dust of +Gaston's fallen image was blinding his eyes and smarting his heart. + +Drew came, sick but unconquered. All the chivalry in Filmer rose to the +call. He gave his time to the young minister. Using up the little money +he had earned as builder, resigning his chance to go into camp, he +devoted himself to Drew day and night. He became one of the family at +the bungalow and a jocose familiarity was as much a part of Jock's +liking for a person, as were his tireless patience and capacity for +single-minded service. + +Drew's maiden aunt, prim, proper and worldly-wise, was as much Aunt +Sally to Filmer as she was to her niece and nephew. Jock jollied the +aristocratic lady as freely as he did Drew, toward whom he held the +tolerant admiration that he had given him from the beginning. But poor +Jock was not to have his own easy planning of the new situation in all +directions. Constance Drew took a hand in the game, and Jock, with +trailing plume, plodded on behind her. + +If _he_ could gibe and tease, she could bring him about with her cool +audacity and comical dignity. + +The girl's splendid physique, her athletic tendencies, her endurance and +pluck, compelled Jock's masculine admiration. Her love for her brother, +her tenderness and cheerfulness toward him, won his heart; but her +mental make-up, her strange seriousness where her own private interests +were concerned, caused the young fellow no end of amusement and delight. +He had never seen any one in the least like her, and the new sensation +held him captive. + +Poor Jock! He was never again to walk through life without a chain and +ball; but little he heeded that while he had strength and spirit to drag +them. + +With Drew's partial recovery the bungalow household lost its head a +little. Aunt Sally's gratitude overflowed into every house in St. Ange. +She felt as if the natives, not the pine-laded air, had been +instrumental in this regained health and joyousness. + +"I can never thank you enough," was her constant greeting; and so +sincere was her gratitude that eventually the back doors of the squalid +houses opened to her unconsciously--and of true friendship there is no +greater proof in a primitive village. Sitting in their kitchens, it was +easy for her to reach down into their hearts, and many a St. Ange woman +poured her troubles into Aunt Sally's ears, and went forever after with +uplifted head. + +"Why, my dear," the old lady said to Ralph, after Peggy Falstar had +taken her into her confidence, "these people are much like others, only +they have the rough bark on. They are a great deal more vital--the bark +has, somehow, kept the sap richer." + +Drew laughed heartily. + +"The polishing takes something away, Auntie," he replied. "The bark is +hard to get through; it's tough and prickly and not always lovely, but +it's the sap that counts in every case, and that's what I used to tell +you and Connie. Every time I tapped these people up here, I saw and felt +the rich possibilities." + +"Now, you go straight to sleep," his aunt always commanded at that +juncture. + +She was not yet able to face the probability of a final settlement in +these backwoods, but she saw with alarm that her nephew was planting his +hopes deep and accepting the inevitable. + +"It's all such a horrible sacrifice of his young life," she confided to +Constance. + +"His young life!" the girl had returned with a straight, clear look. +"Why, I begin to think the only life he has, Auntie, is what St. Ange +offers--he must take that or nothing. Oh! if only that little beast down +there in New York had had the courage of a mouse, and the imagination of +a mole, she might have made Ralph's life--this life--a thing to go +thundering down into history! It's splendid up here! It's the sort of +thing that makes your soul feel like something tangible. My!" And with +that, on a certain mid-winter day, the young woman strode forth. + +A long fur-lined coat protected her from the deceiving cold. The dryness +of the air was misleading to a coast-bred girl. A dark red hood covered +the ruddy, curly hair, and skin gloves gave warm shelter to the slim, +white hands. + +Down the snow-covered road Constance walked. She was tingling with the +joy of her life--her life and the dear, new life given to her brother. + +The pines pointed darkly to a sky so faultlessly blue that it seemed a +June heirloom to a white winter. + +The snow was crisp and smooth; a durable snow that must last until +spring. It knew its business and what was expected of it, so it was not +to be impressed by mere footsteps, or the touch of prowling beast. + +Constance slid and tripped along. She sang snatches of old, remembered +songs, and talked aloud for very fulness of heart and the sense of her +Mission rising strong within her. + +Since coming to St. Ange she had not, until now, had time to think of +her Mission--her last Mission;--for Constance Drew was a connoisseur in +Missions. But now she must waste no more time. + +She patted her long pocket on the right-hand side--yes, the book and an +assorted lot of pencils were there. She preferred pencils to fountain +pens. The points were nicer to bite on, and she wasn't sure, in this +climate, but that ink might freeze just when a soul-flight was about to +land genius on a mountain-top. + +There was a beautiful log halfway between the bungalow and Gaston's +shack. It was a sheltered log, with a delectable hump on it where one +could rest the base of one's spinal column when victory, in the form of +inspiration, was about to perch. + +Constance sought this log when long, ambitious thoughts possessed her. +The snow had been removed, and a cushion of moss, also bare of snow, +made a resting place for two small feet, warmly incased in woollen-lined +"arctics." + +Constance sat down and drew the red-covered book from her pocket, and +placed the seven sharply-pointed pencils, side by side and near at hand. + +A sound startled the girl. Her brow puckered. Even in the deep woods +inspiration was not safe from intrusion. + +Well, since some bothering person must take this time for appearing, +Constance hoped it would be Joyce, for she wanted to see her and talk +with her. Joyce did not invite intimacy. Up there alone in her shack, +waiting for Gaston's return, she was grappling with matters too sacred +and agonizing to permit of curious interruption. That Drew's family +should overlook any little social shortcoming in her and seek to meet +her on an equal footing, did not interest her in the least--she wanted +to be alone, and for the most part she was. + +But it was not Joyce who appeared on the road. It was Jock Filmer and he +came, without invitation, to the log and put his foot on the end nearest +the girl. + +"Pleasant summer weather, hey?" + +Constance raised her eyes from the little book in which she had been +writing, and gave Jock the benefit of her honest inspection. + +"If you had ever lived where winter was meted out to you in the form of +frozen moisture," she said, "you'd know how to appreciate this nice, +clean, undisguised cold." + +"I know the other kind." Jock nodded reminiscently. "It is like being +slapped in the face with a sheet wet with ice water, isn't it?" + +"Ha! ha! so you haven't always lived here? I thought as much. Indeed I +have a note to that effect--here." The girl tapped the red-covered book. + +"No; I've travelled some," Jock confessed, "I've been to Hillcrest +several times." + +"I believe you are masquerading." Constance viewed him keenly. "I've +written to my married sister about you all up here; I call you and +that--that Mr. Gaston, the Masqueraders." + +"So!" Jock smoothed his chin with his heavily gloved hand. "That sister +of yours, doubtlessly, could spot us all on sight just by your +description. It ain't safe. How's your aunt and the Reverend Kid?" Jock +grinned amiably. The past weeks had given him time and opportunity for +broadening his views of life and enjoyment. + +"Ralph is fine"; the clear, gray eyes shone with the joy of the fact; +"and Auntie is having the time of her life. You know she never had her +lighter vein developed. Our city connection is awfully proper and +cultivated. I always knew auntie was a Bohemian, and up here--she's +plunging!" + +"Umph! And you?" + +"Oh! I'm getting--material." + +"Excuse me." Jock passed his hand over his mouth. "There are times when +I think you're a comicaller little cuss than your brother!" + +"Mr. Filmer!" + +"Oh, come down! Mr. Filmer don't go in the woods in the middle of +winter. What do you want for your Christmas?" + +"When you make fun of me"--the girl was trying hard not to laugh--"you +anger me beyond--expression." + +A guffaw greeted this. Then: + +"What was you making in your little book when I came up?" + +"Character sketches." + +"Sho! Let's have a look. I like pictures." + +"They're pen-pictures." + +"All the same to me. Pencil, pen, or paint-brush." + +"But you do not understand. They are _word_ pictures. Descriptions, you +know." + +"Well, now you have got me! Show up, anyhow." + +Constance opened the little book, and spread it out on her knee. + +"I am getting material for a novel," she said impressively. "The great +American novel has yet to be written. I do not want you to think me +conceited, Jock, but I have had exceptional advantages--I may be the +chosen one to write this--this great novel." + +"Who knows?" Jock's serious gaze was a perfect disguise for his true +inward state. + +"Yes; who knows? You see I can speak freely to you." + +"Sure thing," assented Jock. "Dumb animals can't blab, and once you turn +your back on St. Ange I'll be a dumb beast all right!" + +"My back will never be turned permanently on St. Ange, I think!" the +girl spoke slowly. "I agree with Ralph that for the future his home will +probably be here; and where Ralph is----" + +"The lamb will surely come. Go on, child, and hang up your pictures." +They both laughed now. + +"First," Constance folded her hands over the open pages of her book, "I +wonder, Jock, if you would like to hear--something of my life? It would +explain this--this--great ambition of mine." + +"Well," Jock drawled, "if you don't think me too young and innocent for +such excitement, fire away. Histories have always had a hold on me. Most +of 'em ain't true, but they tickle your imagination." + +"Jock! But I'm in earnest. I have felt that I must have a confidant. +Some one who will--sympathize. I'm going to have a woman friend in a day +or so--but a man--one who is disinterested, so to speak, is always such +a comfort to a girl when she faces a great epoch in her life." + +Jock swallowed his rising mirth and his face became a blank so far as +expression was concerned. + +"I have had wonderful advantages," Constance began, "that is what makes +me dare to hope. Advantages of wealth, society and--and a deep insight +into people's innermost souls." + +"Gosh!" Jock exploded; "excuse me; I always burst out that way when +I'm--moved." He sat down on the end of the log, and clutched his knees +in his strong arms. "Somehow you don't look like such a desperate +character," he added blandly, "known sin and conquered it, and all the +rest?" + +Constance sniffed, but a little jocularity was not going to deter her +from the luxury of confession. + +"Money should only be regarded," she went on, "as a sacred trust, and a +means of enriching one's life. And as for Society--that is a bore! +Dances, theatres, dinners and luncheons. Chaperons tagging around after +you, suggesting by their mere presence that, unless you're watched, +you'll do something desperate in the wild desire to break the monotony. +Well, I drank deep of _that_ life," Constance looked dreamily over the +stretch of meadow and pine-edged woods, all dazzling with a shimmer of +icy snow, "before I took to----" + +"Crime?" Jock suggested. "It would seem that that was the natural +sequence to such a career." + +"Jock Filmer--I took to philanthropy." + +"As bad as that?" Jock roared with laughter. + +"I only tell you this to explain my present position." Constance drew +her fur-clad shoulders up. "I became a Settlement worker; but," +confidently, "that was worse than Society. It _was_ Society with +another setting. 'Thanks be!' as Auntie says, I have a sense of humour +and a remnant of Scotch canniness. It made me laugh--when it didn't make +me ashamed--to put on a sort of livery--plain frock, you know, and go +down to the Settlement in the most businesslike way to 'do' for those +poor people. It cost an awful lot to run our Settlement, about +two-thirds of all the money. One-third went to the poor. We had plenty +of fun down there. All slummy outside and lovely things inside, you +know. It was like making believe. You see," she paused impressively, +"when you have a Mission like Settlement work, you don't have to have a +chaperon." + +"Ten to one, they're needed, though." Jock was keenly interested. +"Cutting loose from familiar ties and acting up sort of detached that +way, must have a queer effect upon some." + +"Well, I just got enough of it. Why, one Christmas, we at the Settlement +House had a tree and gifts that cost hundreds of dollars. We had a big +dance. Evening dress and all the rest. Young men and women who, had they +been in their own homes, would have been under some one's watchful eye, +were having a jolly, good fling down there that Christmas Eve, I can +tell you. + +"Right in the middle of the evening, a call came from a family in a +tenement around the corner. I knew all about them--or I thought I +did--so I went. I just flung a cloak about me and ran off alone. Somehow +I did not want any one with me." + +Constance's eyes grew dim, and her under lip quivered. + +"It was awful." Her voice sank low. "You see, with all the preparations +going on at the Settlement House, we had sort of forgotten this--this +family. They were not the noisy, begging kind, but there was a pitiful, +little sick girl whom I had taken a liking to and to _think_ that I +should have forgotten her--and at that time, too! There was no tree in +that home, Jock, there was nothing much, but the little dying girl and +her mother. + +"They didn't even blame me--oh, if they only had!" The honest tears ran +down Constance's cheeks. "But they didn't. The mother said--and she +apologized for troubling me, think of that!--that the baby wanted me to +tell her a Christmas story. She just wouldn't go to sleep until I did, +and she had been ailing all day. I--I forgot my dress, and tore off my +cloak in that cold, empty room and I took that poor baby in my arms. +Then--then the hardest part came--she--she didn't know me. She got the +queerest little notion in her baby head--she--she thought I was +an--angel. Oh! oh! and I wanted her to know me." + +Down went the girlish head in the open pages of the character sketches. + +"Well of all gol-durned nonsense!" Jock blurted out. "The whole blamed +show oughter been exposed. I reckon the best job the company ever had to +its credit was that happening of yours--the dress and the--the--rest of +the picter. Lord!" Jock's feelings were running over as he looked upon +the bowed head. The story had got hold of his tender heart. "Lord above! +Just think of that sort of rum suffering going on back there. It's worse +than what happens here. We've got wood to keep the kids warm in winter, +and there's clean air and coolness in summer. I'm durned glad I cut it +when"--he stopped short. Constance was looking at him with wide, +questioning eyes. + +"When I did," Jock added helplessly. "And now go on with that poor +little child what you took to your bosom." + +"That's all." Constance choked painfully. "The baby--died while I was +telling her about the wonderful tree, and Santa Claus and the other joys +she should have had, and never did have. I can see that hideous empty +room, and--and that poor baby every time I shut my eyes." + +"Here, look up now," Jock commanded, his feelings getting the best of +him. "When life's so empty that you can't find things to do by opening +your eyes, you better keep your eyes shut to all eternity. Calling up +the past is the rottenest kind of folly in a world where things is +happening." + +Constance rallied to the stern call. + +"And now," she said briskly, "I've given myself, heart and soul +to--literature. I'll _write_ of what I have seen, and lived! + +"Listen, I'll read you a sketch or so. But first I'll explain. The local +colour of my novel is drawn from--here." + +Jock pulled himself together. + +"Well, I'll be blowed!" he sympathetically ejaculated, "Here where there +ain't, what you might say, enough local color to more than touch up the +noses of the Black Catters." + +"Jock! Now, see if you'd know it." She read a scrappy description of the +village. "Would you recognize it?" + +"With a footnote, it would go." Jock was all attention. "But I have my +doubts as to whether Pete Falstar will take kindly to his place of +residence being classified as a human pig-sty. That's laying the local +colour on, with a whitewash brush, don't you think? A little dirt and +disorder don't seem to call for such language." + +"That is artistic license." Constance explained. + +"Well, you ought to pay high for that kind of license--but maybe you do. +Go on." + +"I handle my subject without gloves," Constance began again. + +"By gosh! I'd keep 'em on when I was tackling pig-stys and such; but +don't mind me." + +"And here; see if you can guess who this is? + +"'The sleek, fat proprietor looked oily within and oily without. He +oozed oil on the community that he was demoralizing with his poisonous +whiskey and doctored beer.'" + +"God bless and save us!" Jock rolled from side to side. "If you don't +beat all for gol-durned sass. Why, Tate will sue you for damages if that +great American novel ever strikes his vision. Oil! Thunderation; and +poisonous whiskey, and doctored beer. Was it Society or Settlement what +let light in on you, about such terms?" + +"Neither. It's--inspiration." + +"It's just plain imperdence, and it'll get you in trouble. Are you going +to use names in that novel of yours?" + +"Certainly not. Do you think I do not know my art? But you recognize +Tate? Then he lives!" + +"Good Lord! Know him? How under the everlasting firmament could I help +knowing him? What other proprietor is there in St. Ange, you comical +little bag of words? specially one as demoralizes the community with +poisoned whiskey and doctored beer? Balls of fire! but this beats the +band. Go on; go on." + +When a man of thirty steps out of a starved exile and comes in contact +with a girl like Constance Drew, it may be dangerous to "go on," but the +exile will certainly _want_ to. + +Nothing loath; all sparkling and radiant, Constance swept along. + +"And I've got--you, but maybe you will never forgive me. I took you at +your--your worst--for don't you see when I use you--later--I'm going to +redeem you and have you come out truly splendid." + +Jock's jaw dropped, and the laugh fled from his overflowing eyes. + +"Me?" he gasped. Constance nodded, and waved a pointed pencil toward +him. + +"Wait!" she ran her eye down the page. "'Beautiful woman--with +a--Past'--that's the girl up in the other Masquerader's shack, that girl +Joyce, you know, and Gaston--and here's Peggy Falstar--'woman sunk to +man's level and reproducing her kind'--brief note of Billy Falstar as +'impish child'--oh! here you are! + +"'Village Bacchus. Tall, handsome, but lost, apparently, to shame. +Swaggering criss-cross down the road, laughing senselessly and shouting +songs. Slave to appetite. Controlled by his brutal passions. When spoken +to in this state, assumes manner of gentleman. Subconscious self--study +in heredity.--Let a strong influence enter his life--handsome noble +girl--redemption at end--splendid character.'" + +"Good God!" + +Constance dropped the book. The eyes that met her own had a look in +them that drove the cold, which she had not felt before, to her very +heart. + +"What--what--is the matter?" she gasped. + +"Did you--ever see me--like that?" The words came hoarsely. + +"Yes. One day a few weeks ago. Ralph wanted you. I went to find +you--and"--the girl's eyes dropped. She felt a sudden humiliation as if +he had detected her reading his private letters. + +"And I talked--rot and all the rest?" + +"Yes. I never told Ralph; I knew it would hurt him--I had--no right to +tell you this--it is only--copy for me." + +"Copy?" + +"Yes; stuff to work into the--novel." + +"The novel? Ah, I remember. I'm going to be stuffed in with Tate +and--and the others?" + +"Yes; but don't you recall, _you_ are to be redeemed--you are to be +my--my hero--in the end you are to be--splendid." + +A deep groan was the only reply to this; the groan and the look of +growing misery on the man's face. + +"You're to go back--you see I feel you once belonged somewhere else--and +take up your life-work with----" + +"With?" Jock repeated the word hopelessly. + +"With her--the girl." + +"What girl?" + +"Why the girl I'm going to create. First I thought I'd have her--Joyce; +but that doesn't stand clear in my thought--I cannot quite see just the +sort of girl--that could rouse you to--to great things." + +Filmer was staring at the speaker with dazed and pitiful eyes. Then +Constance beheld a miracle. The stony misery melted as an infinite +sadness and pity overflowed. + +Jock stood up, plunged his hands in his pockets and looked down at the +dissecter who had bared every sensitive nerve in his heart and soul. + +"When--you write that book," the words drawled out the bitter thought, +"just omit--me--please--if you have any mercy." + +"Jock!" Constance sprang to her feet. "Jock--how could I know that you +would care?" + +"You--couldn't, of course." + +"Is it because I saw you so?" + +"No." + +"You know of course--that I'd never speak of that to any one--I only +used it for my book." + +"If that will help your book--take it; but leave out----" + +"What?" + +"The girl--the redemption--and----" + +"Why?" + +"Can't you--guess?" + +"No." But as the word passed her lips, she did guess--and what she +surmised sent the blood rushing through her body. + +"Don't be frightened, Miss Drew," Filmer was getting command of himself; +"there isn't going to be any redemption; nor any girl--that's all; don't +you see? There never is in such cases, and you want to be true to life +in that first, great American novel. You got your brush in the wrong pot +of local colour when you daubed me. No offence intended, or taken, I +hope. God bless you! strike your pencil through all that came after the +spree part. You're welcome to that, but I decline to let you ruin your +reputation by offering up the rest to the public." + +He was laughing again, and the agony had passed from his careless face. + +"And now?" he asked, "which way?" + +"I'm going--home." + +"Well, well, come along. I'm bound for the Reverend Kid myself. I've got +his mail in my pockets--and yours, too by thunder! You're too diverting, +Miss Drew, you took my thoughts off business. Come on." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Joyce, waiting in the solitude of the shack under the pines, heard and +saw little of what was going on in St. Ange. She was living at high +pressure, and she had not even the relief of companionship to divert her +from her lonely vigils. + +Naturally the exhilaration of the night that Gaston left her, passed and +the dull monotony of the daily tasks performed perfunctorily with no +charm of another's approbation and sharing, lost the power of holding +her thoughts. + +She ate, and made tidy the little house in quite the old way, but the +large dreaming eyes looked beyond the narrow confines, and grew pathetic +as they searched the white fields and hidden trails off toward the +Northern and Southern Solitudes. + +Which way had he gone? From which direction would he return? Everything +was ready for him--it always had been since the night he left--and she, +herself, once the daily routine was over, donned her prettiest garments, +not the golden gown! and waited either by the glowing fire or by the +little windows. + +Early in the day following Gaston's departure, she had discovered the +key in the lock of the chest! The sight for a moment, made her tremble. + +Had he left it by mistake? Had he left it designedly, now that he had +taken her completely into his confidence? + +But had he? Joyce flushed and paled at the thought. After all, what had +he really told her? She did not know, even, his true name nor the place +from which he had come. + +No; she knew very little. Shaken from his indifference by her beauty and +charm into a realizing sense of the woman he had helped to form, Gaston +had indeed broken his silence and voiced the one great tragedy of his +life to her--and she had superbly stood the test; but that was all! + +In the chest lay, perhaps the rest! His name; the name of those who had +taken part in all that had gone before the terrible time of his trouble. +For a moment a paralyzing temptation came to Joyce to solve for herself, +by the means at hand, the mystery which still surrounded the man she +loved with a completeness and abandon that controlled every thought and +act of her life. But it was only a momentary weakness. Her love shielded +her from any shortcoming that could possibly lower her. + +Bravely she walked up to the chest, and proved herself by trying the lid +to see if the chest were unlocked. It was. Gaston had not even taken +that precaution. + +Joyce smiled--all was now safe with her. She would never feel tempted +again. It became a comfort to sit near the chest. She deserted the +living room and made a huge fire upon Gaston's hearth. Evenings she took +her book or sewing there, and the chest with its secrets seemed like a +friend who, from very nearness of comradeship, had no need to speak its +hidden thoughts. + +In the desolation of the mid-winter loneliness, the pale woman grew to +feel, when in Gaston's room, a high courage and strength. Everything +would come out right. Details were not to be considered. Gaston had +always been all-powerful; he would conquer now. What did the waiting +count? He, meanwhile, was tracing Jude. Soon he would return, having +freed her from every evil thing of the past. He would find her as he had +left her--a woman fitted by a great love to follow whither he led. + +And then--as the long evenings pressed silently cold and dark around the +shack, her fancy ran riot. All that she had yearned for; all, all that +the books had suggested, she was to see. Mountain peaks and roaring +ocean; strange people like, yet so unlike, Gaston. To think that all +this was going to happen to her--old Jared's little Joyce. + +A few days after Gaston's departure Jock Filmer walked into the shack +quite as easily as if months had not passed without a sight of him; he +came almost daily afterward. It was like Jock to assume the new +relation in this easy, companionable way. + +Joyce was grateful. This was but another proof of Gaston's greatness. + +"Everything going straight, Joyce?" The question came one day while the +keen eyes were taking in the store of wood, water and other necessaries. + +"Everything, Jock; and the store-room is stocked. Sit down--and tell me +the news." + +Joyce was not particularly interested, but it would put Jock at ease. + +Jock gracefully flung himself into Gaston's chair. The two were, of +course, in the living room. + +"There's company up to the bungalow," he spoke from the fullness of his +heart; "a widder girl." + +"A--a widow?" Joyce was for a moment perplexed. + +"Yes. She don't look a day older than Drew's sister, and she's powerful +cheerful for an afflicted person. But maybe she ain't afflicted. They +ain't, always. She looks as if she was dressing up in them togs for fun, +and at first glimpse it strikes one as sacrilegious. Something like a +kid using holy words in its play." + +Joyce smiled. After all it was good to have the dear human touch, even +if the vital spark were lacking. + +"Is--the widow-girl pretty, Jock?" she asked in order to detain Filmer. + +"Well," a line came between Jock's eyes, "that's the puzzler. Now Drew's +sister--" Jock spoke in this detached way of Constance Drew for +self-defense--"Drew's sister stands for what she is; a good, honest, +handsome girl. You own up to that and that's the end of it. This one +sets you thinking. Is she, or ain't she pretty? you keep putting to +yourself. Do you like her, or don't you? Is she thinking about what +you're saying, or ain't she? That's the way your mind works when you are +with her, till it seems a plain waste of time, and riles you way down to +the ground. I like a woman what, having passed up her personality, lets +you alone as to further guessing 'less you have a mind to guess. Joyce!" + +"Yes, Jock." + +"They want you up to the bungalow to help along with the Christmas +doings. I never saw such happenings in all my life. All St. Ange is +going to see what's what for once. Presents for everybody; big party at +the bungalow Christmas night; the overflow is going even to reach up to +the camps. Boxes and barrels arriving every day from down the State. +Lord, but you should see Tom Smith's curiosity! There are big doings. +They call it a kind of thanksgiving for the Reverend Kid's recovery; and +they want you." + +Joyce started back. She was interested, but only as it was apart from +herself. + +"Oh, Jock!" she cried. "I couldn't. I just couldn't." + +"I thought you couldn't," Jock returned calmly; "and you shan't if you +don't want to." + +"Thank you. Don't let them feel hurt, but I could not go." + +Jock cast a sympathetic glance toward her; and changed the subject. + +"It's wonderful the grip that weak little Reverend has already got on +this town," he went on. "He's a sly one. Preaching ain't in it with the +undercurrent he's let loose here. It's just sapping the foundations of +society. It's setting free a lot of good stuff, but it's striking Tate +an all-fired blow." + +"Tell me about it, Jock. It seems as if I had been asleep a--long +while." + +"Well there are sermons _and_ sermons." Jock was flattered by the look +in Joyce's large eyes. "If the Reverend Kid had opened shop in the +regular way, Tate and his pals would have downed him in no time; but +what you going to do about sermons that are slipped in with talks to +women over their wash-tubs, and what not? + +"Him and me was going by Falstar's the other day, and Peggy was washing +uncommon hard. Drew, he steps close to the tubs and says he, 'I tell +you, Mrs. Falstar, I don't know no better religion than getting the +spots out instead of slighting them. It's like the little Scotch girl +who said she knew when she got religion, for she had to sweep under the +mats.' Peggy was all a-grin, and Lord! how she went at it. Later, she +attacked the mats. It had set her thinking. I saw 'em hanging out, and +she beating them as she must often feel like beating Pete." A real laugh +greeted this, and Jock glowed with approval. + +"And then what does that young lunger do, but gather in all the floating +population in the kid line, and play games with 'em, and read thrillers +to 'em up at the bungalow every evening. He's teaching them as wants to +learn, too. He's got Tate flamgasted. You see, the old man depended, for +the future, on them youngsters that haunted the tavern and got the +drippings that fell from within. The Black Cat Tavern Kindergarten is +busted, and the Bungalow stock is going up." + +"Kindergarten? What's that, Jock?" + +"Oh, it's a new-fangled idea in the way of schools. Sort of breaking up +the ground for later planting." + +"Who told you about it?" + +"Why--Drew's sister." Jock's face looked stern and he gazed into space. + +"It's a splendid idea, Jock." Joyce's interest was keen enough now. +"Some one, even St. Ange's folks, should have seen how fine it is to +keep the children away from the tavern. How we have let everything +drift! Why Jock, if the boys and girls learn to hate the Black Cat; if +they are given something good, why of course St. Ange is going to be +another kind of place. Does Miss Drew help in teaching?" + +"Does she?" Poor Jock smiled pitifully in his effort to appear +unconcerned. "They sit at her feet lost to everything but what she tells +'em. Billy Falstar, before he left to be a camp fiddler, was a reformed +brat. She had smote him hip and thigh, and finished him, as far as a +career of crime is concerned. Do you know, he went up to see her with +his red hair plastered down with lard until it was a dull maroon colour; +his square cotton handkercher was perfumed with kerosene, and I tell you +he was a sight and a smell to remember; but Drew's sister stood it +without a word. She told me afterward that it was a proof +conclusive--them's her words--of Billy's redemption. + +"I saw the brat the day he started for camp. I tell you the ginger was +all out of Billy. When he was obliged to swear he did it in whispers." + +"Poor Billy! He's pretty young to begin camp life. There's good in +Billy. I wish Mr. Drew would make Peter send him to school." + +"That's what he's planning to do." + +Soon after this, when Jock started to go, he said: "So everything's fit +for a spell?" + +"Everything Jock, until--" + +They looked at each other mutely. Then Jock put his hand out awkwardly +and took Joyce's. + +"Good-bye," he said quietly. His manner puzzled the girl. + +"Life's a queer jamboree," he laughed lightly. "It's a heap easier to +stand it if you give yourself the hope of cutting it if you find the +pace too fast. So 'good-bye' is always in order even if you're going to +drop in to-morrow. Good-bye." + +Joyce walked with him to the door. "Good-bye," she said with a growing +doubt in her heart; "good-bye, Jock--and I can never tell you how I +thank you." + +It was many a long day before Joyce was to see Filmer again, and she +always felt that she knew it as she saw him pass beyond the pines after +that "good-bye." + + * * * * * + +Perhaps it was the boyish longing for Christmas cheer that struck such a +deadly blow at the heart of Billy, the fiddler, in Camp 7. Perhaps it +was the arrow that smites all, sooner or later. Be that as it may, as +Christmas drew near the mournful tunes Billy managed to saw from his +fiddle got on to the nerves of the men. + +From remarks aimed at his efforts, pieces of wood and articles of +clothing were aimed at him, and Billy's life became a burden in the +dull, deep woods. + +"I can't make jigs come," he whined one evening, "when I'm chock full of +hymn tunes." + +"You'll be chock full of cold lead if you fill this hull camp with them +death dirges," warned one man who was bearing about all he could anyway. + +"I wish to--I just wish I was plugged full of lead--and done for," was +Billy's unlooked-for reply; and then, to the surprise of all, he bent +his red curls over the fiddle and wept as only a homesick youngster can +weep when the barriers of his fourteen years are down, and the flood has +its way. + +That night, Billy in his bunk, sleepless and consumed with longing for +home and the excitement of the bungalow element, planned desertion. At +midnight he crept to the larder and packed enough food to last for a +couple of days, at four o'clock he stole from the sleeping-shed, and, +cheered by the unanimous snores that rang in his ears, he turned his +freckled, determined face toward St. Ange and the one absorbing passion +of his life. + +The outlook of the Solitude at four in the morning was not an altogether +cheerful one even to ambitious youth. Indeed there was little, if any, +outlook. + +Blackness around; cold starlight overhead. Snow and ice everywhere +except on the trail that a "V" plow had made through the forest. + +It was cruelly still and lonely. "Gawd," said Billy raising his eyes to +the emptiness above him, "you see me to the end of this, and, by gosh! +I'll swear to go to Hillcrest to school." + +From irreligious depravity, Billy had risen to reverent heights, and +Hillcrest restraint was beautiful in his thought, as a method of +preparing him for--Her. + +A fear he had never known had birth in Billy's heart then as he slipped +and slid down the icy trail that had been flooded and frozen for the +passage of the logs. Even his unprotected boyhood had been shielded from +four-o'clock journeys in the wintry woods heretofore. + +The only help Billy could draw from the situation was, that so far he +could refrain from whistling. When in this tense state a boy is reduced +to whistling all hope for strength is gone. + +A distant groan; swish! ah! ah! and crash! rent the stillness. The boy +drew his breath in sharp. + +"D---- blast that tree!" gurgled he, "what did it have to fall for now?" + +Suddenly a deer darted across the trail and turned its wondering eyes on +the small brother of the woods. Billy's spirits rose. The wild things +were friends. The boy's depravity had always been redeemed by a lack of +cruelty. + +A little farther on the way, Billy seated himself on a fallen log, and +cheered his inner man by a "bite of breakfast." Presently a shy, wild +creature drew near; took note and courage and scurried to Billy's feet. +With generous hand the boy shared his early meal, and made a familiar +noise that further won the little animal's confidence. + +Billy had his plans well laid. There was a lumberman's hut a day's walk +from the camp; he must make that by night. There would be a rough bed +and chopped wood; he could sleep and rest and then, if all went well, he +ought to make St. Ange by the end of the following day, particularly if +he got a "lift," which was not impossible. + +Just then, for the morning was beginning to show through the gaunt +trees, a bird-note sounded. Billy rose quickly--there was no time to +waste. Sometimes a bird sounded that warning when a storm was near. It +would never do for him to face a storm so far from shelter. + +All that day Billy trudged on. Fortunately it was a constant, though +gradual, decline and the journey was made easier. He ate occasionally, +and gained courage and strength, but it was nearly nine o'clock--though +Billy was not aware of it--before the landmarks proved his hope +true--the woodman's hut was near at hand. + +The boy had all the keenness of his age and environment. He knew that +others besides himself might avail themselves of the shelter, and he had +reason for choosing his company; so, before he reached the house, he +took to tip-toeing, and keeping clear of the underbrush. + +The hut had one small window, before which hung a dilapidated shutter by +a rusty hinge. The door opened, Billy knew, into a little passage from +which the room door opened, and from which a rickety ladder led up to a +loft, unused and apparently useless. + +As the boy neared the house his trained senses detected the smell of +fire and the sound of muffled voices. He crept to the window, and +through the broken shutter saw two figures crouching by the blazing +logs, but the faces were turned away, and the gloom of the room made it +impossible for Billy to decide whether the men were familiars or +strangers. + +Meanwhile the wind was rising with a storm in its keeping; there was +nothing to do but seek refuge, for, until he could determine his further +course, Billy decided to take to the loft in order to reconnoitre. + +Cautiously he made his way to the door, lifted the latch and gained the +entry. There he paused, for the voices had ceased speaking and the boy +feared that he had been heard. After a moment he concluded it was safer +to be in the loft in case the men were suspicious, so he hurriedly +mounted the ladder and crawled along the dusty floor of the space +overhead. + +Gratefully, to his half-frozen form, the heat from below rose, and with +it came the odour of frying bacon, and the sound of sizzling fat. + +Fortune was still further with Billy. There was a pile of discarded +bedding and clothing on the floor. If worst came he could stay where he +was and be partially comfortable. + +As he reached this conclusion a voice from below caused his heart to +stand still. + +"I thought I'd seen the last of yer. You got all I had--what more do you +want with me?" + +It was Jude Lauzoon who spoke. + +"See here, son"; and the smooth tones filled Billy with an old fear; +"that was all a big mistake. My hand was out of the game. St. Ange had +taken the nerve out of me. I've got my steam up now." It was Jared +Birkdale! and Billy had hoped he was never to see the man again. From +his babyhood up, a look from Jared had had power to quell him when a +blow from another might fail. + +"Well, I ain't got nothing more to give you." Jude sounded sullen and +ugly. + +Through a crack in the floor Billy could see that it was Jude who was +preparing the evening meal, while Jared, as usual, was taking his ease, +and discoursing at his leisure. + +"You've got more to give than what you know Jude, my boy. What you doing +here, anyway?" + +"You see what I'm doing. Here, take this hunk of bread, and come nearer +so I can flip the bacon on." + +The sight and smell made Billy's mouth water, even while something in +him foretold danger. + +"Now, see here, Jude." Jared spoke through a full mouth. "You and me +can't afford to work at cross purposes. Where we failed once, we are +going to succeed next time." + +"You darsn't show your face down there beyond the woods again, and you +know it." Jude spoke doggedly. "They was after us both. Besides I can't +stand transplanting. It would be the death of me. It nearly was." + +"Don't be white-livered, Jude. You see the laws have changed more than +any one could have thought, while I was browsing away in St. Ange. +That's where I made my mistake. I ought to have taken time and got the +lay of the land 'fore I beckoned to you; but it looked safe enough, and +I had to take, or leave the Joint, sudden. How could any man know it was +spotted, and so had to be got rid of? It was one on us and no mistake. + +"Fill up my cup, Jude, you're a tasty one with cooking." + +Jude obeyed and muttered as he did so: "Luck or no luck, I ain't got +nothing, nor ever will have again, so that's an end of it." + +"Jude, where you going to?" + +"Where be you?" + +Up aloft Billy waited. + +"I'm going to St. Ange." There was defiance in Jude's tone--defiance and +a sort of shame; Jude had again lost his grip. + +"I've just come from there," said Jared. + +And now Billy could see through his peephole that Jude started into +life. + +"You been there?" + +Jared gurgled assent. + +"How is--she?" + +"That's it, Jude. Now let's get down to business. Having to hide +somewhere after that little unpleasantness down State, I ran up to St. +Ange. Knowing the way about, it was a better place than some others, and +I could keep from sight and find things out. I stopped at Laval's +haunted shack." Billy shivered. "I kept clear of my place." + +"Guess you wasn't disturbed none at Laval's," sneered Jude and he gave +an unpleasant laugh. + +"'Twas blasted cold, and I had the devil's time getting enough at night +to keep me going by day; but I learned a heap, and I struck your gold +mine all right, sonny." + +"What you mean? Spit it out." + +Billy crouched closer, and his breath came thick and fast. + +"He's--left her!" + +"Gaston?" An ugly oath escaped Jude. + +"Gaston. But not for what you think. Jude, he's after you." Jared paused +for effect. + +"After me?" The ugliness gave place to a dull fear. + +"You, my son. He wants you to free Joyce." Evidently this announcement +failed to reach Jude's intelligence. + +"Free her? Me? What's got you, old man? Didn't she cut, herself?" + +"You don't catch on, Jude. He wants to do the big, white thing by the +girl--marry her out of hand clean and particular, and he wants to get +your word that you won't make any trouble." + +A silence followed this. Jude was struggling to digest it; but the +result was simple. + +"Well, by thunder! Won't he have to pay high for it?" + +There was excitement and feverish energy in Jude's voice now. + +"Maybe he'll fling a bone to you--but don't you see, son, you can hold +off and make him pay, and pay and pay? + +"Now tell me, so true as you live, what was _you_ going down to St. Ange +for?" + +"I was going down to"--Jude hesitated. "Well, I was tired of being +hounded, and having to hide and starve. I was going down to get--what--I +could--and no questions asked." A foolish laugh followed. Beside Jared's +subtlety, Jude seemed a babbling infant with feeble aims. + +Jared was contemptuous. + +"Gosh darn it, Jude! It's good I fell across your path again. You might +have thrown away the one, great, shining opportunity of your life. +Listen to _my_ plans. You better stay where you are, and let me run this +here show. I got the tracks all laid out. I'm sort o' inspired where it +comes to plotting for them I love. I'm going to write a touching letter +to her. It's going to state that Gaston is laid up from an accident in a +hut, further up to the north. A lumberman is going to write the +letter--catch on? and she's wanted up to Gaston's dying bedside. The +lumberman is going to meet her at Laval's. When she's caught safe and +sure, Jock Filmer--he's the go-between in all this--will get that +information, or the part about her going away, to Gaston; then the +game's in our hands. If Gaston means business, he'll pay what _we_ say. +If he ain't sharp set as to a big figger, we've got Joyce; and by +thunder! who's got a better right? Then we'll make tracks, after the +spring freshet, to another place I know of where laws is stationary and +folks ain't over keen, and where a handsome woman like Joyce will help. +I've got money enough left from the wreck to tide us over, my +son--unless Gaston planks down." + +All this completed Billy's demoralization. His teeth chattered louder, +and for the life of him he could not control an audible sound, half sob, +half sigh. But Jude was evidently as much overpowered as Billy, for the +boy suddenly heard him emit an oath, and then a volley of questions +designed to clear the air after Jared's storm of eloquence. + +"She'll come, all right." Jared had his answers ready. "It's an +all-fired queer state of things down there to St. Ange. You and me ain't +never struck Gaston's kind before. Joyce'll go when he calls, and don't +you forget it--all I've got to do is to make the lumberman's letter real +convincing. + +"Sure! I'm the lumberman, all right. Camp up north? Nothing. I'll land +her here where her rightful and loving husband will be waiting for her +till further developments. How did I find out the lay of the land? Gosh! +that was a tight squeeze. I found out he was over to Hillcrest, Gaston +you know; and I run up, after dark to his shack, planning to get a haul +from Joyce. I got into the back kitchen while she was outside, and +before I could get away--in walks Gaston. What I saw and heard that +evening, Jude, ain't necessary here, but it blazed our trail, boy, and I +cut later--taking more than I planned for." Birkdale breathed hard. "You +leave Gaston to me, curse 'im! + +"Make trouble for us? How in thunder is a man to make trouble for a +husband who is taking his own wife to his dishonoured bosom? Lord! Jude, +you've got about as much backbone as an angle worm. + +"What?" Some muttered words followed that Billy could not catch. Then-- + +"Trust me! Does any one know to this day, you blamed fool, who shot that +government detective that was snooping into that clearing you and me +made--five years back? Gaston'll pay or you'll take one of them +never-failing shots of yours, and----" + +It had been a hard day for Billy, and he was only fourteen. + +The low, smoke-filled loft seemed to draw close about him, and it +smothered the life out of him. He thought he screamed, but instead, an +unseen power laid a kindly hand upon his trembling mouth, and a pause +came in his troubled life. It was not sleep, nor was it faintness that +struck like death the frightened boy--but an oblivion, from which he +issued clear-headed and strengthened. + +When he again realized his surroundings he was cramped and cold, and +hungry as a wolf. From below two deep, unmusical snores rose +comfortingly. There was but one thing to do--and Billy must prepare for +it. + +He ate every crumb of food that remained in his bag; then he rubbed +himself until his numbness lessened. At last he was ready to set forth +for St. Ange, and, be it forever to his glory, Billy the Redeemed, had +only Joyce in mind when his grim little freckled face once more turned +toward home! + +Christmas, the joys of the bungalow, all, all were forgotten. It was a +big and an awful thing he had on hand, but he must carry it out to the +end. Floating gossip gained strength in Billy's memory as he trudged +through the black morning of that second hard day. + +Childhood was not much considered in St. Ange, but childhood protects +itself to a certain degree, and Billy had never fully understood what +the gossip about Joyce had meant. All at once he seemed to have become a +man; and, oh! thank God, a man with a warm heart. A kinship of suffering +and hope with Joyce made him wondrous tender. He'd stand by her. They +should all see what he could do. And that hated Jared Birkdale should be +driven forever from St. Ange. + +It was a long, dreary journey which Billy took that day. The plentiful +morning meal had beggared the future, but it had given the boy power to +start well. + +With daylight and home in view, although at a dim distance, Billy felt +that he controlled Fate. + +It would be some days before Jared could possibly get the letter to +Joyce. Long before it came he, Billy, would be on the spot, and nothing +could pass unnoticed before his eyes. + +At eight o'clock of that second day, the boy, worn to the verge of +exhaustion, staggered into his mother's kitchen, and almost frightened +Peggy to death by simply announcing: + +"I've cut, and I'll be eternally busted if I ever go back, so there! And +I'm starved." + +With the latter information Peggy could deal; the former was beyond her. +She prepared a satisfying repast for her son; noting, as she hovered +over him, the change that had come. He was no longer a child, therefore +he was to be respected. An awe possessed Peggy. The awe of Man as she +had ever known him. Her Billy was a man! Then she noticed how thin he +was, and how his mouth drooped, and how black the circles were under his +big eyes. + +Had they been cruel to him in camp? They could be so cruel; but then, +Billy was a favourite. + +What had happened? + +It was proof of Billy's spiritual and physical change that Peggy did not +cuff him and demand an explanation. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Billy ate long and uninterruptedly. Peggy supplied his demands before +they were voiced, and Maggie, the small and unimpressed sister, eyed him +from across the table with keen, unsympathetic stare. Occasionally she +made known her opinions with a calm, sisterly detachment that roused no +resentment in the new being who had hurled himself upon them. + +"You eat like a real pig," Maggie remarked with a sniff. She was being +trained for the bungalow fete, and she had suffered in the process. + +Billy eyed her indifferently. + +"Push them 'taters nearer," was all he replied. + +"Your father'll kill you," Peggy ventured timidly, as she filled Billy's +cup for the fourth time with a concoction which passed in St. Ange for +coffee, because Leon Tate so declared it. + +"No, he won't, neither," Billy said; "nobody ain't ever going to kill +me, never!" + +He turned a tense, defiant face to his mother, but there was something +in his eyes that drew tears to Peggy's. She came behind his chair and, +half afraid, let her hand rest upon his thin shoulder. + +Wonder of wonders! Billy did not shake off the unfamiliar caress. On +the contrary he smiled into the work-worn face above him. + +"Ain't Billy terrible speckled when the tan's off?" Maggie broke in, +"and his hair's as red as my flannel petticoat." + +Peggy cast a threatening glance at her daughter. + +"Clear off the table!" she commanded, for Billy was at last finished. + +Maggie set about the task with relief. Something was afoot that she +could not understand. Maggie was not spiritually constructed, but she +was going to be a woman some day! + +"Mother!" Generally Billy addressed her as "say!" "Mother, I'm going +over to Hillcrest to school. I'm going to work when I can, and--make +somewhat of myself." + +Maggie dropped a cup, and, because she happened to be near her mother, +Peggy relieved her own feelings by boxing the girl's ears. Then she +turned again to her man-child and stared stupidly. + +Poor downtrodden Peggy! She was at a crisis of motherhood that is common +to high and low. Since Mary of Galilee found her son in the Temple +questioning Wisdom, and with awe beheld that he was no longer her little +child, the paralyzing question, "What have I to do with thee?" has set +maternity back upon itself over and over again, in order that the +suddenly arrived Man might be upon "his Father's business." + +"Going to--make--something of yourself?" + +Peggy's trembling hands groped feebly, and then, thank heaven! Billy +drew near and glorified this new, but lonely place of his own creation. + +"You've done your best, mother; I see it now, but I was--I ain't going +to say what I was--but I'm going to be something different; and you're +going to help me now, like you always have." + +A pain gripped Peggy's throat, and the room whirled about. Then the mist +cleared from the dim eyes and Hope lighted them. + +"Son," she said solemnly, "I am. I don't quite see how, but the way will +be opened. Go in, now, and rest; you look clean done for." + +It was humiliating, but Billy had to feel his way to the door of the +bedchamber beyond. + +Alone with her daughter, Peggy's Vision on the Mount faded. + +"Billy's aged terrible," she said to Maggie, who was still sulking +because of the boxed ear. + +"I know what's the matter with him." Maggie's lynx-eyes glittered. "I +found some po'try he writ on the back of the wood-shed door. He thought +nobody but him ever went there. It's grand po'try." + +Maggie struck an attitude, and drawled: + + My heart feels like a chunk of rock + When I am far from you, + But when you trip acrost my vision + My heart melts same as du. + +"I learned that in one morning!" Maggie proudly declared. "I don't care +if he is my brother, that's grand." + +Peggy dropped helplessly in her chair. She had never looked for glory in +her modest dream. That Billy should escape the degradation of the Black +Cat, and that Maggie might have a lighter cross than her own to carry, +had been the most she had plead for when she had had time to pray; and +now--why God had crowned her lot by children who were undoubtedly +geniuses! Maggie, too, had a circle of light about her head. And it had +all dawned upon Peggy in a flash of an eye. + +"You ain't sick to your stomach, are you, mother?" + +Peggy repudiated this with scorn. + +"Maggie," she said softly, "I want that you should write that out real +plain for me, in print. I'm going to take it up to the bungalow." + +"Billy'll cuss us." Maggie turned coward. + +"Oh! I ain't going to let Mr. Drew think Billy done it." Peggy was +waxing bold. "I'm going to tell him it was writ by a noted po'try-maker, +and I want to find out what his views is as to its fineness." + +Maggie looked dubious. + +"He might guess," she said. + +"How _could_ he?" Peggy raised her face ecstatically. Then Maggie came +close to her mother. + +"Ma," she whispered, "don't you know why Billy writ that, and why he +wants to get learning, and what not?" + +"No," gasped Peggy, and she felt that the heavens were about to open. + +"He wants to be different so he can spark--her!" + +"Spark?" Peggy panted inanely as if the word were of foreign tongue. + +"Yep, spark." + +"Her?" + +"Yep. Her. Miss Drew." + +Peggy's jaw dropped. + +Since the sudden opening of the door, and Billy's unlooked-for entrance, +events had crowded upon Peggy Falstar's horizon. + +Her children had been translated. She felt desolate and stricken, +although her heart glowed with pride as she viewed them from afar. In a +last attempt to cling to her familiar attitude toward Maggie at least, +Peggy vaguely remarked: + +"I wonder if your being a girl makes you such a plain fool?" + +"I 'spose it might," Maggie returned indifferently. + +"Well," her mother continued, "don't you go upsetting Billy with any of +your fool ideas." + +"I ain't going to hurt 'im." Maggie tossed her head. + +"Hurt him!" Peggy sniffed. "You lay this up for future hatching, Maggie +Falstar. You, me, nor nobody ain't ever going to hurt him again and +_know_ it. What hurts he gets, from now on, he ain't going to howl +about." + +Just then the supposedly slumbering Billy came out of the inner room. +Mother and sister eyed him critically. He was magnificently attired in +all the meagre finery he could call into service. What he lacked in +attire he made up in the grooming. Billy shone. Billy was plastered. +Billy smelled to high heaven of soap and kerosene. But there was that +about Billy which checked Maggie's ribald jeers, and the mother's +question as to where he was going. + +However, Billy was magnanimous in his power. He turned at the outer door +and satisfied his mother's curiosity. + +"Anything you want sent up to Joyce's?" + +"Joyce's?" gasped Maggie. "Joyce's?" + +Billy held her with a glance. + +"Joyce's," he repeated. Then receiving no reply, he went out into the +still, cold night. + +Billy felt like a man who held the fortune of many in the hollow of his +hand. + +Knowing the ways of St. Ange men he felt sure the letter from "the +backwoodsman" to Joyce would be several days, or a week, in +materializing, perhaps much longer. It was for him to be ready and +watchful; but there was no immediate call for action. His sympathies +were so largely aroused for Joyce, that he meant to overcome his +yearning to be with the object of his passion, and on that first night +he intended going to Gaston's shack and setting Joyce right about the +future and his own part in the drama. + +Billy realized that he must shield himself. Birkdale and Lauzoon must +never know of his presence in the hut. Joyce, Billy felt sure, would +cooeperate with him. If he and she could find Gaston, all might be safe +and well; but while Gaston was absent, danger lurked. However, Joyce +must refuse to meet "the backwoodsman"; after that they two, Billy and +Joyce, must find a path that connected Gaston with them, and make him +secure from the plots of the evil Birkdale and the weak, foolish Jude of +the unerring shot. + +All this Billy thought upon as he strode forward whistling comfortably, +and his chest swelling proudly. + +It was one thing to whistle on the highway of St. Ange, and quite +another to whistle in the wilds of the North Solitude. + +Billy was full of creature comfort, and the scattered lights of the +houses gave cheer and a feeling of security to the boy. + +The Black Cat's twinkling eyes had no charm for Billy. They were never +to have a charm for him; but as he neared the bungalow his whistle grew +intermittent and his legs had an inclination in one direction while his +heart sternly bade him follow another. Then, without really being aware +of his weakness, Billy found himself knocking on the bungalow door, and +his heart thumped wildly beneath the old vest of his father's which he +wore closely buttoned under the coat he had painfully outgrown. + +In response to his knock, the wide, hospitable door was flung open, and +Billy faced a stranger who quite unnerved him, by the direct and pointed +question: + +"Why, good evening, little boy; what do _you_ want?" + +The glow from within set Billy's senses in a mad whirl, but the "little +boy" was like a dash of cold water to his pride and egotism. + +"I--I--want--her!" Poor Billy was in a lost state. + +"It is--I do believe it is my delectable Billy." + +It was _her_ voice, and it floated down to the boy at the gate of +Paradise, from the top of a step-ladder. Halfway up the ladder Jock +Filmer stood with his hands full of greens and his eyes full of +laughter. + +"Billy, come up and be welcomed. Get down Jock, you've had your turn." + +His turn! A fierce hate rose in Billy's heart; but the stranger closed +the door behind him; Aunt Sally and the minister were saying kind things +to him, and informing him that the angel who had admitted him was Mrs. +Dale, the Fairy of Christmas, and a great admirer of little boys. + +Little boys! Were they bent on insulting him? + +Jock descended with that laugh of his that always disturbed Billy's +preconceived ideas. Then Billy was facing _Her_ as she bent to meet him +halfway. + +The glad smile passed slowly from Constance Drew's face. The others, +below, were talking and forgetting the two upon the ladder. + +"Why--Billy--have you--been sick?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"Did they let you come home for Christmas?" + +"No, ma'am. I jest cum." + +Constance looked long at him, and at last the laugh was gone even from +her dear eyes. + +"Billy," she said softly, laying her hands on his shoulders, "you've +been keeping your word to me, about swearing, and--and all the rest?" + +"Yes'm." + +"It's been hard, too, dear, I know; but it has made you into +something--better." And then with a shining look on her face she bent +and kissed him. + +The heat rushed all over Billy's body, following a cold perspiration. +His mouth twitched, and a maddening feeling of tears rose to his +smarting eyes. + +"I'm--going--over--to--Hillcrest school!" He whispered feebly, "I'm +going--to get--learnin', an' things." + +"Oh! Billy!" + +"Yes'm." + +"Oh! my dear Billy." + +But such moments in life are brief. They are only permitted as +propellers for all the other plain moments which are the common lot. +Billy and Constance came down from the heights morally, spiritually and +physically and joined the commonplace things below. + +There was corn to pop, and candy to make. There were boxes to unpack, +and goodies to eat; so was it any wonder that Joyce and her poor affairs +should be relegated to a place outside this Eden? + +Then, too, Jock complicated matters. He was shameless in his mirth and +jokes. Even the stranger-lady with her wonderful aloofness could not +daunt him, but Billy fiercely resented his attentions to the girl for +whom he, Billy, had forsaken all else. + +To leave the field to Jock was beyond the strength of mere man, so they +stayed it out together, and left the bungalow in company just as the +clock struck twelve. + +It was then that the events of the past forty-eight hours began most to +tell upon Billy. His exhausted nerves played him false, and cried out +their desperate state. + +As he and Jock left the warm, scented room behind them, and faced +the white, still cold of an apparently dead St. Ange, the boy turned +a drawn face upon Jock, and cried tremblingly, "Say, you +better--keep--yer--hands--off!" Jock stood still, and returned Billy's +agonized stare with one equally grim. + +"I've just reached that conclusion myself, Billy," he said, with every +trace of his past mirth gone. + +Billy was hoisted on his own petard. + +Hatred fled before the sympathy he felt flowing from Jock to him. He +wanted to cry; wanted to fling himself upon his companion and "own up," +but Jock anticipated all his emotions. + +"See here, kid," he said in a voice new to St. Ange's knowledge of Jock; +"you're not the fellow to grudge a poor devil an hour or so of heaven. +There's the hope of an eternity of it for you; but for me there's going +to be only--the memory of this hour. Shake hands, old man, and take this +from me, straight. Keep yourself _fit_ to touch. Lay hold of that and +never let go. The more you care, the more you'll curse yourself, if you +don't. It's the only decent offering a man can take to a woman. +Everything else he can hope to gain afterward. A place for her, money, +and all the rest; but if he goes to her with dirty hands and a heart +full of shame, nothing can make up for it--nothing! + +"Billy--I'd give you all I ever hoped to have here or hereafter if I +could begin to-night where you are--and with the power to _want_ to keep +straight." + +Billy shivered and looked dumbly, pathetically into the sad face above +him. He had nothing to say. When Jock next spoke he was more like +himself. + +"Billy, will you see to a little business for me, and keep mum?" + +This was quite in the line of the over-burdened Billy, and he accepted +off-hand. + +"I may--go--into camp before Christmas." + +"Don't yer!" advised the boy magnanimously. "I ain't ever going to care +again. You can stay here." Jock forbore to smile, but he laid his hand +on Billy's shoulder. + +"There's two big stacks of young pine trees up to my shack done round in +bagging and ticketed to a place down the State. They're Christmas trees +for poor kids, and I want you to see to getting them off for me +to-morrow or next day, and if Tom Smith airs any remarks, you let on as +how they hailed from the bungalow; for that's God's truth, when all's +told." + +"They'll go, Jock, you bet!" Billy gulped. + +Curiosity was dead within him. Human suffering gave him an insight that +soared above idle questioning. + +"And Billy, there's another thing. I want you to go to Gaston's shack; +tote water and wood for Joyce--and keep your mouth shut. And lay this by +in your constitution. Gaston is a man so far above anything God ever +created round here, that you can't understand him, but you _can_ try to +chase off the dirty insects that want to sting him. Catch on?" + +"Yes"; murmured Billy, while unfulfilled duty clutched his vitals with +remorse. + +"I'm--I'm going up to Gaston's to-morrow," he said. + +"And now, you old rip," Filmer shook off his strange mood, "walk up to a +fellow's bunk with him. It's good to keep clean company when you +can--and for as long as you can." + +"Shall--shall I stay all night with you?" + +Billy asked this doubtfully from the new instinct that was stirring +within him. For an instant a gleam of pleasure lighted Filmer's face. It +almost seemed like a yearning, then he said roughly: + +"No, get home! You're afraid? If you are I'll turn back." + +"What you take me for?" Billy sniffed scornfully, and then they parted +company. + + * * * * * + +It was just when the hands of the clock in Drew's study pointed to +half-past twelve, that the young master, sitting before the glowing +logs, bestirred himself preparatory to turning in for the night. + +A satisfied feeling had kept him up after the others had bade good +night. He always enjoyed the anticlimax of pleasure, and the day had +been a happy one. + +He felt well. The companionship of the widowed wife of his closest +friend, added interest to the new life in the woods. She had brought +news and had awakened memories, but she had timed the Past and the +Present to perfect measure. At last he could hope that the old wound was +healed and that he could live among his people--his people! the thought +thrilled him--with purpose and content. The rough men and women about +him were drawing closer. He knew it in the innermost places of his +heart. He was brightening their lives. He was holding their children for +them, and opening a way for them to seek higher paths. It would all come +out as he desired. It was a splendid field of work that had been given +him--and he had rebelled so in his ignorance! + +How he wished that Philip Dale could have lived to see and know. Of all +the men whom he had known, Dale was the one man who could have +comprehended this opening for service. What a noble fellow he had been! +How his personality and charm struck one at the first glance. He had +been one of those men who claimed friends as they came his way, without +pledge of time or intimacy. He knew what was his own in life, and +gripped it without question or explanation. He had been the first to +understand Drew's ambition, so different from the ones of the social set +in which they both moved. + +"You'll always find me at your elbow, Drew," he had said, "in any scheme +you start." But when the time came--Dale had slipped out of life as +bravely and cheerfully as he had always lived. "And he had his own deep +trouble," Drew mused as he prepared to bank the fire; "he never talked +about it; but it made him what he was. One must go through some sort of +fire to be of real service." + +A light tap on the door startled him. He had been, in thought, far, far +from St. Ange. + +"Come!" + +The door opened slowly and Ruth Dale entered. + +She was all in white--a soft, long, trailing gown. Her hair had been +loosened from the coronet, and fell in two shining braids over her +shoulders. She looked very girlish as she came to the fire and dropped +into a deep chair. + +"Please put on more logs," she said softly. "Father Confessor, I've come +to confess." There was something under the playfulness that touched +Drew. "I told Connie that I wanted to talk to you about a plan of mine; +well, so it is, but I want you to put the stamp of your sage approval +upon it." + +Drew shook his head. + +"Hardly that," he said with a laugh, "but I'm willing to plot with you." + +"I always think of you now," Ruth Dale continued, leaning toward the +crackling logs, and holding her little benumbed hands open to the heat, +"as 'the man who lives in his house by the side of the road, and is a +friend to man'. Ralph, I need a friend! I must have one or I shall fail +in that which I have set myself to do." + +There was no lightness in the woman's manner now. She looked tragic; +almost desperate. + +Ralph Drew waited for her to go on. He was prepared to follow, but he +could not lead. + +Her youthfulness of appearance struck him now as it often had before; +but the worn look in the eyes emphasized it to-night. + +"You look tired, Ruth," he said kindly; "won't to-morrow--or"--for he +saw it was well on toward one o'clock--"later in the day do?" + +"Unless you are too weary to bide with me one little hour?" she replied +wistfully; "it had better be now." + +"You know what an owl I am, Ruth. With returning health my old habits +seem to gain strength. I sleep more satisfactorily if I do it after +midnight." He settled back comfortably in his chair, and the fire, +encouraged by several small logs, rose to the occasion. + +"I've been thinking about--Philip to-night." + +"Poor girl. It was a year ago! To remember Phil best, we should be +cheerful, but the subconscious sadness ran through all the evening's fun +for you--and me, Ruth." + +"Yes. Ralph, you only knew Phil a few years--never before he was +married?" + +"No, but he was one of those men who do not belong to time limit nor +letters of introduction. His own knew him at a glance. There was no time +to be lost with Phil. I've often noticed that faculty for deep and +ready friendship among people who are here for only a short life. Others +can afford to weigh and consider; they must garner quickly, and the +Master seems to have equipped them." + +"Ralph, was Phil a man that you felt you knew, really knew, I mean?" + +"Yes; as to essentials. I never saw any one so positive as to the high +lights. Honesty, truth, good faith, and a broad humanity. I always knew +he had trouble that he did not talk about; he hinted that much to me +once or twice, but the silence regarding it only intensified his own +personality, of which he gave lavishly." + +The woman bending toward the fire, shivered, and as her head sank lower, +one shining braid of hair dropped forward, shielding her face. + +"Ralph--I sometimes think the thing I have to do is the--hardest that +ever woman had to do." The words were uttered with a moan that drove +Drew into a silence more eloquent than any question he could have put. +He realized that the woman beside him must tread the rough path of +confession alone, and as she could. In his heart he prayed for strength +to be beside her when all was done. + +"If ever a sin saved, Philip's sin saved him, and yet he counted it as +nothing at the last. He bade me do for him what he could not do for +himself--I have never been able to begin until--to-night. He said--he +had no right to friends nor the trust and favour of love. But he never +was able to renounce them; I must strike them down one by one--now he is +gone. + +"I must do as he would have me do--I see the justice, if the end is to +be obtained, but thank God, I, who loved him--can still love him--and he +has been dead a year!" + +The pain-racked eyes looked straight into Drew's with a sort of +challenge. But Drew was too sincere a man to give, even to friendship, a +blind comfort and assurance. He merely smiled at the troubled glance, +and said quietly: + +"I am sure where you loved, there was much to love." + +"Yes; yes; that is true; and I begin to think the nobility of it all lay +in his unconsciousness of the splendid character he builded so patiently +and laboriously out of all the wreck. + +"Philip had a brother, Ralph! His name was never spoken. He was two +years older than Philip, and as different as it was possible for a +brother to be. + +"John was all strength and concentration; Philip all brightness and +charm--in the beginning! Their mother adored Philip; she never +understood John, and yet he was a good son, brave and faithful. But he +could not show his nature--it lay so far below the surface. It was +always easy for Philip. His charm attracted nearly everyone. My father +always liked John better. He said there was splendid power in him, +and--I must keep nothing from you, Ralph--I loved John--loved him, oh! +how I loved him. I pitied him because he could not win what should have +been his--I loved him for myself, and for all the others who were too +dull to realize his worth. It was like mother love and all the rest, in +one." + +"Yes; the most God-like love of all. Only women know it, I fancy," Drew +murmured. + +"And then"; the agonized eyes seemed to plead even while they confessed, +"then the awful thing happened. John took--he stole many thousands of +dollars from men who trusted and honoured him." + +"Ruth!" + +"I could never have believed it, but he told me so himself. To the day +of his death my father believed the half had never been told, but how +could I think that, when John told me himself that he was guilty? Father +was a judge--he was to have been the judge before whom John Dale was +tried, but they relieved him of that horrible duty. John Dale was +sentenced to five years--in prison! They said it was a light sentence." + +"My God! Poor Phil! How terrible for you all!" + +"Don't! don't!" Ruth Dale put out her hands as if warding off a blow. +"Haven't you guessed? Can you not think?" + +Drew shook his head slowly. He did not seem to be able to think at all. + +"Mrs. Dale died soon after. She had a weak heart--it killed her. Philip +was everything to her--he was heavenly good in his attention and +devotion. Somehow, I wonder what you will think of me, but suddenly I +became possessed with a passion for making happier them whom John had +blighted. I grappled with my own love--I knew it would kill me if I let +it gain power over me. I knew I never could be anything to John--I was +not the sort of woman, Ralph, who could love the sinner--forgetting the +sin. I could forgive--I thought I could--but I remembered all the more +sharply. + +"Philip had always loved me. I saw my way. I would ignore the stigma on +the family, I would marry Philip and carry what joy I could to him and +his mother. My father tried to restrain me. He called me martyr, +sacrifice, and all the rest, but I married--and I know I took comfort +into poor Mrs. Dale's life, and--I never doubted what I did for Philip. +But--" Ruth whispered the horrible secret--"John Dale _took_ the money +for--Philip! He never wanted it for himself. He never used one dollar of +it. It was Philip who ran the family honour, and his own, into +danger--he made it seem to John that to tide him over the critical hour +would be to save them all and bring no harm. But he was wrong. The +crash came. John never cringed under the blow. To his simple nature the +mere act was enough. He did not try to shield himself by one word of +explanation--he went away!" + +Drew's throat and eyes burned. He seemed to know all this like an +oft-told tale that still had power to awe and control him. + +"Then the years of agonized consecration began for Philip. I never knew +until a week before his death, but the memory scorches into my soul day +by day now. + +"You see I thought it was love for his brother, and the shame, that had +changed Philip--and _that_ endeared him to me. All the lightness and +carelessness of manner departed. A great, strong, tenderness took their +place. But you know, it was so that he came into your life. He had a +wide sympathy and charity, for all--oh! how it drew people to him. But +think of his suffering--alone and through all those years! + +"The money that was John's ruin was the force that brought success to +Philip. You see--he could not explain--at least he thought he could not, +he was too cowardly--and the knowledge spurred him on. Wealth flowed in +and in. He paid, and with interest, all that had been taken. How the +world praised him--and how he suffered as they applauded him! He gave +great sums to charity--mostly to those charities that mitigate the +misery of--the outcasts. Men and women who come under the law. Can you +understand?" + +"Yes! yes!" Drew's head was buried in his thin hands. His voice was full +of anguish. + +"They used to come to him, those sad creatures,--and he never turned +them away. I have seen and heard them bless him as they knelt beside +him. He helped them so wisely because--oh! because he was--one of them, +and they never knew! Then the disease came--the cancer. I think he +welcomed it--it was so sure to open the door for him--and I think he +even loved the suffering as a kind of expiation. + +"Never once did a murmur escape him of impatience or regret. It was he +who cheered us. It was he who stood by my father's death-bed and +comforted him, and strengthened me. Always cheerful, always helpful +until--just before he went. When he knew the days were few--when the +coward in him--his last enemy--died, he told me everything. + +"He said--" a sob choked the words--"that I must find--John. I must lay +waste the beautiful memory of him. Show the _coward_ who had not been +able to stand before men! I must redeem the past as best I could. I must +begin with you--the friend he most loved--for you must help me +find--John." + +Ralph Drew rose weakly to his feet. Something had gone out of him. +Something that he groped after, but could not grasp. He felt as if he +and the stricken woman before him were lost upon a black and dangerous +road. Their only salvation was to cling together spiritually and bodily. +He caught the back of her chair for support, and bent over her. + +"Is there no one, who kept in touch with--the brother? Was he utterly +forsaken? God help him!" + +"They said it was his desire. But there was one--I never knew who it +was; that was part of the mystery--but some one claimed and claimed +money for him, for John. I knew sums of money were paid regularly, I +used to think it was another of Philip's charities--but I know now that +there was a constant lash laid upon him. Oh! if they had only known all. + +"Ralph, Philip left nearly all his fortune to his brother. There is only +my portion reserved for me. So you see I must find him. I was left sole +executor." + +"I will help you, Ruth." + +"I was sure you would. Philip spoke your name last; he said you could +see the man he tried to be, even in the man he was." + +"Yes! yes, a thousand times more than he ever hoped. What was the poor +crumbling shell compared to the splendid soul that he builded through +those horrible years? Years when he could not quite free himself from +the craven thing that was his curse--the fear! fear! fear!" + +The two were silent for a moment while the red glow showed them haggard +and worn. Then it was the woman who spoke. + +"Ralph--do you think a woman can love--really love--two men?" + +He stared at her. + +"Perhaps," he faltered; "perhaps, but in different ways." + +"I loved them both. When--when I find John--if he wants me--if he asks +me--I shall marry him." She shuddered. + +"Ruth!" + +"Yes; I think Philip would give him even--me. His renunciation was wide +and deep. He, the great, strong soul of him, went on--alone. It had no +real part with his weakness and all that was bound up in his +weakness--he wanted John to have everything of which he had deprived +him. You can understand, can you not? At the last, when fear had no +further power, he was almost mad in his abandon of recompense. + +"He did not tell me this, that awful night when he told me--the rest; +but I felt it. I saw that I, with all else that had meant anything to +him, was included in his shame; and the new nature that had evolved from +the agony and remorse--had nothing to do with us any more!" + +A deep sob shook the slim form. For a moment Ruth Dale rocked to and fro +in her misery, then she let the wild confession again have its way. + +"For myself--" the haunted eyes fixed themselves upon Drew's rigid +face--"for myself--in a strange fashion--and oh! you shall _not_ +misunderstand me, I want to give to him that which I withheld from him +when he needed it most. I want to bring back the gladness of life to +him--if I can," she gasped; "it has all been such a hideous nightmare. +If he wants me--if he wants me, he shall have me!" The words were flung +out defiantly, fiercely. + +Drew started to his feet, and went quickly to her. In all his life he +had never seen on a woman's face such desperation and remorse. + +As his friend's wife he had loved her as a sister. Her beauty had always +fascinated and charmed him. To see her now, cast adrift on this troubled +sea of love and fear, was a bitter, almost a terrifying sight. + +He bent over her, and raised her face firmly and gently with one +trembling hand. He felt that he must calm and steady her by physical +control. + +"Ruth," he said gently, but distinctly, "why do you look as you do? Tell +me, what is in your heart?" + +The woman tried to shrink from the hold he had upon her. He saw that the +vital point of her confession she would keep from him unless he +commanded, and, if the future were to be saved from the grip of the +miserable past, he and she must thoroughly understand each other. + +"Ruth, you must tell me everything." + +She panted, but no longer struggled mentally or bodily. + +"Because," she said, "even now, I could accept the man who was the true +sinner easier than the man who was sinned against! Not because of a +greater love; but because of the slime of the punishment that the one +was doomed to suffer. + +"That's what life has done for him--and me!" Again she shuddered. "Don't +you see, even when my heart is breaking with love for him--and the old +love is growing stronger as--as Philip seems to be going further from +me--I shall always think of the hideous--detail that--he suffered. It +was what Philip could not face--it is what I--must!" + +The words came pantingly, grudgingly and full of soul-terror. + +Drew sought for comfort to give to this poor, distracted woman whose +white, still face rested in the hollow of his hand, like a dead thing. + +"Ruth, you shall not lash yourself unnecessarily. God knows you have +borne the scourge of others bravely enough. It is not the detail alone +that rises before you, and keeps you from what you have set up as your +duty--it is the weakness of the man. That is the pitiful difference. The +sin is the sin--but the man who _planned_ was more the master, than he +who became the slave. Do not blame yourself entirely--can you not see, +it is the instinctive homage humanity pays to even an evil +interpretation of the Creator!" + +A blur, for an instant, shimmered over the beautiful, solemn eyes. + +"No." The woman would not shield herself in this hour. "No; for you +forget Philip's cowardice--and weakness. But he was not--smirched with +society's remedy for wrong-doing. No; even if I found John had come out +of the--the detail, strong and purified, I know, as God hears me, I +should always, when most he needed me, see the _prisoner_ instead +of--him. Oh! Oh! Oh!" + +She closed her eyes, and the great tears were pressed from under the +quivering lids. + +Drew for very pity released the suffering face, but his hand rested on +the bent shoulder. Then out of the strain of the black hour, he asked a +question that seemed to have no part in the present trouble; no meaning. + +"Ruth have you ever loved just for yourself--just because _you_ wanted +what you loved?" + +"Just for myself? Who ever does in this world, I wonder?" + +She sighed deeply, and sank back in the chair. + +It was over at last. There was nothing now to do but to take up her +cross and follow as she could; there was no more to be said. + +Drew waited for her a moment, still standing behind the chair. Then he +spoke clearly and firmly: + +"Ruth, in Phil's going he left our love to us; for we are permitted to +remember the splendid man in spite of the weakness which crippled him. +We must carry out every wish of his. I think when this is done--his +brave soul will be free from every earthly stain. The good he did; the +man he was, must claim recognition as well as the sin that stamped him. +Both are actual and real. + +"We'll find John Dale if he is to be found. We'll give him all that is +his own--his own. But I pray God he is still man enough to claim no +more. + +"And now, go to bed. You may sleep safely, for you have made yourself +ready even for--sacrifice." + +"No! no! Ralph." + +"Yes! yes!" + +He opened the door of the study, and with bowed head she passed out. +Then Drew turned and mechanically banked the fire, and left the room +orderly, as was his habit. + +As he followed a few moments later, the little clock struck the +half-hour of one. Much had been lost and gained in an hour's time. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Billy arose the morning after his eventful evening, with a feeling of +physical discomfort. He attributed it to his neglected duty, when in +reality it was merely a disordered stomach. + +The past day or two, ending in a feast of unwonted dainties, had created +havoc with Billy's newly acquired, higher nature. + +He was sulkily belligerent with Maggie, but Maggie viewed the lapse with +considerable relief. Billy of the night before awed her in spite of +herself. Billy of the morning after cast no reflections on her own +inferiority. + +Poor Peggy wondered, in her dull way, if she had been dreaming the +astonishing things that had set her heart beating. To reassure herself +she took a candle and went out to the wood-shed. No; there, in the dim +shadows of the cobwebby place, was the stanza that was proof of her +son's genius. Then Peggy reflected with a glad heart that it was the +accepted belief of the world that geniuses were always cranky and +uncomfortable, and, womanlike, Peggy gave thanks that it was permitted +her to have a genius for her own. + +Soon after breakfast Billy began his life work with a dull pain in the +region of his heart. + +He went up to Filmer's shack and found him out; he then hauled and +pulled the tagged bundles of pine trees, which Jock had left standing by +the door, down to the Station. + +"What in the name"--Tom Smith paused to expectorate--"of all," (it is +needless to enumerate the name of the gods by which Tom swore) "yer +doing with them sapling pines?" + +"Mind yer business," Billy returned, panting under the last load. "Put +'em on the train; that's you're lookout; and here's the money to pay for +their ticket down State." Billy had found the money in an envelope tied +to the trees. + +"Well, I'll--be--blowed." Tom spelled out the address and took the +money. + +"Where does these hail from?" he asked. + +"From the bungalow," Billy replied with unlooked-for promptness. + +Tom had nothing more to say. The bungalow people had the right of way on +the branch road. To and from the Junction the name of Drew was one to +conjure with. + +"I guess," Tom spat wide and far, "I guess she's aiming to decorate the +hull blamed town, back there, with greens. She don't mind slashing, she +don't." + +"Shut up!" Billy commanded. Tom turned to look at the boy, who in the +recent past had been his legitimate property, in common with others, to +kick and swear at. + +"Well by--" But he neither kicked nor swore at Billy. He relieved +himself by expressing his feelings to inanimate objects. + +Then Billy went up to the tavern. The dull pain was relaxing. The fine, +cold air was clearing his muddled wits, and he felt the milk of human +kindness reasserting itself in his new-born nature. + +"Mr. Tate," he asked boldly, stepping behind the screen to the men's +side. "Any letters here for Joyce?" + +Tate, bending over a cask of beer, raised himself, and gave Billy the +compliment of a long, hard stare. + +"Your voice changing, Billy?" he asked blandly. "Gosh! you've growed up +terrible suddint. What you doing home in the middle of the season?" + +"Got--sick," Billy muttered quite truthfully. "Any letters for Joyce?" + +"I don't keep letters on _this_ side, son." + +Tate felt compelled to cater to what he recognized in Billy. "And +whoever heard of Joyce having letters? If you mean Gaston's mail she's +sent for, then I reply straight and honest, and you can tell her--I know +_my_ business! + +"When Gaston calls for his mail, he gets it. When he wants Joyce to have +it--he's got to send order for same. The Government down to Washington, +D.C., knowed who it was selecting when it chose Leon Tate for +Postmaster. + +"Billy, you've changed more in a few months than any one I ever seed. +You--" he hesitated, and grinned foolishly--"you feel--like a drink o' +anything?" + +The subtle compliment to his manhood thrilled Billy; but oh! if Tate had +only known to what that manhood was due. + +"No, thank you," Billy replied, pulling his trousers up ecstatically. "I +don't want nothing to drink--to-day. But won't you please look and see +if there ain't a letter for Joyce--with her name to it?" + +Tate walked around the screen, followed by Billy, and began fumbling in +the row of slits that answered for letter-boxes. + +"Bet she's expecting word from Gaston." + +Tate moistened his dirty fingers, and shuffled the envelopes. + +"Here's five or six for Gaston hisself--one done up with a broad streak +of black round it. It's got a dreadful thick envelope! Well, if I ain't +blowed. Here _is_ one for Joyce, and did you ever?" Billy was beside him +now. "Done in printing. Well, if that don't beat the Injuns. Mis' Joyce +Lauzoon--that's good, Lauzoon! No wonder it didn't strike me first; I +guess I read it Jude Lauzoon. Here, you want to tote it up the hill? +Shouldn't wonder if it was _from_ Jude. If he's got over his sulks, and +finds no one to do for him, it's just like him to wheedle his woman +into coming back and--beginning all over." + +Billy had grasped the letter with trembling hands. He was breathing +short and hard. Jared had evidently written the letter before talking to +Jude. + +"Do you know who that's from?" Tate eyed the boy suspiciously. + +"How should I?" Billy impudently turned away, "_I_ ain't Postmaster, am +I?" + +Tate glared after the fleeing figure. He did not like the sense of +insecurity that pervaded St. Ange. If coming events cast their shadows +before, then Tate's future looked as if it might be one encompassed by +darkness. + +When Billy reached Gaston's shack a silence of desolation pervaded it. +Had all reputable St. Ange gone a-visiting? + +Jock's absence, and now Joyce's, gave Billy a creepy feeling such as a +cat must feel who has been deserted by them he trusted. + +But there had been no fire in Filmer's shack; on Gaston's hearth a +roaring, recently builded fire gave evidence of late companionship. + +"Joyce!" called Billy. There was no reply. Then the boy opened the door +leading into the lean-to. He had no reverence for retreats. If any door +opened to Billy's hand, Billy's feet carried him further. + +A fresh fire also blazed on the hearth of Gaston's sanctuary. + +All at once Billy's childhood rose supreme over his recently gained +moral viewpoint. Ever since he and the other St. Ange children had spied +upon Gaston as a stranger, Gaston's possessions had filled their souls +with curious wonder. + +Maggie was responsible for the story about a certain chest. + +"It's as big"--here Maggie had stretched truth to the snapping +point--"as this! And it's all thick with iron strips, and it has a lock +as big as my head. Once I saw him open it--I was in the next room--" + +"What was in it?" St. Ange youth whispered. + +"That's telling," Maggie had sniffed. + +But after all the earthly wealth that St. Ange greed then held in the +way of strings, old postage stamps, etc., had been laid at her feet, +Maggie revealed what she had _not_ seen. + +"There's hundreds of dollars of gold. Umph! And candy +and--and"--Maggie's imagination in those days had been awakened by +Gaston's fairy-lore--"and a box tied up with a blood-stained cord! And a +gun, and a knife, with queer spots on it, and things that made me turn +sick as I looked!" + +As Billy viewed the chest now--somewhat dwindled as to size--the old +story moved him. + +There was no low curiosity of a thieving kind in his feverish longing +to test the truth of that old story of Maggie's. Money had no lure for +him, candy he was surfeited with, but he'd chance much to get a glimpse +of the box tied with the blood-stained cord, and the knife with the +queer spots. + +Joyce had apparently gone on an errand. Billy stepped back into the +living room, then went to the wood-shed, and all around the house. + +Perhaps she had gone to the store by a back path--she had a love for +unfrequented places. + +Billy returned to the shack, laid the letter on the table of the outer +room, and tiptoed back to the lean-to. + +The particular kind of thrill he experienced then was delicious. Quite +different was it from the one that had driven him almost mad with fear +as he listened to Jude and Birkdale a time back. This was a thriller +that appealed to the familiar in him,--the impishness that died hard. + +He went across to the chest and leaned over it. The fire crackled--and +he leaped back! Then, loathing himself for his weakness, he knelt before +the treasure trove and tried the key in the lock. + +It turned easily, and the lid flew back; for the chest was filled to the +brim. Several small articles, like letters, pictures and books, fell +onto the floor; but Billy heeded them not. He was after bigger game. He +tossed the contents hurriedly out. Maggie had lied foully--not a blood +stain anywhere, nor knife, string, nor box! Not even a gun, nor candy +nor gold dollars. + +Billy's contempt for Maggie at that moment was too deep for expression. + +Disappointedly he began to replace the poor trash that Gaston evidently +prized--the last thing to put back was a photograph--and from sheer +disappointment Billy was about to vent his disgust by tearing this in +two, when the face riveted his attention. It was a face that once seen +could never be forgotten. Pale and sweet it looked up at him. It was +part of the clean, better life that he was trying to lead. It made him, +all in the flash of an eye, see what a mean, low scamp he was to-- + +The outer door of the shack opened and shut! Hurrying feet ran across +the floor of the living room, the lean-to door was flung back, and, all +palpitating and wide-eyed, Joyce confronted the boy. + +"You--Billy!" The glorious light died out of the big eyes, the pale, +expectant face set into lines of hopeless disappointment. "I thought--" +the mouth quivered pitifully, and Billy felt the added sting of +discovered shame. + +In a moment things steadied themselves, Joyce was mistress of the +situation. + +"What have you there?" she asked sharply. In the distraction she had not +noticed that the chest was open. + +"Her picture!" + +"Her! Who?" Joyce came over to Billy, and looked at the face he held at +arm's length. + +Something numbed every sense but sight. That sense must convey the image +of the girl-face to Joyce's brain, and implant it there so effectually +that it could never be forgotten. And that very morning Joyce had seen +its counterpart on the highway! + +"Who--is--that?" she demanded. + +"It's her up to the bungalow. They call her--Ruth. See! here it is writ +on the back--'Ruth'; her other name is Mis' Dale." + +The face was burned in now for all time; and the other faculties began +to throb into life. + +"Billy, where did you get that?" + +Then both boy and woman looked at the desecrated chest--and all was +told. + +Even while she was wildly pushing facts from her, Joyce saw, rising +before her, a completed structure of John Gaston's past. + +That exquisite girl was she who had held his love before--and she had +married the brother! Then Gaston's name was Dale. Oh! how vividly, +hideously clear it was. It seemed as if she had always known it. Even +the pictured face was as familiar now as Gaston's own. But Joyce's cold +lips were forming the words: + +"Billy you lie! You brought that over to show me. Tell me the truth." +She had him by the shoulder, and her fierce eyes frightened him. + +"I have told you the truth; so help me! There she is now; look!" + +Joyce turned as Billy pointed to the window. + +Outside, near the grave of _her_ baby, stood Constance Drew and the girl +whose picture Billy held limply in his hand. + +Constance Drew was talking, but the stranger's sweet face was turned +toward the house, and Joyce saw that her eyes were full of tears. + +"Billy"; Joyce clutched the thin shoulder; "put that back! Now lock the +chest, and listen. If you ever tell a living soul what you have +done--Mr. Gaston will--kill you!" + +Billy obeyed with dumb fear. + +"Now, go out of the shed door. Go--don't let them see you!" + +Billy was gone, forgetting even to mention the letter lying on the +living-room table. + +Then Joyce waited. Out in front, they two--Miss Drew and that +girl--seemed rooted to the spot near the baby's grave. + +Feeling had departed from Joyce--she simply waited. + +Finally they, outside, turned. They walked directly to the house, and +knocked. They knocked again. + +"It's etiquette to go in, if the house is empty." It was Constance +Drew's voice. "St. Ange and New York have different ideas. Leave things +as you find them, that's the only social commandment here." A hand was +on the latch. + +"Connie, I cannot! It does not seem decent." _That_ voice sank deep into +the listening heart behind the barrier. + +"Well, then, I'll write her a letter. I'm sorry I asked Jock Filmer to +take a verbal invitation. She might think--" + +"That's better, Connie, and while you and Ralph drive over to Hillcrest +this afternoon, I'll bring it here; perhaps she will be at home then." + +Joyce heard them turn. She watched them until the pine trees hid them; +then her heart beat feebly. + +Presently she went to the table, and there her eyes fell on the letter +Billy had brought. Quietly she took it up, opened it, and read it once, +twice, then the third time. + +Finally it dropped to her feet, and, with hands groping before her, +Joyce staggered to Gaston's deep chair and fell heavily into it. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Joyce did not faint, nor did she lose consciousness. A dull quiet +possessed her, and, had she tried to explain her state of mind, she +would have said she was thinking things out. + +In reality Destiny, or whatever we choose to call that power which +controls things that _must be_, had the woman completely in its grip. +Whatever she was to do would be done without any actual forethought or +preparation; she would realize that afterward as we all do when we have +passed through a crisis and have done better, perhaps, than our poor, +unassisted thought might have accomplished for us. + +Joyce was on the wheel, and the wheel was going at a tremendous speed. +There was no time for plotting or planning, with all the strength that +was in her, the girl was clinging, clinging to some unseen, central +truth, while she was being whirled through a still place crowded with +more or less distinguishable facts that she dared not close her eyes to. + +One cruel thing made her cringe in the deep chair. She was losing her +clear, sweet vision of that blessed night when Gaston and she had stood +transfigured! If only she could have held to that, all would have been +so simple--but with that fading glory gone she would be alone in a +barren, cheerless place to act not merely for herself, but for Gaston +also. + +She was no longer the beautiful woman in the golden dress; nor he the +man of the illumined face and pleading arms. No; she was old Jared's +wild little daughter; Jude Lauzoon's brutalized and dishonoured wife. +Nothing, nothing could do away with those awful facts. + +He, the man she loved--who thought in one wild hour that he loved +her--was not of her world nor of her kind. He had given, given, given to +her of his best and purest. God! how he had given. He had cast a glamour +over her crudeness by his power and goodness, but underneath +was--Jared's daughter and Jude's wife. + +If he took her courageously back to his world they, those others like, +yet unlike him, would see easily through the disguise, and would be +quick enough to make both him and her feel it. + +Without her, they would accept him. The past would be as if it had not +been; but if he brought her to them from his past, it would be like an +insult to them--an insult they would never forgive. And then--he would +have no life; no place. He would have to go on being kind and good to +her in a greater loneliness and desolation than St. Ange had ever known. + +She could not escape the responsibility of her part in his life. She +might keep on taking, taking, taking. On the other hand his old life had +come back to him, not even waiting for his choice. + +The woman who had misunderstood, had failed him in that hour of his +need, had been sent by an all-powerful Force into the heart of the +Northern Solitude to reclaim him, now that he had accomplished that +which he had set himself to do. + +Every barrier was removed. Even Death had been kind to that sweet, pale +girl--she was ready to perform the glorious act of returning Gaston's +own to him, if only she, Joyce, would let go her selfish, ignoble hold. + +Now, if she were as noble as Gaston had striven to make her, there was +but one thing to do. Go to that woman up at the bungalow, tell her all +that she did _not_ know. All about the heavy penalty weakness had paid +for the crime committed by another. Tell of the splendid expiation and +the hard-won victory, and then--let go her hold and, in Love's supreme +renunciation, prove her worthiness to what God withheld. + +The little living room of Gaston's shack was the battle-ground of +Joyce's soul-conflict that winter day. + +Pale and rigid, she crouched in the deep chair, her head buried on the +arm where so often his dear hand had lain. + +No; she could not! She would not! Then after a moment--"I must! or in +all the future I shall hate myself." Then she grew calmer, and +instinctively she began to plan about--going. She would leave both fires +ready to light--he might come now at any time. + +The letter Billy had brought had not for a moment deceived her. She +counted it now as but one of the links in the chain that was dragging +her away from Gaston. + +It was either Jude or her father who had sent the note. Well, it did not +matter, it was the best possible escape that could have been conceived. + +Then her plans ran on. She would pack her own pretty things--out of +sight! They must not confuse, or call for pity. There would be no note. +She, that woman at the bungalow would explain, and would tell him that +there could be no reconsideration, for she, Joyce, had gone to +her--husband! + +At that point Joyce sprang up, and her eyes blazed feverishly. + +No; she was going to do no such thing. She was going to wait just where +she was with folded hands and eager love. When Gaston came he should +decide things. She would not interfere with her future. She would hide +nothing; neither would she disclose anything. Why should she strangle +her own life, with the knowledge she had neither sought nor desired? + +The brilliant afternoon sun crept toward the west, and it shone into +the side window and through the screen of splendid fuchsias which +clambered from sill to top of casement. + +Gaston might come--now! Perhaps he had failed to locate Jude, and would +return to consider. Well, then, she could put him on Jude's trail. +Gaston, not she, should meet the "woodsman" in Lola Laval's deserted +house. + +In the sudden up-springing of this hope, Joyce quite forgot the face of +the woman at the bungalow. + +A freakish yearning to reproduce the one crowning moment of her life +possessed the girl. + +She would build a great fire upon the hearth, and make the room +beautiful. She would don--the yellow gown, and, if he came, he should +find her as he had left her. + +If he still loved her--and she saw it in his eyes--then nothing, nothing +should part them. + +She would go with him to Lola's house and together they would finish the +dreary search. She would beg him never to return to St. Ange. What did +the world matter, the people of the world? Nothing mattered but him and +her. + +So Joyce flew to the bidding of her mad fancy. She drew the shades and +flung on log after log. She swept and dusted the room. Put Gaston's +slippers and house-coat close to the warmth. She lighted the lamp to +keep up the delusion, then stole to her room and made ready. + +Again, as the garments of the daily task fell from her, Joyce felt the +sordidness and fearsomeness depart. + +The lovely hair lent itself to the pretty design, and the golden gown +transfigured the wearer. + +She felt sure Gaston was coming. The premonition grew and grew. He would +never leave her to bear the Christmas alone. He might return later to +search for Jude but, remembering her in the shack, he would come to her +for that one, holy day. + +He would surprise her. And she?--why, she would surprise him. + +How he would laugh and take her in his arms!--for it was all clear ahead +of them now. She would lead him to Jude! + +A knock at the outer door startled her. She was about to leave her +bedchamber complete and beautiful--but the summons stayed the little +satin-shod feet, and the colour left the quivering face. + +Perhaps Gaston had knocked to keep up the conceit of his home-coming +surprise! + +Tiptoeing across the living room, Joyce took her stand by the table and +called timidly, expectantly and awesomely: + +"Come." + +The latch lifted and some one pressed against the door, and then, in +walked Ruth Dale. + +She wore the heavy crimson cloak of Constance's, the fur-trimmed hood of +which encircled her face. + +Coming from the outer sunlight into the lamp-lighted room, Ruth Dale +stood for a moment, dazzled and confused. Then her grave, kindly eyes +were riveted upon the splendid, straight young form confronting her. + +Never in her life had Ruth Dale been so utterly confounded and taken +aback. For a full moment the two faced each other in solemn silence. It +was Joyce who spoke. + +"I heard you say you were coming. I was in when you and Miss Drew called +before, but I wasn't ready for company then. Won't you sit down?" + +Mrs. Dale sank into the nearest chair from sheer helplessness. + +"Please take off your cloak. The room is very warm." + +It was stifling, and Ruth Dale unfastened and let fall the heavy +fur-lined wrap. + +Joyce took Gaston's chair. The contact seemed to strengthen her. + +"Miss Drew--has--sent--this note." Ruth held it out helplessly. + +"Thank you. I know what is in it; but I cannot come. I am going away." +The proffered note fluttered to the floor. + +"Going away?" + +"Yes." The word was almost agonizing in its intensity. "Yes!" + +"Please--Mrs. Lauzoon," Ruth Dale stammered the name; "please may I +hear where you are going? My friends are so interested in you. I--I--am +sorry for you. We could not bear to have you lonely and sad here--on +Christmas--but if you are going away to be--happy, we will all be so +glad." + +"Please tell Mr. Drew," Joyce clutched the arms of the chair, and Ruth +Dale continued to stare helplessly at the exquisite beauty of this +mountain girl, "tell Mr. Drew--I am--going--to my husband." + +"Your husband!" + +"Yes; he will be so glad, Mr. Drew will. He has always been so--good. +Tell him, please--and I think he will understand--that he made it +possible for me--to do this--thing." + +The human agony contained in these words carried all before it. Ruth +Dale got up from her chair, and almost ran across the room to Joyce's +side. She leaned over her and a wave of pity seemed to bear the two +women along to a point where words--words from the heart--were possible. + +"I--I have heard your story, dear. Ralph Drew is such a kind +_gentleman_, and he--we, all of us--pity you from the bottom of our +hearts. Believe me, you are doing the right thing, hard and cruel as it +may seem now. When God sets you free--then alone can you really be free. +I think every good woman knows this. Man can only give freedom within +limitations. I know I am right. Have you heard from--your husband?" + +"Yes. He has sent for me." + +"Have you any message to leave? I will tell Mr. Drew anything you care +to entrust to me--he will deliver the message to--any one." + +"Please--sit down." Joyce motioned stiffly to a chair across the table. +"I have a great deal to say to you." + +Ruth obeyed with a dull foreboding in her heart. She felt constrained +and awkward. The unusual and expensive gown Joyce wore acted as an +irritant upon her, now that she considered it. It seemed so vulgar, so +theatrical for the girl to deck herself in this fashion; and the very +gown itself spoke volumes against any such lofty ideals as Ralph Drew +had depicted in the woman. Evidently Joyce was expecting Gaston back; +the statement as to her going to her husband was either false, or a +subterfuge. + +With Ruth Dale's discomfort, too, was mingled a fear that Gaston might +return and find her there. From Drew's description of Gaston she knew he +was a person above the ordinary St. Ange type, and might naturally, and +rightly, resent her visit. But Joyce, more mistress of the situation +than the other knew, was feeling her way through the densest thicket of +trouble that had ever surrounded her. Here was her chance, in +woman-fashion, to test that strange double code of honour about which +Gaston had spoken, and Drew had hinted. Here, woman to woman, she could +question and probe, and so have clearer vision. + +This woman visitor was from his world. She was kind and was, perhaps, +the best that existed down beyond the Southern Solitude. If she bore the +test, then Joyce would relinquish her rights absolutely--but only after +that woman knew why she did so. + +"I--I suppose you think I have been a very bad woman?" Joyce turned sad, +yet childlike eyes upon her companion. + +"I think you have acted unwisely." Ruth Dale crimsoned under the steady +glance. "You see, Mr. Drew has always had a deep interest in you. His +sister and I heard about you long before we came up here. He says you +had grave provocation. What you have done was done--in ignorance. It +would only be sin--after you knew the difference." + +"I see. But what--what would you think about Mr. Gaston?" + +The colour died from Ruth's face, only to return more vivid. + +"I think he has treated you--shamefully. He knew how such things are +viewed. He took advantage of your weakness and innocence. I hate to say +this to you--but I have no two opinions about such things. I think this +Mr. Gaston must be a very wicked man." + +A sudden resolve had sprung up in Ruth's mind. If she could rescue this +poor, ignorant girl from the toils of the man who had misled her, she +would befriend her. She might even save her from the depraved husband +who was now her only apparent safety. The girl was lovely beyond +expression. It would be a splendid thing to do. + +With this in sight, her interference took on an appearance of dignified +philanthropy. + +"Will you let me help you?" she asked wistfully; "be your friend? I have +money; I would love to do what I can. I have deep sympathy with you +and--I am very lonely and sad myself. I have recently lost my husband--I +have no one." + +Joyce continued to hold her visitor with that solemn, intense glance. + +"You loved your--husband--very much?" Ruth winced. She could hardly +resent the curiosity, but she stiffened. + +"Of course. But if I had not, I should have been--lonely and sad. It is +a relationship that cannot be dissolved either by death or in any way +without causing pain and a deep sense of loss." + +"Oh, yes, it can." Joyce spoke rapidly. "The loss may mean--life to you. +It may take fear away and a hideous loathing. It may let you be +yourself, the self that can breathe and learn to love goodness." + +This outburst surprised and confused Ruth Dale. The expression of face, +voice and language swept away the sense of unreality and detachment. +Here was a vital trouble. A tangible human call. It might be that she, +instead of Ralph Drew or Constance, or any other person, might touch and +rescue this girl who was finding herself among the ruins of her life. + +Ruth Dale was no common egotist, but her charm and magnetism had often +taken her close to others' needs, and she was eager, always, to answer +any demand made upon her. + +"Joyce," she said softly, "please let me call you that. You see, by that +name I have always heard you called, and Constance Drew and I felt we +knew you before we saw you. I believe you have suffered horribly. All +women suffer in an unhappy marriage--but you suffered doubly because you +have always been capable of better things, perhaps, than you have ever +had. You do not mind my speaking very plainly?" + +"No. I want you to." + +"But you cannot find happiness--I know I am right about this--by taking +from life what does not really belong to you. Do you see what I mean?" + +"No, but go on; I may see soon." The quiet face opposite made Ruth Dale +more and more uncomfortable. She had, for a moment, forgotten the +possibility of Gaston's return; the yellow gown was losing its +irritating power; she truly had a great and consuming desire to be of +service to this woman who was following her words with feverish +intensity, but she was ill at ease as she proceeded. + +"If we have bungled our lives, made grave mistakes, it's better to abide +by them courageously than defy--well, the accepted laws. + +"Perhaps you ought not go back to your husband; I would not dare decide +that; Ralph Drew would know, but this I know, you should not stay here. +I will befriend you, Joyce, in whatever other course you choose. Please +let me help you; it would help me." + +She stretched her pretty, pleading hands across the table, and her eyes +were full of tears. She felt old, and worldly-wise beside this mountain +girl, and she was adrift on the alluring sea of personal service. + +Joyce took no heed of the waiting hands, the inspired face held her. + +"Don't you see, Joyce, even if this is love that controls you, you would +not want it to be selfish?" + +"No. Oh! No." + +"What do you know of this man Gaston, really? Mr. Drew says he is quite +different from the people hereabout. You do not even know the true man, +his name, nor antecedents. The time may come when he will return to his +former life, whatever it was; can you not see how you would--interfere +with such a plan? If he left you--what would he leave you to? And if he +were one of a thousand and took you with him--what then? In either case +it would mean your unhappiness and his--shame." + +Joyce winced, and Ruth Dale saw the hands clutch the arms of the chair. +She felt that she was making an impression, and her ardour grew. + +"I do not know Gaston," she went on, "but I do know the world; and for +women placed as you are, Joyce, there is no alternative. Your very love +should urge you to accept the situation, hard as it may seem." + +"It does." For a moment the lovely head drooped and the white lids +quivered over the pain-filled eyes. + +"No matter how--good a man--this Mr. Gaston has been to you--he knew the +price you would have to pay some day. He has been either wilfully +weak--or worse. A man takes a mean advantage of a woman in all such +matters. It is not a question of right or wrong altogether--it isn't +fair. + +"I have burned over such things ever since I was a girl--I am ready now +to prove to you my desire to help you. Will you let me, Joyce?" + +"You are very, very good. I can see you are better and kinder than any +other woman I ever knew. I believe all that you say is true. If I did +not think that, I could not do what I am going to do." + +Joyce spoke very quietly, very simply. She was not even confused when +she poured out the deepest secrets of her heart. She was worn and spent; +loneliness, conflict and soul-torture had torn down all her defenses. + +"You are right in all that you have said--but you don't know all!" The +flame rose in the pallid face; "but if you did, the truth of what you +have said would be all the deeper. + +"My love has been a selfish one because I never thought it lay in my +power to do anything for--him. I see there is something now that I can +do--and I mean to do it so thoroughly that even his goodness cannot +prevent. He is so very, very good; oh! if you could only know him as I +know him! + +"I am--going to my husband, then--that will finish it! But I must tell +you something--first." + +Joyce caught her breath, and she sat up straight and rigid. + +"I suppose in your life you could not believe that a man like Mr. Gaston +could be just good to me--and nothing else?" + +Woman looked at woman. The world's woman noted the beauty and tender +grace of the unworldly woman, and her eyes fell. + +"It would be difficult to believe that. I have heard of such cases--I +never knew one--and for that very reason of unbelief, it does not +greatly matter--the outcome would be the same--for the woman and the +man." + +"Yes; but they would know, and God would know; might that not be +enough?" + +"No. Believe me--it would not be enough." + +"Do you believe me when I tell you that, in this case, it is true?" + +Again the two held each other in a long challenge. Then: + +"Joyce, as God hears me, I _do_ believe you. Now I am more eager than +ever to be your friend." + +"You--cannot be mine--but you must be his!" + +"His?" Ruth started back. + +"Yes. I do know--something of his life. He belonged--to your world. He +had a great, a terrible trouble--but through it all he saw the stars, +not the mud, and he came out of it--a strong, tender, brave man." + +A dull sob shook the low, sweet voice. + +"All the shameful sorrow served as a purpose to make him noble--and +splendid; but his soul was sad and hurt. He never blamed any one, though +there were others who should have suffered more than he. He just gave +himself up to the chance of gaining good out of all the evil. Then he +came here--to rest. But he could not help being kind and helpful. He +found--me. He taught me, he gave me hope and showed me--how to live. Oh! +you can never understand. You have always had life--I never had it +until he took the blindness from me. + +"He tried to do the best for me--he wanted me to marry Jude Lauzoon. He +tried to make Jude good, too--but that was more than even _he_ could +accomplish. Then I'm--afraid I cannot tell you--this it might--soil your +soul." + +"Go on." Ruth spoke hoarsely. She was spellbound and a deathly coldness +crept over her. + +"Well, Jude dragged all of me down, down, down--all of me but the part +that--Mr. Gaston had made. That part clung to him as if he were its +God." + +"I see, I see. Go on!" + +"It was all low--and evil, that life with Jude, except the poor baby. +That had a soul, too, but the dreadful body could not hold it. It had to +go--and oh! I am so glad. + +"Then, in all the world, there was nowhere for me to go but--here. I +did not mean to fling myself upon him. I came to save him. There was +money Jude had--oh! it doesn't matter, but anyway, things happened, and +I was left--on Mr. Gaston's mercy. + +"I had only one idea of men--then. You see Jude had almost made a beast +of me, too." The great eyes shone until they burned into Ruth Dale's +brain. + +"But Mr. Gaston rose high and far above my low fear and thought. How I +hated myself then for daring to judge him by--Jude. No, he made a clean, +holy place for me to live in. He saw no other way to help me--perhaps he +did not look far enough in the future, it did not matter--but he never +came down from his high place except to make me better by his heavenly +goodness. + +"After a while it grew easy--after I comprehended his thought for +me--and we were very happy--just as we might have been had we been +brother and sister. I grew to think his own kind would know and +understand how impossible it would be for him to be other than what he +was; and for what the lower people thought I had no care. I was--just +happy! + +"But something happened. Perhaps being near such goodness made me a +little better; and a great happiness and lack of fear helped--I think I +got nearer to his high place. He loved to give me pretty things. He gave +me this"--the fumbling fingers touched the yellow gown; "and I suppose I +looked--different, and then he saw that I had--changed and--and +he--loved me! I know he loved me; women can tell. I could not be wrong +about that. You see I had always loved him--and had once hungered +so for his love that when it came I could not be deceived. +It--was--that--last--night he told me--about--the past! Then he went +away to find Jude--to get Jude to set me free--and we were--going +to--be--" the words trailed into a faint moan. "But I see, I see! Even +if it had come out right--I'd always be, for all his goodness, old Jared +Birkdale's daughter, and Jude Lauzoon's wife. That, he would have to +bear and suffer for me--and his world would never forgive him--nor me! + +"No; I do love him too well for that. I give him back to his place, and +you." + +"To me?" And Ruth Dale, haggard and trembling, came slowly around the +table, clinging to it for support. When she reached Joyce, she put out +cold, groping hands and clutched her by the shoulders. + +"You--give him back to me--why? Who is he?" + +"John Gaston is--John Dale. It has all come to me so suddenly, I cannot +explain, but there is no mistake. I am going to Jude Lauzoon, so that +neither you nor he can keep me--from what alone is mine; but be--good to +him--or God will never forgive you! Please go now. I must hurry. +Good-bye." + +"Joyce!" Ruth Dale was crouching at her feet. + +"I am--so tired." A long sigh broke from Joyce's lips. "Please do not +make it harder. It _must_ be; and I have much to do." + +"But--there may be some mistake." A horrible fear shook Ruth Dale. Joyce +rose and confronted the woman who knelt on the floor. + +"Do you believe there is?" she flung the question madly. "Do you?" There +was no faltering, only a stern command. + +"No," shuddered Ruth Dale. + +"Then please, go. My part is all--over! But--be--oh! be heavenly good to +him." + +Blinded and staggering under the blow, Ruth Dale got to her feet and +went from the house. The outer cold steadied her somewhat, but when, a +half-hour later, she entered Ralph Drew's study, the man by the fire +gazed upon her as if she were a stranger. + +"What has happened?" he asked affrightedly, springing to her side. + +She let him take her icy hands in his. "I've found--John!" she gasped +hoarsely. + +"John--who? Sit down, Ruth. You have had a terrible fright." He put her +firmly, but gently in his own arm-chair. "Tell me all about it," he +urged quietly. + +"John Dale. Philip's brother." + +"In heaven's name, where!" + +"Up at Gaston's shack. Gaston--is--John Dale." + +Ralph drew back and repeated dully: + +"Gaston--is John Dale? Gaston--is John Dale?" Presently the wonder +became affirmation. "Yes," he almost groaned, "Gaston is--John Dale." + +A lurking familiarity of feature gained power in Drew's memory of +Gaston. It linked itself into other details. He had always known Gaston +had a hidden cause for being in St. Ange. Yes; he _was_ John Dale. + +For Drew to become convinced was for him to act upon the impulse of his +warm heart. + +"Ruth, dear," he whispered, "make yourself comfortable. I will go to +him." + +Then Ruth raised her hands to hold him back. Her voice was deep and +awed. + +"No!" she commanded "neither you nor I, Ralph, is fit to enter--there. A +miracle has been performed up among the pines. A man and woman have been +created--that we are not worthy to--touch!" + +"Ruth what madness is this? What has occurred? You must explain to me +clearly." + +Then the story rushed out in a flood. Tears checked it at times; a +hysterical laugh now and again threatened; but Drew controlled the +excitement by word and touch. + +"And now," Ruth was panting and exhausted; "she, that--wonderful woman, +has given him back--to me. Can't you see? She loves the soul of him--the +great, strong man of him--but I--why even _now_, I cannot forget the +evil thing--that befell--the _body_ of him while he was--in--" + +"Ruth! You shall not so degrade yourself." + +"Yes! Yes! it is quite true. That is what I meant. I am not fit to +touch--her nor him, and yet I shall shudder all my life--when I +remember." + +Drew saw that reason was tottering in Ruth. + +"He may--not--wish--to claim you, dear," he comforted. + +"But he must; he must! Now that she is going to her own; there is +nothing left for me to do--but to go to mine." + +"This can go no further, Ruth." Drew rose hastily. "I am going to send +Aunt Sally to you, and I must think things out. Calm yourself, dear. In +all such times as these, a greater power than is in us, controls and +gives strength. Let go--Ruth! Let the Power that is, take you in its +keeping." + +He touched her cold face with reassuring sympathy, and then went to find +Miss Sally. + +His next impulse was to rush to Gaston's shack; his second thought +restrained him. If Gaston had returned, he would rightfully resent any +outside interference with this crucial time of his life. If Joyce were +decided in the course she had laid out for herself--how dared he, how +could he, divert her from it without involving them all in a deeper +perplexity? + +So Drew resigned _himself_ to the Power that is. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +It was Billy Falstar who broke upon Joyce's solitude after Ruth Dale had +left her. + +Worn beyond the point where conscious suffering held strong part, Joyce +was completing her final arrangements mechanically and laboriously when +Billy presented himself. + +"Say, Joyce," the boy faltered, standing in the doorway and kicking his +heels together, "I'm blamed sorry I done that sneak job." + +"It doesn't matter much, Billy. But now that you are here, will you help +me pack food and things? I'm going--away." + +Then Billy recalled the letter, and fear rose sharply to the fore. + +"You ain't going to go--no such thing!" he cried, coming in and slamming +the door behind him. "That's a--that's a fake letter." + +"Yes, I know. It doesn't make any difference. But tell me, Billy, is it +father or Jude down at the Laval place?" + +Billy was stricken with surprise. + +"How d' yer know?" he gasped. + +"Oh! it was all so foolish!" she answered smiling feebly. "If he--if Mr. +Gaston had sent it, don't you see that there would have been no need of +this mystery? But is it Jude or father, Billy?" + +"It's old Birkdale," Billy burst out, and then between fear and relief +he related what had happened in the hut in the woods. + +"Then it's a longer way I must go." Joyce sighed wearily. "Do you think +I could get there--walking, Billy?" + +The boy eyed her as if she had gone crazy. + +"'Course not. But what you want to go for, anyway?" + +Joyce came close to him. He seemed the only human thing left for her to +cling to, the only one to call upon in her sore need. + +"Billy, I'm going to Jude because--he's mine, and I belong to him--and +it never pays in this world to take what doesn't belong to you." + +"But--Gaston--you belong to him--and I want--you--to have him!" Billy +felt a mad inclination to cry, but struggled against it. + +"No, I never belonged to him, Billy. Believe that all your life--it will +make a better man of you. He was heavenly good to me because he was +sorry for me--and wanted to see me happy. But happiness doesn't +come--that way. Sometimes it seems as if it did--sometimes it seems as +if God meant it so--perhaps He did--but the people out--in the +world--the people that should have known how--the people who had time +and money and learning, they've muddled things so--that we can't even +see what God meant for right or wrong. + +"Why, Billy, they punish the wrong people, and then when they find +out--they do not know the way to set it straight; but it doesn't matter, +Billy, we have to go on, on, on, the best we can!" + +Joyce put her arms around the boy, and bent her head on his thin, +shaking shoulder. + +She no longer wore the yellow gown. She was plain, commonplace Joyce, +familiar to Billy's unregenerated youth. + +But Billy did not fail her. Awkwardly, but with wonderful understanding, +he put his arms around her, and whispered: + +"I just wisht, Joyce, I was God for a minute--and it would all be right +or I'd be----" + +"Billy!" + +"I'd be gol-swizzled," Billy tamely ended. + +He could not master details. He only knew something had happened. Joyce +was going to leave Gaston and go to Jude, and he, Billy, must make the +way easy, and stand by her as a gentleman should. He patted her arm +reassuringly as he thought it out. + +"It's 'most night," he said; "I'll hitch up old Tate's mare to the sled. +He won't know! It's going to be a big night down to the Black Cat. I'll +drive you over to Jude--and wait for yer, if yer say so. If yer don't, +then I'll cut back--and I don't care after that." + +"Billy!" + +"When will you be ready?" + +Joyce glanced at the clock. + +"It's after six now. I'll be ready when you get back, Billy!" + +A moment later Billy had set forth in the black coldness. + +It was eight o'clock that evening when the revellers at the Black Cat +heard a crunching of the snow as a sled rapidly passed the tavern. + +Leon Tate was mixing drinks, with a practised and obliging hand, when +the unaccustomed sound struck his ear; he paused, but when the +unappreciative driver passed, he lost interest. + +"Thought some one was coming?" Tom Smith suggested. + +"No; going," Murphy, the engineer, slowly answered. + +"Where to, do you suppose?" asked Smith. Any new topic of conversation +early in the evening was welcome. + +"Like as not," Tate came forward with his brew, "like as not it's them +folks up to the bungerler. I heard Mr. Drew had a cutter an' horse over +from Hillcrest; and going out nights skylarking seems part of his +religion." + +"Religion!" sniffed Smith; "they're a rum lot, all right!" + +"I wish they was!" Tate put in gloomily, but grinned as the others +laughed. + +"It's a durned shame to take an animile out nights for fun," Murphy +interrupted; "I'd hate to run even the injine 'less 'twas important. +Gosh! Tate, you must have let your hand slip when you mixed this." + +"Christmas comes but once a year." Tate beamed radiantly. It was good to +see that his Black Cat still had charms to compete successfully with the +bungalow. + +"That piece up to the minister's," Smith glowed inwardly and outwardly, +"is the nervy one, all right," he remarked. + +"Which one?" asked Tate; "the fixture or the transient?" + +"The steady. I was setting here musing late this afternoon, when in she +come over there," Tom indicated the woman's side of the screen; "and +first thing I knowed if she wasn't standing on a cracker-box on her +side, and a-looking _over_ the screen." + +"Well, I'll be--" Tate stood straighter. + +"'Smith,' says the young woman, 'what does Mr. Tate have screens for?' +Then, with her blamed, sassy little nose all crinkled up; 'my! how it +does smell. I should think if Mr. Tate had _anything_, he'd have an +air-tight and smell-proof partition.'" + +A roar greeted this. + +"Like as not." Tate was crimson, "the sentiments you're rehashing ain't +got constitootion enough, Smith, to stand much more airing. Something's +got to be done in this here place to set matters on a proper footing. +You let a woman come nosing around where she don't belong, specially one +with a loose-jointed tongue, and there's hell to pay. Our women is +getting heady. You men will learn too late, maybe, that you'd better put +the screw on while there's something to hold to." + +"It's sapping the juice, some." Murphy was beginning to relax. "But, +Lord! have you seen the duds for the kids, and the costumes for the +women? Mis' Falster had me in to show off hers. Every woman's to have a +new frock for the jamboree Christmas night; not to mention the trappings +for the kids. The old lady up to the bungerler give 'em." + +Tate scowled. + +Just then the door opened and Jock Filmer entered. He looked spent and +haggard; and his handsome, careless face did not wear its usual happy +smile. + +"Hello!" he said, slamming the door after him, and walking up to the +stove. "I thought I saw your Brown Betty kiting over toward the north, +Tate. I was afraid something had happened." + +"No; Brown Betty's safe in the barn." Tate's gloom passed as he greeted +Jock. "The Reverend's got a new horse. What'll you have, Filmer?" + +"Plain soda," Jock replied and walked up to the bar. + +Tate almost reeled under the blow. + +"Plain--thunder!" he gasped, thinking Jock was joking. But Filmer fixed +him with a mirthless stare. + +"Plain soda, and no monkeying with it." + +The air became electrical. + +"Been away?" Murphy tried to break the spell. + +"Over to Hillcrest--on business." Jock was gulping down the soda. His +throat was dry and burning; and the unaccustomed beverage went against +all his desire. "I'm off--to-morrow--for a spell. Won't you join me in a +drink, boys?" + +The invitation was accepted with alacrity, and Smith asked cordially: + +"Where are you bound to, Filmer?" + +"Got a job?" Tate gave each man his choice of drinks and looked +dubiously at the treater. + +"What'll you have now, Filmer?" he asked, "maybe plain water?" + +Jock's eyes grew glassy. + +"No," he muttered; "make it another soda, Tate. Yes; I've got a job. +Such a thundering big one that it's going to take about all the nerve +I've got lying around loose." + +"Bossing--maybe?" Tate cast a keen glance upon Filmer. Jock returned the +look. The gleam had departed from his eyes--he was Tate's master now. + +"That's about the size of it," he answered. "Bossing, and it's going to +be a go, or you'll never see me again. Here's to you!" + +Something of the old dash returned as Jock held his soda aloft. + +"Anything happened up to Camp 7?" Tate was uneasy. + +"Lord! It's further back than 7." Filmer set his glass down. "It's a new +cut--started late, but it's worth trying. So long!" + +The others stared after him. + +When the door had closed upon the tall, swinging figure, the company +turned upon themselves. + +"Things are going to--" Tate did not designate the locality. After all, +it was needless for him to go into particulars. + +An hour later Jock, sitting in his own shack before the warm fire, eyed +with satisfaction the preparations for his journey. They consisted of +certain comforts in the way of sleeping-bag, provisions, gun and a bag +of necessary clothing; and a general mass of debris, in the form of +smashed bottles and jugs. A vile smell of liquor filled the room, and +there were little streams of fluid running down any available slope +leading away from the rubbish. Jock, sitting before the fire, his long +legs stretched out and his hands clasped behind his head, eyed these +rivulets in a dazed, helpless way, while the foul odour made him half +mad with longing. His face was terrible to see, and his form was rigid. + +A knock on the outer door made no impression upon him, but a second, +louder, more insistent one brought a, "Why in thunder don't you come in, +and stop your infernal racket?" from his overwrought nerves. + +Drew entered. His fur coat had snow flakes on it. A coming storm had +sent its messengers. + +For a moment Filmer looked at his visitor with unseeing eyes, then his +consciousness travelled back from its far place, and a soft welcome +spread over the drawn face. So glad was he to see Drew that he forgot to +be patronizing. He was weakly overjoyed. + +Drew, with a keen, comprehensive glance, took in the scene and something +of what it meant. He smiled kindly, and pulled a chair up before the +hearth. + +"Been away Filmer, or going?" he asked as he sat down and flung off his +coat and fur hat. + +"Both," Filmer returned, and although his voice was hard and strained, +Drew detected a welcome to him in the tone. + +"I wanted you up at the bungalow," he said quietly; "the girls cannot +get along without you. It's Christmas Eve," he added quietly, +"to-morrow's the big day, you know." + +"I shan't be here." The words came harshly. "See here, Drew," Jock flung +himself about and leaned toward his guest, his long, thin hands clasped +closely and outstretched. "I wanted you to-night more than any one, but +God, could know. I couldn't come to you--but you've come to me at the +right moment." + +"I'm glad of that, Filmer." + +"I'm not much of a hand for holding back what I want to give out," Jock +rushed on, "and I ain't much of an orator. What I'm going to tell you, +Drew, has been corked up for over ten years--it's ripe for opening--will +you share it?" + +"Can you ask that, Filmer?" The two men looked steadily at each other. + +"Did you ever hear of Jasper Filmer on the Pacific Coast?" Jock asked +suddenly. + +"Yes; he died a week ago. The papers were full of it. We noticed the +name--" Drew bent forward--"and wondered." + +"I'm his son. There ain't much to tell. It's a common enough yarn. The +world's full of the like. It's only when you tackle the separate ones +that they seem to differ. The old man--made himself. That kind is either +hard as nails or soft as mush. My governor had the iron in his. He +banked everything on--me--and I wasn't up to the expectation. I was +made out of the odds and ends that were left out of his +constitution--and we didn't get on. My mother--" Jock pulled himself +together; "she was the sort those self-made men generally hanker after, +all lady, and pretty and dainty. You know the kind?" + +Drew nodded. His face was ashen. + +"I wish you could have seen her, Drew, I've seen a good many, but none, +no, not _one_, who ever came up to her for softness, and fetching ways. +Lord! how I loved her. The old man might have known that if I could have +gone straight I'd have done it for--mother. She never lost faith in me. +Every time I went wrong--she just stopped singing for a time." Filmer +gulped. "Then when I pulled myself together, after a while she'd begin +again, singing as she went about, and smiling and laughing a laugh that +keeps ringing, even now. + +"At last the governor got tired of the lapses. I don't blame him; just +remember that. He thought if I went off and nibbled--what is it--husks? +that I'd come around. He didn't understand that it was the _motive +power_ that was lacking in me. + +"Good God, Drew! I've been hungry and cold and homesick until I've +thought death was the next step; but I couldn't _stick_ to anything long +enough to make good. Such men as my father never know what +hell-suffering men like me go through--before they fall, and fall, and +fall! + +"I wrote--lies, home. I wanted to keep mother singing and laughing. I +was always doing fine, you know. Coming home in a year or so. I was in +Chicago, then New York; but I was getting lower all the time. I put up +in those haunted houses--the lodging dives, but I kept those letters +going to her, always cheerful. + +"Then I made another struggle. I cut for the woods. I got to +Hillcrest--when word came--that she had--died!" A dumb suffering stopped +the words. Drew laid his hot hand over Filmer's, which were clenched, +until the finger-tips were white. + +"It was the hope--of making myself fit to go home and hear her sing and +laugh that had brought me to Hillcrest. Well, I wrote the old man--that +I was going further north. You see, he blamed me. Said the longing for +me, the disappointment and the rest, had weakened her heart. I couldn't +bear the thought of ever going back--then; so I tramped over the hill +and--St. Ange adopted me. It's been a tame plot since then, but it's +never been as bad as it was before. I dropped into their speech and +ways, and things sank to a dead level. I got word from Hillcrest the +other day." Filmer looked blankly into the red embers. "The governor has +left--it all to me with this saving clause: if I have any honour I am +not to take the money until I can use it as my parents would desire. You +see, the old man had what I never suspected--a soft place in his heart +for me, and a glimmer of hope. It might not have made any +difference--but I wish to God I had known it before." + +Drew could not stand the misery of the convulsed face. He turned his +eyes away. + +"Drew!" Filmer had risen suddenly and now confronted his companion with +deep, flashing eyes. "Drew, I'm not going to take the fortune +unless--I'm fit to handle it. I've been a tramp long enough to know that +I can keep on being a tramp, but I'm going to make one more almighty try +before I succumb. I may be all wrong, but lately I've thought the--the +motive power has--come to me." A strange, uplifting dignity seemed to +fall upon Filmer. Drew tried to speak; to say the right thing, but he +merely smiled feebly and rose unsteadily to his feet. + +"I wouldn't blame you if you--cut me after this, Drew, but it's got to +be said. It's--your--sister." + +"My--sister? Connie?" Drew was never so surprised and astounded in his +life before. + +"Connie?" he gasped again. "Connie?" + +"If--if--I was what I might be? If I come into my own, Drew, do you +think she--could care--for me?" + +"How under heaven can I tell?" Drew said slowly; "she has never--how +could she? shown--" he paused. + +"How indeed, could she?" Filmer laughed a hard, bitter laugh. + +"It would be a poor sort of reformation, Jock--" Drew was getting +command of himself--"if it were only to get--her! You've got to get +yourself, old man, before you'd dare ask any woman to care for you. I +often think the best of us ask a good deal--on trust; but at least a man +must know himself before he has a right to expect even--faith." + +"Oh! I've worked all that out, Drew, I've been to Hillcrest to talk the +beginnings over with a little lawyer fellow who's had my confidence all +along. I'm going back where I fell, Drew, in the start. I'm going back +there where the loss of her--the mother's laugh and song--will grip the +hardest and where the antidote will be the easiest to get. I'm going to +take only enough of the governor's money to keep me out of the filth of +the gutter until I can climb on to the curb or--go to the sewer, see? +But always there is going to be your sister above me. Just remember +that--and if you can help her to think of me, once in--a while--" + +"Filmer, until you climb up, you must not ask me to hold even one +thought of my sister's for you; except--" and here Drew looked frankly +in the anxious face--"except as the good fellow of--our Solitude." + +"Thank you! That's all I meant. And if I pull up--and stay up--she, not +I, will know how to use the money. She's got the heart that can reach +down to the suffering, and hold little dying kids on her breast. If I go +under, Drew, the money is going to her--anyway." + +"Filmer!" + +"That's all right, Drew. I know what I'm about. She'll brighten up all +the dark places--and remember me in that way if in no other." + +Long the two men looked at each other; then Drew extended his hand. Jock +took it in a firm grip. + +"Good night, Filmer, and God be with you!" + +"I'm ready to start, I'll tramp back with you as far as the bungalow." + +Jock dashed the crumbling, glowing logs with his foot, and left the fire +dying, but safe. Then, gathering his travelling things together, he went +out with Drew, closing the door behind him. + +It was a snowy night now, white and dry. In silence the two trudged on +to the bungalow, then Drew said, "and you won't come in, Filmer, just +for a word?" + +"Thanks; no." + +"Where are you going now?" + +"To Hillcrest. I start from there to-morrow morning, after another talk +with the little fellow I mentioned. I'm going to keep to the woods for a +few days--they always brace me--then I'm going to make a break--for the +coast." + +"You'll--write--to--me--Jock?" + +For a moment Filmer hesitated; then he said eagerly: + +"Yes; as long as I'm fighting, I'll keep in touch. If I get down--you'll +know by my--not writing. And Drew, I want to tell you something. That +religion of yours is all right. It was the first kind that ever got into +my system and--stayed there. It's got iron, red-hot iron in it, but it's +got a homelike kind of friendliness about it that gives you heart to +hope in this life, and let the next life take care of itself." + +"Thank you, Filmer. That's going to make me--fight." + +Another quick, strong handclasp--and then Drew turned toward the glowing +windows of his home. + +Filmer stood with uncovered head in the driving storm, and looked, with +a great, hungry craving, up to the house that held the motive-power of +his new life, and then, with a dull pain he grimly set his face +toward--the coast. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Drew waited until after Christmas before he took a decided part in the +affairs of Gaston and Joyce. Indeed he purposely avoided any information +regarding what was going on at the shack among the pines. He was +determined that St. Ange's first, true Christmas should be, as far as he +could make it, a perfect one; and it was one never to be forgotten. It +set a high standard; one from which the place was never again to fall +far below. + +The snowstorm raged furiously for hours, and then the weather cleared +suddenly and gloriously. + +Blue was the sky, and white the world. A stillness held all Nature, and +the intense cold was so disguised that even the wisest native was +misled. + +Early on Christmas morning, right after the jolly family breakfast, Drew +called to Constance as she passed his study door: + +"Connie, we cannot have Filmer with us, after all. He's gone away." + +The girl stopped suddenly. Her arms were full of gifts, and her bright +face grew still. + +"Where has he gone?" The question was put calmly, but with effort. + +"It's quite a yarn, Con; can you come in?" + +"I can hear from here, Ralph; go on." + +"You know that rich old fellow on the Pacific Coast who has just died, +Jasper Filmer, the mining magnate?" + +"Yes." + +"He's was Jock's--father." + +Drew heard a package drop from his sister's arms. She stooped and picked +it up. From his chair Drew saw that her face never changed expression. + +"So then, Filmer did not take the trouble to change even his name?" + +The voice was completely under control now. + +"No. I imagine this was no case of the town-crier being sent out. When +the prodigal got ready to return, under prescribed conditions--the calf +was there." + +"I see. And has he--has Jock accepted the--conditions?" + +"He's gone to make--a big fight, Con. He will not take the fortune +unless he wins. Filmer's got some of the old man in him, I bet." + +"Yes. Is--is his mother living? Has he any one to go to--out there?" + +"No one, Con. From what he told me, I gathered that it was to be a fight +with the odds--against him." + +There was a long pause. A package again dropped to the floor. The girl +outside stooped to gather it up; dropped two or three more, then +straightened herself with an impatient exclamation. + +"He'll win out!" The words sounded like a rally call. With that the girl +fled down the hall, trilling the merriest sort of a Christmas tune. + +At three o'clock St. Ange turned out in force, and set its face toward +the bungalow. + +Leon Tate had decided that to put a cheerful front to the foe was the +wiser thing to do, so he closed the Black Cat and arrayed his oily +person in his best raiment, kept heretofore for the Government Inspector +and Hillcrest potentates, and drove his wife himself up to Drew's fete. + +"Do you know," he said, as they started, "Brown Betty looks as played +out as if she had been druv instead of loafing in the stable." + +"She do look beat," Isa agreed. "What's that in the bottom of the sled, +Tate?" she suddenly asked. + +Tate picked it up. + +"Now what do you think of that?" he grunted, and held the object out at +arm's length. + +It was a baby's tiny sock; unworn, unsoiled. The little twisted foot +that had found shelter in it for so brief a time had not been a restless +foot. + +"Give that to me," Isa said hoarsely, and tears stood in her grim eyes. + +"What the--what does that--mean?" + +"How should I know, Tate? But it set me thinking. Things often let loose +ideas, you know. This being Christmas--and the stable and the manger +and--and--the baby. It all fits in." + +Tate looked at his wife in an almost frightened way. + +"You mean"--he tried awkwardly to follow her confused words; "you +mean--a baby has been borned in--our manger?" + +"Lord! Tate what are you thinking of? St. Ange may be wilder than +Bethlehem in some ways, but there ain't never been no baby borned in +_my_ manger." + +"Then what in thunder do you mean?" + +"Nothing, Tate"; and now the tears were actually falling from Isa's +eyes. + +"I guess"--she strangled over her emotions--"I guess--it's more like--a +flight inter Egypt--than--than--a birthday party." + +"Get up, Bet!" Tate was routed by the event. Finally he said slowly, +"See here, old woman, I'm going to look inter that--baby boot, and don't +you forget it. This ain't no time and place maybe, but Tate's going to +have his senses onter any job that takes his possessions for granted. +Give me--that flannel boot." + +"Tate--I can't." + +"Can't, hey?" + +"Well then"--and the declaration of independence rang out--"I won't!" + +"What!" Brown Betty leaped under the lash. + +"It don't belong to me." + +"Do you know who owns it?" + +"I can--guess." + +"Guess then, by thunder!" + +"It--belonged--to--Joyce's poor little dead young-un." + +"How in"--then Tate blanched, for superstition held his dull wits. "How +you 'spose it got there?" + +"How can I tell, Tate? But I'll ask Joyce, to-morrer." + +With that Leon had to be content. + +The feast began at five. Long, long did the youth of St. Ange recall it +with fulness of heart and stomach. Yearningly did St. Ange womankind +hark back to it. It was the first time in their lives that they had not +prepared, and were not expected themselves to serve, a meal. They +forgot, in the rapture of repose, their new and splendid gowns--the +comfort wrapped their every sense. + +"I was borned," poor Peggy confided to her neighbour, "to be a +constitootional setter, I think; but circumstances prevented. It's +curious enough how naterally I take the chance to set and set and enjoy +setting." + +Mrs. Murphy smoothed her dark-green cashmere with reverent and caressing +hand. + +"There's more than you, Mis' Falster," she said, "as is borned to what +they don't get, sure! Now me, fur instant, I find it easier nor what you +might think, to chew without my front teeth." + +This made Billy Falstar laugh. It was the first genuine laugh the poor +boy had had for many an hour. Constance Drew heard it, and it did her +heart good. For Billy, pale, wide-eyed and laughless, was not in the +order of things as they should be. She looked at Ruth Dale and +whispered, "Billy is reviving with proper nourishment." + +Ruth gave her a sympathetic smile. Ruth was, herself, working under +pressure, but she was successfully playing her part. + +"His face was the only grim one here," she said. "Just look at Maggie, +Con!" To view Maggie was to forget any unpleasant thing. + +Maggie Falstar was laying up for the future as a camel does for the +desert. Food and drink passed from sight under Maggie's manipulation +like a slight-of-hand performance, and through the effort, and above it, +the girl's expressionless face was bent over her plate. + +The Christmas tree, later, was in the hall. The party staggered to it +from the dining room with anticipation befogged by a too, too heavy +meal. But St. Ange digestions were of sturdy fibre, and fulfilled joy +brought about quick relief. + +Aunt Sally looked into the grateful eyes upturned toward the glittering +tree, and her own kind eyes were like stars. + +It was Ruth Dale who had taught the children to sing, "There's a +Wonderful Tree," and the Christmas anthem now surprised and charmed the +older people. + +Above the shrill, exultant voices, Ruth's clear tones rang firm and +true. Drew watched her from his place beside the tree, and his heart +ached for her. And yet--what strength and power she had. She so slight +and girlish. She had lost faith, and had had love wrenched from her. She +was bent upon a martyr's course, and yet she sang, with apparent abandon +of joy, the old Christmas song. + +Constance Drew was an adept at prolonging pleasure and thereby +intensifying it. With the tree bowed with fruit, standing glorified +before them, the rapt company listened with amaze to Maggie Falstar as +she sniffled and hitched through a poem so distorted that the only +semi-intelligible words were: "An--snow--they--snelt--at--the manger, +lost in--reverent--raw." + +This part of the programme affected Leon Tate in a most unlooked-for +manner. + +"Say, Smith," he remarked to the station-agent, who was gazing at +Constance Drew with his lower jaw hanging, "that beats anything I ever +heard in the natural artistic line. Blood's bound to colour its +victims--do you remember Pete's mother?" + +Tom Smith had forgotten the old lady. + +"Well, as sure as I'm setting here, old Mis' Falster uster come inter +the Black Cat when she'd had more than was good for her out of the +tea-pot, and recite yards of poetry standing on a chair and holding to +the top of the screen. There hasn't been a hint of such a thing since +then till--" + +But _the_ moment had come. The moment when the heart leaped to meet its +desire. The moment when the desire materialized, and the soul asked no +more. + +Workworn faces quivered with happiness. Things that vanity had yearned +for, but stern necessity had denied, were held now in trembling hands: +precious gifts that one _could_ do without, but were all the more sacred +for that reason. Jewelry and pretty bits of useless neckwear, and gauzy +handkerchiefs. + +Useless? No. For they were to win admiration that was all but dead, and +give sodden women an incentive to live up to them. + +Little hungry-hearted children hugged dolls so beautiful, yet so human, +that nothing more could be asked. Boys, awkward and red, shook like +leaves as they fumbled with "buzzum pins" and gorgeous ties and fancy +vests. + +Sleds, skates and books abounded, and St. Ange, on that sacred day, +revelled in the superfluous and the long-denied. + +Constance Drew came upon Billy later, while games were in wild progress +in the hall and study, seated in a dark corner of the dining room +weeping as if his heart would break over a be-flowered vest and a rich +red tie. + +"Billy!" + +"Yes'm." Billy was too far gone to make pretence. + +"Don't you like--what you have?" + +"Gosh! Yes." + +"Are you happy, dear?" The gentlest of hands touched the red head. + +"Happy?" Billy blubbered; "I'm busting with it." + +"Billy!" and now Constance spoke slowly, impressively, "I want to tell +you--something. It's something we have all thought out. It is, perhaps, +another Christmas gift for you, dear. I--am--going--away!" + +"Going away?" Poor Billy accepted this Christmas offering with horrified +anguish. + +"Going--" + +"Wait, Billy, boy. When Christmas is all over and done with, I am--going +back to my other--home until next--summer. But Billy--I want a part of +St. Ange with me"--her eyes shone--"I have--been--so happy here--so +glad--and so different. I want something to make me remember--if I ever +_could_ forget. Billy, I want you to come with me. There are schools +there, dear. Hard work, and a bigger life--but it will make a man of +you, Billy, if the thing is in you, that I believe _is_ in you. It's +your chance down there, Billy, your best chance, I think, dear--and I'll +be there to help you--and to have you help me. Billy, will you come?" + +Then Billy dropped the red tie and the be-flowered vest. Everything +seemed to fall from him, but a radiance that grew and grew. He tried to +speak, but failed. He put his hands out, but they trembled shamefully. +Then all in a heap Billy sank at Constance Drew's feet and hid his +throbbing head in the folds of her white silk gown. + +The pale moon peeped through the wide window, and cast a strange gleam +over the tousled red head snuggled under the little, caressing hand. It +transformed a girlish face that was looking far, far beyond St. Ange's +calm and peace. The vision the girl saw was battle. Life's battle. Not +little Billy's alone, though God knew that was to be no light matter. +Not even Filmer's lonely struggle, but her own. Her fight against +Convention and Preconceived Ideas. Against all that Always Had Been with +What Was Now To Be. + +But as the far-seeing eyes gazed into the future, they softened until +the tears mingled with Billy's on the already much-stained silken gown. + +"Billy-boy, we're crying. I wonder--what for?" + +"Because," Billy's mouth was full of that silken gown; "because you and +me is so plum chuck-full of happiness we're nigh to busting." + +"Oh! Billy, is that really it, really?" + +Billy looked up from his shrine. + +"Ain't we?" he said solemnly. + +"Billy--I--believe--we--are." + +Late that night, standing alone by his study window, Drew's tired eyes +travelled over his parish. His people had gone. They were his people at +last. God-given, as he had been God-sent. He would work with them and +for them. He would live day by day, and not look to the eventide. He +would--then he looked down the moonlighted road to the stretch on beyond +the house, where the snow lay unbroken on the way up to Gaston's shack. +A tall, strong figure was striding into the emptiness. A man's form, +swinging and full of purpose. It was--John Dale himself going up to meet +his fate. + +There was no light of welcome in the shack among the pines. All was dark +and lifeless. Drew started back. Humanity seemed to urge him to follow +that lonely figure and be within call should his help be needed. Second +thought killed the desire. + +The man plunging ahead in the night was a strong man. A man who through +sorrow, sin and shame, had hewed his way to his own place. No one could +help him in this hour that awaited him. He must go up to the Mount +bearing his own cross--and accept the outcome according as his +preparation for the ordeal had fitted him. + +It was ten o'clock of the following day, when Drew was roused from his +reading beside the study fire by a sharp knock on the door. + +He was beginning, lately, to regard this room of his as a kind of +Confessional, and every knock interested him. + +"Come!" he called. + +Gaston strode in. Whatever the night had meant to him, his face bore +little trace of anything but stern purpose. + +"Good morning, Drew," he said quietly. "Joyce Lauzoon has left my house. +Can you tell me anything about her?" + +"Very little, Gaston." The onslaught, so direct and unerring, rather +took Drew's breath, but he caught himself in time. "Lay off your coat," +he said cordially, "and draw up to the fire. The cold seems to be +increasing." + +Gaston flung hat and coat from him, and pulled a chair nearer the blaze. + +"It will continue to grow colder from now on until the break-up. Drew, I +cannot waste time, nor have I any inclination to mince matters. I know +that you have, in no small measure, influenced Joyce Lauzoon's thought. +I know she has spoken of the effect of your words upon her life and, +finding her gone upon my return, I naturally come to you thinking that +perhaps--and from the highest motives--you may have said something to +her that has led her to take this step. + +"Whatever has been said, has been said by some one who could affect her +as one speaking, if you can understand, from my side of the question. No +one else could have any power over her." + +"Gaston, I have not seen, nor have I had any communication with Joyce +Lauzoon, since you left this last time. While you were away before, she +came to me, and I talked with her as I felt should, under the +circumstances." + +"I know all about that"; a sharp line formed on Gaston's forehead; "it +was indirectly on account of that conversation between you that I left +so abruptly again. Pardon me, Drew, but don't you think your aunt or +your sister--might have followed up your line of argument by--their +own?" + +Drew flushed scarlet. + +"I am quite sure they did not," he said emphatically. + +"I've got to find her, Drew"; Gaston breathed hard; "none of you +understand the situation in the least." + +"Perhaps we do, Gaston." The minister-instinct rose within the weak man, +and gave him the sudden dignity that had always impressed Jock Filmer. + +For the life of him Gaston could not despise the young fellow. There +was courage of purpose and conviction that ennobled his frail body. It +was no easy thing, Gaston felt sure, for him to place himself and his +youth in this attitude toward a man older than he. It was undeniable +Drew lost sight of himself every time he accepted the demands of his +profession,--and the renunciation won respect. + +"See here Drew, I do not often give my confidence. It does not often +appear necessary, and I think nine times out of ten it complicates +matters instead of solving mysteries, but I'm going to speak quite +openly to you--for Joyce's sake. It would not make any difference to +others--they think she deserves punishment for appearing to deserve it, +but I believe you will be able to comprehend the difference and perhaps +help me to help her. + +"Up to the night when she told me that she had seen you, and that your +conversation had emphasized some doubts of her own--she had been to me, +first a poor hounded creature, then, a striving, high-minded girl +endeavouring to free herself from the bondage of evil that had been her +inheritance. I'm not going to speak of myself in the matter, only so far +as to say that my own life, under different environment, has been +such--that I understood; I undertook the--task of helping her! Whatever +of temptation cropped up now and then, was strangled for her sake +always,--sometimes for my own, too--it died at last, and I was enabled +to serve her with single purpose. + +"What that task has meant to me--I cannot expect any living soul to +understand. I was very lonely. I never looked for reward nor recompense. +It was--I thought it was--enough in itself. But something had been going +on that was no part of my plan. Like a revelation it came to me, that +last evening I spent at home--that she was a splendid woman; and I knew +that I loved her! + +"That was why I went away. I went to find Jude Lauzoon. I meant to free +her, and marry her. Her love has always been mine. This may make no +difference--perhaps you cannot believe it--but it's God's truth, and now +you see why I must have her." + +Drew had never shifted his gaze from the speaker's face. Conflicting +emotions tore him--but there was no doubt in his heart, now, of Gaston. + +"In your profession, Drew," Gaston saw that he had gained his point, +"you do not want to condone sin, but you want to understand the sinner +as well as possible; and, Drew, you may take my word for it--I'm not in +an overwhelming minority." + +For a moment Drew tried to speak and failed. Every expression of his +true thought seemed inadequate and futile. Presently he stretched his +hand across the little space that divided him from his companion. + +"Gaston," he said, "I thank you. It does make a difference. It +makes--all the difference in the world." + +His thin, blue-veined hand fell upon Gaston's strong, brown one, which +lay spread upon the chairarm. + +Gaston did not flinch under the touch. He did not seem to notice it. + +"Drew," he continued after a long pause, "it will help me--to find her, +perhaps, if you tell me the little that you know. I am not going to let +her slip if I have to hunt every inch of the woods for her. You must see +that there is danger in every moment's delay. + +"Can you tell me if any one has seen her and talked with her who might +influence her from an--outside point of view?" + +Drew was sorely perplexed. He realized that Ruth's wild description of +her encounter with Joyce had left many unexplained points. Evidently +Joyce herself had, in some way, learned more of Gaston's past than Drew +had at first supposed. Then, to tell Gaston, even in his trouble, that a +guest of his, Drew's, had gone into the other's home and caused this +calamity, was too cold-blooded a thing to do, without due consideration. + +He knew, better than his companion did, that if Joyce had carried out +her intention, there was no need of haste. + +Gaston was looking keenly at him. + +"You are keeping something from me, Drew," he said slowly, "and you have +a reason for doing so?" + +"Yes, Gaston, I am; and I have." + +The further he became involved, the more hopeless the position became to +Drew. Gaston was seeking to solve Joyce Lauzoon's problem and his own, +without the test of Ruth Dale. Not only Ruth's confession as to Joyce, +but Ruth herself must enter into Gaston's future plan of action. + +"You know, Drew, who went to my house?" + +"Yes; I know that Joyce had a visitor who might have influenced her to +take this step; but I have reason to believe that Joyce did not act upon +this other's initiative entirely. She had certain knowledge of her own +that--urged the course she has taken." + +"That is impossible!" Gaston's eyes flashed. Recalling that last scene +with Joyce, he could not doubt her simple faithfulness--unless that +faith of hers had been turned into a channel which she fondly believed +was for his greater good. Nothing could change Joyce Lauzoon. Whatever +had been the cause, Gaston knew, she had forgotten herself in her +decision. + +"I am--sure I am right, Gaston." + +"And you refuse to tell me who has seen her?" A slow anger was mounting +in Gaston. + +Before Drew could reply, a merry call from the hall smote both men into +dead silence. + +"Ruthie! Ruth Dale, where are you? Come, let's go and see how things +look the morning after?" + +Constance Drew had given Gaston his answer. By the magic of that name +she had connected the Past and the Present. The shock was tremendous, +but Gaston bore it with only a tightening of the lips to show the agony +he was enduring. + +Presently an aimless question broke the unendurable stillness of the +room. + +"Who--is--that, Drew?" + +"Ruth Dale--your brother's widow." + +"So--he is dead?" At such vital times in life, the mind leaps over +chasms of events, and takes much for granted. + +"Yes; he died a year ago." + +"How long--have you known, Drew--about him and me?" + +"Only a few nights ago. He was my friend for a comparatively few +years--but he was--a dear friend!" Drew spoke as if defence were +necessary. + +"I wonder--how much you _do_ know, Drew?" Gaston's face quivered. He +began to understand Joyce's soul-struggle. + +"Everything, Dale," the name clung uncertainly upon the speaker's lips; +"everything--vital. Philip confessed--the week before he died." + +Both men lowered their eyes. They dared not face each other for a +moment. + +The fire crackled and the clock ticked. Every sense was sharpened and +quickened in Dale until it was painful. + +Objects in the room stood out clearly to his uncaring sight; the snap of +the fire, the tick of the clock smote like separate reports upon his +hearing; and while he lived he was to recall, when he smelled burning +pine, this tense moment. Presently he rose unsteadily and reached out +for his coat and hat like a blind man. + +"Well, Drew," he said, making an effort to speak evenly, "there doesn't +seem to be anything more to say. I am going. Good-bye." + +"Dale--where are you going?" Drew was beside him. + +"I'm going to try and find--Joyce Lauzoon." + +"She--has--gone--to--her husband! He sent for her--and she went." Drew +spoke with an effort; but before the look on John Dale's face, he +staggered back. Hopeless rage, defeated desire blanched and fired in +turn the strong features. Then without a word Dale strode from the +room. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +John Dale went directly to his shack. What else was there for him to do +until he could find another trail through the blank that surrounded him? + +When he had entered his home the night before, God knew he had been +sorely distressed. He was going back to the woman he loved with her +fetters still unloosened. Worn and spent, he had permitted himself the +relaxation of spending a few days with her before he started out again +on the quest of Jude. He had found the shack deserted, but every pitiful +evidence of Joyce's thought for his comfort was apparent. He had lighted +the fire and lamp; had searched for note or other explanation, and, +finding none, he had eaten hastily and gone to Filmer's house. There +desolation again greeted him. + +Finally he had concluded that Joyce had gone to Isa Tate. This was a +poor solace, but it stayed him through the long night; an early visit to +the Black Cat proved this last hope vain. + +Now, with the later knowledge searching into his soul, Dale noticed the +careful arrangements Joyce had made, before she slipped back into the +hell from which he had once rescued her. + +She had taken only her own poor belongings. The shabby gowns and +trinkets that had been found among the ruins of the home Jude had laid +low. + +One silent token of the flight brought the stinging tears to Dale's +eyes. + +At the last, there must have been haste, for near the door of Joyce's +bedroom lay the mate of the baby's sock that Isa Tate was hiding at that +very moment. + +Poor, dead baby! He was pleading for the pretty mother who in his brief +life had so tenderly pleaded for him. + +Isa had wept over the tiny shoe, and now John Dale picked the mate up +reverently, and put it back where he knew Joyce always had kept it. + +Manlike he did not give himself blindly up to his misery. Life must go +on somehow--and while he sought a way out of the blackness that +enshrouded him, he must prepare himself. + +He replenished the fire, and then when high noon flooded the living room +with a pale glow, he set forth a meagre but nourishing meal. + +In the performing of these homely tasks he found a kind of comfort. It +brought Joyce back to him in a sense. + +During the early afternoon hours he smoked and thought. Things became +clearer, more fixed in his mind. + +Of course Joyce had been driven to Jude by a mistaken idea that she was +proving her deep love. Almost from the first, Dale thought of Ruth Dale +detached from the shock of her mere name as it had struck his brain and +heart in Drew's study. The old, vital charm of Ruth's personality; her +sweet, convincing power, when she chose to exert it, now rose in his +memory. Joyce would be but a baby in the hands of such a woman. + +A fierce indignation swayed the man. Gone was the sweet memory of the +control that that same charm had once had over him. Only as it now had +touched Joyce did he consider it, and every fibre of his being rose in +resentment. + +The savage in him gained strength. He would follow Joyce and have her +yet--in spite of all that had passed! + +When Joyce saw and knew--what would he and she care for the rest? He +could deal with Jude--there was still money. + +The wild claimed precedence over the innate refinement in Dale, and he +rose to begin his search. He glanced at the clock. It was four. He could +get--somewhere before dark. + +The prospect of action gave him relief and he was just turning to the +inner room, when a timid tap upon the outer door stayed him. + +His heart gave a great throb. Had she come? Had she returned to him? Had +she found the way back to hell impossible after he--the man she had +deserted--had shown her a path to heaven? + +"Come!" he commanded as if defying any other hold that might have power +over her. + +Pale, trembling and enveloped in the fur coat and hood, Ruth Dale +entered and closed the door behind her. + +Her eyes were wide and fear-filled, but self-possession was not lost. + +"John!" she cried pleadingly; "as soon as they told me--I came." + +Her outstretched hands recalled Dale to the present. + +"Ruth!" he whispered hoarsely, going to her; "this is--kind of you. Let +me take your wraps. Here, sit down." + +It was a relief to have her a little distance from him. He took a chair +on the opposite side of the hearth, and struggled to regain his +composure. For the life of him he could not fix his identity in the +place where the sudden convulsion of events had cast them all. + +He was an exile from the past of which this lovely woman was a part, and +the present had no space for her. + +In a dazed way he noted how exactly the same Ruth looked. When he had +dropped her hands--way back there in time, she appeared precisely the +same to him as she did now, with those same little jewelled hands lying +white and soft in her lap. She had worn a bright gown then, Dale +recalled, but even the gloomy raiment that now enfolded her had no power +to change the woman of her. + +Poor Dale could not comprehend in his new birth and life, that such +women as Ruth Dale are Accomplished Achievements of heredity and ultra +refinement. Generations ago Ruth's type had been perfected; she and +others of her kind, were but repetitions. + +Her girlhood had been a brief pause before she had entered her +fore-ordained womanhood--a mere waiting for the inevitable. Thus, Dale +had _last_ beheld her--so his photograph of her had fixed her in his +mind. He saw her now the same, outwardly, and the placidity of the +oft-repeated type held her afar from his rugged place. + +Dale himself had been tossed into the fire of temptation, in the rough. +He had fallen to the depths but to rise--a better and stronger man with +the dross burned out. The strong, primitiveness of him was as alien to +anything that was in Ruth as if the two had never seen each other +before. + +Like a man struggling with the recollections of a pre-incarnation, Dale +sought to find a semblance of the old passion and fire this woman had +once roused in him. Not even a reflection of them could he summon. Had +she entered his life two years before she might still have been able to +fan the embers into flame among the ashes; now she was powerless! Love, +a great overpowering love, a love having its roots in the life of the +woods and primitive things--held the man for its own. + +Looking into the deep eyes that once had pleaded with hers, Ruth Dale, +sitting in the lonely shack, wondered why she could not cope with this +critical situation. It grieved and perplexed her--but it did not daunt +her. Sweet and retiring as she was, and _consciously_ self-forgetful as +she believed herself, Ruth was what ages had made her. Had her +subconscious self asserted itself, it would have boldly proclaimed its +absolute superiority over other women of such make as poor Joyce +Lauzoon. Not merely in the other's shocking lack of moral sense--but in +very essence. + +John Dale had suffered--and had tried, in weak man-fashion, to solace +himself. The world had helped to train Ruth Dale. While not admitting +that there should be any palliation for the double code--or even the +appearance of it--such women as she recognized it, and were able, under +sufficiently convincing circumstances, to deal with it. There were +reasons, heaven knew, why she, Ruth Dale, should be lenient with this +silent man across the hearth. The white-souled innocence in her thanked +God, in this brief silence, that the man was _not_ as evil as many a +man, under the circumstances, might have been. She believed Joyce's +statement. It was wonderful, it was most weirdly romantic--and it could +be overlooked! + +It would have been absolutely impossible for Ruth Dale to conceive that +John Dale had so far outgrown her in the great human essentials of life, +that he had no further need of her. The life of which she was a part, +the life of which she was, she and her detached kind, the shining +centre, had not enough vitality to hold this man of nature to it. But +the pause was growing painful. + +"John--I have come to tell you all." + +He overleaped the poor past, and in his hunger to know of her part in +the present, said eagerly: + +"Ruth, I am waiting to hear. I might have known you would come." + +Then, to his surprise, the pretty sleek head was bent upon the arm of +the chair, and Ruth Dale wept, as the man opposite had forgotten women +_could_ weep. The sobs shook the slender form until pity for her moved +him to touch and soothe her; while the savage in him held him back. +Somehow, in a rough way, it seemed retribution. He was glad she could +suffer. But presently the flood ceased, Ruth looked up, tear-dimmed and +quivering. The torrent had borne away much sentiment; she was able to +face reality. + +She told of Philip's dying confession. She delicately and graphically +told of the broken life--after he, John, had passed out of it--and they, +who remained, bravely wound the tangled ends into a noble whole. + +Dale followed her words as if the story were of another--and of a life +he had never shared. + +"Philip wanted you to have all--everything--of which his weakness had +deprived you!" + +Dale started. + +"Oh! Yes," he said vaguely; "I see. Well, I can understand that. But +Ruth--not even God could accomplish that miracle. In all such cases it +has to be what a man himself can get out of the wreck. It has to be +_other_ things. New things--or he is--damned." + +It was the word more than the thought that caused the shudder in the +crouching woman. + +"You have never forgiven us," she whispered. + +"Yes, I have, Ruth. When I got to a place, cleansed by suffering, where +I could forgive myself--everything else was easy." + +"Oh! John, why could you not have trusted me with your--your brave +secret?" + +Why, indeed? John Dale could not have told; he only knew he had never +paused to consider when it came to telling Joyce Lauzoon. The thought +gripped him hard. + +"It had to be, Ruth, I imagine. All the ugly factors had to be taken +into consideration when the plan for re-making Phil and me was +designed." + +A grim smile touched the corners of the stern mouth. + +"He left his fortune to you!" + +"I cannot take it." Dale raised one hand as if pushing aside an +insulting offering. + +"John--I have my share--and my father's money. Think! Philip meant that +you should prove your forgiveness by--finishing his work. I never saw +greater anguish than in his desire. Can you, dare you, refuse?" + +A mist rose in Dale's eyes. Ruth saw it, and it gave her courage. + +Strangely enough, now that she groped toward this new man she saw before +her, her aversion to the man she once knew was lost sight of. A dim fear +arose that her sacrifice might escape him and her. Not through any +unwillingness on their parts, but through a misunderstanding. She +bravely strove to down the menace. + +"John--I came to this house a few days ago to help a weak, erring woman, +if I could. That is all I knew. Almost at once she made me see the +strange thing that had happened here through the goodness of a strong +man, and the simplicity of--a weak, but loving woman. + +"All unknowingly I yearned to help her--save her, but she wanted to save +herself more than I understood at first. She was so brave and direct; +once she saw where her weakness had placed her and the man she loved, +she was strong in her determination to right the wrong. For her, poor +soul, there was but one way--she returned to her husband! + +"John--_she_ told me who you were. In some way she knew who I was. I was +so distressed and surprised at the time that I did not question how she +knew me--but she did and"--Ruth could not bring herself to say, "she +gave you back to me." + +"John--let the cruel, cruel past be forgotten. Come back to your own. +The world will see you righted. John, say that it shall be as I--as +Philip--desire." + +She looked like a spirit as she bent toward him full of compassion, of +entreaty, and the kinship with that which she believed was still in him, +and only waiting for her to call to action. + +The minutes passed--her call brought forth no rush of checked emotion +and controlled passion. + +Dale looked at her coldly. He was far too simple a man, intrinsically, +to gather the true, inward drift of her thought. He was now seeking to +understand the change that had overcome him. She, the girl of his Past +who had held his love, hope and desire; she no longer moved him except +in wonder and aversion. But he felt that it was due her that he should +meet her as far as possible on this new way they were travelling. He +shifted his position. He knew something more was expected of him than +he could give; but he must give as he could. + +"Ruth," he began, and, because his inclination was to move away, he +purposely drew nearer; "I am sure you meant nothing but kindness in +coming to Joyce Lauzoon; I can see that you mean only great good to +me--but you cannot understand. You haven't even touched upon the truth. +I suppose some people are born complete in the little; they only have to +develop. Others are--well--thrown together, and they cannot assume form +and shape until by blows and chiselling they come through the +machine--moulded. You have always been good and true; what you knew of +me, long ago, died and was thrown aside; what little survived, was +nourished apart from, and upon a life you have no conception of. I think +only lately have I realized this myself. I'm a bigger and a smaller man +than you knew, Ruth; I'm stronger and weaker; better and worse," his +hand clenched over the arm of her chair, and her eyes dilated. She was +frightened. She felt his blood rising and she shrank back. It was +horrible to be there--with him alone! + +"You cannot understand, but that old life seems to me now to be--used +up, colourless and flabby. The people seem small and--all alike. This +life--is big, free and--in the making. There are souls here that are +only touched by sins that have drifted to them--they are possible of +great things. They are new and keen, and they ring true when you strike +them. The woman who left this house--the other day," Dale's words came +hard and quick, "is the most glorious creature that ever lived. The life +back there could not produce her. Strong, tender, and love itself! Not +for one instant did she pause when she knew who and what I was--she +loved--that was enough! God! how she loved. You--and women like you, +Ruth, might lead the men you love toward heaven; she would go her way +alone to perdition to add to the happiness of the man she loved. But it +would be alone, mind you. + +"She's gone back to such a man as your books, even, forbear to portray. +Jude is one of the creatures up here who was born without a soul. She's +gone to him to save me, as she thought--but she'll live alone, alone as +long as she lives at all. + +"So you see what trouble comes from such civilization as yours grafted +on to the primitive passions of the backwoods." + +"John!" + +There was no fear in Ruth Dale now, only a horrible conviction that John +Dale, the man she had come to reclaim and give back to his own, would +have none of her! + +"John! John!" So he had sunk so low. + +"Do you know where she is?" Dale looked at his companion without noting +her pallid astonishment. + +"No; I do not." + +"Then--and you will let me see you back to Drew's? I must go and find +her. She shall have the truth, the whole truth, by God! to cool the +fires of that hell she has been thrust into." + +Ruth covered her face with her trembling hands. Never before had she +been so near the bare, throbbing heart of things. + +Oh! from what had she been saved? And yet--he was standing above her and +he was superb in his strength and power. He was holding her cloak for +her; helping to rid himself of her. The old half-dead, but vital call of +the aboriginal woman rose in her, then ebbed away at birth in a feeble +flickering jealousy. + +"I do not wish you to go with me." Ruth felt timidly out for her sweet +dignity; the perquisite and recompense of exquisite refinement. "I +prefer going alone." + +"It is quite dark." + +"I shall not be afraid," Dale walked with her to the door. Just before +the blackness engulfed her, she turned her little, flower-like face to +him: + +"John--I shall always be ready to be--your--friend if you need me." + +"I shall remember. Good night." + +An hour later Dale walked into the Black Cat Tavern and made a ruinous +bargain with Tate for the use of his horse and sled for an indefinite +time. "I'm going up into the woods," he explained, "I may be gone a +week, a month, I cannot tell; when I reach Camp 7, I'll send your rig +back." + +"Going to join Filmer, maybe?" Tate's little eyes rolled in their +cushions of fat. + +"Perhaps." And Tate took this as affirmation. Now that Joyce had +rejoined her rightful lord and master--for the story had leaked out--it +was quite natural that Gaston should take to the woods. + +"It's one on 'im," Tate confided, as Brown Betty and the sled dashed by. + + * * * * * + +When Dale started out his purpose was very vague. If he reasoned at all +it was to the effect that Jude, after Joyce rejoined him, would seek +employment as near at hand as possible. It would be like his weak vanity +to parade his victory by going to the men who had known of his defeat. +Besides, if he had sent for Joyce, he must have been in the +neighbourhood. The heavy storm, in any case, would hinder a long +journey, and the men at Camp 7 might perhaps have news of Lauzoon either +before or after Joyce had met him a day or so ago. + +It had been a short time. He and Brown Betty were a better pair than +Jude and a heavy-hearted woman. So Dale drove on toward Camp 7. + +He tried to keep to the trail, once he struck the forests, but the snow +was unbroken--the heaviest fall had occurred after Billy's return--and +Brown Betty intelligently slackened her speed and felt her way gingerly +through the darkness. It was still as death. Above the trees the stars +pricked the sky, and the intense cold fell like a tangible thing upon +the flesh exposed to it. Dale pulled his fur cap lower, and gladly let +Betty have her will. + + * * * * * + +Now when Billy had left Joyce at the end of their flight, it was near +the door of the woodman's hut. + +"Billy," Joyce had said, lingeringly clinging to him as the last +familiar thing in her happy span of life; "Billy, you must turn back, +and God bless you, dear. You see Jude must not know anything about +you--and it's all right now, Billy." + +Billy made an effort to speak, but ended in a sob. + +"Never mind, Billy, it's _all_ right now. Just remember that. Kiss me +Billy." + +And Billy kissed her like the true gentleman he was on the way to being. +Then Joyce, with her shabby baggage, and basket of provisions went on +alone. + +She was stiff and cold, and her heart was like lead within her. With +surprise she noticed that the door of the hut was partly open, and the +snow had drifted in. It was dark and lifeless apparently, and for a +moment Joyce thought that Jude had gone away, and she turned to recall +Billy before it was too late. Then she boldly entered the house. The +little entry was covered with snow and the room door, too, stood as the +outer one did, ajar. Joyce paused and listened--then a horrible fear +took possession of her. The still house overpowered her for a moment, +but she knew that death awaited her in the outer cold and loneliness, so +by superhuman determination she felt her way toward the fireplace--she +had been in the hut more than once and memory served her now. She forced +herself to think only of lighting the fire. Even when she struck a match +she would glance nowhere but at the hearth. + +Her teeth were set close, and her breath hardly stirred her bosom. There +had been a fire recently--but the ashes were cold. There was, however, +wood nearby, and Joyce tore the paper from one of her packages and used +it to ignite the smaller wood. + +There was a puff, a flare, and the wood caught. + +With the growing heat and light a semblance of courage returned, still +Joyce kept her eyes rigidly upon her task. She laid on more wood, and +yet more. It was past midnight and the terrible stillness Was numbing +her reason. Presently she cautiously turned--something compelled her. +She did not expect to find--anything, but she had to look! Away from the +red glare, the shadows concealed their secrets from the fear-haunted +eyes, but only for a moment. + +Jude was there! He was lying stretched upon the floor. A bottle was near +his outspread hand. He was asleep. + +Joyce did not try to get upon her feet, but she crept toward the still +form. She touched, with stiff fingers, the hand of the man she had come +to meet--the man who was to save her from her love. + +"Jude!" she whispered hoarsely; "Jude!" + +A falling log started the others to a redder glow. The face of the man +upon the floor lay exposed. The eyes were open--but unseeing, and Joyce +knew that Jude was frozen to death! + +She made no cry. Had she been capable of sensation she would have gone +mad, but she was conscious of no emotion whatever. + +The room grew hotter and brighter. She drew away from that horrible +shape upon the floor. She must forget it or her head would burst. In the +morning, and it would soon be morning, she could go for help--but for +now she must forget. + +Still creeping, she regained the fireplace; there she huddled with her +back to--that long black shadow. Yes; it was but a shadow. She would not +think of it but as a shadow. + +She braced against the chimney corner, and set her face to the warm, +soothing light. Once she stirred and threw on more wood, then she +returned to her corner; and kept her eyes in one direction. + +An hour passed. The slight form by the fire relaxed, and sank gradually +to an easy position far enough away from the fire to be safe. The pretty +head fell upon a bundle that had earlier been dropped carelessly +there--and a great peace rested on the worn face. Suffering, +hopelessness and fear fled as the calm gently settled from brow to chin; +and all that was conscious of Joyce Lauzoon drifted into the oblivion +that has never been fathomed. + +Behind the sealed doors--the miracle was performed. The spirit freed +from its suffering body--but not claimed by Death--was strengthened and +purified. Where it fared--who can tell? How near the Source of eternal +things it wandered none may know, but it drank deep and lost its +earth-stain long enough to carry back with it a faith that would enable +it to live. + +The rosy light of day was showing ruddily in the window of the hut when +Joyce opened her eyes. The returning spirit came slowly back with +stately serenity. There was no shock nor start of wonder; it took +possession of the refreshed body that was awaiting it, and accepted its +responsibilities. + +Joyce was lying on her back, her hands crossed upon her bosom. The fire +still glowed at heart, and the room was warm. A calmness and saneness +reigned supreme. Joyce wondered what had befallen her? Then slowly, like +a wise mother, Nature gave into her conscious thought the knowledge of +things as they were. + +She turned--yes! there was Jude. But she did not shrink nor shudder now. +Young as she was, she had seen death many, many times. She had gone to +the portals, alone, with others beside her poor baby. She rose now, and +walked over to Jude's side. The night had wrought a change in him, +seemingly; or perhaps it was Joyce's regained sanity. The man on the +floor looked calm, peaceful and strangely dignified. His helpless +peacefulness appealed to Joyce. She began to take away all signs of +degradation that remained. The inanimate tokens of poor Jude Lauzoon's +weakness and undoing. + +The empty bottle was hidden from sight; the disordered clothing was +straightened, and the hands that were never to work harm again, were +folded over the quiet breast. + +God had set Joyce free! and as she did the last, sad service for the man +who had no real place in her life, the words of Ruth Dale recurred to +her. + +No; she had never been free before. She never could have been free while +Jude and she walked the same earth. There had been an intangible link +that only death could sever. + +Her freedom had come too late--but no! Sitting beside Jude's body, Joyce +felt the convincing truth that, come what might, she could, she would +live as John Dale had shown her how. + +Softly, with reverent touch, Joyce covered the grim, white face, and +turned away to prepare for her home journey. She must get others to come +for Jude's body. Her part was all past now forever. She must go to face +her new life, whatever it might be. + +As she opened the outer door, the clear, stinging cold brought a sense +of freshness and sweetness with it. It was so alive, and it called to +all that was awakening in her. Her slow blood tingled and her breath +came quick and deep. + +For very relief she took off her close hood, and flung her arms wide as +if in welcome to what awaited her. + +The unbroken snow spread on every side. Like the first-comer in this +new, pure world she set forth with a high courage and a strange faith. + +So she came upon John Dale's vision, and he started back, fearing that +his weariness and heavy heart were playing havoc with his senses. Having +seen smoke rising from the chimney of the hut, he had left his horse and +sled a short distance away, and had come to investigate. + +So absorbed was Joyce that she neither saw nor heard the approach of the +man she had put from her life. + +Her pale beauty, as she came quickly toward him, struck Dale as almost +unearthly. She was within a few yards of him when she saw him. A rich +colour flushed her face as she recognized him and her eyes widened. + +"Jude--is dead!" she said simply. She thought he was still upon his +quest; still ignorant of the happenings that had driven her away from +the shack. + +The words had the effect of paralyzing Dale. Had this woman taken a life +in self-preservation? Then the sweet, innocent calm of her face +reassured him. Jude was dead! Every barrier was removed--every obstacle +overcome. + +Dale rushed toward her with outstretched arms. The look on his face awed +Joyce--but before she was swept into a bliss that might not be +rightfully hers, she shrank from him. She put her hands out pleadingly +as if imploring him to withhold what her soul was hungering for. Dale +understood. + +"Joyce--I have been home. They have told me--all!" + +"All?" Joyce panted the one word. "All?" + +"Yes. Everything. Now--will you come?" + +To his dying day Dale was never to forget the look she cast upon him as +he and she stood alone in the white trackless forest. + +Love, such love as worn-out civilization knows not, took possession of +Joyce Lauzoon. A love that controlled and uplifted. + +Dale waited--then she came to him, glorious and strong in her power of +joy-giving. She clasped her hands around his neck, and lifted her face +to his; their lips met and their eyes grew wondrously tender. + +"And now,"--it was Joyce who recalled him to duty--"where shall we go?" + +His promise to Drew followed close on the question; and Ruth Dale's +farewell to him as she slipped from his life came with a new meaning. + +"Sweet," he whispered, "they are waiting for us--Drew, and my sister, +Ruth Dale." + +THE END + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Transcriber's Note: + +1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards. + +2. The Table of Contents was not present in the original book. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Joyce of the North Woods, by Harriet T. Comstock + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS *** + +***** This file should be named 19225.txt or 19225.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/2/2/19225/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/19225.zip b/19225.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..270d23e --- /dev/null +++ b/19225.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..94a86a5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #19225 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19225) |
