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 circumstance