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