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 Mars