alk 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'