ome."

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 ha