ena
could not defy, and she and her children faced life in a village where a
man was an absolute necessity unless there was money to take his place.
Jude grimly smiled as he recalled how the men and boys gave Marsena and
her brood a jeering send-off as the rattling train bore them away soon
after Riddall had been laid behind the disused church.

So while Marsena was still in Jude's memory, he came upon the deserted
and decaying cottage where once Lola Laval had sung her pretty
French-Canadian song.

It was odd how Lola came always with that song accompaniment. Try as he
might, even now, in this disordered moment, Jude heard the rippling
little lark song rise and fall in the fragrant darkness.

Jude, while but a boy, liked to draw water for Lola and run her errands
when young Pierre, the husband, was in camp. When the logging season was
over, Lola's cottage vied with the Black Cat in popularity. Pierre was a
noted card player, but, oh! Lola's song sounded above the slap of
pasteboard and the click of glasses. How pretty she was--and how the
women hated her! The men were eager to serve her. She had no need to
command; her desires seemed granted before she voiced them--poor, pretty
Lola!

Alouette, alouette, alouette, alouette.
Oh, alouette, chantez alouette,
Alouette, je te plumerai.
Alouette, chantez alouette,
Alouette, je te plumerai.
Je te plumerai le bec,
Je te plumerai le bec
A le bec,
A le bec,
Alouette,
Alouette.

Lola had not lasted long; only nineteen she was when Pierre in his
jealousy struck the light from her eyes by a cruel blow, and the song
fled from her lips; then taking warning from a well-directed signal from
Beacon Hill, he had sought the Southern Solitude just before Justice, in
the form of the Hillcrest constable, came stalking into St. Ange.

But the song was not dead. Again and again a man or woman would revive
it and so it had become a part of the place. To Jude, now, it was
painfully evident as he again plunged forward; it followed him sweetly,
mockingly as it used to when Lola sent it after him to keep him from
being afraid as he left her for his lonely home; he, a neglected little
boy.

And now here was Joyce! With a stinging consciousness Jude realized this
new personality that heretofore he had not suspected. Even as jealous
anger spurred him on, a vague something he knew awaited him, calmed him
and made him cautious.

While he longe