lmer from his rear corner, winked at Gaston at this. Gaston could see
nothing amusing in the service--it was all in the passing show--a
pitiful and added agony.

In that the show was a little grimmer than usual he found his resentment
rising. So Gaston did not return the pleasantry of Jock's wink.

After the service, Jude had insisted that there should be no unseemly
haste, and had instructed his chosen representatives to form a line and
walk from the house to the tavern and back twice with the tiny remains,
before they were finally laid to rest. This show of respect was talked
of in St. Ange for days.

Through all the bitter day Joyce had followed dumbly whatever others
did. It was like walking in her sleep, and she was grateful that she
felt no sorrow.

She had feared if the baby died it might kill her, and now that it was
dead she did not mind at all.

Her arms ached a little at times. She thought that was queer; they had
never ached when they bore the baby.

At last she and Jude were back in the awful, quiet house. It was more
awful now that Jude was there. For after the burial, and before the
evening meal, he had been lessening his tension with some boon
companions, down at the Black Cat, and Joyce had had the place to
herself.

Jude, having relaxed to the state of geniality, was willing to let
bygones be bygones in the broadest sense of the word. He had big plans
afoot--he had had them the night he came home and found Gaston and Joyce
hanging over the baby. These plans had been set aside while the baby was
taking his pitiful leave of life after his one smile, but Jude must
hurry his case now. Nothing stood in the way--and, although many a woman
might get what she deserved, Jude was going to forgive Joyce again and
take her to his bosom in a new life, and they'd both forget what was
past.

The hold of youth and beauty clutched the man's inflamed senses. The
evening meal, which Joyce had mechanically prepared, had been partaken
of--by Jude--until little but fragments was left.

A black shower, which had passed over St. Ange in the late afternoon,
had changed the sultry heat to ominous chill. The wind among the pines
sobbed dismally as if it were a human thing and could understand.

Jude got up and shut the door. It was quite dark outside, and the lamp
flickered in the breeze.

At his action Joyce sprang from the chair, and the dull calm that had
possessed her for the past day or so was shattered. Her e