finished, but Joyce's silence, her
apparent discomfort, gave him a kind of assurance that upheld him in his
position.

The girl across the table had been awakened several weeks ago in
Gaston's little shack among the pines. Since then she had been living
vividly and fervently. The question with her, now, was how best to voice
herself--the self that Jude in no wise knew. Womanlike, she did not want
to plunge into what might prove an abyss. She wanted to take her own
way, but with a half-unconscious coquetry she desired to drag her
captives whither she went.

In the old stupid life before her womanhood was roused, Jude had held no
mean part in her girlish dreams. He was the best of the St. Ange boyhood
and Joyce had an instinctive relish for the best wherever she saw it.
Whatever the future held she was not inclined to thrust Jude from it. In
success or failure she would rather have him with her than against her.
Not that she feared him--she had boundless belief in herself--but,
hearts to the woman, scalps to the savage, are trophies not to be
despised.

"I--I want to know what it means." Again Jude spoke, and this time a
tone of command rang through the words.

The corners of Joyce's mouth twitched--she had a wonderfully expressive
mouth. Suddenly she raised her eyes. They did not hold the expression
Jude might have expected from her disturbed silence. His growing courage
took a step back, but his passion rushed forward proportionately.

The witch-light danced in the steady glance she turned upon him; she
threw her head back and her slim throat showed white and smooth in the
lamp's glow.

"Suppose he did hold my hand and--and kiss me, Jude Lauzoon, you'd like
to do the same yourself, now wouldn't you?"

She was ignorantly testing her weak, woman's weapon on the man's metal.

Jude felt the mist rising in his eyes that once before that day had hid
this girl and Gaston from his sight. Like a mad mockery, too, Lola's
lark song sounded above the rush of blood that made him giddy. He got to
his feet and staggered around the table. He held to it, not so much to
steady himself as to guide him, but as he neared the girl the blindness
passed, and the tormenting song stopped--he stood in an awful silence,
and a white, hot light.

"Yes, by God, I do want to, and if yer that kind I'll take--my share and
chance along with the rest of 'em."

It was his own voice, loud and brutal, that smote the better part of him
that stood