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and guided that keen mind, and cultivated the delicate, innate taste. Yes; he might have created a rare personality, and brightened his own life at the same time--and the years and years would have stretched on, and nothing would have interrupted the pure passage of their lives until death had taken one or both. Gaston sat upright, and flung the pipe away. Suppose he should choose to--go back? Well, in that case it would have gone hard with Joyce. The soul he had awakened and glorified would have to be flung back into the hell from which its ignorance shielded it. That was it. In giving the girl the best--yes, the best, in one sense--he must forego his own soul's good; forego the hope that he might some day choose to go back--and in that hope, lay Joyce's damnation. Through dishonour--as men might have classified it--he might have lifted Joyce up, but to save her soul alive from the hope he reserved for himself--his open door--he must drive her back to squalor and even worse. He had chosen for her and for himself. He had his hope; Joyce was to have her honour; and now, what next? His renunciation had strengthened him. His good resolutions steadied him; in the regained empire of his self-respect he contemplated the loneliness of exile, self-imposed, but none the less dreary. He was so human in his inclinations, so pitifully dependent upon his environment; and since he had stepped from the train three years ago, these rough people had taken him at his face value; desired nor cared for nothing but what he chose to give. Desolate St. Ange was dear to him. No, he would remain. There was really no reason why he should abdicate the little that was his own. All should be as it was, except for Joyce, and even she, now that he was sure of himself and had the rudder in hand, even she might claim his friendship and sympathy in her new life. He started. His quick ear detected the slow step outside. "Hello, Jude," he called without getting up. "Step in; I'll fetch a light." "How did you know 'twas me?" Jude asked from the outer darkness. The salutation made him feel anew the awe of constant supervision. "I thought you'd drop in," Gaston carried the lamp into the living room and set it upon the table. Jude shambled in, drew a chair up to the table and sat down. Gaston took his place opposite and kept his eyes upon his caller. Jude grew restless under the calm inspection. He had come with a goodly stock of self-as
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