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