"When all's said and done, girl," he began, "I've been a pretty good dad to you. Given you years of schooling and stood by you when I might have skipped and led my own life. Many a man with his wife dead, and a kid on his hands, _has_ done it. I've worked for you, and given you the best home in St. Ange; and now if you let me play the cards that you've got in your hands, we'll get out of this and live in clover to the end o' time." "I don't know what you mean," Joyce gasped. This was no idle talk. She was fascinated and frightened. It seemed as if her father had his fingers on the rope that was strangling the life out of her. "You've got the winning cards, my girl, if I don't miss my guess. It's all in the playing now. I've had one eye on you all along, Joyce. I've seen, like any kind father might, that there ain't a young feller between here and Hillcrest but would be glad to have you. But like a rap on the _shut_ eye it has just been sprung on me that Myst. has had his mind on you as well!" Joyce's eyes dilated and the colour rose through her soft paleness, but she did not speak. "It's always the way. Them most concerned gits wind of scandal last. Even the brats have caught on before me. But once your father has both eyes open, folks better watch out." "Who do you mean by Myst.?" asked Joyce, and her strained voice sounded unnatural. "Gaston, to be sure! I've got a wit of my own, Joyce. Myst.--short for Mystery. That's what Gaston is. No one knows a damned thing about him." "Well, that's to his credit, anyway." Joyce flung up a defence now. She must fight, but she must keep herself out of sight. Jared glared angrily. He did not like the tone. "Oh! I ain't the one to object to you keeping your mouth shut," he returned. "Jammed logs"--the phrase stuck in his mind--"jammed logs don't creak any; but when it comes to joining forces, like two jams together for instance, there's got to be, in the nature of things, some demonstration. What I'm aiming at is this. Has this here Myst. meant business or has he not? I'm a man of the world--so is Gaston--he ain't never hoodwinked me. I had my reasons for coming here, and likewise, so has he. That's my business and his, by thunder! but when _he_ meddles in my affairs he's got to show his hand. Now is it, or ain't it, business 'twixt you and him?" "What kind of business?" Joyce's voice was low and even. She was approaching her father cautiously and fearfully. "Honourable--or otherwise?" A silence followed. Something was born, and something died in the sunlighted room while that silence lasted. The child's dependence upon its father fell, torn and quivering, before the new-risen self-protection of the pitiful girlhood. For the first time, consciously, Joyce experienced the soul-loneliness for which there is no aid. Her deep eyes pleaded for help and mercy where there was no help, and alas! no mercy. Birkdale had his answer now, though no word had been uttered by those quivering lips.