"Well," Jude rose, "when the house gets along, we'll see. Things are tight and trim now. Good night! Go to bed--and forget it." He put his hands on her shoulders and bent and kissed the cold, upturned face. Then he laughed: for he had got what he wanted, and she was very sweet and pretty. "Go to bed now--trot on!" Joyce staggered indoors and hurriedly bolted the door behind her. She took the spluttering candle and mounted the steep stairs. Once alone in the small stifling room, she gasped, and put her hands to her throat as if to remove a pressure that was there. Presently she blew out the light, set the shutters wide to the pale moonlight, and undressed herself quietly and methodically. Already she seemed used to her lot. It was very ordinary, tame and familiar. She had received the first dash of cold water in the face, and had accepted the new situation. There was no longer even the excitement of trying to dangle a little above Jude. He had her close in his grip. She must accept whatever he doled out to her--and that was the fate of all respectable married women in St. Ange. CHAPTER V The late September afternoon held almost summer heat as it flooded St. Ange. The breeze gave a promise of crispness as it passed fitfully through the pines; but on the whole a calmness and silence pervaded space which gave the impression of a summer Sunday when a passing minister had been prevailed upon to "stop over." However, it was not a summer Sunday, as St. Ange well enough knew, for every able-bodied man in the place had that day signed a contract with the Boss of Camp 7 for the lumber season; and the St. Angeans never signed contracts on Sunday. The calmness was accounted for by the fact that Joyce Birkdale was to be married. The circumstances leading up to this event had been sufficiently interesting to demand sobriety. St. Ange did not believe in putting on airs, but it had its own ideas of decorum; things had sort of dovetailed lately, and, according to Leon Tate, "it was up to them to spread eagle and plant their banner for knowing a good thing from a rotten egg." Leon was above consistent figures of speech. He had power of his own that controlled even language. [Illustration: "ONCE I WENT SO FAR AS TO GO UP THERE WITH MY GUN"] After Jared Birkdale had defied Leon in his own stronghold, and, instead of agreeing with Tate that Joyce had come to Isa as to a mother, had insisted upon bare, unglorified fact, he had betaken himself into oblivion. Tate was confronted with the predicament of having a helpless girl on his hands to do for--unless another man was forthcoming. Jude rose to the occasion. He confided to Jock Filmer his desire for immediate marriage, and good-natured Jock, his system permeated by gossip, consented to send down to the Junction--since Joyce objected to the hell-fire minister at Hillcrest--and bring a harmless wayfarer of the cloth, who Murphy, the engineer of the daily branch train, had said, was summering there.