The convincing knowledge broke upon Joyce with full force. She would never be able to ignore the fact again. Try as she might, dream as she could, she was but a St. Ange woman, and he a St. Ange man. There was only one way. She must deal with the rudest of materials. "Jude," she said slowly, "you pay Mr. Gaston back all that you owe him--I'll stint here in the house--and I'll promise never to speak to him again. Could anything be fairer than that?" She was in deadly earnest; but Jude laughed in her face. A fear grew in the girl's heart at the sound. Not even an appeal to his selfishness could move him. She had lost the poor little power she once possessed. He did not care! And when that happened with a man like Jude--well, there was reason for fear. "I'm the boss, girl, and you better hold to that knowledge. Keep your books, your pictures and what not as long as I say you can, and let that do you for what _I_ am getting out of it. See?" "Yes--I see!" And so she did, poor girl; and it was a long barren stretch on ahead that she saw. A stretch with hideous possibilities, unless luck were with her. "Don't you let on." Jude was striding toward the bedchamber beyond. "I guess you're smart enough to hold your tongue, though. Pile on a log or two, before you turn in; and you better draw the shutters to the north window--it's getting splitting cold." Joyce turned to obey the commands. Not slavishly; after all it was but part of her woman-task. Jude feeling it necessary to tell her was the lash. It was cruelly superfluous--that was all. She laid two heavy logs on the red embers, and stooped to brush the ashes from the hearth. Then she went to the north window and raised the sash. Before she drew the shutters she stood and looked out into the brilliant night. Black and white. Sharp, clean and magically glittering it all looked; and the keen cold cleared the fear and fever from her head and heart. Yes, off there in the distance Gaston was entering the pine thicket through which his private path ran. He must have walked slowly--or had all this new knowledge come so rapidly? Gaston stood still at the entrance to the woods. Was he looking back? Then something occurred. Once or twice before Joyce had been conscious of this. Something seemed to go out from her and follow Gaston. She, or that strange something, escaped the fear and smothering closeness of the little house. It was free and happy out there with Gaston in the night. He was strong--stronger than anybody in St. Ange. Nothing could really happen while _he_ was near. She saw his smile; felt his compelling touch--no, not even Jude would dare hurt her, or go too far. Gaston passed into the dim thicket. Joyce, too seemed to be going on quite happily and lightly, when---- "I say, Joyce, shut that winder, can't you?" A silence. As Joyce had followed a certain call the night she had promised to marry Jude, and had gone to Gaston's house, so now she was going on--and on--and----