"Now look here," he blurted out; "you and me has got to get down to business, and that to once! I've kept mum long of the kid's taking-off." Joyce's eyes widened as she stared through the open window over which the rose-vine was being lashed by a new storm. "I've bided my time, and it was more for you than for me, you can bet. "This is the big time of our lives, and I ain't going to hold back any facts what can make things clear and reasonable. Me and your father want you, maybe for different reasons, maybe not. You ain't the common sort, and we know you can help us. If you was like most women, him and me wouldn't have no compunctions about cutting, and leaving you to ways what you seem to hanker after. But he's actually pining for a sight of you, and even knowing what I do about you, I can't give you up! That's the plain situation as far as you're concerned, and you can take it for what it's worth. Are you listening?" "Oh! yes, yes, I'm listening, Jude." And so she was. She was listening to the moan in the tree-tops. It sounded like the last plaintive cry her child had made, and it hurt her cruelly. "I've got more money in hand, Joyce, than what I ever had--I've got fifteen hundred dollars." Somehow this had power to reach the listener as nothing before had done. Her aching eyes fell upon Jude, and a new fear contracted them. "Where did you get it--the money--Jude?" "That's my business. I'm only dealing with facts." "Yes, but I must know. It--it isn't yours, Jude." "Isn't it?" Jude laughed. "Well, then, we'll call it mine for argerment. That pa of yours is a slick one!" The sudden change of subject relaxed the brief interest Joyce had shown in the conversation. "Leaving here in the sulks about you, what does he do but go down to what he calls civilization, and strikes a rich claim first thing. All that was lacking was ready money. Back he comes, and finds out the lay of the land here, without so much as showing his nose. He says he had several plans to get money--but this plan of mine is the easiest, so we're going to work it. All my life I've dreamed by day and night"--a sudden glow illumined Jude's dark face,--"of the road and where it leads. Always, as true as God hears me, Joyce, always, as boy and man, when I've fancied myself on the road, and beyond the forests, I've always seen you beside me. I don't care what you are, or what temptations beset you--you've always been the one girl for me. We're going to begin a new life now--with no back flings at each other. Give me a kiss on it, girl." Jude came over to her, and she felt his hot, excited breath on her cheek and throat. Dazed as she was by what he had said, she was frightened at his manner, and drew back, warding him off with rigid hands. "Don't!" she cried, hoarsely. "Don't touch me. You're all wrong--I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm going to stay right here--I swear it!"