Joyce of the North Woods | Page 3

swear I won't, Jude; don't--don't hit me again; I won't tell."
He was gone, but the old Jude was gone also. The new man finished the gun cleaning, his breath coming hard and fast meanwhile, and then, taking the gun with him, he went into the deep woods on the northern edge of the village.
All the rest of the day he watched Gaston's shack from a distance; as the darkness drew on he crept closer.
Joyce did not come near the place, and Gaston himself only returned when the night was well advanced.
Jude watched him light his lamp, and prepare his supper. Watched him, later, go into the inner room, and then he crept close to the broad window to see what Gaston was doing in there where no foot but Gaston's own, so it was said, ever entered. As he had raised his eyes to the level of the casement, Gaston's calm gaze met his with a laugh in it.
"Hello, Jude," the voice was unshaken; "playing Indian Brave? Got your gun, too? What you after, big game or--what?" Jude rose to his feet. He was trembling violently. Gaston watched him closely. "Come in?" he asked presently.
"No. I was only passing--thought I would look in. I'm going now."
"Hold on there, Jude, what's up?" Gaston leaned from the window. "Are you alone?"
"Yes. There ain't anything the matter."
"All right." Gaston looked puzzled. "Good night." He watched Jude until he was lost in the shadows, then he drew the heavy wooden shutters close, bolted the door and placed his pistol near at hand.
All the next day Jude haunted the vicinity of Joyce Birkdale's home, but he kept hidden, for Joyce was safe within doors and a drizzly rain was falling. Night again found him on guard; and now he lay on Beacon Hill in the hot sun, napping by snatches (for he was woefully tired) and scanning the Long Meadow, with his feverish eyes, in between times.
In his dreams the scene Billy Falstar had so luridly described was enacted again and again, until he felt as if he, Jude, had been the onlooker.
The people whom he had taken for granted in the past now assumed new meaning and importance. Gaston had slipped in among them three years before, and after the first few months of observation he had aroused no interest. He had minded his business, paid his way, taken his turn in camp at greenhorn jobs, accounted for his presence on the ground of seeking health, and that was all. Life went on as usual, sluggishly and dully--but on.
Jude had, before Billy's illumination, been thinking that after the next logging season he would annex Joyce Birkdale to his few belongings--the cabin, his dog and gun. The idea had not roused him much, but it had been a pleasurable conclusion to arrive at; and now? Every nerve was aching and the boy's heart was thumping heavily. Again he dropped his head, and he cursed everything his thought touched upon--even the girl he meant, in some way, still to have.
One, two, three hours passed. Jude's hilltop was touched by the sun, but in the meadow the purpling shadows were gathering slowly.
Suddenly Jude sprang up--something was happening down there below. Something in him had warned him.
From the southern edge of the meadow a tall man was swinging along with easy strides. He carried his broad-brimmed hat in his right hand and waved it as if in greeting. From the opposite direction a girl was approaching. She wore a blue-checked gown, and her pale hair seemed to shine in the dimming light. She wore no hat, and she walked with the quick freedom of a child who longed to reach something precious.
Midway of the meadow the girl and man met. He stretched out his arms, and they closed about the slim form.
Then he bent his head over the fair one on his breast--but he did not kiss it! Jude was burning and palpitating. He strained his hearing, forgetting time and space. They were talking, and he would never know what they said.
Presently the girl slipped from the enfolding arms, and, clinging to the man's hands, looked up into his face. Sometimes she bowed her head, and once she passed her hand across her eyes as if to wipe away tears. Then the man drew her close again. He raised the face that was crushed against his shoulder; he kissed the brow, the eyes, the chin--and then the lips.
Something blinded Jude. Something thick and hot like blood, and when he could see again, the two had parted. The man stood with bared head watching the slim, drooping figure as it retraced its steps with never a backward turn. When it was gone he replaced his hat and took his way--this time, toward the Black Cat.
Jude stood alone on his