Читать книгу Joyce of the North Woods - Harriet T. Comstock - Страница 8

Gaston's lined face smoothed under the caress. His armour arose as if unseen hands guided it, and placed it again upon him. Once more he was the strong, quiet man that St. Angé had taken upon faith, and accepted without question.

As he looked at the scene, his self-respect giving him courage to meet the day, Jude Lauzoon's soft-stepping figure materialized upon the edge of the pine woods.

The humour of the situation for a moment gripped Gaston's senses. Had all St. Angé stayed awake and been on guard while the night passed? But the smile faded. How long had Jude been there? Long enough to know all, or just long enough to know half?

What should he do? If Jude knew but half, no explanation could possibly avail. If he knew all; if he had been on guard before Joyce came—been camping out with no definite purpose, since his late talk in the shack—why, then it was simply a matter to be settled between Lauzoon and Joyce. God help her! He, Gaston, could serve best by retiring. This he did physically.

He put away his treasures and locked them fast; then, flinging himself upon the pine-bough bed, dressed as he was, he soon fell into a troubled sleep.