While he longed to grip and command the situation, he was aware of a power in Joyce—a power he had unconsciously, perhaps, sensed before—that bade him stand afar until she beckoned him.
As he neared her little house, before even he saw the lights, he heard a song. It was that song! It met the rhythm in his own heated fancy—he and Joyce seemed to be singing it together:
Alouette,
Alouette.
The light was streaming through open window and door. Inside Joyce was preparing the evening meal, stepping lightly between table and stove as she sang. Jude dared not enter unannounced, and his pride held him silent.
What was he afraid of? Was he not he, and Joyce but a girl? Still he kept his distance.
"Joyce!" The song within ceased, and the singer stepped to the open doorway.
"That you, father?" No answer came. "Father?"
Then Jude came into the light.
"You, Jude? Come in; father's late. I never wait for him and I am as hungry as a wolf."
Joyce had been one of the few girls who had gone to the Hillcrest school as long as paternal authority permitted, and she showed her training.