Joyce went quietly to her chair, but a new and terrible look came into her eyes.
Jude sat on the edge of the table, disregarding the spotless cover and soiled dishes. He wanted to be near Joyce in case of an outbreak, and he had much to say.
"Are you listening to me?" he asked slowly, as if he were speaking to a child.
"Oh! yes," Joyce replied, and her tone reassured him; "I'm listening."
"Do you think you've ever taken me in any?"
The man's sullen black eyes held the clear, bluish-gray ones.
"Oh, never, Jude! You're terribly smart. I've always known that—but please—" the strained eyes turned for the last time toward the door.
"Cut that out!" said Jude. "You're just acting. You can't pull me by the nose, but it will pay you to calm down and listen to what I've got to say. I've heard from your father!"
"Have you?" The white impassive face did not change expression.
"Yes; by thunder! I have; and as it concerns you as much as it does me, you better take more interest. I heard from him more'n two weeks ago. I met him, too, in the south woods, a few nights back."