He replenished the fire, and then when high noon flooded the living room with a pale glow, he set forth a meagre but nourishing meal.
In the performing of these homely tasks he found a kind of comfort. It brought Joyce back to him in a sense.
During the early afternoon hours he smoked and thought. Things became clearer, more fixed in his mind.
Of course Joyce had been driven to Jude by a mistaken idea that she was proving her deep love. Almost from the first, Dale thought of Ruth Dale detached from the shock of her mere name as it had struck his brain and heart in Drew's study. The old, vital charm of Ruth's personality; her sweet, convincing power, when she chose to exert it, now rose in his memory. Joyce would be but a baby in the hands of such a woman.
A fierce indignation swayed the man. Gone was the sweet memory of the control that that same charm had once had over him. Only as it now had touched Joyce did he consider it, and every fibre of his being rose in resentment.
The savage in him gained strength. He would follow Joyce and have her yet—in spite of all that had passed!
When Joyce saw and knew—what would he and she care for the rest? He could deal with Jude—there was still money.
The wild claimed precedence over the innate refinement in Dale, and he rose to begin his search. He glanced at the clock. It was four. He could get—somewhere before dark.
The prospect of action gave him relief and he was just turning to the inner room, when a timid tap upon the outer door stayed him.
His heart gave a great throb. Had she come? Had she returned to him? Had she found the way back to hell impossible after he—the man she had deserted—had shown her a path to heaven?