Joyce staggered indoors and hurriedly bolted the door behind her. She took the spluttering candle and mounted the steep stairs. Once alone in the small stifling room, she gasped, and put her hands to her throat as if to remove a pressure that was there.
Presently she blew out the light, set the shutters wide to the pale moonlight, and undressed herself quietly and methodically.
Already she seemed used to her lot. It was very ordinary, tame and familiar.
She had received the first dash of cold water in the face, and had accepted the new situation.
There was no longer even the excitement of trying to dangle a little above Jude. He had her close in his grip. She must accept whatever he doled out to her—and that was the fate of all respectable married women in St. Angé.
CHAPTER V
The late September afternoon held almost summer heat as it flooded St. Angé. The breeze gave a promise of crispness as it passed fitfully through the pines; but on the whole a calmness and silence pervaded space which gave the impression of a summer Sunday when a passing minister had been prevailed upon to "stop over."
However, it was not a summer Sunday, as St. Angé well enough knew, for every able-bodied man in the place had that day signed a contract with the Boss of Camp 7 for the lumber season; and the St. Angéans never signed contracts on Sunday.