On she went, traversing street after street, the direction always trending toward the river—­until finally she halted before what appeared to be, as nearly as he could make out in the almost total darkness of the ill-lighted street, a small and tumble-down, self-contained dwelling that bordered on what seemed to be an unfenced store yard of some description.  He drew his breath in sharply.  She had halted—­waiting for him to come up with her.  She was waiting for him—­waiting for him!  It seemed as though he drank of some strange, exhilarating elixir—­he reached her side eagerly—­and then—­and then—­her hand had caught his, and she was leading him into the house, into a black passage where he could see nothing, into a room equally black over whose threshold he stumbled, and her voice in a low, conscious way, with a little tremour, a half sob in it that thrilled him with its promise, was in his ears: 

“We are safe here, Jimmie, for a little while—­but, oh, Jimmie, what have I done!  What have I done to bring you into this—­only—­only—­I was so sure, so sure, Jimmie, that there was nothing more to fear!”

The blood was beating in hammer blows at his temples.  It seemed all unreal, untrue that this moment could be his, that it was not a dream—­a dream which was presently to be snatched from him in a bitter awakening.  And then he laughed out wildly, passionately.  No—­it was true, it was real!  Her breath was on his cheek, it was a living, pulsing hand that was still in his—­and then soul and mind and body seemed engulfed and lost in a mad ecstasy—­and she was in his arms, crushed to him, and he was raining kisses upon her face.

“I love you!  I love you!” he was crying hoarsely; and over and over again:  “I love you!  I love you!”

She did not struggle.  The warm, rich lips were yielding to his; he could feel the throb, the life in the young, lithe form against his own.  She was his—­his!  The years, the past, all were swept away—­and she was his at last—­his for always.  And there came a mighty sense of kingship upon him, as though all the world were at his feet, and virility, and a great, glad strength above all other men’s, and a song was in his soul, a song triumphant—­for she was his!

“You!” he cried out—­and strained her to him.  “You!” he cried again—­and kissed her lips and her eyelids and her lips again.

And then her head was buried on his shoulder, and she was crying softly; but after a moment she raised her hands and laid them upon his face, and held them there, and because it was dark, dared to raise her head as well, and her eyes to look into his.

Then for a long time they stood there so, and for a long time neither spoke—­and then with a little startled, broken cry, as though the peril and the menace hanging over them, forgotten for the moment, were thrust like a knife stab suddenly upon her, she drew herself away, and ran from him, and went and got a lamp, and lighted it, and set it upon the table.