He saw march before him across the night great hosts of armed men, singing hymns of war; and again he looked upon cities besieged; still again upon armies in long alignment waiting for the word that would bring the final shock of battle.  The faint roar of water far below added an under-note of reality to his dream; and still he saw, as upon a tapestry held in his hand, the struggles of kingdoms, the rise and fall of empires.  Upon the wide seas smoke floated from the guns of giant ships that strove mightily in battle.  He was thrilled by drum-beats and the cry of trumpets.  Then his mood changed and the mountains and calm stars spoke an heroic language that was of newer and nobler things; and he shook his head impatiently and gathered his cloak about him and rose.

“God said, ‘I am tired of kings,’” he muttered.  “But I shall keep my pledge; I shall do Austria a service,” he said; and then laughed a little to himself.  “To think that it may be for me to say!” And with this he walked quite to the brink of the chasm and laid his hand upon the iron cable from which swung the bridge.

“I shall soon be free,” he said with a deep sigh; and looked across the starlighted hills.

Then the cable under his hand vibrated slightly; at first he thought it the night wind stealing through the vale and swaying the bridge above the sheer depth.  But still he felt the tingle of the iron rope in his clasp, and his hold tightened and he bent forward to listen.  The whole bridge now audibly shook with the pulsation of a step—­a soft, furtive step, as of one cautiously groping a way over the unsubstantial flooring.  Then through the starlight he distinguished a woman’s figure, and drew back.  A loose plank in the bridge floor rattled, and as she passed it freed itself and he heard it strike the rocks faintly far below; but the figure stole swiftly on, and he bent forward with a cry of warning on his lips, and snatched away the light barricade that had been nailed across the opening.

When he looked up, his words of rebuke, that had waited only for the woman’s security, died on his lips.

“Shirley!” he cried; and put forth both hands and lifted her to firm ground.

A little sigh of relief broke from her.  The bridge still swayed from her weight; and the cables hummed like the wires of a harp; near at hand the waterfall tumbled down through the mystical starlight.

“I did not know that dreams really came true,” he said, with an awe in his voice that the passing fear had left behind.

She began abruptly, not heeding his words.

“You must go away—­at once—­I came to tell you that you can not stay here.”

“But it is unfair to accept any warning from you!  You are too generous, too kind,”—­he began.

“It is not generosity or kindness, but this danger that follows you—­it is an evil thing and it must not find you here.  It is impossible that such a thing can be in America.  But you must go—­you must seek the law’s aid—­”