“The boys are good for quite a little bit,” she said as she came back.  “Don’t git nervous—­I’ll give you warnin’ . . .”

Nick, unwilling to witness the heartrending scene which he foresaw would follow, noiselessly withdrew into the bar-room, leaving the prisoner alone with the Girl.

“Don’t be afraid, my Girl,” said Johnson, softly.

But the Girl’s one thought, after her first gladness, was of his safety: 

“But you can’t git away now without bein’ seen?”

“Yes, there’s another way out of Cloudy,—­and I’m going to take it.”

The grimness of his meaning was lost on the Girl, who answered urgently: 

“Then go—­go!  Don’t wait, go now!”

Johnson smiled a sad little smile: 

“But remember that I’m sorry for the past, and—­and don’t forget me,” he said, with an odd break in his voice,—­so odd that it roused the Girl into startled wonderment.

“Forget you?  Why, Dick . . .!”

“I mean, till we meet again,” he reassured her hastily.

The Girl heaved a troubled sigh.  Her fears for him were still on edge.  Then, with a nervous start, she asked: 

“Did he call?”

“No.  He’ll—­he’ll warn me,” Johnson told her unsteadily.

“Oh, every day that dawns I’ll wait for a message from you.  I’ll feel you wanting me.  Every night I’ll say to-morrow, and every to-morrow I’ll say to-day . . .  Oh, you’ve changed the whole world for me!  I can’t let you go, but I must, Dick, I must . . .”  And bursting into tears, she buried her face on his shoulder, repeating piteously, between shaking sobs, “Oh, I’m so afraid,—­I’m so afraid!”

He held her close, the strength of his arms around her reassuring her silently.  “Why, you mustn’t be afraid,” he said in tones that were almost steady.  “In a few minutes I’ll be quite free, and then—­”

“An’ you’ll make a little home for me when you’re free—­soon—­will you?” asked the Girl, with a wan smile dawning on her trembling lips.  She was drying her eyes and did not see how the light died out of the man’s face, as he gazed down at her hungrily, hopelessly.  This time he could not trust himself to speak, but merely nodded “yes.”

“A strange feelin’ has come over me,” went on the Girl, brokenly, “a feelin’ to hold you—­to cling to you—­not to let you go.  Somethin’ in my heart keeps sayin’, ‘Don’t let him go!’”

Johnson felt his knees sagging oddly beneath him.  The Girl’s sure instinct of danger, the piteousness of their case, were making a coward of him.  He tore himself from her in a panic desire to go while he still had the manhood to play his part to the end; then suddenly broke down completely, and with his face buried in his hands, sobbed aloud.

“Why, Girl,” he managed to say, brokenly, “it’s been worth—­the whole of life just—­to know you.  You’ve brought me nearer Heaven,—­you, to love a man like me!”