This tense craving for it she felt now was somehow the answer to an expressed wish which had astonished her.  Perhaps that was the reason why she had failed to do what she had tried to do, to shoot Ditmar and herself!  It was Ditmar’s child, Ditmar’s and hers!  He had loved her, long ago, and just now—­was it just now?—­he had said he loved her still, he had wanted to marry her.  Then why had she run away from him?  Why had she taken the child into outer darkness, to be born without a father,—­when she loved Ditmar?  Wasn’t that one reason why she wanted the child? why, even in her moments of passionate hatred she recalled having been surprised by some such yearning as now came over her?  And for an interval, a brief interval, she viewed him with startling clarity.  Not because he embodied any ideal did she love him, but because he was what he was, because he had overcome her will, dominated and possessed her, left his mark upon her indelibly.  He had been cruel to her, willing to sacrifice her to his way of life, to his own desires, but he loved her, for she had seen, if not heeded in his eyes the look that a woman never mistakes!  She remembered it now, and the light in his window glowed again, like a star to guide her back to him.  It was drawing her, irresistibly....

The sentry recognized her as she came along the canal.

“Mr. Ditmar’s gone,” he told her.

“Gone!” she repeated.  “Gone!”

“Why, yes, about five minutes after you left he was looking for you—­he asked the sergeant about you.”

“And—­he won’t be back?”

“I guess not,” answered the man, sympathetically.  “He said good-night.”

She turned away dully.  The strength and hope with which she had been so unexpectedly infused while gazing from the bridge at his window had suddenly ebbed; her legs ached, her feet were wet, and she shivered, though her forehead burned.  The world became distorted, people flitted past her like weird figures of a dream, the myriad lights of Faber Street were blurred and whirled in company with the electric signs.  Seeking to escape from their confusion she entered a side street leading north, only to be forcibly seized by some one who darted after her from the sidewalk.

“Excuse me, but you didn’t see that automobile,” he said, as he released her.

Shaken, she went on through several streets to find herself at length confronted by a pair of shabby doors that looked familiar, and pushing one of them open, baited at the bottom of a stairway to listen.  The sound of cheerful voices camp to her from above; she started to climb—­even with the help of the rail it seemed as if she would never reach the top of that stairway.  But at last she stood in a loft where long tables were set, and at the end of one of these, sorting out spoons and dishes, three women and a man were chatting and laughing together.  Janet was troubled because she could not remember who the man was, although she recognized his bold profile, his voice and gestures....  At length one of the women said something in a low tone, and he looked around quickly and crossed the room.