After she had left him she walked rapidly through several streets, not heeding her direction—­such was the driving power of the new ideas he had given her.  Certain words and phrases he had spoken rang in her head, and like martial music kept pace with her steps.  She strove to remember all that he had said, to grasp its purport; and because it seemed recondite, cosmic, it appealed to her and excited her the more.  And he, the man himself, had exerted a kind of hypnotic force that partially had paralyzed her faculties and aroused her fears while still in his presence:  her first feeling in escaping had been one of relief—­and then she began to regret not having gone to Headquarters.  Hadn’t she been foolish?  In the retrospect, the elements in him that had disturbed her were less disquieting, his intellectual fascination was enhanced:  and in that very emancipation from cant and convention, characteristic of the Order to which he belonged, had lain much of his charm.  She had attracted him as a woman, there was no denying that.  He, who had studied and travelled and known life in many lands, had discerned in her, Janet Bumpus, some quality to make him desire her, acknowledge her as a comrade!  Tremblingly she exulted in the possession of that quality —­whatever it might be.  Ditmar, too, had perceived it!  He had not known how to value it.  With this thought came a flaming suggestion—­Ditmar should see her with this man Rolfe, she would make him scorch with the fires of jealousy.  Ditmar should know that she had joined his enemies, the Industrial Workers of the World.  Of the world!  Her shackles had been cast off at last!...  And then, suddenly, she felt tired.  The prospect of returning to Fillmore Street, to the silent flat—­made the more silent by her mother’s tragic presence—­overwhelmed her.  The ache in her heart began to throb again.  How could she wait until the dawn of another day?...

In the black hours of the morning, with the siren dinning in her ears a hoarse call to war, Janet leaped from her bed and began to dress.  There is a degree of cold so sharp that it seems actually to smell, and as she stole down the stairs and out of the door she shivered, assailed by a sense of loneliness and fear.  Yet an insistent voice urged her on, whispering that to remain at home, inactive, was to go mad; salvation and relief lay in plunging into the struggle, in contributing her share toward retribution and victory.  Victory!  In Faber Street the light of the electric arcs tinged the snow with blue, and the flamboyant advertisements of breakfast foods, cigarettes and ales seemed but the mockery of an activity now unrealizable.  The groups and figures scattered here and there farther down the street served only to exaggerate its wide emptiness.  What could these do, what could she accomplish against the mighty power of the mills?  Gradually, as she stood gazing, she became aware of a beating of feet upon the snow; over her shoulder she caught the gleam of steel.  A squad of soldiers