He did not look at her, but swung his gun on Pelly and the special constable, and they backed through the door into the cell.  Carter had not moved.  He was looking straight at the girl, and the little black gun was leveled at his breast.  Pelly and the wounded man did not see, but on Carter’s lips was a strange smile.  His eyes met Kent’s, and there was revealed for an instant a silent flash of comradeship and an unmistakable something else.  Carter was glad!  It made Kent want to reach out and grip his hand, but in place of that he backed him into the cell, turned the key in the lock, and with the key in his hand faced Marette Radisson.  Her eyes were shining gloriously.  He had never seen such splendid, fighting eyes, nor the birdlike swiftness with which she turned and ran down the hall, calling him to follow her.

He was only a step behind her in passing Kedsty’s office.  She reached the outer door and opened it.  It was pitch-dark outside, and a deluge of rain beat into their faces.  He observed that she did not replace the hood of her raincoat when she darted out.  As he closed the door, her hand groped to his arm and from that found his hand.  Her fingers clung to his tightly.

He did not ask questions as they faced the black chaos of rain.  A rending streak of lightning revealed her for an instant, her bare head bowed to the wind.  Then came a crash of thunder that shook the earth under their feet, and her fingers closed more tightly about his hand.  And in that crash he heard her voice, half laughing, half broken, saying,

“I’m afraid—­of thunder!”

In that storm his laugh rang out, a great, free, joyous laugh.  He wanted to stop in that instant, sweep her up into his arms, and carry her.  He wanted to shout like an insane man in his mad joy.  And a moment before she had risked everything in facing three of the bravest men in the service and had shot one of them!  He started to say something, but she increased her speed until she was almost running.

She was not leading Jim in the direction of the river, but toward the forest beyond Kedsty’s bungalow.  Not for an instant did she falter in that drenched and impenetrable darkness.  There was something imperative in the clasp of her fingers, even though they tightened perceptibly when the thunder crashed.  They gave Kent the conviction that there was no doubt in her mind as to the point she was striving for.  He took advantage of the lightning, for each time it gave him a glimpse of her bare, wet head bowed to the storm, her white profile, and her slim figure fighting over the sticky earth under her feet.

It was this presence of her, and not the thought of escape, that exalted him now.  She was at his side.  Her hand lay close in his.  The lightning gave him glimpses of her.  He felt the touch of her shoulder, her arm, her body, as they drew close together.  The life and warmth and thrill of her seemed to leap into his own veins through the hand he held.  He had dreamed of her.  And now suddenly she had become a part of him, and the glory of it rode overwhelmingly over all other emotions that were struggling in his brain—­the glory of the thought that it was she who had come to him in the last moment, who had saved him, and who was now leading him to freedom through the crash of storm.