was
approaching the window. Another flash of lightning would have revealed
much to Banneker had he not been crouching close under the sill, on the
inside, so that the radiance of his light, when he found the button,
should not expose him to a straight shot.

A hand fumbled at the open window. Finger on trigger, Banneker held up
his flashlight in his left hand and irradiated the spot. He saw the
hand, groping, and on one of its fingers something which returned a more
brilliant gleam than the electric ray. In his crass amazement, the agent
straightened up, a full mark for murder, staring at a diamond-and-ruby
ring set upon a short, delicate finger.

No sound came from outside. But the hand became instantly tense. It fell
upon the sill and clutched it so hard that the knuckles stood out,
white, strained and garish. Banneker's own strong hand descended upon
the wrist. A voice said softly and tremulously:

"Please!"

The appeal went straight to Banneker's heart and quivered there, like a
soft flame, like music heard in an unrealizable dream.

"Who are you?" he asked, and the voice said:

"Don't hurt me."

"Why should I?" returned Banneker stupidly.

"Some one did," said the voice.

"Who?" he demanded fiercely.

"Won't you let me go?" pleaded the voice.

In the shock of his discovery he had released the flash-lever so that
this colloquy passed in darkness. Now he pressed it. A girlish figure
was revealed, one protective arm thrown across the eyes.

"Don't strike me," said the girl again, and again Banneker's heart was
shaken within him by such tremors as the crisis of some deadly fear
might cause.

"You needn't be afraid," he stammered.

"I've never been afraid before," she said, hanging her weight away from
him. "Won't you let me go?"

His grip relaxed slightly, then tightened again. "Where to?"

"I don't know," said the appealing voice mournfully.

An inspiration came to Banneker. "Are you afraid of me?" he asked
quietly.

"Of every thing. Of the night."

He pressed the flash into her hand, turning the light upon himself.
"Look," he said.

It seemed to him that she could not fail to read in his face the
profound and ardent wish to help her; to comfort and assure an uneasy
and frightened spirit wandering in the night.

He heard a little, soft sigh. "I don't know you," said the voice. "Do
I?"

"No," he answered soothingly as if to a child. "I'm the station-agent
here. You must come in out of th