nd herself staring beyond the painted curtain and the
mummers--beyond the bedizened scenery--out into the world somewhere and
into two dark, boyish eyes that looked so pleasantly back at her. And
suddenly her own eyes filled; she bent her head and touched them with her
handkerchief.

No, she must never again come to the Hotel Aurora Borealis. There were
reasons. Besides, it was no longer necessary for her to come to town at
all. She _must_ not come any more. . . . And yet, if she could only know
what became of him--whether salvation ever found him----

The curtain fell; she rose and pinned on her hat, gathered her trifles,
and moved out with the others into the afternoon sunshine of Broadway.

That evening she dined in her room. She had brought no luggage. About ten
o'clock the cab was announced.

As she walked through the nearly deserted lobby she looked around for
him. He stood near the door, talking to the hotel detective.

Halting a moment to button her gloves, she heard the detective say:

"Never mind the whys and whats! You fade away! Understand?"

"By what authority do you forbid me entrance to this hotel?" asked the
young man coolly.

"Well, it's good enough for you that I tell you to keep out!"

"I can not comply with your suggestion. I have an appointment here in
half an hour."

"Now you go along quietly," said the detective. "We've had our eyes on
you. We know all about you. And when the hotel gets wise to a guy like
you we tip him off and he beats it!"

"We can discuss that to-morrow; I tell you I have an appointment----"

"G'wan out o' here!" growled the detective.

The young man quietly fell into step beside him, but on the sidewalk he
turned on him, white and desperate.

"I tell you I've _got_ to keep that appointment." He stood aside as the
girl passed him, head lowered, and halted to wait for her cab. "I tell
you I've got to go back----"

"Here, you!" The detective seized his arm as he attempted to pass; the
young man wheeled and flung him aside, and the next instant reeled back
as the detective struck him again with his billy, knocking him halfway
into the street.

"You damned dead-beat!" he panted, "I'll show you!"

The young man stood swaying, his hands against his head; porters, cabmen,
and the detective saw him stagger and fall heavily. And the next moment
the girl was kneeling beside him.

"Let him alone, lady," said somebody. "That bum isn't hurt."

The "bum," in fact, was