e at its last leap. She was out
of the quiet, blue street. Montgomery Avenue, with its lights, its
glittering gilt names and Latin insignia, was traveling by on either
side of her. The voice of the city was growing louder in her ears, the
crowd on the pavement increased. At intervals the carriage dipped
through glares of electric lights that illuminated its interior in a
flash broader than day--the ragged cushions, the raveled tassels, the
limp-swinging shutters, and, glimmering in the midst, wild and
disheveled, herself in all the little wavy mirrors. She sat looking out
at the maze of moving lights and figures without seeing them, intent on
an idea that was growing clearer, larger, moment by moment in her mind.

Kerr's appearance in her garden--his capture of her--had not been the
fantastic freak it had seemed. He had had his purpose. He had taken her
out of her environment; he had carried her beyond succor or menace just
that he might carry them both so much further and faster through their
differences. They had not reached the point of agreement yet, but might
they not on some other ground, where they could be unchallenged? It
seemed to her if she could only meet him on her own ground for
once--instead of for ever on Clara's or Harry's--only meet him alone,
somewhere beyond their reach, it might be accomplished, it might be
brought to the end she so wished. Yet where to go to be rid of Clara and
Harry, the two so closely associated with every fact of her life?

The hack, which had been moving along at a rapid pace, slowed now to a
walk among the thickening traffic, and from a mere moving mass the crowd
appeared as individuals--a stream of dark figures and white faces. Her
eyes slipped from one to another. Here one stood still on the lamp-lit
corner, looking down, with lips moving quickly and silently. It was
strange to see those rapid, eager, moving lips with no sound from them
audible. Then her eyes were startled by something familiar in the
figure, though the direct down-glare of the ball of light above him
distorted the features with shadows. She pressed her face against the
window-glass in palpitating doubt. It was Harry.

She cowered in the corner of the carriage. In a moment the risks of her
situation were before her. Had he seen her? Oh, no, at least not yet. He
had been too intent on whomever he was talking to. She peered to make
sure that he was still safely on the street corner. He was just
opposite, and