"Now," she panted. "Let us start now."

"Come," he said.

They hurried out of the room and down the broad marble stairs to the hotel foyer as though fearing something was behind them to seize and hold them prisoner. The smug, well-dressed men and women who were lounging there staring listlessly at the rain, glanced up with a quicker interest in life at sight of their flushed cheeks and eager eyes. They caught in them the living fire which in their own b.r.e.a.s.t.s was ash-covered by the years.

The man at the swinging doors straightened at their approach.

"Shall I get you an umbrella, sir?"

"No," answered Wilson, with a smile.

"It is raining hard, sir?"

"Yes, it is raining, thank G.o.d."

They moved out upon the steps and the carriage porter put his whistle to his lips. Wilson shook his head and gripped the arm of the excited girl by his side.

"But, sir----" gasped the porter.

"I'm afraid you don't belong to the night," said Wilson.

"Lord!" muttered the porter as he saw them step into the wet. "Lord!

they're mad--mad as hatters."

They swung into the damp stream of men and women with a fresh influx of strength. They felt the action of the world--the vibrating pulse of the engines. The Law still stood on the outside like an umpire, but there were still many forces at work which the Law could not detect, many opportunities for Chance to work, for the quick hand to move stealthily. It was something of this they felt, as they brushed along.

But they wished freer play even than this,--they wished to get where the Law alone stood between them and their ego--and then once more face down the Law. They turned into the big, dripping park with its primeval furnishings of earth and gra.s.s and trees and deep shadows. It was amid such surroundings alone that their own big, fundamental emotions found adequate breathing s.p.a.ce. They plunged into the silent by-paths as a sun-baked man dives to the sandy bottom of a crystal lake. And into it all they blended as one--each feeling the glory of a perfected whole. Each saw with his own eyes and the eyes of the other, too. It was as though each were given five new senses.

Near one of the large trees a shadow detached itself and stepped towards them. It was a man in a rubber coat and a helmet.

"See," she whispered to him, "it is one of them!"

He saw and the old fighting instinct returned--the old rebellion. But with it came a new responsibility. It was no longer just himself against this thing--no longer the same wild freedom that took no account of consequences.

"See," she trembled. "Shall we run?"

Then she clutched his arm more tightly. There was no need of running now. He was there to face things--to stand firm and batter off.

"Oh, David!" she broke out, "we--we can't run any more."

"No," he answered steadily, "we must go straight ahead and pa.s.s him."

So they did, and as the policeman stooped a little the better to see their faces, they each lifted their eyes to him and laughed. He tipped his helmet.

"A bad night, sir," he said genially.

"A bully night," answered Wilson.

They went on more slowly after this, across the park and toward the broad avenue. They came to where the brownstone houses blinked their yellow eyes at them. The boards were all down now and the street all a-twinkle with fairy lights.

"Do you remember how they did that before?" he asked.

"And how warm it looked inside? David--David--they can't make me feel lonesome any more."

"No, but we can't laugh at them; we must laugh with them."

She made up a little face at a big French window which seemed to stare insolently at them.

"We don't need you any more," she said to it.

They came to the only house on the street which was still boarded against the heat of the summer. Here they paused. She seized his arm.

"That is it," she exclaimed. "That is where we began!"

"Yes, but--it looks different, doesn't it?"

"It has grown older--more sober."

"Shall we go in?"

She looked up and down the street.

"If only we could get chased--_once_ more!"

"We can pretend."

"And go in the back way as we did before?"

"Yes."

"That is good. Come."

She placed her hand within his and they turned down the alley which led to the back street facing the water front. The lights still blinked in the mist--the waves still pounded against the stone walls throwing up salt spray, but they no longer came from out an unfathomable distance. They seemed like very petty waves and the two knew the boundaries, before and back of them, as they had not before.

"Now," she said, "run--run for all you're worth!"

She led the pace, he falling back to keep with her instead of dragging her on. So they ran until they were breathless. Then as before they moved a-tiptoe.

They knew the little door when they reached it.

"I must break it in again," he said.

So she stood back while he threw his weight against it, meeting it with his shoulders. She watched him with a thrill--her heart leaping with every thud of his body against the wood. It was her man forcing a path for her,--her man beating down a barrier. She felt the sting of the wind-driven spray against her cheek, but the depths from which it came no longer called to her. Rather they drove her in. She was content to be here with her man. Life opened big to her from just where she stood.

The door gave finally, as she knew it must, and hand in hand they entered the paved yard. He fastened the door behind them and yet as he put the joist in place, it was not as it was before. There was no one in pursuit now. She found herself, however, as anxious to see his face and learn what this meant to him as she had been the first time. For after all, even if it were different, it was just as new and unpathed a world they were entering as the other. She took his hand.

"Stoop nearer to me, David."

She saw that his lips were less tense, that there was less of a strain to his shoulders, but that his eyes burned no less brightly.