She saw him shudder.

“If you can help it,” he said, “don’t make me see the brand I have put on you.  Don’t, for Heaven’s sake, cringe to me if you can help it.”

“Very well,” she said.

He struck his clenched hand against his face.  “It’s the price,” he declared through his teeth, “and I accept it.”  He spoke more to himself than to her, and then directly:  “Will you let me walk up with you?”

“Yes.”

He took her passive arm.  They went slowly, slowly up the stairs, for at each landing it seemed her strength gave out, and she had to pause for a brief rest; when she paused he spoke with difficulty, but with his heart in every word.

“You remember the old Greek fable, Ruth?  The story about all the pains and torments which flew out of Pandora’s box, and how Hope came out last—­that blessed Hope—­and healed the wounds?  Here, a moment after the blow has fallen, I am hoping again like a fool.  I am hoping that I shall teach you to forget; or, if I cannot teach you to forget, than I shall even make you glad of what you have done tonight.”

The door closed on her, and she was alone.  Raising her head she found she was looking straight across the street to the lighted windows of the rooms of Ronicky Doone and Bill Gregg.  While she watched she saw the silhouette of a man and woman running to each other, saw them clasped in each other’s arms.  Ruth dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter Twenty-five

Unhappy Freedom

Once out in the street Caroline had cast one glance of terror over her shoulder at the towering facade of the house of John Mark, then she fled, as fast as her feet would carry her, straight across the street and up the steps of the rooming house and frantically up the stairs, a panic behind her.

Presently she was tapping hurriedly and loudly on a door, while, with her head turned, she watched for the coming of some swift-avenging figure from behind.  John Mark had given her up, but it was impossible for John Mark to give up anything.  When would he strike?  That was the only question.

Then the door opened.  The very light that poured out into the dim hall was like the reach of a friendly hand, and there was Ronicky Doone laughing for pure joy—­and there was Bill Gregg’s haggard face, as if he saw a ghost.

“I told you, Bill, and here she is!”

After that she forgot Ronicky Doone and the rest of the world except Gregg, as he took her in his arms and asked over and over:  “How did it come about?  How did it come about?”

And over and over she answered:  “It was Ronicky, Bill.  We owe everything to him and Ruth Tolliver.”

This brought from Ronicky a sudden question:  “And what of her?  What of Ruth Tolliver?  She wouldn’t come?”

It pricked the bubble of Caroline’s happiness, that question.  Staring at the frowning face of Ronicky Doone her heart for a moment misgave her.  How could she tell the truth?  How could she admit her cowardice which had accepted Ruth’s great sacrifice?