“You heard me, didn’t you?  No dope.  I’m wise to this whole game.”

At a loss for his meaning, yet without any real desire to fathom it, Kate turned back toward Gabriel.

A moment they two looked at each other, each noting any change that might have taken place since that wonderful hour in the sugar-house, each hungering and thirsting for a sight of the other’s face.  In her heart, already Kate knew as well as she knew she was alive, that this man was totally innocent of the foul charges heaped upon him.  And so she looked at him with eyes wherein lay no reproach, no doubt and no suspicion.  And, as she looked, tears started, and her heart swelled hotly in her breast; for he was bruised and battered and a helpless captive.

“He, caged like a trapped animal!” her thought was.  “He, so strong, and free, and brave!  Oh, horrible, horrible!”

He must have read something of this feeling, in her face; for now, coming close to the bars, he said in a low tone: 

“Girl—­your name I don’t know, even yet—­girl, you mustn’t pity me!  That’s one thing I can’t have.  I’m here because the master class is stronger than my class, the working class.  Here, because I’m dangerous to that master class.  This isn’t said to make myself out a martyr.  It’s only to make you see things right.  I’m not complaining at this plight.  I’ve richly earned it—­under Capitalism.  So, then, that’s settled.

“And now, what’s more important, tell me how you are!  And did your wound cause you much trouble?  I confess I’ve passed many an anxious hour, thinking of your narrow escape and of your injury.  It wasn’t too bad, was it?  Tell me!”

“No,” she answered, still holding to the bars, for she somehow felt quite unaccountably weak.  “It wasn’t very bad.  There’s hardly any scar at all—­or won’t be, when it’s fully healed.  But all this is trifling, compared to what you’ve suffered and are suffering.  Oh, what a horrible affair!  What frightful accusations!  Tell me the truth, Boy—­how, why could—?”

He looked at her a moment, in silence, noting her splendid hair and eyes and mouth, the firm, well-moulded chin, the confident and self-reliant poise of the shapely head; and as he looked, he knew he loved this woman.  He understood, at last, how dear she was to him—­dearer than anything else in all the world save just his principles and stern life work.  He comprehended the meaning of all, his dreams and visions and long thoughts.  And, caring nothing for consequences, unskilled in the finesse of dealing with women, acting wholly on the irresistible impulses of a heart that overflowed, he looked deep into those gray eyes and said in a tone that set her heart-strings vibrating: 

“Listen!  The truth?  How could I tell you anything else?  I know not who you are, and care not.  That you are rich and powerful and free, while I am poor and in captivity, means nothing.  Love cares not for such trifles.  It dares all, hopes all, trusts all, believes all—­and is patient in adversity.”