“Now,” said Dunham reassuringly, as the matron disappeared, “you can go up to your room and get ready, and I will look after a few little matters.  I called on my friend, the minister, this morning, and I have looked up the legal part of this affair.  I can see that everything is all right in a few minutes.  Is there anything you would like me to do for you?”

“No,” she answered, looking up half frightened; “but I am afraid I ought not to let you do this.  You scarcely know me.”

“Now, dear, no more of that.  We have no time to lose.  How long will it take you to get dressed?  Will half an hour do?  It is getting late.”

“Oh, it will not take long.”  She caught her breath with gladness.  Her companion’s voice was so strong and comforting, his face so filled with a wonderful love, that she felt dazed with the sudden joy of it all.

The elevator boy appeared in the doorway with the familiar suit-case.

“Don’t be afraid, dear heart,” whispered the young man, as he attended her to the elevator.  “I’ll soon be back again, and then, then, we shall be together!”

It was a large front room to which the boy took her.  The ten-dollar bill had proven effective.  It was not a “fifty-cents-a-night” room.  Some one—­some guest or kindly patron—­had put a small illuminated text upon the wall in a neat frame.  It met her eye as she entered—­“Rejoice and be glad.”  Just a common little picture card, it was, with a phrase that has become trite to many, yet it seemed a message to her, and her heart leaped to obey.  She went to the window to catch a glimpse of the man who would soon be her husband, but he was not there, and the hurrying people reminded her that she must hasten.  Across the street a slouching figure in a baggy coat looked fixedly up and caught her glance.  She trembled and drew back out of the sunshine, remembering what Dunham had told her about the Irishman of the night before.  With a quick instinct, she drew down the shade, and locked her door.

[Illustration]

XII

The rubbered feet across the way hurried their owner into the cigar-store in front of which he had been standing, and where he had a good view of the Y.W.C.A.  Building.  He flung down some change and demanded the use of the telephone.  Then, with one eye on the opposite doorway, he called up a number and delivered his message.

“Oi’ve treed me bird.  She’s in a room all roight at the Y.W.C.A. place, fer I seed her at the winder.  She come with a foine gintlemin, but he’s gahn now, an’ she’s loike to stay a spell.  You’d best come at once....  All roight.  Hurry up!” He hung up the telephone-receiver and hurried back to his post in front of the big entrance.  Meanwhile the bride-elect upstairs, with happy heart and trembling fingers, was putting on her own beautiful garments once more, and arranging the waves of lovely hair in their old accustomed way.