A sudden savage light in her blurred eyes betrayed the passion of the mother-love, through all the filth and soilure of her degradation.  Gabriel felt his heart deeply moved.  He bent toward her, across the table, touched her hand and asked: 

“Will you accept five dollars, to pay this man and get you down to Scottsville?”

“Huh?” she queried, gazing at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes.

He repeated his query.  Then, as he saw the slow tears start and roll down her wan cheeks, he felt a greater joy within his breast than if the world and all its treasures had been his.

“Will I take it?” she whispered.  “Gord, will I?  You bet I will!  That is, if I can have your name, an’ pay it back some time?”

He promised, and wrote it down for her, giving as his address Socialist Headquarters in Chicago.  Then, without publicity, he slipped a V into her trembling hand.

“Come on,” said he. “That’s all settled!”

He paid the check, and they went out, together.  For a moment they stood together, undecided, on the sidewalk.

“Couldn’t I get them things to-night, an’ start?” asked she, eagerly.  “There’s a train at 11:08, on the B. R. & P.”

“All right,” he assented.  “Can you see this Micolo, now?  It’s after ten.”

“Oh, that don’t make no difference,” she answered.  “He runs a pawnshop over here on Dexter Street, two blocks east.  He’ll be open till midnight, easy, tomorrow bein’ the Fourth.”

“Come on, then,” said Gabriel.  “I’ll see you through the whole business, and onto the train.  Maybe I can help you, all along.”

Without another word she started, with Gabriel at her side.  They traversed the main street, two blocks, then turned to the left down a narrower, darker one.

“Here’s Micolo’s,” said she, pausing at a doorway.  Gabriel nodded.  “All right,” he answered.  He had not noted, nor did he dream, that, at the corner behind them, two slinking, sneaking figures were now watching his every move.

The woman turned the knob, and entered.  Gabriel followed.

“It’s on the second floor,” said she.  Gabriel saw a sign, on the landing:  “S. L.  Micolo, Pawn Broker,” and motioned her to precede him.

In a minute they had reached the upper hallway.  The woman opened another door.  The room, inside, was dark.

“This way,” said she.  “He’s in the inside office, I guess.  The light must ha’ gone out here, some way or other.”

Gabriel hesitated.  Some inkling, some vague intuition all at once had come upon him, that all was not well.  At his elbow some invisible force seemed plucking.  “Come away!  Come back, before it is too late!” some ghostly voice seemed calling in his ear.

But still, he did not fully understand.  Still he remained there, his mind obsessed by the plausibility of the woman’s story and by the pity he so keenly felt.