pered, and saw her cheek move
with her smile.

To be close to her, knowing her to be conscious of him, was in itself
a gladness; but Goodwin was impatient for the end of the service. It
was not his way to stand off and on before a thing he meant to do,
and he wanted more talk with her, to get within her guard, to touch
the girl who was screened behind the smile and dim sweetness and the
polite questions of Miss James. He sat frowning through the latter
part of the service, till the missioner, standing upright with
tight-shut eyes, gave the closing benediction. Then, compellingly, he
turned upon the girl.

"Say," he said, "let's get out o' this. I'd like to walk along with
you and talk. Come on!"

Miss James looked at him with startled eyes. He was insistent.

"Aw, come on," he pressed. "That preacher'll be here in a minute if
you don't, and we've had enough of him for one time. I tell you, I
want to talk to you."

He rose, and by sheer force of urgency made her rise likewise. He got
her as far as the door. "But" she began, hesitating there.

"Steady as ye go," bade Goodwin, and took her down the shallow steps
to the sidewalk. "Now, which way is it to be?" he demanded suddenly.

She did not reply for a couple of moments. The light that issued from
the hall showed her face as she stood and considered him doubtfully,
a little uncertain of what was happening. Even in that half-obscurity
of the long street, where she was seen as an attitude, a shape, she
made her effect of a quiet, tender beauty. Then, at last, she smiled
and turned and began to walk. Goodwin fell into step beside her, and
the confusion of voices within the hall died down behind them.

"I had to make you come," said Goodwin presently. "I just had to. An'
you don't want to be scared."

She glanced sideways at him, but said nothing.

"You ain't scared, are ye?" he asked.

"No," she replied.

The answer even the brevity of it fulfilled his understanding of her.
He nodded to himself.

"I said I wanted to talk to ye," he went on; "an' I do. I want to
talk to you a whole lot. But there ain't much I got to say. 'Ceptin',
maybe, one thing. I'd like to know what your first name is. Oh, I
ain't goin' to get fresh an' call you by it I reckon you know that.
But thinkin' of you all day an' half the night, like I do, 'Miss
James' don't come handy, ye see."

"Oh!" murmured the girl. It was plain that he had startled her a
little.

"My first name is Mar