the dark as fully as
the light, and that she was capable to live it, too. It was not a girl that
was questioning me there; it was a woman.

"Yes--Langdon," I replied. "But I've no quarrel with him. My reverse is
nothing but the fortune of war. I assure you, when I see him again, I'll be
as friendly as ever--only a bit less of a trusting ass, I fancy. We're a
lot of free lances down in the Street. We fight now on one side, now on the
other. We change sides whenever it's expedient; and under the code it's not
necessary to give warning. To-day, before I knew he was the assassin, I had
made my plans to try to save myself at his expense, though I believed him
to be the best friend I had down town. No doubt he's got some good reason
for creeping up on me in the dark."

"You are sure it was he?" she repeated.

"He, and nobody else," replied I. "He decided to do me up--and I guess
he'll succeed. He's not the man to lift his gun unless he's sure the bird
will fall."

"Do you really not care any more than you show?" she asked. "Or is your
manner only bravado--to show off before me?"

"I don't care a damn, since I'm to lose you," said I. "It'll be a godsend
to have a hard row to hoe the next few months or years."

She went back to leaning against the table, her arms folded as before. I
saw she was thinking out something. Finally she said:

"I have decided not to accept your release."

I sprang to my feet.

"Anita!" I cried, my arms stretched toward her.

But she only looked coldly at me, folded her arms the more tightly and
said:

"Do not misunderstand me. The bargain is the same as before. If you want me
on those terms, I must--give myself."

"Why?" I asked.

A faint smile, with no mirth in it, drifted round the corners of her mouth.

"An impulse," she said. "I don't quite understand it myself. An impulse
from--from--" Her eyes and her thoughts were far away, and her expression
was the one that made it hardest for me to believe she was a child of those
parents of hers. "An impulse from a sense of justice--of decency. I am the
cause of your trouble, and I daren't be a coward and a cheat." She repeated
the last words. "A coward--a cheat! We--I--have taken much from you, more
than you know. It must be repaid. If you still wish, I will--will keep to
my bargain."

"It's true, I'd not have got into the mess," said I, "if I'd been attending
to business instead of dangling after you. But you're not responsible for
tha