re, and one would have
thought that this order would have come upon him as a surprise. But he
only turned his head slowly toward me, and then as slowly back again,
with a movement that made me think of a mechanical toy, then he guided
the horses' heads from Washington Square into Lombard Street.

I had sunk back into my corner and covered my eyes with my hand. "Do
you want to read what I have written?" I heard Johnny ask.

I shook my head. I felt that I had made him do something terrible, as
he said, I did not know how terrible. I did not even look when the
carriage stopped, when I heard him getting out. But even from where I
sat I could hear the beat of the brass knocker. A moment passed, with
fear thick at my heart; then he was back again. He gave the direction
to the driver before he got in, and the cab turned and was rattling
down the street, with a speed that suggested that the hackman was at
last stirred to excitement by the name of our final destination. We
two looked into each other's face.

"You would better drop me at Montgomery," Johnny said.

"No," I answered, "I am going to take you all the way." He frowned. I
thought he was going to object. "Let me stay with you as long as I
can," I begged. "It will make it easier for me."

Still with his eyes on me his lips moved with some word. Not a sound
came through but I thought he had said my name. And all the while
through the cold, gray twilight we were driving downward through the
city. The farther we went the more a strange and calm feeling settled
upon me, and the more I forgot everything in the world but him. It
seemed as if for ever we would continue to drive on together with this
wonderful quietness between us.

But the carriage was drawing up. I looked at him anxiously. "What is
the matter? Why are we stopping?"

His face was strange. "Don't you know? It is the prison."

He half rose, his hand was on the door, he had turned his back on me.
A sudden anguish went through me, keen as physical pain. Something
that was not my mind at all seemed to be acting for me. I caught hold
of his arm with I don't know what impulse to pull him back.

He turned, looking at me with smiling eyes, gently unclasped my
fingers, bent his head and touched them with his lips. "Don't spoil
it," he said, "and remember your word."

I watched him walking down the half block to the prison door, a figure
tall and solitary, and in spite of his gay Mexican