ed her wonderingly sure of a sudden outbreak with each passing
moment. Two soft paws at last touched her cheeks and two bright eyes
sought in vain for hers. The little nose pressed closer and kissed the
drooping eyelids until they opened. He curled himself on her bosom and
began to sing a gentle lullaby. For a long while she lay and listened to
the music of love with which her pet sought to soothe the ache within.

The clock in the tower chimed six.

She lifted her body and placed her head on a pillow beside the window.
The human torrent below was now at its flood. Two streams of humanity
flowed eastward along each broad sidewalk. Hundreds were pouring in
endless procession across Madison Square. The cars in Broadway north and
South were jammed. Every day she watched this crowd hurrying, hurrying
away into the twilight--and among all its hundreds of thousands not
an eye was ever lifted to hers--not one man or woman among them cared
whether she lived or died.

It was horrible, this loneliness of the desert in an ocean of humanity!
For the past year it had become an increasing horror to look into the
silent faces of this crowd of men and women and never feel the touch of
a friendly hand or hear the sound of a human voice in greeting.

And yet this endless procession held for her a supreme fascination.
Somewhere among its myriads of tramping feet, walked the one man created
for her. She no more doubted this than she doubted God Himself. It was
His law. He had ordained it so. She had grown so used to the throngs
below her window and so loved the little park with its splashing
fountain that she had refused to follow her landlady uptown when the
brownstone boarding-house facing the Square had been turned into a
studio building.

Instead of moving she had wheedled the landlord into allowing her to
cut off a small space from her room for a private bath and kitchenette,
built a box couch across the window large enough for a three-quarter
mattress and covered it with velour. For five dollars a week she
had thus secured a little home in which was combined a sitting-room,
bed-room, bath and kitchenette.

It had its drawbacks, of course. The Professor downstairs who taught
music sometimes gave a special lesson at night, and the Italian sculptor
who worked on the top floor used a hammer at the most impossible hours.
But on the whole she liked it better than the tiresome routine of
boarding. She was not afraid at night. The stam