not to look at her, at all events, and the thought
of the fragile form he loved, shivering, possibly, in that bitter blast,
had lured him from the Lambert to within sight of the Wellses' door-way.
The yellow green of the wintry west was fading, the lamps were
flickering in the gale, and the electric globes, swinging at the corner,
threw black, shifting shadows across the pavement. The captain gazed
wistfully up at a certain window across the way. She was not yet home,
for all there was darkness. Then he peered along the sidewalk towards
the avenue. A social function of some kind was going on, and a number of
carriages were drawn up at the curb near a great stone house that faced
the broader and more fashionable thoroughfare to the east, or else were
moving slowly up and down, their coachmen thrashing vigorously with
their arms to restore circulation in their numbed fingers. Forrest
recognized the once familiar brougham of the Allisons', and conjectured
that Florence, with her now desperately devoted Hubbard, was among the
guests. At the eastward end of the street all was light and bustle,
clattering hoofs and slamming carriage-doors. All to the west was gloom
and silence; yet out of that darkness was he looking for the light, the
one light, that could bring even momentary gladness to his eyes. He knew
that on certain evenings it was her habit to stop and see how Mart's
little brood was faring, and their new home was on a back street not
four blocks distant. She was later than usual this evening; wondering
why, he tramped westward towards the corner. He heard the swift hoofs of
horses coming behind him, and the smooth roll of carriage-wheels. He saw
sudden commotion and excitement among some children issuing from a
baker's shop at the corner, and heard their shrill, eager voices, then
the clang of gongs, the louder thunder of galloping hoofs, and the
ponderous bounding bulk of a fire-engine as it came tearing down the
cross street. Like a rushing volcano it dashed southward, leaving a
trail of sparks and smoke, and then there was sudden warning cry. Some
of the children, unmindful of anything except the engine, had sprung
upon the crossing to see it go by, just as the carriage came spinning
out from behind them. The coachman shouted, hauled at his reins, and did
his best, but the little ones heard only the thunder in front, and in an
instant, though almost sliding on their powerful haunches, John
Allison's beautiful bays