t and grip his hand, but in place of that he backed him into
the cell, turned the key in the lock, and with the key in his hand
faced Marette Radisson. Her eyes were shining gloriously. He had never
seen such splendid, fighting eyes, nor the birdlike swiftness with
which she turned and ran down the hall, calling him to follow her.

He was only a step behind her in passing Kedsty's office. She reached
the outer door and opened it. It was pitch-dark outside, and a deluge
of rain beat into their faces. He observed that she did not replace the
hood of her raincoat when she darted out. As he closed the door, her
hand groped to his arm and from that found his hand. Her fingers clung
to his tightly.

He did not ask questions as they faced the black chaos of rain. A
rending streak of lightning revealed her for an instant, her bare head
bowed to the wind. Then came a crash of thunder that shook the earth
under their feet, and her fingers closed more tightly about his hand.
And in that crash he heard her voice, half laughing, half broken,
saying,

"I'm afraid--of thunder!"

In that storm his laugh rang out, a great, free, joyous laugh. He
wanted to stop in that instant, sweep her up into his arms, and carry
her. He wanted to shout like an insane man in his mad joy. And a moment
before she had risked everything in facing three of the bravest men in
the service and had shot one of them! He started to say something, but
she increased her speed until she was almost running.

She was not leading Jim in the direction of the river, but toward the
forest beyond Kedsty's bungalow. Not for an instant did she falter in
that drenched and impenetrable darkness. There was something imperative
in the clasp of her fingers, even though they tightened perceptibly
when the thunder crashed. They gave Kent the conviction that there was
no doubt in her mind as to the point she was striving for. He took
advantage of the lightning, for each time it gave him a glimpse of her
bare, wet head bowed to the storm, her white profile, and her slim
figure fighting over the sticky earth under her feet.

It was this presence of her, and not the thought of escape, that
exalted him now. She was at his side. Her hand lay close in his. The
lightning gave him glimpses of her. He felt the touch of her shoulder,
her arm, her body, as they drew close together. The life and warmth and
thrill of her seemed to leap into his own veins through the hand he
held. He had d