now appeared to be a friendship ended--at
other times a tingle of bitterness that he had let it end so
relentlessly--and sometimes, at night, the secret dread--eternally
buried yet perennially resurrected--the still, hidden, ever-living
fear of Marya; these the girl knew, now, as part of life.

And went on, steadily, with her life's business, as though moving
toward a dark horizon where clouds towered gradually higher,
reflecting the glimmer of unseen lightning.

Somehow, lately, a vague sensation of impending trouble had invaded
her; and she never entirely shook it off, even in her lighter moods,
when there was gay company around her; or in the warm flush of
optimistic propaganda work; or in the increasingly exciting sessions
of the Combat Club, now interrupted nightly by fierce outbreaks from
emissaries of the Red Flag Club, who were there to make mischief.

Also, there had been an innovation established among her company of
moderate socialists; a corps of missionary speakers, who volunteered
on certain nights to speak from the classic soap-box on street
corners, urging the propaganda of their panacea, the Law of Love and
Service.

Twice already, despite her natural timidity and dread of public
speaking, Palla had faced idle, half-curious, half sneering crowds
just east or west of Broadway; had struggled through with what she had
come to say; had gently replied to heckling, blushed under insult,
stood trembling by her guns to the end.

Ilse was more convincing, more popular with her gay insouciance and
infectious laughter, and her unexpected and enchanting flashes of
militancy, which always interested the crowd.

And always, after these soap-box efforts, both Palla and Ilse were
insulted over the telephone by unknown men. Their mail, also,
invariably contained abusive or threatening letters, and sometimes
vile ones; and Estridge purchased pistols for them both and exacted
pledges that they carry them at night.

On the evening selected for Palla's third essay in street oratory, she
slipped her pistol into her muff and set out alone, not waiting for
Ilse, who, with John Estridge, was to have met her after dinner at her
house, and, as usual, accompany her to the place selected.

But they knew where she was to speak, and she did not doubt they would
turn up sooner or later at the rendezvous.

All that day the dull, foreboding feeling had been assailing her at
intervals, and she had been unable to free herself e