e road resembled one of the
uncovered streets of Pompeii with its look of centuries of solitude.

Suddenly a door opened and a tall man stepped out.

Madeline recognized Stewart. She had to place both hands on the
window-sill for support, while a storm of emotion swayed her. Like
a retreating wave it rushed away. Stewart lived. He was free. He had
stepped out into the light. She had saved him. Life changed for her in
that instant of realization and became sweet, full, strange.

Stewart shook hands with some one in the doorway. Then he looked up
and down the road. The door closed behind him. Leisurely he rolled a
cigarette, stood close to the wall while he scratched a match. Even at
that distance Madeline's keen eyes caught the small flame, the first
little puff of smoke.

Stewart then took to the middle of the road and leisurely began his
walk.

To Madeline he appeared natural, walked as unconcernedly as if he were
strolling for pleasure; but the absence of any other living thing,
the silence, the red haze, the surcharged atmosphere--these were all
unnatural. From time to time Stewart stopped to turn face forward toward
houses and corners. Only silence greeted these significant moves of his.
Once he halted to roll and light another cigarette. After that his step
quickened.

Madeline watched him, with pride, love, pain, glory combating for a
mastery over her. This walk of his seemingly took longer than all her
hours of awakening, of strife, of remorse, longer than the ride to
find him. She felt that it would be impossible for her to wait till he
reached the end of the road. Yet in the hurry and riot of her feelings
she had fleeting panics. What could she say to him? How meet him? Well
she remembered the tall, powerful form now growing close enough to
distinguish its dress. Stewart's face was yet only a dark gleam. Soon
she would see it--long before he could know she was there. She wanted to
run to meet him. Nevertheless, she stood rooted to her covert behind the
window, living that terrible walk with him to the uttermost thought of
home, sister, mother, sweetheart, wife, life itself--every thought that
could come to a man stalking to meet his executioners. With all
that tumult in her mind and heart Madeline still fell prey to the
incomprehensible variations of emotion possible to a woman. Every step
Stewart took thrilled her. She had some strange, subtle intuition that
he was not unhappy, and that he believed beyo