to him, his hands reached out for her, touched her, and, thrilling at the touch, swept her toward him.
"Jimmie—Jimmie—are you mad!" she breathed.
Mad! Yes—he was mad with the wildest, most passionate exhilaration he had ever known. He found his voice with an effort.
"These months and years that I have tried until my soul was sick to find you!" he cried out. "And you are here now! Your face—I must see your face!"
She had wrenched herself away from him. He could hear her breath coming sharply in little gasps. He groped his way onward toward the desk.
"Wait!"—her tones seemed to ring suddenly vibrant through the room. Wait, before you touch that lamp! I—I put you on your honour not to light it."
He stopped abruptly.
"My—honour?" he repeated mechanically.
"Yes! I came here to-night because there was no other way. No other way—do you understand? I came, trusting to your honour not to take advantage of the conditions that forced me to do this. I had no fear that I was wrong—I have no fear now. You will not light that lamp, and you will not make any attempt to prevent my going away as I came—unknown. Is there any question about it, Jimmie? I am in your house."
"You don't know what you are saying!" he burst out wildly. "I've risked my life for a chance like this again and again; I've gone through hell, living in squalour for a month on end as Larry the Bat in the hope that I might discover who you are—and do you think I'll let anything stop me now! I tell you, no—a thousand times no!"
She made no answer. There was only her low, quick breathing coming from somewhere near him. He made another step toward the lamp—and stopped.
"I tell you, no!" he said again, and took another step forward—and stopped once more.
Still she made no answer. A minute passed—another. His hand lifted and swept across his forehead in an agitated
