Into this street--into its noisiest quarter at its noisiest time--the cab that bore Violet on her way to liberty at last turned and proceeded as far under the flaring gasoline torches as the evening crowd of workers, buyers, and sellers, would permit. The girl, through the dark thoroughfares that had preceded it, had answered a score of questions, which Dyker had asked her, the fever of escape beating high in her breast and tossing ready replies to her heated lips; but now, in the roar and brilliance of Rivington Street's nocturnal traffic, there had come upon her a terror almost equal to that which had assailed her when, with Max for her guide, the lighted length of East Fourteenth Street had first unrolled itself before her. The city was again an inimical monster awaiting her descent from the cab, and the newly acquired habit of seclusion, the habit of the prisoner, recoiled upon her. Freedom was strange; it became awesome, and when the horse was stopped and Violet knew that she must soon fare alone, she cowered in a corner, breathing hard. "Can't go no furder, boss," said the cabby, leaning far around from his seat. "Where to now?" "Nowhere right away," answered Dyker. "Just stand where you are for a minute." Then he turned to Violet. "Now," he said, not unkindly, "I'm afraid I'll have to drop you here. It wouldn't do for me to figure publicly as an active agent in this case, you know. But you needn't worry. Just get out and walk to the next corner. Turn to your right, take the next cross-street to your left, go up the first narrow street you come to, and your friend's house ought to be about the third in the row. It will be a little dark, but you won't have any trouble finding it." Violet hesitated. "I hope I won't," she said. "Surely not. If you have, just ask the way of the first policeman you see." "Not a policeman, Mr. Dyker!" "Of course, a policeman. He won't hurt you as long as you keep your cloak tight. Now, you're sure you've given me the right address?" "I gave you the one the man gave me." "Yes, but I mean you're not lying to me?" Violet's wide eyes should have been sufficient denial. "Why would I do that?" she asked. "That's so; only I thought--well, I beg your pardon, Violet. You have my office-address on that card. I'll send for you in a day or two--be sure to be home every afternoon--and then we'll fix Madame Rose with the District-Attorney.--Good-by. Sure you're not afraid?" Her gratitude would not permit her to acknowledge fear. "Not afraid," she smiled, rather grimly. "Then remember: the first street to your right, the next to your left, and then to your right again--third or fourth house in the row." He opened the cab-door and alighted, holding out his hand. She straightened her beaver hat, drew the folds of her dark cloak tightly over the betraying crimson of her kimona, and, helped by his grasp, followed him to the swarming curb. "I--I don't know how to thank you," she said.