Noise from within the inn, which had halted her, now reached Andy. Some one was knocking at her door--not doubtfully, but with the sharp raps of demand for admittance; a pause for reply; then men’s voices and men’s shoulders against the door; it came down with a crash, and the room was lit by dancing yellow lamps brandished in hand. Roberta slid swiftly down the rope, and dropped to the grass. Andy caught her; her light hair was against his lips; he felt her breath, as she stood against him, gloriously excited, and she lifted her head to look up to her window. Her tense, slender hands held to him tight; she let her lithe, active little figure lie inert another moment half held by him. As she whispered to him, she was exultant in the completeness of the success of her mission; but her breathing told him that his presence there added to her triumph; she was glad he had witnessed it. She admitted that without meaning to. “It’s never been like this before!” The memory of the paragraph by the German psychologist further emboldened him. “Bobs, you--you don’t care a thing about votes for women!” “What? Of course I do!” She freed herself indignantly; but returned at once to him to feel his share in the effect of her adventure. “Listen to them, Andy; isn’t it great to hear them! They can’t believe that a girl would do it!” “Those are only the local gallants.” Andy cautioned as he listened. “The fellow who’s followed you from London doesn’t seem harassed by doubts.” “Andy, till you do it yourself, you’ve no possible basis of appreciating the perfect deliciousness of shocking them so. You couldn’t appreciate it then; you’d have to be a woman with ten thousand generations of downtrodden, meek-made women behind you who wanted to smash things and never dared; you’d----” “Come away,” Andy begged. “They’ve seen your rope now.” Outcry from above confirmed him, so she let him guide her out of the garden and down the road, where they found a hiding place behind a hedge. They stopped while scared and horrified citizenry passed them. The armory on the hill was burning now with less flame and more smoke, rewarding local fire volunteers for their labors; but the clamor in pursuit of the perpetrators of the outrage increased. “Are they always so close up on you?” Andy whispered respectfully, as officers, shouting descriptions of Roberta, stumbled past. “Not always,” she said modestly. “What was your plan for the getaway?” “Through my room, of course--but there’s no use thinking about that now. They know me now and that I did it.” Andy listened. “Yes; they seem to feel pretty sure of you, too.” “Oh, they have before!” she boasted. “But I’m all right. You’d better leave me now,” she ordered independently. “Awfully glad to have seen you.” She offered her hand; he put his behind his back, trying to think what to say. The outcry about them continued. A group of burghers, not actively in the woman hunt, went past.