As she waited there by the gate, she marked the lapse of time by the cars that passed the end of the alley at intervals of fifteen minutes, occupied not so much with thoughts as with sensations, both those of the moment and those of anticipation. The air was delightfully soft, like that of springtime, and she responded to its caress much as a flower responds, lifting her face placidly to the sky. The atmosphere had now reached the point of saturation, and her fine hair was moistened as by a heavy dew. From time to time she gave an affectionate touch to some small creature which she held warmly in the bend of her arm beneath her cape, or turned her head to listen to the stamping of the horses in a near-by stable. Directly across the alley, a large, half-finished building lifted its walls in the dim light, like a ruin, exhaling from its yawning windows a mingled odour of fresh pine boards and plaster; and toward these squares of blackness she sometimes turned a look almost childish in its suggestion of vague timidity. At last, when she had lingered long past the time agreed upon, she sighed, but without resentment, and resigned herself to disappointment. She wished to see him this night in particular, for she had something of importance to tell. He had forbidden her to write, and she accepted this tyranny as she accepted the man. Without reflecting deeply upon this elaborate caution of his, the secrecy of their courtship made an appeal to a certain demand of her own nature for concealment and mystery. Where a spirited girl would have questioned and resented, she merely acquiesced. She had almost abandoned hope when she caught sight of him in the circle of electric light at the far end of the alley. He gave a quick look to left and right before turning in her direction. She would have known that alert turn of the head in any crowd, and now, as his footsteps sounded nearer and nearer, along the narrow board walk that skirted the fences, she unlatched the gate and came out to meet him. When almost upon her, his eyes caught first the white strip of apron beneath her dark cape, and then the dim little face above bending forward for a greeting. "Well," he said, in a low tone, "did you think I was never coming, girlie?" She leaned against him with a contented sigh. "You have come, Tom, and that's all I care about." As he pressed her to him, the kitten, which had lain concealed till now in purring contentment beneath her cape, leaped to the ground and disappeared in the darkness. "How I hate a cat!" he exclaimed, startled. "I 'd like to set my dog on the beast." His irritation merely elicited a little ripple of amusement, for though she was submissive to his will, she was never afraid of his censure. "Come," he continued; "this is no place to stand. We will go into that new building across the way."