"What's more, Mary, I won't accept anything from you. Whatever you've got, put it aside for Christine or against the time when you may need it yourself. I'm not going to live off you. I'm not what I was back in those rotten days. I believe I'm going to be I happy again--I think life's going to be sweet to me after all. Half an hour ago I had but a few minutes to live, as I believed. I don't know just how to take this new grip on life. Maybe I'll be able some time to tell you all that I can't say now. I'm all befuddled. The main point is: I'm going to have a chance to be a man again, a real man; to be your husband and to make Christine forget she was ashamed of me. That's it. That's what I'm trying to say. So, you see, I can't afford to be ashamed of myself. Do you get what I mean?" "You would be ashamed of yourself if you accepted money or help from me? Is that it?" "Yes. I can work, Mary. I can support you, if you'll come with me. I know where to go. But you'd better think it over carefully. I can go alone, Mary dear,--I can go alone, if you feel you can't stand being with me." She hesitated, weighing her words. "I have a plan, Tom, that I want to talk over with you. I'll tell you about it when we get home. I want to know what you think of it. Perhaps you will consider it a good one. It occurred to me this afternoon while I was making preparations to leave the city with you to-morrow." "You--you had it all thought out before you--" "I had it all thought out. In fact, Tom, I have the railroad tickets at home in my desk,--two tickets, one way." "You are the most wonderful woman in all this world, Mary, I'd die for you a thousand times," he cried. It was almost a sob. She smiled. "I wouldn't allow you to do it even once for me. Come! We will go back the way we came, only we will go in by the front door." As they turned onto the sidewalk he cast a swift, involuntary glance, as of terror, in the direction of North River. She distinctly heard the quick intake of his breath and the involuntary chatter of his teeth. "You will sleep in a good, clean bed to-night," she said, reading his thoughts. He reached forth and touched her arm, timidly at first, as if he were afraid that ever so slight a sign of affection would be repulsed. Finding that she did not shrink or draw away, he ventured to draw her arm through his. His figure was still bent, but the slouching, furtive movement was gone. Mechanically she fell into his stride and they moved swiftly up the street. A clock in a house across the way banged out the hour. Far away, in the neighborhood of Broadway, a raucous-voiced newsboy was crying his "extra." They knew that he was shouting: "All about the murder!" in that unintelligible jargon of the night. "We will get it all in the morning papers," she said. "I hope they don't try to connect me with it--Mary, I'm afraid of that! You'd better let me get out of town to-night." She shook her head.