All at once, as the skidding automobile slowed and sloughed about a corner, a group under a lamp-post, black and silhouetted against the snow, sprang across the fragile fabric of her dreams out of the horrid world of reality--a figure that scattered all selfish thoughts and overwhelmed her with the power of a great remorse. She leaned forward precipitately, beating on the window for Brennon to stop, and even in the moment of her disorder, true to the Salamander instinct, she explained hastily: "A cousin--oh, dear! he's been on a spree for months; the family's distracted. Stop! Wait--I must get hold of him. No, no; let me out!" And to Ida's amazement, opening the door, heedless of the slush on her delicate feet, of the bitter night, of what any one would think,--obeying only an irresistible cry from her soul,--Dodo had sprung out and run to the sidewalk, where the ghost of Lindaberry, come up from the abyss, was standing embattled, torn and disheveled, magnificently crazed, and at his feet a policeman, knocked out. CHAPTER XXIII Doré went to Lindaberry, without a thought of fear, crying his name: "Garry, it's I--Dodo!" He turned, striving to recognize her through the blurred phantasmagoria of the week. "Who?" He drew his hand across his face, bending down a little, staring at her. At the moment she despaired of his recognizing her, suddenly he stiffened up, made an attempt to readjust his clothes, and doffed his hat. She gave a cry of horror: across his forehead was a seam of blood. "You're hurt!" "'S nothing," he said, drawing a long breath, and his jaw growing rigid with the attempt to recover his control. He relaxed his grip on the collar of the inert policeman, who flattened out against the trampled snow. "This little misunshtanding--gen'lman spoke rather rude. Sorry--little mussed. 'Scuse me." The fear that others might arrive and find him thus, the dread of an arrest--a trial and publicity--gave her a new will; for, strangely enough, even before his wild demeanor she had no fear. "I've come, as I promised," she said quickly. "I'm going to take you home. Come, Garry!" "Any one else?" he asked, shrinking back. "My maid," she said quickly. He bowed and gave her his arm to the automobile. At the door he placed her inside, saying, with careful courtesy: "Sit outside. Thank you. Not fit. All right!" Aware of his condition, by some tremendous exertion of his will, he had flung back the lethargy that held his senses, and recovered his dignity. Dodo, in the car, was thinking rapidly. The first glance at his eyes and quivering lips had told her how serious was the crisis. Everything else disappeared before this insistent need of her--romance, intrigues, calculation, or care of what others might think.