For a few moments neither the girl nor the man spoke, although Annesley felt that there were a thousand things to say. Every second was taking them nearer to Torrington Square; and their parting must come soon. After that, all would be blankness for her, as before this wonderful night. Such thoughts made the girl a prisoner of silence; and "Mr. Smith" was also tongue-tied. Was he concentrating his mind upon some plan of escape from these mysterious enemies? She told herself this must be so; yet his first words proved that he had been thinking of the risk she ran. "If the dragon comes out of her den and catches us at the door, will that mean a catastrophe for you, or can I be explained away?" he inquired. "I don't know," said Annesley. "And somehow I don't care!" "I care," the man replied. "I can't have harm come to you through me. But tell me, before we go farther--does it matter to you, Miss Grayle, that in a little while you and I may see the last of each other? I feel I have a sort of right to ask that question, because it matters such a lot to me. I've got to know you better in this one evening than I could in a year in a commonplace way. I don't want you to go out of my life, because you're the best thing that ever came into it. And if I dared hope that I might mean to you some day half what you've begun to mean for me already, why, I wouldn't _let_ you go!" Annesley clasped her hands under her cloak. They were cold yet tingling. Her blood was leaping; but she could not speak. She was afraid of saying too much. "Can't you give me a grain of hope?" he went on. His voice was wistful. "We have so little time." "What--do you want me to say?" Annesley stammered. "I want you to say--that you don't wish to see the last of me to-night." "I shouldn't be human if I _could_ wish that!" the words seemed to speak themselves; and she, who had been taught to repress and hide emotion as if it were a vice, was glad that the truth was out. After all they had gone through together she couldn't send this man away believing her indifferent. "I--it doesn't seem as if we were strangers," she faltered on. "Strangers! I should think not," he echoed. "We mayn't know much about each other's tastes, but we do know about each other's souls, which is more than can be said of most men and women acquainted for half a lifetime. As for our pasts, you haven't had one, and I--well, if I swear to you that I've never murdered anybody, or been in prison, or committed an unforgivable crime, will you take my word?" "If you told me you _were_ a murderer, or had committed some unforgivable crime, I--I don't feel as if I could believe it," Annesley assured him. "It--would hurt me to think evil of you. I'm sure it isn't you who are evil, but these men."