Luke saw yet more dazzlingly the glory of individuality, the holiness of his humanity; but it was as if scales fell from his eyes, for he saw entire. Here had been one of the false starts on a wrong road, one of the moments of relapse that he had expected. The individuality was divine; physical passion was a splendid thing; but when the individual’s physical passion stooped to force or cunning, what had been splendid became foul, and what had been divine was bestial. Luke, in his denial of revealed Religion, was no longer a pygmy trembling before a giant; he was himself a giant; but what he was in actuality he must recognize as potential in his fellow creatures. His mental and spiritual sight was at last adjusted to the new illumination. He could assess moral values, could determine ethical duties now. It remained only to find their reason and decipher their credentials. On Sunday he had gained his strength; to-night he had gained the knowledge of how rightly to use it. He ran to the door and tore back the bolt. "Whitaker!" he called. The superintendent came cringing from the main office, where he had cowered through all the riot. "Get two policemen and have them see Miss Forbes safely home." Betty was secure now, and the mill was safe. He borrowed a hat too large for him, and put over his ragged shirt the alpaca office-coat of some clerk, which he found in a locker. He walked out into the street. Far away he heard a woman’s strident voice singing: "Oh, why don’t you save All the money you earn? _If I did not eat_ _I’d have money to burn._" There was the sound of a distant shot. Then silence. *CHAPTER XIX* §1. He could not stay in the factory while she was there. To go to the upper office where he had left her, to attempt to explain, to offer a shoddy apology—this would be to add the last insult to the wrong that he had done her. He thought that worse than to have completed the thing that he had begun. He cut northwestward toward the more peopled part of the borough, not because he wanted to be among people, but because he did not even yet want to have to think. He tried to think, but he did not want to. He saw clearly his new duties and his new restrictions; but they presented themselves to him as isolated facts which, offending his reason, spurred his reason to demand their credentials, and these he could not yet read. Moreover, the memory of the scene with Betty would rise before his restless mind, burning all else away, and, to burn memory away, his heart drove him into the more crowded streets.