Several hours earlier Essex had been passing down a thoroughfare in that neighborhood, when he had met Benito, slowly wending his way homeward from school. The child recognized him and smiled, and with the smile, Essex recollected the face and saw that fate was still on his side. Pressing a quarter into Benito’s readily extended palm, he had inquired if the boy knew where Miss Moreau was. “Mariposa?” said Benito, with easy familiarity; “she’s at Mrs. Willers’ giving Edna her lesson. This is Wednesday, ain’t it? Well, Edna gets her lesson on Wednesday from half-past four till half-past five, and so that’s where Mariposa is. But she’s generally late ’cause she stays and talks to Mrs. Willers.” At five o’clock, sheltered by the dripping dark, Essex began his furtive watch of the streets along which she might pass. He knew that every day was precious to him now, with Mrs. Willers among his enemies and ready to enlist Winslow Shackleton against him. Here was an opportunity to see the girl, better than the parlor of the Garcia house offered, with its officious boarders. There was absolute seclusion in these black and rain-swept streets. He had been prowling about for an hour when he finally saw her. A dozen times he had cursed under his breath fearing she had escaped him; now his relief was such that he ran toward her, and with a rough hand swept aside her umbrella. In the clear light of the uncurtained pane she saw his face, and shrank back against the wall as if she had been struck. Then a second impulse seized her and she tried to dash past him. He seemed prepared for this and caught her by the arm through her cloak, swinging her violently back to her place against the wall. Keeping his grip on her he said, trying to smile: “What are you afraid of? Don’t you know me?” “Let me go,” she said, struggling, “you’re hurting me.” “I don’t want to hurt you,” he answered, “but I mean to keep you for a moment. I want to talk to you. And I’m going to talk to you.” “I won’t listen to you. Let me go at once. How cowardly to hold me in this way against my will!” She tried again to wrench her arm out of his grasp, but he held her like a vise. Her resistance of him and the repugnance in face and voice maddened him. He felt for a moment that he would like to batter her against the wall. “There’s no use trying to get away, and telling me how much you hate me. I’ve got you here at last. I’ll not let you go till I’ve had my say.” He put his face down under the tent of her umbrella and gazed at her with menacing eyes and tight lips. In the light of the window and against the inky blackness around them the two faces were distinct as cameos hung on a velvet background. He saw the whiteness of her chin on the bow beneath it, and her mouth, with the lips that all the anger in the world could not make hard or unlovely.