Ah, there it was! He had fumbled at the keys of the organ in the dark; he had spread his fingers amply and pressed down; behold, back from the cathedral lofts echoed a rising music of surpassing beauty. Like the organist, he sank back again in the shadow and wondered at the phrase of melody. Surely he had not created it? Then what? God, perhaps. For her lips parted to a smile that was suggested rather than seen, a tender, womanly sweetness that played about her mouth; and a light came in her eyes that would never wholly die from them. Afterward he would feel shame for what he had done, but now he was wholly wrapped in the new thing that had been born in her, like a bird striving to fly in the teeth of a great storm, and giving back with reeling, drumming wings, a beautiful and touching sight. Her lips framed words that made no sound. Truly, she was making a gallant struggle. Then she said: "Anthony!" She was pale with the struggle, now, but she rose bravely to her part. She even laughed, though it fell short like an arrow dropping in front of the target. "Listen, Bard, you make a pretty good imitation of Samson, but I ain't cut out for any Delilah. If I'm holding you here, why, cut and run and forget it." She drew a long breath and went on more confidently: "It ain't any use; I'm not cut out for any man--I'd so much rather be--free. I've tried to get interested in others, but it never works." She laughed again, more surely, and with a certain hardness like the ringing of metal against metal, or the after rhythm from the peal of a bell. With deft, flying fingers she rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and sat down cross-legged. Through the first outward puff of smoke went these words: "The only thing that's a woman about me is skirts. That's straight." Yet he knew that his power was besieging her on every side. Her power seemed gone, and she was like a rare flower in the hollow of his hand; all that he had to do was to close his fingers, and--He despised himself for it, but he could not resist. Moreover, he half counted on her pride to make her break away. "Then if it's hopeless, Sally Fortune, go now." She answered, with an upward tilt of her chin: "Don't be a fool, Anthony. If I can't be a woman to you, at least I can be a pal--the best you've had in these parts. Nope, I'll see you through. Better saddle now--" "And start back for Drew?" There was the thrust that made her start, as if the knife went through tender flesh. "Are you such a plumb fool as that?" "Go now, Sally. I tell you, it's no use. I won't leave the trail of Drew." It was only the outward stretch of her arm, only the extension of her hand, palm up, but it was as if her whole nature expanded toward him in tenderness. "Oh, Anthony, if you care for me, don't stay in reach of Drew! You're breaking--" She stopped and closed her eyes. "Breakin' all the rules, like any tenderfoot would be expected to do."