She rose and took a step either way. She gazed on him, and suddenly she
broke down and cried, her hands to her face.

"O God," she sobbed, "when will all this be over? When will we get rid
of this tragedy? I can't stand it longer."

He rose, too, confused.

"Listen," he whispered. "I swear to you, I swear, that from this day on
my life belongs to those"--his voice broke--"dead girls ... to the
toilers...."

She impulsively reached out a hand, and he seized it. Then, when she
became more quiet, she murmured:

"I can see you mean it. Oh, this is wonderful! It is a miracle springing
out of the fire!"

There was a strange throbbing silence that brought them close together.
And Sally, glancing at him again, whispered:

"I can see how you have suffered! Let me help you ... all that I can!"

He spoke in great pain.

"What can I do? I know so little."

"Do? You must learn that for yourself. You must fit in where you belong.
Do you know anything of the working-class movement?"