she stood trembling from head to foot like a blade of grass that is
shaken by a high wind. "What do you mean? What is it?" she demanded.

After lifting his hat to Brady he had not noticed him again, and now he
bent upon his wife a look of gentle, if unyielding, authority. "I'll
tell you presently--in the carriage," he said, drawing her wrap more
closely about her throat. "I have one waiting at the corner."

He saw her look at him in a frightened hesitation; saw, too, that even
in the quiver of her alarm she had taken in the unflattering details of
his appearance--- his ordinary business overcoat, the blue silk muffler
about his neck, and even the bespattered condition of his rubber shoes.
For an instant she glanced uncertainly at Brady's immaculate evening
dress showing beneath his open fur-lined overcoat, and knowing her as he
did, Adams read her appreciation of the contrast as plainly as if it had
been written in her face.

But he was not moved by the knowledge of her criticism, nor did it shake
him in the least from that penetrating vision he had attained. The
instinct for battle was alive and quick within him--if Connie was to be
saved he knew that he must fight single-handed with the powers of evil
for her soul. And fight he would--it was the end for which a man was
born--that he might overcome and so justify the spirit about the brute.

Her hand hung at her side, and taking it in his, he slipped it under his
arm with a possessive air, while she made to Brady some hurried excuses
in a trembling voice. For a moment still she hung back, but Adams drew
her gently with him, and after the first few steps, she recovered
herself and walked rapidly to the waiting carriage. Inside she shrank
back immediately into a corner from which, when they had rolled off, she