Steele spread wide his coat lapels. He wore a light shirt, the color of
which in places was white. The rest was all a bloody mass from which
dark red drops fell to the floor.

"Oh!" cried Miss Sampson.

Scorn and passion vanished in the horror, the pity, of a woman who
imagined she saw a man mortally wounded. It was a hard sight for a
woman's eyes, that crimson, heaving breast.

"Surely I didn't see that," went on Steele, closing his coat. "You used
unforgettable words, Miss Sampson. From you they hurt. For I stand
alone. My fight is to make Linrock safer, cleaner, a better home for
women and children. Some day you will remember what you said."

How splendid he looked, how strong against odds. How simple a dignity
fitted his words. Why, a woman far blinder than Diane Sampson could have
seen that here stood a man.

Steele bowed, turned on his heel, and strode out to vanish in the dark.

Then while she stood bewildered, still shocked, I elected to do some
rapid thinking.

How seriously was Steele injured? An instant's thought was enough to
tell me that if he had sustained any more than a flesh wound he would
not have chased his assailant, not with so much at stake in the future.

Then I concerned myself with a cold grip of desire to get near the