For a moment the night seemed to grow more impenetrably black; then
a great picture stood out against it like a constellation. It was
surmounted by a golden scroll bearing the inscription, "Washington
crossing the Delaware," and across a flood of motionless golden ripples
the National Hero passed, erect, solemn and gigantic, standing with
folded arms in the stern of a slowly moving golden boat.

A long "Oh-h-h" burst from the spectators: the stand creaked and shook
with their blissful trepidations. "Oh-h-h," Charity gasped: she had
forgotten where she was, had at last forgotten even Harney's nearness.
She seemed to have been caught up into the stars....

The picture vanished and darkness came down. In the obscurity she felt
her head clasped by two hands: her face was drawn backward, and Harney's
lips were pressed on hers. With sudden vehemence he wound his arms about
her, holding her head against his breast while she gave him back his
kisses. An unknown Harney had revealed himself, a Harney who dominated
her and yet over whom she felt herself possessed of a new mysterious
power.

But the crowd was beginning to move, and he had to release her. "Come,"
he said in a confused voice. He scrambled over the side of the stand,
and holding up his arm caught her as she sprang to the ground. He passed
his arm about her waist, steadying her against the descending rush
of people; and she clung to him, speechless, exultant, as if all the
crowding and confusion about them were a mere vain stirring of the air.

"Come," he repeated, "we must try to make the trolley." He drew her
along, and she followed, still in her dream. They walked as if they were
one, so isolated in ecstasy that the people jostling them on every side