"You lead on," he said at last unsteadily.

"Where?" she asked breathlessly.

He did not speak, but waved an open hand that gave her the freedom of
choice. It was his surrender to the wild spirit of the Coast, and he
grasped the head of the brass image the tighter when he had done it.
She and Fate must guide now; it rested with him only to break
opposing heads.

She smiled and shivered. "Come on, then," she said, and started
before him.

They traversed perhaps a score of roofs enclosed with high parapets,
on to each of which he lifted her, hands in her armpits, swinging her
cleanly to the level of his face and planting her easily and squarely
on the coping. He welcomed each opportunity to take hold of her and
put out the strength of his muscles, and she sat where he placed her,
smiling and silent, while he clambered up and dropped down on the
other side.

At length a creaking wooden stair that hung precariously on the sheer
side of a house brought them again to the ground level. It was
another gloomy alley into which they descended, and the darkness
about him and the mud underfoot struck Dawson with a sense of being
again in familiar surroundings. The woman's hand slid into his as
he stood, and they started along again together.

The alley seemed to be better frequented than that of which he