And yet the memory of that beautiful woman, with a voice like
liquid music, friendly, soothing, reassuring, kept echoing through
his soul.

As the tumult of passion died in the glow of the walk in the open
air he became conscious of the life of the city again. The avenue
was a blaze of light. Its miles of electric torches flashed like
stars in the milky way.

He passed under dozens of awnings before palatial homes in front of
which stood lines of carriages. The old Dutch and English ancestors
of these people were once faithful observers of the Sabbath. Now they
went to church in the mornings as a form of good society and held
their receptions in the evenings. Some of them employed professional
vaudeville artists to enliven their Sunday social bouts.

New York, proud imperial Queen of the Night, seemed just waking
to her real life, a strange new life in human history--a life that
had put darkness to flight, snuffed out the light of moon and star,
laughed at sleep, twin sister of Death, and challenged the soul of
man to live without one refuge of silence or shadow.

And yet the warmth and glow, the splendour and beauty of it all
stirred his imagination and appealed to his love.

At length he stood before the old church that had been the arena of
his struggles and triumphs for the past ten years, and was destined
to be for him the scene of a drama more thrilling than any he had
known or dreamed in the past.