the _other_ way!"

"Not to-night," he insisted; "the place for you to-night is home.
I'm taking you where you belong."

She reached over wildly, trying to open the door, but he held her
back; she began to cry, and he talked to her, gently but unbendingly.
"But you don't _understand!_" she whispered, passionately. "I've
_got_ to go!"

"Not to-night," he said again, and something in the way he said it
made her finally huddle back in the corner of the carriage.

Block after block, mile after mile, they rode on in silence. She
felt overpowered. And with submission she knew that it was Z. For
the whole city was piled in between. Great buildings were in
between, and thousands of men running to and fro on the streets;
man, and all man had builded up, were in between. And then
Harold--Harold who had always seemed to count for so little, had
come and taken her away.

Dully, wretchedly--knowing that her heart would ache far worse
to-morrow than it did to-night--she wondered about things. Did
things like rain and street-cars and wet feet and a sore throat
determine life? Was it that way with other people, too? Did other
people have barriers--whole cities full of them--piled in between?
And then did the Harolds come and take them where they said they
belonged? Were there not _some_ people strong enough to go
where they wanted to go?