took her way jauntily out of the alley and, circling the square, joined
the throng of well-dressed men and women ascending the broad steps of the
cathedral.

From that day when she had found herself back in the alley, like a bit of
driftwood that for a brief space is whirled out of its stagnant pool,
only to be cast back again, she had planned ceaselessly for a means of
escape. During the first terrible weeks of Uncle Jed's illness, her
thoughts flew for relief sometimes to Dan, sometimes to Mac. And Dan
answered her silent appeal in person, coming daily with his clumsy hands
full of necessities, his strong arms ready to lift, his slow speech
quickened to words of hope and cheer. Mac came only in dreams, with gay,
careless eyes and empty, useless hands, and lips that asked more than
they gave. Yet it was around Mac's shining head that the halo of romance
oftenest hovered.

It was not until Uncle Jed grew better, and Dan's visits ceased, that
Nance realized what they had meant to her. To be sure her efforts to
restore things to their old familiar footing had been fruitless, for Dan
refused stubbornly to overlook the secret that stood between them, and
Nance, for reasons best known to herself, refused to explain matters.

But youth reckons time by heart-throbs, and during Uncle Jed's
convalescence Nance found the clock of life running ridiculously slow.
Through Ike Lavinski, whose favor she had won by introducing him to Dr.
Adair, she learned of a night school where a business course could be
taken without expense. She lost no time in enrolling and, owing to her
thorough grounding of the year before, was soon making rapid progress.
Every night on her way to school, she walked three squares out of her way
on the chance of meeting Dan coming from the factory, and coming and