I crept miserably on. I became afraid of the police; I felt as I suppose
criminals must feel; I slunk along in the dark shadows like a hunted
thing. The night grew misty and damp, but I found no shelter. I had no
will power left, no womanhood, no remorse; I had become a thing to play
with, a body without a soul. I had ceased to care, to think, to even
remember; I only wanted to drop the struggle, and have it over with.
Perhaps I should have taken my own life, had I only known how to
accomplish it--it seemed infinitely worse to live than to die. It was
thus I came there, to that corner. I heard the policeman approaching
along the side street, and, terrified, sprang into the yard to
escape--then--then, I met you."

Someone laughed at one of the other tables, and I wheeled about in my
chair. For an instant I believed her voice had been overheard, but
instantly realized the mistake and turned back, noticing how she was
trembling.

"Tell me," I questioned earnestly, "what caused you to interfere between
me and the officer?"

"What! Oh, I hardly know," a touch of hysteria in the nervous
exclamation. "It was just a natural ending to all the rest, I suppose.
I was a criminal in heart, a fugitive; I hated the law, and was afraid of
the police. I merely did what occurred to me first, without thought,
volition, purpose. I was compelled to choose instantly between his mercy
and yours; the--the difference seemed small enough then, but--but I
realized you were frightened also, and--and so I preferred to trust you.
That was all; it was my fate, and--and, well I did n't care much how it
ended."