From overhead sounded the roaring dissonance of an elevated train; on either side of her phantom shapes swarmed--figures which moved everywhere around her, now illumined by shop windows, now silhouetted against them. And always through the deafening confusion in her brain, the dismay, the stupefaction, one dreadful fear dominated--the fear of Brandes--the dread and horror of this Judas who had denied her.

She could not drive the scene from her mind--the never-to-be forgotten picture where he stood with blood from his cut lip striping his fat chin. She heard his voice denying her through swollen lips that scarcely moved--denying that he had married her.

And in her ears still sounded the other voice--the terrible words of the woman who had struck him--an unsteady, unreal voice accusing him; and her brain throbbed with the horrible repet.i.tion: "Dirty dog--dirty dog--dirty dog----" until, almost out of her mind, she dropped her bag and clapped both hands over her ears.

One or two men stared at her. A taxi driver came from beside his car and asked her if she was ill. But she caught up her suitcase and hurried on without answering.

She was very tired. She had come to the end of the lighted avenue.

There was darkness ahead, a wall, trees, and electric lights sparkling among the foliage.

Perhaps the sudden glimpse of a wide and star-set sky quieted her, calmed her. Freed suddenly from the canon of the city's streets, the unreasoning panic of a trapped thing subsided a little.

Her arm ached; she shifted the suitcase to her other hand and looked across at the trees and at the high stars above, striving desperately for self-command.

Something had to be done. She must find some place where she could sit down. Where was she to find it?

For a while she could feel her limbs trembling; but gradually the heavy thudding of her pulses quieted; n.o.body molested her; n.o.body had followed her. That she was quite lost did not matter; she had also lost this man who had denied her, somewhere in the depths of the confusion behind her. That was all that mattered--escape from him, from the terrible woman who had struck him and reviled him.

With an effort she checked her thoughts and struggled for self-command. Somewhere in the city there must be a railroad station from which a train would take her home.

With the thought came the desperate longing for flight, and a rush of tears that almost choked her. Nothing mattered now except her mother's arms; the rest was a nightmare, the horror of a dream which still threatened, still clutched at her with shadowy and spectral menace.

For a moment or two she stood there on the curb, her eyes closed, fighting for self-control, forcing her disorganized brain to duty.

Somebody must help her to find a railroad station and a train. That gradually became clear to her. But when she realised that, a young man sauntered up beside her and looked at her so intently that her calmness gave way and she turned her head sharply to conceal the starting tears.

"h.e.l.lo, girlie," he said. "Got anythin' on tonight?"

With head averted, she stood there, rigid, dumb, her tear-drenched eyes fixed on the park; and after one or two jocose observations the young man became discouraged and went away. But he had thrust the fear of strangers deep into her heart; and now she dared not ask any man for information. However, when two young women pa.s.sed she found sufficient courage to accost them, asking the direction of the railroad station from which trains departed for Gayfield.

The women, who were young and brightly coloured in plumage, displayed a sympathetic interest at once.

"Gayfield?" repeated the blonder of the two. "Gee, dearie, I never heard of that place."

"Is it on Long Island?" inquired the other.

"No. It is in Mohawk County."

"That's a new one, too. Mohawk County? Never heard of it; did you, Lil?"

"Search me!"

"Is it up-state, dearie?" asked the other. "You better go over to Madison Avenue and take a car to the Grand Central----"

"Wait," interrupted her friend; "she better take a taxi----"

"Nix on a taxi you pick up on Sixth Avenue!" And to Rue, curiously sympathetic: "Say, you've got friends here, haven't you, little one?"

"No."

"What! You don't know anyone in New York!"

Rue looked at her dumbly; then, of a sudden, she remembered Neeland.

"Yes," she said, "I know one person."

"Where does your friend live?"

In her reticule was the paper on which he had written the address of the Art Students' League, and, as an afterthought, his own address.

Rue lifted the blue silk bag, opened it, took out her purse and found the paper.

"One Hundred and Six, West Fifty-fifth Street," she read; "Studio No.

10."

"Why, that isn't far!" said the blonder of the two. "We are going that way. We'll take you there."

"I don't know--I don't know him very well----"

"Is it a man?"

"Yes. He comes from my town, Gayfield."

"Oh! I guess that's all right," said the other woman, laughing. "You got to be leery of these men, little one. Come on; we'll show you."

It was only four blocks; Ruhannah presently found herself on the steps of a house from which dangled a sign, "Studios and Bachelor Apartments to Let."

"What's his name?" said the woman addressed as Lil.

"Mr. Neeland."

By the light of the vestibule lantern they inspected the letter boxes, found Neeland's name, and pushed the electric b.u.t.ton.

After a few seconds the door clicked and opened.

"Now, you're all right!" said Lil, peering into the lighted hallway.

"It's on the fourth floor and there isn't any elevator that I can see, so you keep on going upstairs till your friend meets you."

"Thank you so much for your great kindness----"

"Don't mention it. Good luck, dearie!"

The door clicked behind her, and Rue found herself alone.

The stairs, flanked by a ma.s.sive bal.u.s.trade of some dark, polished wood, ascended in spirals by a short series of flights and landings.

Twice she rested, her knees almost giving way, for the climb upward seemed interminable. But at last, just above her, she saw a skylight, and a great stair-window giving on a court; and, as she toiled up and stood clinging, breathless, to the banisters on the top landing, out of an open door stepped Neeland's shadowy figure, dark against the hall light behind him.