Carter stopped short in the street and turned to read in the other's eyes whether this promised miracle was true or false. He reached out and caught Sobieska's hand and wrung it with the fervor he would fain have loosed in a cheer.
"Thank God," he said vehemently. "Are we going to her, now?"
Sobieska nodded an affirmative.
"Is it far?"
"Not over two miles."
"And you intend to walk? Great Scott, man, do you think I have lead in my veins instead of blood?"
"No, Carter, but remember that I have no longer money at my command. Poverty has taught me strange tricks of economy. Pride would not let me think of asking you if you preferred riding."
"You might have known," said Carter reproachfully, "that every cent I have would be at your disposal for such an errand."
His companion nodded his head wearily. Was the fellow not satisfied, he thought? It meant that he was being led to the woman that he, Sobieska, loved with fervor equal to Carter's. Why should he hasten the minute that would place her in the American's arms? Ah, well, Trusia loved him. That must suffice. They entered a cab which had drawn up in answer to Carter's hail.
"I will not apologize for our lodgings," said Sobieska, as he gave a cheap East Side locality to the driver as their destination. "Thousands of my countrymen have no better."