“Do you want to go through the theater?” asked Corson.
“No—no,” whispered Luella, “get me home at once.”
“We have seen enough sights for the evening, I believe,” said I.
Mrs. Bowser was volubly regretful, but declined Corson's offer to chaperon her through a night of it.
On the way home Luella spoke not a word, but Mrs. Bowser filled the time with a detailed account of her emotions and sensations while Corson and his men were searching for us and beating down the door. And her tale was still growing when the carriage pulled up before the bronze lions that guarded the house of the Wolf, and I handed the ladies up the steps.
At the door Luella held out her hand impulsively.
“I wish I knew whom to thank—but I do thank him—for my safety—perhaps for my life. Believe me—I am grateful to a brave man.”
I felt the warm clasp of her fingers for a moment, and then with a flash of her eyes that set my blood on fire she was gone, and I was staggering down Doddridge Knapp's steps in a tumult of emotions that turned the dark city into the jeweled palaces of the genii peopled with angels.
But there was a bitter in the sweet. “I wish I knew whom to thank.” The bitter grew a little more perceptible as her phrases stamped themselves on my brain. I blessed and cursed at once the day that had brought me to her.