Love comes that way, and death; and the blow of sorrow; and the wrench of life’s last bitter pang. Only life is slow; tedious and laggard with its burdens and its gleams.
He remembered in a moment; the pressure of the bars against his breast recalled him to his sad estate. He released her hand and fell back a step from her, a sharp cry on his lips as if he had seen her crushed and mangled just beyond his reach.
“I didn’t mean to do that, Alice; I didn’t mean to do that!” said he, dropping to his knees before her as if struck down by a stunning blow. He bowed his head in contrite humiliation.
“I forgot where I was, Alice; I forgot!”
There was no displeasure in her face as she stood panting before the barred door, her hands to her heaving breast, her head thrown back. Her lips were parted; there was a light of exaltation in her eyes, as of one who has felt the benediction of a great and lasting joy. She put her hand through the bars again, and touched his bowed head.
“Don’t do that, Joe,” said she.
The sheriff’s key sounded in the lock of the corridor gate.
“Time’s up,” he called.
“All right; I’m coming,” Alice returned.
Joe stood, weak and trembling. He felt as if he had, in 225 the heat of some great passion, rashly risked life, and more than life; that he had only now dragged his battered body back to the narrow, precarious ledge from which he had leaped, and that safety was not his.