"You mean that?" His arms tightened about her. "Oh, my dearest, you had such faith in me?"
"As you trusted me, believed in me through everything. And—and for the same reason."
"You mean that you care?" he whispered close to her ear. "Dear, is it that? Is it—love?"
Her eyes gave him his answer and for a moment he lowered his head upon her breast as she lay propped up in his arms.
Then she became dimly aware of lights once more, low moving lights which revealed shadowy tense forms and a jumble of wrecked furniture.
As Herbert raised his head a strange freak of vagrant memory darted through her numbed brain and a still, small voice which she did not recognize as her own gasped:
"Mike has the evidence! Porter Street, two forty-seven. Before midnight!"
Herbert's face wavered and blurred before her eyes, a whirling, crashing void encompassed her and darkness descended again.
CHAPTER XIX.
The Honor of the Name.