It had all happened in a brief moment of time,—the blow, the rescue, the kiss. But it had changed the face of the world for Vickers. What hitherto had been clouded in dream, a mingling of sentiment, pity, tender yearning, became at once reality. With that blow, that kiss, his soul had opened to a new conception of life….
They drove to the Lanes' house. Isabelle had returned that day from California, and her husband was away on business. Vickers, who had a latch-key, let himself into the house and tapped at his sister's door. When she saw him, she cried out, frightened by his white face:—
"Vick! What has happened?"
"Mrs. Conry is downstairs, Isabelle. I want her to stay here with you to-night!"
"Vick! What is it?" Isabelle demanded with staring eyes.
"I will tell you to-morrow."
"No—now!" She clutched her wrap about her shiveringly and drew him within the room.
"It's—I am going away, Isabelle, at once—with Mrs. Conry. There has been trouble—her husband struck her on the street, when she was with me. I took her from him."
"Vick!" Her voice trembled as she cried, "No,—it wasn't that!"
"No," he said gravely. "There was no cause, none at all. He was drunk. But I don't know that it would have made any difference. The man is a low brute, and her life is killing her. I love her—well, that is all!"