That gladness lasted about one heartbeat and died a death of terror. For, without a word, Carlo stepped upon the coping, lowered himself over the grim well-space between the houses, then threw his body outward, with a swift, powerful impulsion. He hurtled down the ten feet, which might be fifty, and destruction, if his out-thrust were not forceful enough. But he landed, one hundred and ninety-odd pounds of hard, lithe manhood, on the edge of the roof, as light and firm as a cat. At the sound she turned and saw him coming to her from behind the chimney, as he had come in the days of her lonely childhood.
“Little Tiger,” he said very softly.
“Angel!” She tried bravely to laugh, but it was an uncertain, fluttering sound. “Have you dropped from your cloud again?”
He came straight to the cage door and stood, looking at her with his soul in his eyes, and she strove to meet his gaze, her own look fluttering away before the sweet terror of full realization.
Carlo set his hand to the latch. Some unknown imbecile, solicitous for the safety of the week's wash, had put some sort of an infernal patent spring lock upon the door. It resisted. His hand fell.
“Will you open it to me?” he said quietly.
“I—I can't,” said the girl.
“Is it to be the old barrier, then?” he said passionately—“the barrier that has always been set between us?”
She made no reply. But there came to her face a wonderful color, and to her lips a wonderful smile.
“Paula,” said Carlo, “nothing can stand between us except your will.” He raised both hands to the heavy meshes. “Shall I come?”