A narrow entry, formed by two low walls, communicated with the main thoroughfare; and in this passage, under the cover of a penthouse, stood Wood, with his little burthen, to whom we shall now return. But next moment, Captain Roding put up her back. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library. For the most part these were detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting women or girls of the student class. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement.
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