Then even this would cease to be
in the world. She had known she ought to stop following the picture
around, she had even told herself this would be the last time she would
come to see it--but to feel it wouldn't any longer be there to be
seen--that even this glimpse of Howie would go out--go out as life goes
out--scrap-heap! She sat up straight and cleared her throat. She would
have to leave. She must get air. But she looked to see where they were.
Not far now. She might miss Howie! With both hands she took hold of the
sides of the seat. She was _not_ going to fall forward! _Not_
suffocating. Not until after she had seen him.
_Now._ The detective has left the hotel--he is walking along the street.
He comes to the cigar-store door, and there steps in to watch. And there
comes the dog! Then it was not going to be cut out tonight! Along comes
the little dog--pawing at his muzzle. He stops in distress in front of
the cigar-store. People pass and pay no attention to the dog--there on
the sidewalk. And then--in the darkened theater her hands go out, for
the door has opened--and she sees her husband! _Howie._ _There._ Moving
as he always moved! She fights back the tears that would blur him. That
dear familiar way he moves! It is almost as if she could step up and
meet him, and they could walk away together.
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