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"I am mad," said Bertram to himself. "Mad, as ever was the proverbial March hare. That girl who passed us in the darkness was Josephine Hart. Yes, that girl was Nina, and I must, I will, see her again."
His heart was beating tumultuously; he felt the great passion of his love tingling through all his veins. Money was nothing to him in this hour, debts were forgotten, disgrace and dishonor were nowhere. Nina and love were all in all. He _would_ see her, he would kiss her, he would hold her in his arms, he would, he must. The very elements helped him as he ran back to the place where he knew she had paused to watch him. Why had she come back! She knew her power only too well. Why had she come to exercise it? It was mad of her, wicked of her, it meant his ruin, and yet he was glad, yet he rejoiced.