Through them the story would go back to the outside world.

There would be investigations by those whose business it was never to forget a criminal who had escaped the law.
Brian felt his Re-Creation to be fully established; but what if his identity should be discovered before the restitution he would make should be also accomplished?
And always, as he paced to and fro in his little room in the log house, there was, like a deep undercurrent in the flow of his troubled thought, his love for Betty Jo.
It is little wonder that, to Brian Kent, that night, the voices of the river were filled with fearful doubt and sullen, dreadful threatenings.
And what of the woman who watched the tiny spot of light that marked the window of the room where the re-created Brian Kent kept his lonely vigil?
Did she, too, hear the voices of the river?
Did she feel the presence of that stream which poured its dark flood so mysteriously through the night between herself and the man yonder?
Away back, somewhere in the past, the currents of their lives in the onward flow of the river had drawn together.

For a period of time, their life-currents had mingled, and, with the stream, had swept onward as one.

Other influences--swirls and eddies and counter-currents of other lives--had touched and intermingled until the current that was the man and the current that was the woman had drawn apart.

For months, they had not touched; and, now, they were drawing nearer to each other again.
Would they touch?
Would they again mingle and become one?
What was this mysterious, unseen, unknown, but always-felt, power of the river that sets the ways of its countless currents as it sweeps ever onward in its unceasing flow?
The door of her room opened.