And now in mid-August of 1925, there he stood, a free man again, with purpose still unshaken and with a woman by his side who shared his high ambition and asked no better lot than to work with him toward the one great aim--Socialism! Now, as these two walked side by side along the sunbaked street of the sweltering Southern town, Gabriel was saying: "So I haven't changed as much as you expected?
I'm glad of that, Kate.
Only superficial changes, at most.

Just give me a little time to pull together and get my legs under me again, and--forward march! Charge the forts! Eh, Catherine ?" She nodded, smiling.

Smiles were rare with her, now.

She had grown sober and serious, in these years of work and battle and stern endeavor.
The Catherine Flint of the old times had vanished--the Catherine of country club days, and golf and tennis, and the opera--the Catherine of Newport, of the horse show, of Paris, of "society." In her place now lived another and a nobler woman, a woman known and loved the length and breadth of the land, a woman exalted and strengthened by new, high and splendid race-aspirations; by a vision of supernal beauty--the vision of the world for the workers, each for all and all for each! She had grown more mature and beautiful, with the passing years.

No mark of time had yet laid its hand upon her face or figure.