He once more felt, although he felt it vaguely, the note of impending tragedy which she was so premonitarily sounding.
It brought to him a dim and hurried vision of that far-off but inevitable catastrophe which lay, somewhere, at the end of the road they were traveling.

Their only hope and solace, it seemed to him, must thereafter lie in feverish and sustained activity.

They must lose themselves in the dash and whirl of daring moments.

And it was not from pleasure or from choice, now; it was to live.

They must act or perish; they must plot and counterplot, or be submerged.