Certainly Ronicky Doone had won the first stage of the battle between them, but there was more to come--much more of that battle--and who would win in the end was an open question.
He made up his mind grimly that, whatever happened, he would first ship Bill Gregg and the girl out of the city, then act as the rear guard to cover their retreat.
When he returned they had closed the door and were standing back from one another, with such shining eyes that the heart of Ronicky Doone leaped.

If, for a moment, doubt of his work came to him, it was banished, as they glanced toward him.
"I dunno how he did it," Bill Gregg was stammering, "but here it is--done! Bless you, Ronicky." "A minute ago," said Ronicky, "it looked to me like the lady didn't know her own mind, but that seems to be over." "I found my own mind the moment I saw him," said the girl.
Ronicky studied her in wonder.

There was no embarrassment, no shame to have confessed herself.

She had the clear brow of a child.

Suddenly, it seemed to Ronicky that he had become an old man, and these were two children under his protection.