But I was shaking my head, pulling her along by force, making her walk, nearly running. Something about this path, the look of the trees and placement of the benches here, had become suddenly familiar. I'd walked here before, and — yes. We rounded the bend of the path and there ahead it came into sight, a dark nearly formless bulk obscured by the thick screen of bare trees, but I recognized it. As we completed the curve it came suddenly clear, dimly silhouetted against the dark sky: the immense right arm of the Statue of Liberty, the tip of its great torch high over the trees.

We climbed the winding stairs fast and silently, and then at last we sat down, out on the circular railed platform at the base of the great metal flame. The ornamental railing concealed us but we could look out through it, and for as long as a minute, I suppose, we just sat in silence looking down on the dark city, listening to the sound and watching the dim swaying lights of Fifth Avenue traffic. It was chill. We felt the cold of the metal through our clothes. But for the moment — just sitting, no longer having to walk — being here was enough. If it occurred to anyone to climb up and look for us here, as it might, there'd be no escape. Byrnes had run us, if not precisely to ground, at least into a cul-de-sac. But for the moment we just didn't care. In the faint light from the lamps of the square, I could see the dull, very slightly iridescent glow of the shaped copper against which Julia's head rested and I could see that she was smiling tiredly. "How good," she murmured, "how good just not to have to move." She opened her eyes, saw me watching her, and smiling again to show she didn't really mean this, she said, "Now, if we only had something to eat." I remembered, grinned, and brought out the mashed sandwich and mashed eggs, their shells cracked to particles, and handed them to her. She didn't even bother asking where they'd come from, but just shook her head, marveling, and began eating the sandwich. She offered me some, but I told her I'd eaten, and where, and made her eat it all.

We spent the night inside, sitting near the top of the curved staircase out of the little wind that came up. We sat huddled together on the third or fourth step from the top so that, eyes level with the floor of the platform, we could look out under the railing at the city. I sat half facing Julia, my arms around her, her head on my chest. It was cold in here, but out of the wind it was tolerable, and I enjoyed it. Julia slept right away, but for a time I sat holding her and staring out at the city; all I saw was darkness sprinkled with a few dim lights. They disappeared, one or two at a time; presently there were no lights at all, the city outside nearly silent, and then I slept, too.

Twice we awakened, very stiff and cold, and stood up and stretched and flexed our fingers. The second time, careful to make very little sound, we went outside and walked around the circular platform half a dozen times, looking down onto the treetops and the silent lighted paths of the park, looking out over the low dark city. Inside again, huddled together for warmth, my arms around Julia once more, I knew I'd had all the sleep I was going to get for a while on a cold metal staircase. I was still tired but the sleep had helped. Presently Julia whispered, "Awake?" and as I nodded, the side of my jaw brushed her hair so that I knew she could feel it. "Me, too," she said.

And then without planning it, without any thought at all before the quiet words began, I told Julia who I was and where I had come from; I felt that it was time, that it was her due. I told her about the project; about Rube, Dr. Danziger, Oscar Rossoff; about my life in that far-off time. My voice a steady murmur hardly audible beyond her ear, I talked about my preparations with Martin, my life at the Dakota, the first successful attempt, my arrival at her house. Twice she lifted her head to stare up at my face, searching it as well as she could in the barely relieved darkness, then lying back in my arms, and I wondered what she thought. I couldn't tell. I knew I was violating a fundamental rule of the project, and knew that no one in it could ever understand this. But I felt it was right. Finally I finished, and waited.

I could feel her draw a deep breath, then she sighed, and said, "Thank you, Si. You're the most understanding man I've ever known. You've helped me through a long night; I haven't been so enthralled since I was a girl, and read Little Women. You should write that story down, and perhaps illustrate it. I'm certain Harper's would consider it. And now I think I can sleep again."

"Good," I said, and sat grinning at myself in the darkness: a story made up and spun out to entertain her; what in the hell else was she supposed to think? And within a few minutes, four or five, I think, I was asleep, too, this time in the soundest sleep of all.

I woke up for good, knowing in the odd way you do that this was the last of the night, dawn not too far away now, and I was sorry. Uncomfortable as it had been, it had also been good, here with Julia. Now nothing lay ahead but a day we weren't going to get through. We'd be able to buy some sort of breakfast probably, then there was only more walking, all of yesterday's weariness back in our legs in an hour, until presently we were caught. Possibly, I thought, we ought to give ourselves up right away; at least we'd be warm then, and could stop running.

There was no light, the first sun a long way off, yet the darkness was just faintly diluted. Looking out, I could see the ornate pattern of the railing, and I hadn't been able to do that before. All over again the strangeness of where we were struck me. I had to say it to myself; incredibly we were here, high up in the arm and torch of the Statue of Liberty. And then it occurred to me: Could it be made to happen? I considered it, and thought that maybe it could, and I carefully tightened my arms around Julia, pressing my cheek to the top of her head, holding her very close, making her as much a part of me as I was able. Then, in the technique Oscar Rossoff had taught me, I began to free my mind from the time I was in. For this, too, this great metal hand with its torch, was a part of both the New Yorks I had known, existing in each of them. And in my mind I allowed the twentieth century to come to life. Then I told myself where I was; where we were, Julia and I. And I felt it happen.

My arms squeezed, holding Julia even tighter during that moment, so that she stirred and opened her eyes. She looked up at me blankly. "Where…" Then she glanced around her, realizing, said, "Oh," and smiled. I let her go, stood up stiffly, and she got up, too, and we walked out onto the platform. The darkness was going, a whiteness and lightness coming into the air, but we couldn't really see; we heard it instead. I was expecting it and recognized the sound first, glancing at Julia. I saw the look of bafflement come to her face, and she turned to me, frowning. "Waves?'' she said. "Si, I hear waves, I swear I do!" Then she sniffed the air. "And I can smell the sea." She was frightened. "Si, what —»

I had my arm around her shoulders, saying softly, "Julia, we've escaped. The story I told you last night is true. It was the truth, Julia; I've brought you with me into my own time."

She stared at my face, saw the truth in my eyes, and buried her face on my chest. "Oh, Si, I'm frightened! I can't look!"

Ahead, the whole sky was light now, pinkening the horizon, the tiny whitecaps in the harbor far below suddenly just visible. "Yes, you can," I said, and took her chin, lifting her head, turning it toward the railing to the east. She looked out across it, saw the water and the harbor far below; then she turned to see the blue-green skin of verdigris, the patina of decades, on the giant copper torch and flame behind us, and began to tremble.