Cyril was already in the hall donning his fur-lined coat and cap; and putting the case in his pocket, he started on his lonely walk. Autumn was passing into winter, but there was no snow on the ground as yet, and the dry leaves crackled pleasantly under his feet as he struck into the moonlit path between the tall black tree-stems. For a short time he walked fast and steadily, in order to exorcise the feeling of excitement which possessed him; then he slackened his pace a little, and as the stillness of the forest made itself felt, began to whistle. He was tramping vigorously along, with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, when it seemed to him that he saw the figure of a man on the path some distance in front of him. The shadows cast by the moonlight from the tree-trunks were so perplexing that he could not be sure that his eyes had not deceived him; but his blood kindled with an excitement which was by no means disagreeable, as he assured himself that his revolver was in its usual pocket. If there was a man in front of him he had passed completely out of sight, and Cyril scanned narrowly the straight stems on either side of the path as he walked on, assuring himself that he was looking for some distorted tree which must have taken the shape of a human figure in the moonlight. No such trunk appeared, however; but at the next turn of the path he caught sight of a tall man leaning against a tree. His hand went to his revolver instantly; but he recognised the Prince of Dardania, and stepped back with a laugh. “What! you here?” both exclaimed simultaneously. Cyril recovered himself first. “I didn’t know you were in the habit of taking midnight rambles on Thracian territory,” he said. “Are you meditating a woful sonnet?” He stopped hurriedly, remembering that the quotation was rather an unhappy one under the circumstances, and reflecting that there could be little doubt that Prince Alexis had been taking a last look at the abode of the lady of his love before she was lost to him for ever. “Not exactly,” returned the Prince, with some hesitation. “In fact, I was wondering whether I might ask you to do me a good turn. But perhaps your own business is urgent?” “Oh, I am not love, only love’s messenger,” said Cyril, carelessly. “I am taking a small parcel to Schloss Herzensruh from my brother.” “Then, if you will, you can give me the very help I need,” said the Prince, turning and walking by Cyril’s side. “You see me, as you say in England, in a hole. The fact is, my dear Mortimer, I am in love.” Cyril’s first remark was fortunately only uttered mentally, for it was not of a sympathetic character. “I hardly see how I am to help you,” he added aloud. “No?” said the Prince; “but I do. Perhaps you may be surprised to hear that I love a lady of the Queen of Mœsia’s household?” “A lady of the household!” cried Cyril. “But I thought----”