Fräulein von Staubach’s reply was inaudible; but she threw her arms round the Queen’s neck and kissed her vehemently, then, without looking back, she took Cyril’s offered arm and walked quickly away with him, the Queen locking the door after them. As they picked their way among the tree-trunks--for Cyril thought it better not to keep to the path--he stole a look once and again at his companion when they came to a patch of moonlight. She was of middle height, and apparently rather stout, although this might be the fault of her wraps, and her fair hair was elaborately frizzed in front, and gathered into the fashionable lump behind. Her eyes were concealed by her spectacles; but Cyril could just distinguish that her eyebrows were so fair as to be almost colourless under the long gauze veil which covered her face, and was tied in a bow under her chin. So far as he could tell, she was wearing a white evening dress, with the train carefully looped up, and a heavy fur cloak over it. A less suitable costume for a midnight ride in winter could scarcely be imagined, and he remarked that it might have been wise to come in a riding-habit. “Oh, but I could not be married in a habit. What a hideous idea!” she exclaimed, in a high-pitched voice with a marked Low German accent, such as after that night Cyril could never hear without a shudder. “I fear you will find it difficult to ride in that dress,” he persisted. “It will be difficult for me to ride at all,” she said, with a giggle; and Cyril restrained with difficulty an exclamation of disgust. It began to be clear to him now why the Prince had so readily resigned to him the honour of escorting his bride from her old to her new home. They had reached the horses by this time, and Cyril prepared to assist his charge to mount. “Put your left hand on my shoulder, and hold the pommel with your right,” he said; “and give me your left foot. Now, spring!” He gave a mighty heave, and the lady sprang; but with such ill success that she came down again in the same place. A second and a third attempt failed in like manner, and Cyril lost patience. “If I can’t mount you this time, Fräulein, I shall be obliged to take you back to the castle. It won’t do to keep you poised in mid-air all night.” On this occasion, however, they were successful, thanks to a frantic effort on the part of Fräulein von Staubach, and Cyril mounted his own horse (the animals were fortunately quiet ones) and guided both into the path. “Try to sit a little straighter in your saddle,” he said to his companion. “If the beast begins to trot, you will go off.” “Oh no!” she giggled shrilly. “I shall hold round his neck.” Cyril was silent in deep disgust, and resolved mentally that he would not speak to her again; but when a disposition on the part of the horses to break into a trot had been checked two or three times by little screams from her, he remarked drily-- “We shall never reach the palace to-night at this rate.”