"Ah! there is nothing to be done. I had to speak to you--I cannot, with this dreadful door between us, and--Ah, heavens, something has put out my candle. I am in the dark! What shall I do!" "Courage, courage!" he said, speaking close to the keyhole. "Go back up the stairs; go to the chapel window!" "But I cannot speak to you from the window!" "Yes, you can--you shall." "But I am in the dark!" "You cannot miss your way. Go--go quickly--we have not much time--it is late already." "I could not help it," sighed Hélène. She was almost angry with him, and for a moment she was sorry she had sent him any message. "What is the use? How can I speak to him from the window? it is too high," she said to herself as she stumbled up the stairs, shuddering as her fingers touched the damp wall. "It is my fate--I am never to be happy. My mother knows she can do as she likes with me." A sob rose in her throat, and burning tears blinded her. But she dashed them away when she reached the level, and saw the thin line of light which showed the entrance into her own room, where she had left a candle burning. The opposite panel flew open as she touched it; she stooped and crept into the chapel. It was dark, cold, and lonely; no friendly red light in the seldom-used little sanctuary; but the window in the north wall was unshuttered, and let in the pale glimmer of a sky lit by stars. Hélène had no difficulty in opening the window, though its rusty hinges groaned. There was a quick, loud rustling in the ivy beneath. Hélène stepped back with a slight scream as a hand shot suddenly up and caught the sill; in another instant Angelot had climbed to the level of the window and dropped on the brick floor. Hélène was almost in his arms, but she drew back and motioned him away, remembering just in time that she was angry. "What is it?" he said quickly. "Why--" "How--how did you get here?" she stammered. "I thought you were down in the moat." "It is not the first time I have climbed the ivy, as the owls might tell you," he said. "It is easy; the old trunk is as thick as my body, and twists like a ladder. Hélène! You are angry with me! What have I done?" He tried to take her hand, but she drew it from him. He fell on his knees and kissed the hem of her gown. "Hélène!" She stood motionless, unable to speak. But Angelot was not long to be treated in this chilling fashion. It seemed that he had a good conscience, and was not afraid to account for any of his actions. He rose to his feet; no words passed between them; but Hélène resisted him no longer. Her head was leaning on his breast; a long, happy sigh escaped her; and it was between kisses that he asked her again, "Why are you angry with me?" "I am not--not now--I know it is not true," she murmured. "What, my beloved?" "You do care for me?" Angelot laughed. Indeed it did not seem necessary to reassure her on such a point.