Dusk was closing--almost darkness--as she stood there looking at the gloomy and turbid water of the Fleet, across which lights from the house windows were already casting dim and tremulous lines of radiance, while she felt her heart beating wildly as prayer and agony mingled in her soul together; but the former was responded to, for even while she stood there she saw a boat approaching, pulled along by four seamen, and containing about a dozen soldiers, to whom she called aloud for succour. They responded by banter, and were about to push past on their way when a cry of despair escaped her, and then she heard the voice of one who seemed to be in authority issue an order. The boat was steered in close to the entrance, and she sprang on board to find herself among a party of Uhlans, who were all armed with their carbines, and were under the command of him who had just spoken--the fair-haired young Baron Holandsburg--and were a patrol of the picket from the Dammthor Barracks in pursuit of two conscript deserters. Overcome by the intensity of her agitation, Ellinor was about to sink down in a kind of heap, as it were, when his arm went round her in support. 'My God!' he exclaimed; 'my God, it is the Fraulein Ellinor!' He gave a wild, inquiring glance at the house from which she had come, but its sombre mass gave him no information; he then took her death-cold hands in his caressingly, and looked entreatingly--encouragingly--into her drawn and tragic face. To him a great pity and horror, with much of blank wonder, were emphasised by its haggard expression, and her dazed, sunken eyes, as she clung to him, and he felt he had no time then--as military duty sternly required him to proceed--to inquire into the what, the wherefore, and the how she came to be there! He felt only sorrow and intense dismay, he knew not of what, but was only certain that she had escaped death, or that something else very dreadful must have occurred. He felt thankful, however, that he had saved her in this sudden and unexpected manner from some of the 'perils of nineteenth century civilisation,' as the author of 'Altiora Peto' calls them. By his order, the boat's head was put round, and pulled away for the nearest landing-place--the Pulverthbrugge, from whence he could have her conveyed at once to Altona. When again he saw her on the following day in the pretty drawing-room of the villa, with her head resting on Mary's shoulder and Mary's arm round her, and Mrs. Deroubigne hovering near, though colourless as a lily, she was scarcely like the same ghastly and hunted creature he had rescued in the boat, from whom he had so much to learn, and whose adventures had been so perilous. She looked so pretty--so beautiful indeed--in her simple cotton morning dress, with its delicate crisp puffs and frillings, with her gentle eyes and pure, perfect face, that the young baron sighed to think she was not, and never might be, his!