Once clear of them, and out again in the wide silence of the summer night, he tried hard to fix his mind on the events of the evening, but his brain was bewildered, and seemed like a screw too worn to bite; he could think to no satisfactory result. Half mechanically, his feet bore him in paths he had travelled thousands of times, and he found himself at last on the outskirts of Kilpatrick Castle. Then his wandering wits fixed themselves on one image--Dulcie! He stole noiselessly as a thief about the great house. It was still as a tomb, and dark, but for a single ray of light which shone from a window which he knew to be Dulcie’s. His heart glowed with love and hope. At last she should be his! There was no question now of accepting her heroic self-sacrifice. He could give her the position that she had a right to aspire to. She had descended from her lofty station like a pitying angel to love the poor, nameless boy. He could raise her to a higher. His heart was so full of love and pride and triumph that he knelt on the turf beneath that friendly gleam of light, and prayed to it as a devotee would pray to the shrine of his favourite saint, the happy tears running down his face. ‘God bless my darling!’ he said softly. ‘God bless her!’ The desire again to see her face, to hear her voice, was too strong to be resisted. He threw a few pebbles of gravel against the glass, and a moment later the blind was drawn aside. Lady Dulcie saw him standing pale and still in the broad moonlight, and softly raised the window. ‘Desmond, is it you?’ ‘Yes, Lady Dulcie. Speak low. Maybe they’re listening. I couldn’t stay away longer; I longed so to see you.’ ‘I’ll come down to you,’ she whispered; ‘go to the west door.’ He slipped away, and a minute or two later Dulcie issued from the house, enveloped in a white dressing-gown, her naked feet glistening in rose-coloured slippers. Desmond made an irrepressible motion to take her in his arms, but, remembering his soaked condition, drew back. ‘Why,’ said Dulcie, ‘you’re all dripping wet, you silly boy! What have you been doing with yourself?’ ‘I’ve been fishing,’ said Desmond. ‘Fishing?’ repeated Dulcie. ‘Yes, sure,’ said the boy, with a happy laugh. ‘I’ve landed the biggest fish of the season. I’ll tell ye all about it by-and-by, Dulcie. Not yet. ’Tis a secret. Haven’t ye a kiss for me?’ Dulcie pecked at the cheek he extended towards her, making a comic little face. ‘What is your secret, Desmond?’ she asked. ‘Can’t you trust me?’ ‘Not yet, my jewel,’ said Desmond. ‘Trust _me_ a bit. I’ll tell you this much, dear. Our troubles are over, and I’ll be coming in a day or two to claim ye! Is that as sweet to you to hear as it is to me to say, I wonder?’ ‘This is all very mysterious,’ said Dulcie. ‘But you seem very happy, Desmond. Won’t you tell me what has happened?’ ‘Not yet. Wait a bit, and be as happy as your curiosity will let you.’