For an hour or more I groped about, having at times to dismount and lead my horse, until I realised that I was hopelessly lost, and that I had not only no chance of discovering Sarita that night, but should be lucky if I had not to spend the night in the open. I was halting for the twentieth time under the shelter of trees to escape some of the pelting rain, when my luck turned, and I caught sight of a glimmer of light faintly quivering through the darkness above me. Where light was, some human being must be also, and if money or force could prevail, that human being should guide me back to the high road and safety; and I led my horse in a bee-line toward the light, stumbling, floundering, and slipping over the sloppy, uneven ground, now blundering into a ditch or sinking ankle deep into a vegetable patch, or almost breaking my shins against stone heaps, until I found that the light came from the window of a cottage. Then something happened to fill me with the inspiring hope that my good luck was far better than I could have dared to hope. I was close to the cottage when I ran up against a couple of horses tethered to some railings; and on running my hands over them I found both were saddled, and that one carried a side saddle. My excitement at this was intense; for I believed that luck, chance, fate, Providence, call it what you will, had done what no judgment or skill could have had accomplished, and had led me right to Livenza’s hiding-place. In a moment, all my instincts of caution were awake again. I led my horse away from the others, fastened him securely, and crept up to the window where the light glimmered. Although the rain and wind were raging with such violence that no sound I made was at all likely to penetrate within, I picked my way with the utmost care, and stealing up to the window, peered in. I could not see much, as there was a dirty ragged, white curtain, which prevented my getting more than a glimpse at one side; but I saw enough to confirm my belief. Livenza was there. I could see him plainly, as he stood by the door of the room, leaning against it, his arms folded, his head bent down, and his features moody, frowning, and dogged. As I watched him he looked up toward the corner of the room by the window, and in his blood-shot, haggard eyes was a wild, dangerous light that told all too plainly of the fire of insanity. His lips moved, but I could not hear the words; and at the instant a great gust of wind rushed against the small casement window, and set it clattering and shaking as though to burst it in. Sarita I could not see, but when he spoke she made a movement forward, which brought her face into the line of light, and her profile was silhouetted for a second on the dirty, wind-rustled curtain.