She dropped her skirts. For a moment he feared that she was going to cry out. "Who is that?" she asked sharply. "It is I, Herbert Wrayson," he answered. "Don't be afraid. Shall I come out to you, or will you come down the laurel path?" "You!" she murmured. "You!" He saw the light in her face, and his voice was hoarse with passion. "Come," he cried, "or I must fetch you! Louise! Sweetheart!" She came towards him a little timidly, her eyebrows arched, a divine smile playing about her lips. She stood at the entrance to the laurel grove and peered a little forward. "Where are you?" she asked. "Is it really you? I think that I am a little afraid! Oh!" He took her into his arms with a little laugh of happiness. Time and life itself stood still. Her feeble remonstrances were swept away in the tide of his passion. His lips hung burning against hers. "My sweetheart!" he murmured. "Thank God you came!"... She disengaged herself presently. A clock from the stables was striking. She counted the hours. "Eleven o'clock!" she exclaimed. "Herbert, how long have I been here?" "Don't ask me that," he answered. "Only tell me how long you are going to stay." "Not another minute, really," she declared. "They will be sending out search parties for me directly. And--Herbert--how did you get here?" she demanded anxiously. "I climbed over the wall," he answered cheerfully. "There didn't seem to be any other way." She seemed almost incredulous. "Didn't you see any watchmen?" she asked. "There was one at the gates," he answered. "I fancied he followed me up the road, but I gave him the slip all right." "Be careful how you go back," she begged. "This place is supposed to be closely watched." "Watched! Why?" he asked. "Are you afraid of robbers?" "How much did the Baroness tell you?" she asked. "Nothing, except that I should find you here," he declared. "She made me promise that I would wait for an opportunity of seeing you alone." "And why," she asked, "have you come?" He took her into his arms again. "I have learnt what love is," he murmured, "and I have forgotten the other things." "That is all very well," she laughed, smoothing out her hair; "but the other things may be very important to me." "A man named Stephen Heneage has taken up this Barnes affair," he answered. "He saw you leave the flats that night, and he is likely, if he thinks that it might lead to anything, to give the whole show away. He warned me to get away from England and--but you want the truth, don't you? All these are excuses! I came because I wanted you!--because I couldn't live without you, Louise! Couldn't we steal away somewhere and never go back? Why need we? We could go to Paris to-morrow, catch the Orient express the next day--I know a dozen hiding-places where we should be safe enough. We will make our own world and our own life--and forget!"