That was his first thought, followed by a stream of others: an unavoidable duel with Ottomar, his own desperate financial position, which would hardly be improved by Carla's hundred thousand thalers; the recollection of a cousin in Silesia, who would have brought him a dowry of a million, and a marriage with whom had been proposed to him the other day most unexpectedly--he had been for years at daggers drawn with that branch of the family. And then she who was riding away really did not suit him at all; he was merely in love with her, and had never contemplated marriage. The spirited horse, already startled by the storm, and seeing its companion disappearing in the distance, reared high, and as its rider forced it down, darted forward like an arrow. The Count could not perhaps at this moment have held it in, but he did not wish to do so; he dug in his spurs, and in a few seconds--his hesitation had been only momentary--had overtaken Carla. "Carla, Carla!" "Go! You do not love me!" He spurred forward so that he could catch the bridle of her horse, then turned and so stopped them both. "You shall not escape me so!" She looked at him almost with hatred. "But, Carla, this is madness!" "I am mad," murmured she. "And I am--madly in love with you. But what matter?" His beautiful white teeth glittered as, putting his arm round her, he laughingly exclaimed: "Will you come with me now?" "With you? Take me! Take me! I am yours, yours!" "You foolish darling!" He pressed kiss after kiss upon her burning lips, then gave back the bridle into her hand, and both turning their horses suddenly round, they rode on side by side in the teeth of the gale--as his horse was the stronger and faster he could do as he pleased--along the gradually sinking ground beside the railway embankment down to Ahlbeck. They did not speak another word; there was no need.