"Madame, if you were in my place, you would understand that there is little strange in that." "Let me finish!" she said. "Lord Elmscott and your friend, Mr. Larke, are awaiting you at Lukstein. When your friend returned to England without you, he could hear no word of you. He had no acquaintance with Lord Elmscott, and did not know of him at all. He met Lord Elmscott in London this spring for the first time. It appears that your cousin suspected something of the trouble that stood between you and me, but until he met Mr. Larke he believed you were travelling in Italy. Mr. Larke gave him the account of your first journey into the Tyrol. They found out Sir Julian's attorney at Bristol, and learned the cause of it from him. They came to Lukstein two months ago, and told me what you would not. I went up to the hills myself to bring you home; you had escaped, and your--the men had concealed your flight in fear of my anger. Lord Elmscott went to Meran, I came to Innspruck; and we arranged to return after we had searched a month. The month is gone. They will be at Lukstein now." So much she said, though with many a pause and with so keen a self-reproach in her tone that I could hardly bear to hear her, when I interrupted: "And you have been a month searching for me in Innspruck?" She took no heed of my interruption. "So, you see," she continued, "I know the whole truth. I know, too, that you hid the truth out of kindness to me, and--and----" She was wearing the gold cross which I had sent to her by Otto's hand. It hung on a long chain about her neck, and I took it gently into my palm. "And is there nothing more you know?" I asked. "I know that you love me," she whispered, "that you love me still. Oh! how is it possible?" And then she raised her eyes to mine and laid two trembling hands upon my shoulders. "But it is true. You told me so this afternoon." "I told you?" I asked in some surprise. "Ay, and more surely than if you had spoken it out. That is why I stopped our horses in the village. It is why I am with you now." She glanced towards her hat and whip, and I understood. I realised what it would cost her to carry me back as her guest to Lukstein after all that had passed there. I opened the door and stepped out on to the landing. A panel of moonlight was marked out upon the floor. 'Twas the only light in the passage, and the house was still as an empty cave. When I came back into the room Ilga was standing with her hat upon her head. "And what of Lukstein?" "A sop to Father Spaur," she said with a happy laugh, and reaching out a hand to me she blew out the candle. I guided her to the landing, and there stopped and kissed her. "I have hungered for that," said I, "for a year and more." "And I too," she whispered, "dear heart, and I too," and I felt her arms tighten about my neck. "Oh, how you must have hated me!" she said. "I called you no harder name than 'la belle dame sans merci,'" said I.