So I had to submit, and hold her sweet image in my arms o’ nights, when the wind came in at the door and the stars crackled with cold. But Gogo was right, I had to confess, when once from the deep woods beyond Shole we heard the clanging of bloodhounds, and knew that my enemies were vainly seeking the trail which had no existence. Then I cowered low, and felt a new gush of affection for the resourceful giant who was so wise in the singleness of his passion. Often by day I would climb up the ladder to the loft where the astrologer’s telescope yet remained, commanding, like a disused cannon, the house and village he had fancied under its dominion, and there spend hours spying hungrily for what tokens of life the bitter season afforded. They were not many or inspiriting; but they served at least to keep me in touch with that world of my fellows that seemed eternally lost to me. On the Friday I fell at Gogo’s feet. “Safe or unsafe,” I cried, “take me away! I can stand this loneliness no longer.” His face was full of a sorrowful ecstasy. “And it was a garden to me,” he murmured; “blind that I am!” “I shall die,” I cried terribly, “and you will lay me with the dead clown under the tree.” “So would you be for ever mine,” he continued, in a sort of dream. I shrunk from him, and seeing my look, he cast himself down on his face before me. “Command me as you will,” he cried; “only never, never bid me from serving you.” “You will go?” I sat back, eagerly canvassing him. “Why should I dream of parting with you? Are not our fortunes pledged together, even if I did not owe you the best of all gratitude? You are so wise and brave; you will find a plan and a direction. Only I can stop here no longer.--O, I can’t!--Gogo, take me away--to London--anywhere.” He raised himself. “Spare me this evening to forage,” he said, “so that to-morrow we can at least start provided.” In deep night he left me, to go to the tree. It was the first time I had been abandoned to my sole self. So long as I could discern his figure, striding over the fields, like some unearthly goblin, on its high stilts, I stood by the door gazing into the starlight. Then, when I could see him no more, I sat down just within, my back to the vast emptiness, and hugged and cried to myself against the long panic of waiting. Not many minutes had I sat thus, when something--a footstep, a shadow--seemed to fall upon my heart with a shock that stopped its beating. Too terrified for look or utterance, I crouched low, hoping the thing would pass, and leave me unobserved. “I have come, madam, to invite you to a safer asylum,” said a low and musical voice. I gave an irresistible cry, suppressing it instinctively, even in its emission, lest it should call back my faithful squire, from his long toil across the fields, to a need which these gentle tones were far from justifying. I struggled to my feet, and made myself as small as possible against the wall. “Who are you?” I whispered.