She saw that she had been imprudent in trusting herself, with no knowledge of the language, in such regions. But she was in for this journey now, and meant to win through to Denzil if she died in the attempt. She must not be deterred by the smells nor the mire of the stable yard: and she advanced with determination. Just as she did so, two men came out from the door-way which she was approaching, and stood upon the stone step in the full light of day. One was presumably the Russian stable-keeper, a wild kind of person, but apparently amiable. He was in eager converse with a tall man, very well dressed, who held a cigar between his fingers. The clouds were breaking, and a watery sun at this moment lit up the squalid scene. It shone upon this unexpected figure, and it shone also upon the far more surprising appearance of the English girl, in her dainty apparel, picking her way through the muck. The stranger's keen, alert gray eyes grew fixed, and for a moment he stood, rigid and still as a stone, while his bronzed, finely-cut face turned pale. Rona stopped short. There was no recognition at first upon her face. But something in the change which passed over his struck a wild conviction into her mind. It was the missing man--Felix Vanston. * * * * * * * How changed! That was her first thought. The image in her memory of a gaunt, pale, bearded youth, thin and stooping, faded and died away. This was a Man, in the fullest sense of all that word can mean. It was fortunate that his own recognition of her had been instantaneous. Even now she was not sure, until he came towards her, through the rotting straw. His color had not changed, while hers was now fading visibly from the cheeks to which it had rushed in tumult. He was wholly self-possessed and dignified, though his surprise must have been greater than hers. As he came nearer she had a conviction, deep and certain. He had received and read her letter. She could have declared that the lines of his mouth expressed a light, scornful contempt. Without a word said, she knew and felt herself condemned. But, whatever the young man's feelings at the meeting, hers must be predominantly those of relief. In spite of the violent shock which his appearance gave her, she was conscious of almost frantic joy, at sight, in that weird place, not merely of a compatriot, but of a friend. "David!" she uttered at length, using in her confusion the name by which she had always known him. "Then you are alive--you are safe, after all." He was quite close to her now. She felt dizzy, and as though she could hardly bear such nearness. She thought, suddenly and irrelevantly, of the way in which they had clung together, she and he, in the little arbor at Normansgrave--clung each to each, and felt that to part was terrible.