It was a thought brightly gleaming in the darkness; it was a thought which fitted that man and girl like a garment skilfully made. It called to them and beckoned with its recklessness, the adventure of it, its audacity, its quality of knight-errantry. To be a knightly champion of his country, riding a steed of the air in the lists of the heavens! That was indeed an enterprise in tune with the soul of Potter Waite, in tune with the not less turbulent soul of Hildegarde von Essen. "Thank you," he said, presently, his voice vibrant. "It's worth a try.... I'm sorry," he said, slowly, "that I didn't know, didn't understand. I must have hurt you. I wouldn't have hurt you for worlds.... Last night I called you a traitor. If saying I am sorry--" "How could you know?" "If only the rest--that other thing--were a lie, too." He ground his teeth, turned from her suddenly. "Good-by," he said. "Where are you going?" "To get my 'plane ready." "And me? Are you going to leave me here alone--with _him_?" She motioned toward Herman von Essen. "Oh, you mustn't!... I can't stay! Take me with you." "No," he said, "you can't stay here.... Where can I take you? Minutes are precious." "Anywhere--away from here.... I don't care. Don't waste time with me.... Let me go with you--to the hangar. I'll be all right there." "Get your wraps." She ran out of the room and up the stairs. As she opened her wardrobe door she hesitated an instant--there was only an instant of doubt. Then, quickly, deftly, wasting not a second, she removed her cumbering skirts and clad herself in those riding-breeches which she had worn that day so long ago--the day when she had stamped herself on Potter's heart as a fairy prince.... She knew what she purposed.... Next she donned a fur-lined coat and driving-cap that covered her ears. She was not calm now, but she was very eager. A tinge of pink appeared in her pallid cheeks. By a little the weight of horror was shifted from her heart, shifted by hope. Perhaps she was a trifle hysterical; perhaps the long strain with its sudden tragic climax had tried her until she could not see clearly, think straight from cause to effect. But hope had dawned, a hope that, perhaps, has dawned in the hearts of many whose guilt was more real than hers. She had seen a vision. In that vision she had bought herself free--free from guilt and free from defilement. She descended to Potter. He turned low the light in the library, leaving Herman von Essen where he lay. Hildegarde stood in the door an instant, looking down at the thing that had been her father, drew a deep, gulping breath, and, covering her face, suffered Potter to lead her away.