Soon the familiar turning of the narrow, tree shadowed lane, on the left of the road, came into view. Swinging the car into the lane, the King, once again, slackened his speed. He drove now with special care. It had become part of a charming game, that he and Judith played, that he should try to drive down the lane, and up to the house, without her hearing his approach. Somehow, he hardly ever won. Somehow, Judith was always on the alert, always expecting him. But tonight, it almost seemed, in view of the unusual lateness of his arrival, as if he might score one of his rare successes. The car ran smoothly, and all but silently, down the narrow lane. At the bottom, at the house, the carriage gate, as usual, stood wide open. In the moonlit drive, the rhododendron bushes and the laburnum trees were in full blossom, just as they had been on that memorable first night, a year ago. The King drove straight up the drive, and round the side of the silent, darkened house, to the garage beyond. The garage door, like the carriage gate, stood wide open. Here, in Paradise, apparently, there was no need to guard against motor thieves. The King turned the car, and backed it into the garage, beside Uncle Bond's huge Daimler. The silence which followed his shutting off of the engine, was profound, the essential night silence of the country. Flinging off his thick, leather motor coat, his hat, and his goggles, he tossed them, one after the other, into the car. Then he left the garage, and moved quickly back round the side of the house, treading, whenever possible, on the grassy borders of the garden flower beds, lest the sound of his footsteps should reach Judith, and so warn her of his approach. CHAPTER IV In a bush, close up to the house, a nightingale was in full song. Further away, from one of the trees beyond the shadowy garden lawn, another nightingale replied. It was as if the two birds were singing against each other for mastery, pouring out, in a wild, throbbing ecstasy, the one after the other, twin cascades of lovely, liquid, matchless notes. Judith was sitting on the moonlit verandah. The King laughed softly to himself, when he saw her. As usual, he had lost! She rose to her feet, to receive him, as he approached, and so stood, tall and slender, just as she had stood on that first, memorable night, a year ago, framed in the ghostly white blossoms of the clematis creeper, which covered the verandah pillars and rail. She was wearing an evening gown of some material in white satin which had a glossy sheen that shone almost as brightly as the moonlight against the dark background of the silent house. She was bareheaded, and the light, night breeze had ruffled one or two tresses of her luxuriant jet black hair. Her beautiful, vivid face was flushed. Her deep, dark, mysterious eyes were aglow. Her lips were parted in a little smile of mingled humour and triumph. "I _knew_ that you would come tonight," she said.