Her masses of red-gold hair were completely hidden under a brimless hat, which sank low upon her head. A streaming veil fell to her shoulders, completely covering her hat, and ready to be secured closely about the fair oval of her anxious face. Her costume was a stout dark coat and skirt which displayed to perfection the beauty of her tall figure. Across the back of a chair lay a heavy overcoat of semi-military fashioning. It was thick and warm. It was a man's coat. The moments ticked away. Vita made no movement. The room was still; a deathly silence reigned throughout the house. And yet, to the waiting woman, a hundred ominous sounds blended with the solemn ticking of the clock. The long hand was within the smallest fraction of the half-hour point. At last she raised one long gloved hand, and the slim fingers were pressed to the temples hidden under the enveloping hat. Her hand was trembling. When she removed her fingers it was with a gesture of impatience. And the gesture was followed by swift movement. She seized the overcoat and flung it across her arm, picked up a small hand-bag and moved towards the door. Again she paused. Her hand was on the knob of the door. She turned it softly and gently pulled the door ajar. Her eyes sought the crack. Lights were burning beyond in the wide hallway. All was still, silent; and a deep sigh as of relaxing nerves escaped her. She opened the door wider. It creaked, and her fine brows drew together in anxiety. Then they smoothed again as the creaking ceased. Almost imperceptibly the opening widened. Then, in a twinkling it seemed, she had vanished, and the room was left empty. As she went a door opened at the far end of the room she had left, and a woman's dark face appeared round it. For a moment she surveyed the empty apartment. Then she smiled softly. A moment later the face was withdrawn and the door reclosed. A creaking stair set panic raging through Vita's heart. The great staircase was old--so old. She stood, scarcely daring to breathe, wondering in what direction the betrayal would display itself. The moments passed and no sign was given. She moved again, and, in a fever of apprehension, she left the step and essayed another. This time there was no alarm. She passed on down the stairs, swiftly, stealthily. Only the dainty rustle of her skirts betrayed her movements. This she gave no heed to. It was always with her. Therefore it possessed no significance. The bottom of the great oak staircase was reached. Her breathing was hurried, not with exertion, but as a result of the nervous tension. She was relying on a man's word--a Prussian's. She believed it honest, but---- A swift glance about the wide hall-place, and, for a moment, her nerves eased. The man was proving as good as his word. The doors into the various apartments were closed. The hall was empty.