“It is a miracle!” thought Helene reverently; “a sign, perhaps, that the good God will allow me to do something to help the dear Count,” and with a prayer on her lips she passed fearlessly in. The drive which led through the thick shrubbery was as rough and full of ruts as the lane outside--nay, the shrubbery was encroaching upon it, for bushes were springing up among the weeds which concealed the gravel. As she neared the house, however, she heard the pawing of impatient horses, and thought it prudent to creep into the wood. Reaching the end of the drive, and peeping through the branches, she saw to her amazement a carriage, laden with luggage, standing before the door. Several of the Dardanians were at work adjusting the various packages, and others were lounging about in front of the house. Presently Cyril appeared on the steps, and for one moment she thought he had seen her, for his eyes seemed to meet hers, but he turned to send his servant back for something, and, without looking at her, began to wave and twist his hands about in a way that appeared to her woefully aimless and imbecile. Apparently impatient of the delay, he entered the carriage after a moment or two, and drawing up the window nearest her, proceeded to trace figures of some sort listlessly upon the glass with his finger. To Helene, as she watched, it looked as if he had written the word “Not,” but she could not be sure, since she naturally saw it backwards, as if reflected in a mirror. Before he could get any further, Dr Gregorescu came quickly down the steps, and apologising for being late, stepped into the carriage. Helene watched breathlessly to see what would happen next; but just as one of the Dardanians mounted the box, something was flung over her from behind, and she felt herself pulled down among the bushes.