"But learn the risk you run by so doing. It was not from churlishness that I refused your escort just now. Signor, I will be frank with you, believing that you will not betray me. I have escaped from a convent, where I was forcibly detained, and I fear pursuit by the Austrian gendarmerie. Hence, by aiding me, you may come into collision with the authorities. Why should I bring trouble upon you? Now you understand my desire for Zara. I hope to find there some English vessel. Once beneath its flag I shall be safe." "You fear pursuit? Then you require an arm for your defence. So long as I can handle sword and pistol no one shall carry you off against your will. Signorina, you must come with me." "And where would you take me?" she asked in a tone that showed she was yielding. "Not far from here, according to my guide-book, is a path leading down to the sea. On the shore, which is distant about a mile, stands a building, old but tenanted, and called Castel Nuovo. This is the nearest human habitation," continued Paul. "Before meeting you I had intended to try my fortune there. Now, suppose we go together? As the Dalmatians are such respecters of women they will not refuse you hospitality. Rest at this castle for the night, and to-morrow you shall find an easier way of reaching Zara than journeying thither on foot." The young lady was not long in coming to a decision. A roof, food, and a bed, and these distant but a mile, offered a more attractive prospect than supperless repose on the dank turf of the dark bear-haunted wild-wood. She rose to her feet, looked intently at Paul, and read in his clear eyes the glance of a good conscience. "Take me with you," she said, with the simplicity of a child. Paul bowed, and offered his arm, which she accepted. The touch of her little hand thrilled him with a strange pleasure. CHAPTER II THE CASTLE BY THE SEA Walking onward a few paces they came to the path mentioned in the guide-book. Few words were spoken, for Paul, knowing that his fair companion was tired, famished, and sleepy, purposely refrained from conversation. Once, however, the silence was broken, when the lady timidly ventured to ask his name, which being given, he in turn requested the like favor from her. "I have been taught to call myself Barbara," was her answer, which Paul could not but think was a somewhat odd way of expressing herself. Barbara! If he had not thought it a pretty name before, he certainly thought it such now. "And Barbara," he murmured, more to himself than to his companion, "means 'strange.'" "I fear you will find my character correspondent." "But you have a second name?" smiled Paul. "Presumably, but I am in ignorance respecting it, for my parentage is unknown to me. Indeed, signor, it is true," she added sadly. "I am a mystery to myself." Her statement filled Paul with wonder, but though desirous of learning her history he recognized that the time was scarcely yet ripe to press for confidences.