"I met him at Etheridge's place in Cumberland. It was four months back." Tweed spoke cheerily, feeling glad that the subject was changed. "There were some nice people down there," he continued. "I should like you to know Etheridge. Ah, yes--there was also a countrywoman of yours staying at the place. She and Vassilitch were rather thick, we thought. A singularly beautiful creature. Her name was Gabrielle Rupinsky. She----What on earth is the matter?" "Gabrielle Rupinsky!" echoed Stefanovitch, springing so suddenly to his feet that his chair went flying. "The same. Do----" "The daughter of old Otto Rupinsky, General of Hussars?" The speaker was trembling with excitement. "That is she," said the other, astonished. Stefanovitch caught at his collar as if emotion were choking him. "Do you know what you are saying?" he cried. "Fool that I was not to have mentioned her name! This is the woman who is all--all the beauty of the world to me. Gabrielle in England! Now it is clear why my letters were not answered. Heaven bless you for this news. Her address--quick!" Tweed, overjoyed and immensely relieved, was wringing the other's hands in his delight. "I'm afraid I can't give it you straight away," said he. "You see, she isn't in Cumberland now. But I will write at once to Etheridge, and you should have it within forty-eight hours. 'Pon my word, old fellow, this is great news. Are you going?" "If you do not mind. A thousand thanks. I hope it is not a dream; it seems too good to be true," he added, with pathos. "What! I shall see Gabrielle within forty-eight hours? Shall hold her in my arms? Pardon me; these things may not appeal to you. But if you had waited and suffered----" "I know, I know," said Tweed, sympathetically. They had descended the stairway and were at the open door. "Look here," he added, in parting, "we have supper together at my club to-morrow night; that engagement holds good, of course?" "As you will; most certainly." Stefanovitch pressed his friend's hand and was gone. At that moment Tweed perceived the tall form of Ivan Vassilitch repassing. He murmured, "I should like to renew my acquaintance with this man; he fascinated me, rather. I'll go out and meet him." And he bounded upstairs for his coat and hat. III. An electric bell hummed through the cottage. Gabrielle put down her book in surprise. She had scarcely expected a visitor at that late hour. Yet it was not really late, but in this sleepy Hertfordshire village nine o'clock was considered an unusual time for anyone to be out. She drew back the blind. A black night pressed against the window. The country-side, unillumined by moon or stars, was just a wall of darkness, as if reclaimed by "chaos and old night." A servant entered with a card. Gabrielle glanced at the slip of pasteboard, and the observant maid noticed that a sudden rush of colour swept into her mistress's face. "I will see him," said Gabrielle.