There seemed not one. In the days of the Red Terror Budapest was safe only for the Terrorists, the Red guards, and their rabid supporters. The rest had fled or else kept within the scanty security of their single rooms. The very environment of the town filled her with a nervous dread, brave and fearless though she was ordinarily. In her plight there was but one upon whom her thoughts turned. The White Knight! If only he knew! So, as she wandered aimlessly, she wondered what he would think of her. What would he do when he discovered her disappearance? What could he do? She smiled bitterly to herself. There was nothing. In all Hungary how could he possibly surmise that she was in Budapest? She encouraged herself to think of him as she continued her search for--what? She herself scarcely knew. Like magnet and steel they gradually drew together. Neither of them aware of the fact, their thoughts were, attracting one another, picking up the broadcast messages, until suddenly, as each turned a corner, they met with a force which sent her reeling to the wall, and his hat to the ground. Wenzel stared at her with a blank amazement. Like a miracle she was all at once before him, not a vision of her, but the real her, panting for breath. His eyes lit with a glare, a flash of triumph, of love; his lips moved to shout out her name in a glad welcome; but just in time he remembered. He dared not do so. She must never know him for what he was, never realize that she had met the White Knight face to face; for his romance would be broken, never to be mended. He felt the horror with which she would always in future regard him, for, with a bitterness which cut into his heart, he saw it already rising in her eyes. He did not misread her expression. A cold wave of terror swept over her as she recognized the face of the man who had looked up at her window the night before. Too vividly she remembered the scars, the evilness of his looks. She shrank away from him, sick and faint lest he should take notice of her. Even Gonnard before this man--and at that moment she prayed to God that He might send the White Knight to save her. He saw on the other side of the road a man, whom he knew to be a journalist, eyeing them queerly. With a vile oath he crammed his cap back on his head again, and spat on the ground. With a leering glance he moved on. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the newspaper man turn away, so he looked back. Elizabeth was hurrying off as quickly as her legs could carry her. Wenzel swung round on his heels. He must not lose her again. While he discreetly followed her through the streets, Wenzel puzzled over the strange problem of her sudden appearance. The last thing he expected was to find her at liberty. At the same time his heart was troubled with doubts--not of her, but of what horrors might have happened to her in the meantime.