The knowledge threw her into a state of panic. Obsessed by the terror with which the man of the scars inspired her, she hurried from the spot, oblivious of everything except the fact that somehow or other she must get away from him. Just before she had been ready to drop with fatigue; now the startling discovery supplied her with fresh vigour. Forgetting that her feet were sore, that blisters were developing, that her legs were leaden, and her wrists smarting, she blindly threaded the streets in an effort to shake off her pursuer. So quickly did she travel, indeed, that she very nearly succeeded. Not realizing that she had seen him, Wenzel still kept at a reasonable distance, and thus came to a choice of roads, with no inkling as to which one she had taken, for both streets curved inwardly, thus effectively hiding the continuity of each one. He felt the first warning of temper, a curious constriction in his throat, but resolutely he conquered himself. He realized that he must take a chance. She had come from the road on the left. Hurrying as she was, he felt it would have been natural for her to have taken the nearer one to her, and so he too took the same one, increasing his pace considerably in an effort to catch her up. He was wrong. Elizabeth had not even realized that there were two roads. She had seen one ahead of her, and had crossed to it, but, had she known, it would have been all the same. The street was a crescent, curving back to meet itself, and so for the second time that day they met face to face. She faltered and stopped; a moan escaped her lips. All her efforts for nothing, and with the realization of her failure returned a consciousness of her weariness, and knowledge that she could continue no longer. She leaned against one of the trees which lined the street, her breast heaving with despair and lack of breath. One hand clutched her throat, the other she rested over her heart as if to stay its wild beating, and thus she waited, physically unable to continue her flight. Wenzel read her mind, realized that she had reached the limit of her tether, and was glad, for in the meantime he had formed a plan in his head, a scheme by which he could secure her safety, and yet not have her suspect that he was the White Knight. With a rapid glance in each direction he observed that there were but three people to be seen, all women. He lurched up to Elizabeth. "Well, my little chicken, a fine chase you have led me." His voice was rasping and uncultured, and never for a moment did Elizabeth connect it with another voice of which, even now, the memory echoed in her ears. She looked at him scornfully. At her steady glance Wenzel felt a glow of admiration, and at that moment loved her more than ever. Her quivering under lip betrayed the fact that her heart was sick with fear, but otherwise her attitude was one of defiance, of cool disregard for his blustering arrogance.