"Monsieur, for those words I could almost love you. And I believe you. God be praised! But now, listen carefully, monsieur, I have a message for you to give the White Knight if ever you shall meet him. Tell him that his love for me is no deeper than my love for him, that--that--oh! what can I say save that I love him so?" And suddenly she buried her face in her hands, her body shaking with the sobs she could no longer repress. At that moment there came, from the forest, a crackling of disturbed undergrowth, and a tall, white-faced man staggered toward them, to sink on the turf at her feet, clasping her hands, kissing them, again and again, till his burning lips were bruised. With scarcely a sound Arnold disappeared, and they were left alone in the clearing, alone with the moon. "My love, my love," he muttered again and again. "And yet ... it is impossible. I am dreaming, just dreaming. Soon I shall wake up, to find myself alone, with the rats and the mice--alone!" "Hush, dear one!" she placed her hands to his lips. "Hush!" For a while neither spoke, till in the end Geoffrey broke the silence, and his voice was changed. "It must be impossible. How can you care for me? My scars..." "Do you think a woman loves a man only for his face?" she asked. "Not ordinarily, perhaps. But my face is ghastly--evil. For the moment you have forgotten it. Your love is blinding you. When your eyes are opened you will see--you must see--my features in their true colours, and you will shudder.... Oh, God! Believe me, Elizabeth, I know it to be the truth." "It is not the truth!" she murmured passionately. "Have I not thought till my brain has ached with weariness? Have you forgotten that I am a daughter of Hungary, descended from a long line of fierce warriors? Each scar on your face is a scar of honour, every wound only one more reason why I should cherish you even more. I am not a dressed-up doll of the West, who must be surrounded by pretty things lest she droop. Unless you wish to wreck two people's happiness you must--must believe me, dear!" "If only I might!" he murmured. "Then test me," she challenged defiantly; "test me!" "Ay, I will, dear," he agreed. "I will light a match, hold it to my face, and then look into your eyes. I shall assuredly read the truth there." So his hand fumbled for a box of matches in his pocket, but when he found it his fingers trembled. What would the light reveal? Slowly he took out a match, but even then he hesitated. If they could only live for ever thus--in the dim light of the moon! "Geoffrey!" she commanded gently. "I am a coward. I am afraid." Then suddenly he struck it, and held the spluttering flame close to his face, so that its light might also reflect upon hers, and thus he could read her eyes. So they sat, face to face, till the flame died away. In her eyes he had seen, not shuddering, unwilling horror, but tender love and, above all, overwhelming surprise. Surprise!