She spoke very quietly and with soul-moving earnestness. She was also exquisitely beautiful. Sir Percy Blakeney had been more than human if he had been proof against such an appeal, made by such perfect lips. Nature itself spoke up for Theresia: the softness and stillness of the night; the starlit sky and the light of the moon; the scent of wood violets and of wet earth, and the patter of tiny, mysterious feet in the hedgerows. And the man whose whole life was consecrated to the relief of suffering humanity and whose ears were for ever strained to hear the call of the weak and of the innocent--he would far, far sooner have believed that this beautiful woman was speaking the truth, rather than allow his instinct of suspicion, his keen sense of what was untrustworthy and dangerous, to steel his heart against her appeal. But whatever his thoughts might be, when she paused, wearied and shaken with sobs which she vainly tried to suppress, he spoke to her quite gently. "Believe me, dear lady," he said, "that I had no thought of wronging you when I owned to disbelieving your story. I have seen so many strange things in the course of my chequered career that, in verity, I ought to know by now how unbelievable truth often appears." "Had you known me better, milor----" she began. "Ah, that is just it!" he rejoined quaintly. "I did not know you, Madame. And now, meseems, that Fate has intervened, and that I shall never have the chance of knowing you." "How is that?" she asked. But to this he gave no immediate answer, suggested irrelevantly: "Shall we walk on? It is getting late." She gave a little cry, as if startled out of a dream, then started to walk by his side with her long, easy stride, so full of sinuous grace. They went on in silence for awhile, down the main road now. Already they had passed the first group of town houses, and _The Running Footman_, which is the last inn outside the town. There was only the High Street now to follow and the Old Place to cross, and _The Fisherman's Rest_ would be in sight. "You have not answered my question, milor," Theresia said presently. "What question, Madame?" he asked. "I asked you how Fate could intervene in the matter of our meeting again." "Oh!" he retorted simply. "You are staying in England, you tell me." "If you will deign to grant me leave," she said, with gentle submission. "It is not in my power to grant or to refuse." "You will not betray me--to the police?" "I have never betrayed a woman in my life." "Or to Lady Blakeney?" He made no answer. "Or to Lady Blakeney?" she insisted. Then, as he still gave no answer, she began to plead with passionate earnestness.