‘Surely, Miss Ford, you did not think this the best place from which to sketch the _Dom_?’ said Falkenberg’s voice, just beside her. Sara turned slowly, too thoroughly absorbed in her own thoughts to be startled. Her eyes dwelt at first almost unrecognisingly upon his face. There was trouble in them—a kind of pained, hunted look. Gradually they cleared, as she came down again into the world of reality, and saw him stooping towards her. He was alone. Her troubled heart grew calmer, as she saw his good face, and grave, critical brown eyes, full of wisdom and full of kindness, fixed upon her. ‘Whatever this man told me, I should believe implicitly,’ she thought within herself, and she smiled welcome to him. Indeed, she did welcome him in her heart. He came as a deliverer. Her thraldom had begun to gall her, when he appeared. ‘Where have you left the countess?’ she asked. ‘At my house. She discovered that she could not walk so far as the others were going, and that she wished to inspect my house and farm and gardens; for she was certain that she could find a great deal to improve in all of them.’ He smiled, and so did Sara, the latter of course being unconscious of the additional remarks made by the candid countess when alone with her favourite guest—remarks which it had required all his tact to receive with an appearance of amused indifference. ‘Ah, she is not fond of walking. You may well ask if I thought this a good place from which to sketch the _Dom_. I came down here, and then found that I was not inclined to draw. I hope you do not feel that you have been beguiled here on false pretences.’ ‘By no means. I am glad you don’t wish to draw; perhaps you will be all the more disposed to converse.’ ‘If you will “introduce a subject,” as they did in the old game, I shall be delighted.’ ‘I have a subject quite ready. I hope you will not think me very impertinent for introducing it; and if you consider my questions unwarrantable, tell me so, and I will apologise and be silent.’ ‘Now I know you are going to ask me questions about myself, which I give you free leave to do. I know of absolutely nothing in my life which I care to conceal.’ ‘Then, do you live entirely at Elberthal?’ ‘I have lived there now for two years, entirely, except when friends have invited me to visit them.’ ‘And alone?’ ‘Alone, except for my old servant, Ellen, my second mother, who lives with me.’ ‘And you have neither father nor mother?’ he asked. ‘No! My mother died when I was a baby, almost. My father worshipped her. He never married a second time. Nearly three years ago he also died. I have very few relations, and those not congenial. I may therefore say, I am alone in the world.’ ‘And—and—excuse the question,’ he said, flushing violently, so that she looked at him in surprise. ‘Are you—but really, I have no right to ask.’ ‘What do you mean, Herr Falkenberg?’ ‘I wondered whether you were entirely dependent on your art, for——’