He shrugged his shoulders. He was a foreigner, although he spoke English well--an Austrian most probably. "You are surprised," he laughed. "Many people have also been surprised, as the Archduchess, living in England nearly her whole life, has frequently been taken for an Englishwoman." "I can't believe it!" I cried. "Surely there must be some mistake!" I remembered those days of long ago when we had wandered together in Kensington Gardens. How charming and ingenuous she was: how sweet and unaffected by worldly vanities, how trustful was that look when she gazed into my eyes! Her air was never that of the daughter of the reigning House of Hapsbourg-Lorraine. She had possessed all the enchantment of ideal grace without the dignity of rank, and it seemed incredible that she was actually a princess whose home was the most brilliant Court of Europe. "I can quite understand your surprise," observed the secretary. "But what is the nature of your business with Her Highness?" "It is of a purely private nature." He glanced at the card. "The Archduchess does not receive callers," he answered coldly. "But at least you will give her my name, and tell her that I have something of urgent importance to communicate to her," I cried eagerly. He hesitated. "If you are, as you allege, an old friend, I will place your card before her," he said at last, with some hesitation. "You may leave your address, and if Her Highness consents to receive you I will communicate with you." "No," I answered in desperation; "I will remain and await her return." "That is impossible," he responded. "She has many engagements, and certainly cannot receive you to-day." I recollected that the letter I had found at Denbury made it plain that we had parted abruptly. If this man gave her my card without any word, it was more than likely that she would refuse to see me. Therefore I entered into argument with him, but while I was speaking the door opened suddenly, and my love stood before me. She halted there, elegantly dressed, having just returned from her drive, and for a moment we faced each other speechless. "Mr Heaton!" she cried, and then, in breathless hurry arising from the sudden and joyful surprise, she rushed forward. Our hands grasped. For the moment I could utter no word. The secretary, noticing our mutual embarrassment, discreetly withdrew, closing the door after him. Once again I found myself, after those six lost years, alone with my love. "At last!" I cried. "At last I have found you, after all these months!" I was earnestly gazing into her great dark eyes. She had altered but little since that night long ago at The Boltons, when I had discovered the traces of that hideous tragedy. "And why have you come back to me now?" she inquired in a low, strained voice.