"And where did you go?"

"I did not know which way to turn and I went to her— your sister. She took me in. It was not just that ... it was everything she did for me. She believed me. Not only that, she said that even if it were true that I had agreed, it was not such a sin after all. But she believed me. She said she would have helped me in any case. So ... she did and my child was born in the hunting lodge."

My heart was beating wildly. "Did she have a child too ... at about the same time?"

"I don't know of a child," she said. "I never saw one there."

"It would be dangerous if she had had a child, wouldn't it?" I asked. "He would be the heir to the Duchy."

She shook her head. "There would have had to be a marriage."

"I believe there was a marriage."

"Everyone says there was not."

"Did my sister ever talk of marriage?" No.

"Did she say she was pregnant?"

"No."

"And your baby was born at the hunting lodge, you say."

"Yes. I was well looked after there. She saw to that. And when the baby came I stopped having nightmares. I couldn't be sorry for anything that brought him to me."

"And you loved my sister, did you?"

"Who would not love someone who had done everything ... who had saved me from such a terrible fate as that which could have overtaken me. I was half crazy with grief and fear. I thought I was damned as my father said I was. She laughed at all that. She made me see that I was not wicked. She helped me to bring a healthy child into the world. She saved us both. It is something I shall never forget."

"And ... because of all this ... you tend her grave."

She nodded. "I shall do so for as long as I live and I am at hand. I never forget, and I don't want Rudolph to either. I shall tell him the story when he is old enough."

"Thank you for telling me."

"What are you looking for here?"

"I want to find her child, because I believe there was a child."

She shook her head.

"There is something I have to tell you," I went on. "The Countess and those for whom I work do not know my true identity. I am here as Fraulein Ayres. You won't betray me?"

"I never would," she said, with a rush of feeling.

"I guessed you wouldn't, and I had to tell you because unless I did I knew that you would not tell me your secret."

She agreed that this was so.

I told her that because I had inherited money I was able to come here. I said again that I believed fervently that there had been a marriage between my sister and Rudolph and that there was a child.

"You have your son," I said. "You will understand how my sister felt about hers. I want to find him. I want to be able to take care of him. It will be compensation for losing her. Besides, if he does exist, how can I know what sort of life he is having? I owe it to her."

"I understand how you feel. If there was a child ... but..."

"I had letters from her telling me about him."

"She longed for a child, perhaps. I know she did. I remember her with my Rudi. Sometimes when people long for something they dream... ."

It was the old explanation. Not Francine, I thought. Fran-cine always had her mind firmly in reality. She had not been a dreamer. I had been that and yet I could not believe that in any circumstances I could have deluded myself into thinking I had a child, let alone writing letters about him.

I said: "I am very grateful to you and thank you for looking after my sister's grave. If you should want to talk to me —if you have anything to tell me—remember I am here as Fraulein Ayres."

She nodded.

I left the house then, not much wiser than when I had come, except that I had discovered the reason for her tending Francine's grave.

As I entered the schloss and was about to go up to my room I came face to face with Tatiana. She looked at me in the rather haughty way which was habitual with her and said: "Good-day, Fraulein."

I responded and was about to pass on my way when she went on: "The Countess is progressing well with her English, I believe."

"Very well indeed," I answered. "She is a good pupil." Tatiana regarded me with a certain interest and I grew uncomfortable under it and wished I were wearing my glasses. I knew my hair was escaping from under my riding hat.

"I think she is afraid that you are going to leave her. She has mentioned that you are a person of independent means."

"It is true I am not obliged to work for a living, but I very much enjoy my work with the Countess."

"So her fears are groundless and you will stay until her marriage?"

"That is looking rather far ahead."

"A year ... perhaps less. You know all the circumstances, of course. I believe you are very much in her confidence."

"We are as good friends as we can be, considering our positions."

She bowed her head, letting me know that she considered there was a big gap between our social positions.

Then she looked at me sharply and said, "It is strange, Fraulein Ayres, but I fancy I have met you before."

"Could that be possible, Countess?" I asked.

"Just, I think. I have been to England. I stayed in a house in the county of Kent."

"I know Kent well. It is in the southeast corner of England. I was there at some time. But it would be rather unusual if we had met and I am sure such an occasion would stand out in my mind."

I was alarmed that she might pursue the subject, but to my great relief she turned away to indicate that the conversation was at an end.

I went up to my room with a wildly beating heart. For a moment I thought she might have recognized me, but I was sure that if she had she would have questioned me more closely.

It must have been about an hour later when Freya returned. I was surprised because I had understood she had been with Tatiana and Gunther. She came into my room; she was flushed and smiling.

"We've been miles and miles," she said. "Gunther and I and two of the grooms lost the rest of the party."

"You weren't lost in the forest?"

"Not exactly. But we did go a long way."

"The Countess Tatiana was back a long time ago."

Freya smiled at me conspiratorially. "I don't much like Tatiana. I have an idea that she is always criticizing me.

She is very much aware of her position and thinks I'm a bit of a hoyden."

"Perhaps you are."

"Am I? Am I? Do you know, I don't mind in the least if I am. You rather like hoydens, don't you?"

"I like you, Freya," I said rather emotionally. "I like you very much."

Then she threw her arms round me and, remembering Conrad and all that had happened, I felt wretchedly ashamed.

Later that night I thought of his waiting at the King of the Forest. He would be frustrated and bitterly disappointed, I knew; but he would have to realize that he could not lightly continue with this deception, and even if it were easy for me to get away—and it was far from that—I must hesitate to do so.

It was very different considering all this in the quiet of my room—yes, very different from being swept off my feet by an overpowering passion which assailed my senses while it numbed my impulses of decency, while I fought in vain to resist. He must understand that when I could calmly assess the situation, I deplored it. I was ashamed to face Freya; ashamed to face myself.

I awoke that night and sat up in bed wondering why I was suddenly so wide awake. Then I knew. I had had a revelation. It must have come to me in my dreams.

The man whom I had met in the forest when I was visiting Katia Schwartz was the same one whom I had seen near Greystone Manor on several occasions. He was the man who had been staying at the inn and who, I thought, had been exploring our countryside. I had seen him on the way to the church near Dover when Miss Elton and I had gone there to look at the register.

That he should be here in Bruxenstein was a very odd coincidence.

I could not sleep. I lay there thinking of everything—my love passages with Conrad, my conversation with Katia Schwartz, the germ of suspicion I had seen in Tatiana's eyes ... and now the man in the forest.

The next morning a note was brought to me from Conrad. I thought it was very reckless of him to write to me in this way, for it was not inconceivable that the notes would be intercepted, but I had already learned that when he wanted something he would not let minor considerations stand in the way of forging ahead to get it. "My dearest," he wrote, and then:

You will be able to get away in the mid-morning. I am sending an envoy from the Grand Schloss with messages to the Graf and instructing that he must be entertained by them, including the Countess Freya. This will leave you free and the envoy will remain with them until the late afternoon.

Meanwhile I shall be waiting for you at our inn and from there we shall go into the forest, for I have something I wish to show you.

My love now and forever.

C.

I was both elated and alarmed, for I could see myself slipping farther and farther into an intrigue from which I should be unable to extricate myself and which could have the most dire consequences. So I was free because Conrad had the power to arrange it.

In due course I arrived at the inn. I wondered how many his disguise deceived. I should have known him at once; but then perhaps that was because I loved him.

We had some food in a private room and I had rarely felt so happy as I did sitting there with him, while every now and then his hand would touch mine across the table. There was a gentleness in him that day. He was protective. He was planning not just a hasty encounter but our future.

He was all eagerness for me to see the house which he planned should be our home, although I was protesting all the time that I could never agree to deceive Freya.

"Come and see it for yourself," he said. "It's rather delightful."

"However delightful, it could not influence my convictions that this is wrong and I should never be a party to it."

He smiled at me appealingly. "Let's pretend then—for a while."

We rode together out of the inn yard across the town. The sun was high in the sky and shone warmly down on us and I thought for a moment, I will pretend. I will have this day and carry the memory of it through the years to come.

As we rode through the town we had to pass through a square where some ceremony was in progress. It was delightful. The girls and women were in the national costume with full red skirts and white blouses with red flowers in their hair, and the men had white knee breeches with yellow stockings and white shirts; their caps were tightly fitting with long tassels that hung halfway down their backs.

They were dancing to the sound of a violin and we paused to watch it for a moment.

I thought how lovely it was there on that perfect sum­mer's day with the people's faces shining with pleasure and contentment while the young people burst into song.

Then suddenly a young girl approached us. She was carrying a little bunch of flowers which she presented to me. I took it and thanked her and then suddenly the people were crowding round us and singing what I recognize as the national anthem.

"Sigmund!" they shouted. "Sigmund and Freya!"

Conrad did not seem in the least perturbed. He smiled and spoke to them, telling them that he hoped they would enjoy the day and what pleasure it gave him to ride among them unceremoniously.

He had taken off his hat and was waving it to them. I wanted to turn and ride off as fast as I could. But Conrad was enjoying it. I knew that the approval of the people meant a great deal to him, and seeing him thus I realized how fitted he was for his destiny ... and how ill I fitted into it.

They crowded round us, and from one of the houses someone brought out several sheets which they knotted together and held across our path. They were laughing and cheering.

"Come," said Conrad, and he caught my horse and led me along with him. We rode up to the sheets and with a great sigh they were allowed to fall to the ground. We passed through the cheering crowds and rode on towards the forest.

"They liked you," said Conrad.

"They thought I was Freya."

"They were pleased to see us."

"They will know in time that I am not. In fact, I am surprised that they mistook me for her. They see her now and then."