brought him to the northern gate leading
into the Squire's grounds. It was the farthest entrance from the house,
but Peignton had no intention of visiting the house. The gate was but a
short distance from the secluded summer-house in which Cassandra had
given him tea on the afternoon on which they had run away from the
incursion of afternoon callers, and it was to the summer-house that he
was bound.

Cassandra would be there. He knew it as certainly as though he had had
her written word of promise, and he knew also that she would be awaiting
his arrival. Such knowledge is not to be accounted for in ordinary
terms, nor is it given to all, but those who have once heard the voice
recognise and obey.

Peignton quickened his footsteps as he passed the lodge, then turned
down a small grassy path, followed its windings for a few hundred yards,
and saw before him the timbered roof, with its drapings of ivy. The
window was in front, level with the door, so that he could not see into
the interior; but if Cassandra were there she would hear his footsteps
and know that he was approaching. The last yards stretched long as a
mile, the laboured beating of his heart seemed to mount to his throat,
he set his teeth, and went forward.

The next moment he saw her, even as his mind had pictured, seated on a
low cane chair, her hands clasping its arms, her face bent forward to
greet him. She wore a white dress over which a knitted silk coat of a
bright rose-red hung loosely apart; her hat lay on the table by her
side, and the dark wings of her hair fell low over her brow. Seen
through the arch of greenery which covered the doorway, the colours of
her dress attained an added vividness, and the beauty of face and figure
were thrown into fullest relief. She looked like a princess imprisoned
by the evil genii of the forest; like an enchanted princess watching for
the prince who should set her free.

For one moment Peignton paused silently, his eyes meeting hers, then he
crossed the threshold and stood by her side. Neither had spoken,
neither had affected any sign of astonishment, and now as he stood
waiting, Cassandra lifted her face to his and said simply:

"I knew you would come. I was waiting for you."

"I knew you would be here," replied Peignton as simply. He sat down on
the seat next hers and looked into her face with a long, lingering
glance. The last time he had seen that face it had been marked with
bruises made by h