hand touched his arm, stopped as if paralyzed, drew back
slowly, fearfully.

"Good Heavens!" said poor Harmony faintly.

"Please don't be alarmed. I have lost the path." Stewart's voice was
almost equally nervous. "Is it to the right or the left?"

It was a moment before Harmony had breath to speak. Then:--

"To the right a dozen paces or so."

"Thank you. Perhaps I can help you to find it."

"I know it quite well. Please don't bother."

The whole situation was so unexpected that only then did it dawn on
Stewart that this blacker shadow was a countrywoman speaking God's own
language. Together, Harmony a foot or so in advance, they made the path.

"The house is there. Ring hard, the bell is out of order."

"Are you not coming in?"

"No. I--I do not live here."

She must have gone just after that. Stewart, glancing at the dark facade
of the house, turned round to find her gone, and a moment later heard
the closing of the gate. He was bewildered. What sort of curious place
was this, a great looming house that concealed in its garden a fugitive
American girl who came and went like a shadow, leaving only the memory
of a sweet voice strained with fright?

Stewart was full of his encounter as he took the candle the Portier
gave him and followed the gentleman's gruff directions up the staircase.
Peter admitted him, looking a trifle uneasy, as well he might with Marie
in the salon.

Stewart was too preoccupied to notice Peter's expression. He shook the
rain off his hat, smiling.

"How are you?" asked Peter dutifully.

"Pretty good, except for a headache when I'm tired. What sort of a place
have you got here anyhow, Byrne?"

"Old hunting-lodge of Maria Theresa," replied Peter, still preoccupied
with Marie and what was coming. "Rather interesting old place."

"Rather," commented Stewart, "with goddesses in the garden and all the
usual stunts."

"Goddesses?"

"Ran into one just now among the trees. 'A woman I forswore, but thou
being a goddess I forswore not thee.' English-speaking goddess, by
George!"

Peter was staring at him incredulously; now he bent forward and grasped
his arm in fingers of steel.

"For Heaven's sake, Stewart, tell me what you mean! Who was in the
garden?"

Stewart was amused and interested. It was not for him to belittle a
situation of his own making, an incident of his own telling.

"I lost my way in your garden, wandered among the trees, broke through a
hedgerow or two, struck