MORTON’S sleep was heavy but restless. He had thrown himself down, glad of the chance to rest, with his mind still busied over the day’s happenings, and doubting if he had done right in relying on his host, Toni, to keep a careful watch during the night. He had not “sworn” the man, so that he was uncertain if the fellow would keep his word. He fell asleep with the question and he awoke with it. It had kept his mind working even in his slumbers. He sat up quite wide awake with all his faculties keenly alert. The sonorous breathing of Donald jarred on his ears. In the distance he heard the baying of a hound. Had they been followed? They were but a little way from the border, and a quick raid could undo all that had been done. He determined to satisfy himself that all was right.

Dressing hurriedly he seized his rifle and throwing a rug over his shoulders slipped out of the room quietly, withdrew the heavy bolts of the entrance door and locked it after him. It was a beautiful moonlight night. As he stepped into the open, the faithful house dog came bounding towards him and licked his hand. Morton stroked the animal’s head affectionately as it followed him in the tour he made round the house. As he had suspected, he found no one on the lookout. Toni had, evidently, preferred the comforts of a warm bed to breathing the cold night air.

Well, there was nothing for it but to keep watch himself. He found a wooden bench opposite the garden, and wrapping the rug about him, sat down with his rifle across his knees. The stillness and the glory of the night soothed his tired mind. Now and again he would doze off, but he quickly roused himself. Once again he thought of the strange adventure of the past days. If anyone had told him a month ago that he would be acting the part of a knight-errant he would have laughed in scorn. That he of all men should have done this thing!

He could not help smiling at the situation in which he now found himself. And yet—why not? Would he be deserving the name of a man if he had left these two helpless creatures to their fate? Two—nay, one! And his heart filled with tenderness as he thought of HelÈne—the beautiful child-woman; so lovely a being, so lovable a girl, so noble a woman. How brave she had been; how splendid in her self-sacrificing devotion to her friend, the Princess! Surely, there was no other like her in this wide world!

What did it mean? Was this love? If it was, then, certainly it had been love at first sight. Strange that he, the practical man of the world, should have so easily succumbed to this mysterious power! What would his father have said to him?

The question was but a natural one, but he did not know that however experienced and worldly-wise a man may be, the heart of him ages less than does the mind. And he had kept his heart pure in spite of the world of business in which his father lived. To the young and pure in heart Love is the one power which must be obeyed; for that is nature’s wonderful way of preserving her own. That is the meaning of woman. Strive as we will in our efforts to escape, unless some ignoble passion such as the craving for gold or power deadens the soul within us, we must serve God; and we can only serve him through Love.

Morton had taken HelÈne’s photograph out of his pocket and was gazing raptly at the face in the moonlight that shone fully where he was sitting. Should he speak to her in the morning—the last day before they parted? No—he could not take the advantage her helplessness gave him. He must wait until she was free to think and decide—free of the sense of obligation which she might now feel.

Replacing the photograph he rose from the bench, and looking at his watch found that it was still three hours before the dawn. He let himself in the house and tried the chimney seat. But he was restless—he was too far from where the girls were sleeping. It would be better if he lay down in the room adjoining theirs. He found the place empty of any couch or bed, but spreading his rug on the floor he used his coat as a pillow and was soon at peace in what the Easterns call “the outer court of the Seven Heavens”—the deep sleep of tired limbs and a clear conscience.

HelÈne and the Princess had enjoyed the evening fully. Before retiring to bed they had exchanged glad expressions at this happy issue out of their afflictions. Their hearts were full to overflowing with gratitude towards their deliverer. They realized now fully what Mr. Morton had done for them, and could find no words in which sufficiently to express their feelings. The Princess began to quiz HelÈne about him, but by that time the two were in bed and the light lowered, and HelÈne was glad of the darkness. She managed, however, to reply to her friend’s remarks in a voice of cold indifference. She thought him rather curt and domineering she said. The Princess laughed quietly and told HelÈne to go to sleep and dream of knights of old.

HelÈne said nothing and pretended to go to sleep. It was long, however, before she did sleep. When she awoke, after what seemed to her but a few minutes later, she heard a cock crowing lustily outside. In the low light of the lamp her watch told her that it would soon be daybreak and time to begin making preparations for continuing their journey. Mr. Morton would be punctual, she was sure. She would get up and dress now.

Throwing aside the voluminous quilts she stepped out of bed, though not without some pain, for her limbs were still sore and aching from the previous day’s exertions, and in a few minutes had clothed herself in the garments of the stout Rossika.

Stepping softly so as not awaken her companion, she left the room, walked into the outer room in which Morton lay, and stood looking through the window. In the darkness behind her Morton, who slept lightly, had heard her soft footsteps. He looked up from where he lay and saw her head and slender neck silhouetted against the lattice-work of the window. He could but faintly distinguish her outline, but, faint as it was, it was enough to cause his heart to leap to his throat and a wave of exquisite emotion to surge over him.

Quickly rising he put on his coat and, before HelÈne had become aware of his presence, he was by her side.

“Is that you, Comtesse?” he whispered.

“Oh, Mr. Morton, I—I hope I didn’t disturb you. I am so sorry. I was not aware that anyone was up yet——”

“I am afraid I frightened you, Comtesse. I have been around the house and found that our host has been remiss in his duty. Instead of watching he is sound asleep in his bed. Have you had a good rest? I see you are all prepared.”

“Oh, yes, I feel splendidly and I—I am so happy. But, please, Mr. Morton, go back to your sleep. You must be very tired. I’ll go to my room.”“Don’t go, Comtesse. The day will be breaking soon and we shall have to make ready for our next stage. Besides—I—am glad of this opportunity to be alone with you.”

The mist was clearing and above the dark timber a golden expanse was heralding the coming of the life-giving sun. Small, fleecy clouds of amethystine hues floated above the snow-clad tops of the Divide, now flushing rose. They seemed like flower petals that had been blown across the sky. In the bare autumnal garden the last flowers, slender feathery stalks of cosmos, stood greeting the dawn in colors matching the coming glory and tiny dew-drops reflected the golden sheen as they glinted on leaves and petals trembling in the morning’s breeze.

HelÈne’s eyes sought the distant enchantment, not daring to look at the man who had now approached her so closely that he almost touched her. She felt her hand being taken in a gentle grasp. Her heart beat fast; she could feel the pulse beat in her throat.

“Comtesse,” and Morton’s voice was very tender, “the few days of our common purpose, the hardships that brought us together, are now ended. To-morrow you will be in Vienna and with your friends. You will, I hope, soon forget the trials you have endured, the days of anxiety in which I have come to know you. To me they will remain ever unforgettable. You have your way to go and I mine—duties await you as they do me. May I hope that we shall meet again?”

HelÈne knew not what to say. Her hand trembled in his and her head was bent away from his ardent gaze. She felt his eyes though she could not see them.

“Comtesse, may I ask you to think of me as your friend? I shall come back in this part of the world soon, and if I knew the door of your friendship would still be open for me it would make me very happy.”HelÈne had raised her head and was now gazing at the ever brightening horizon.

“Mr. Morton—the Princess and I owe you our freedom, our honor and, perhaps, our lives. Not only my friendship but my eternal gratitude is yours.”

She found courage to turn and look at him, but quickly looked away again.

“Comtesse, it is not gratitude I care for. Will you do me a favor—will you make me a promise?”

HelÈne looked at him with wide, questioning eyes.

“I want you to tell me—that you will take no important step in the near future until I see you again. Promise me that you will call on me if you need help? Will you do this, for me, Comtesse?”

The deep, resonant tones in which he uttered these words swept over her like the music from a fine-stringed instrument. It brought from her responsive chords which found expression in involuntary sighs. She felt a curious pride and realized that she was happy and inexplicably glad to obey when that voice commanded.

“I promise,” she whispered. Then her voice gathering strength she went on: “I do not know why you should value the friendship of an inexperienced girl, but I am proud that you ask for it.”

Reverently Morton bowed over the little hand he had been holding, afraid to trust his eyes to look at her face, and kissing it softly, released it.

“Thank you—and God bless you.”

Gathering up his rug and rifle he hurriedly left the room. HelÈne remained motionless for a time, then she slowly turned to the window, on her lips a happy smile and in her eyes a new lustre. The first rays of the now risen sun shot through the serrated tops of the forest and found their straight paths into the embrasure of the window, casting a wondrous light on her dreamy face. Her heart felt light as thistledown. She saw the flowers opening—how beautiful they were! Unconsciously her eyes fell upon the hand he had held—she still felt the lingering imprint of his lips on it, and her face took on a color that rivalled the rosy tints of the dawn. The great secret of nature had been imparted to her. She could not speak of it in words, even to herself, for the power of it had overcome her. Instead, her hands mutely unfolded like a flower opening under the morning’s sunlight, and her face shone as if transfigured.