“Ah, don’t go! Not yet.” Ruth got up quickly. “Please stay. Just a little longer.”

“No. Oh, no! You don’t want me now. Goodbye.

Peter held out his hands again.

“Little lady, won’t you let me touch you?”

She came forward, tentatively.

“Touch me? Why must you? You see, I’m dead.”

But she held out her hand.

Peter took it gently, and bent to kiss the slender fingers. And as he did so he heard a quick step behind him, an exclamation, and a cry from Ruth. He turned, and saw a tall, black-haired man standing watching him. He had come down the cutting, and stood now a few paces away, his hat in his hand, a frown in his anxious eyes.

The little lady moved first. A sobbing sigh escaped her, and she went falteringly towards the newcomer.

“You’ve—come back—at last! Anthony, forgive me!”

As one in a dream Peter saw the strange man go to meet Bride, and heard him speak.

“I’ve come to ask your forgiveness, Bride.”

Then the little lady seemed to crumple up, but the man’s arms were round her, and she fell against his breast. The black head was bent over hers for a long minute, and then raised swiftly.

“Whoever you may be—please—she has fainted! Would you—”

Ruth ran to him. Between them they laid Bride down upon the soft moss, while Peter ran to where he knew a brook wound its way through the wood.

“You’re—you’re—Captain Jermyn?” Ruth asked.

He was kneeling beside Bride, chafing her cold hands.

“Yes, yes. She’s so cold. Do you think—will—”

“She has only fainted,” soothed Ruth, a hand on the little lady’s wrist. “My fiancé has gone for water. It is all right.”

“Your fiancé? I was afraid when I saw—Ah, the colour is coming back into her cheeks. Bride, Bride! Look up! I ought not to have startled her so.” His eyes never left that pointed, elfin face.

“Hush! She’ll come round. Give her time.”

“I went up to the Place and heard that Colonel Flower had sold it, and that—my Bride—my beautiful Bride—was mad!”

“It happened when she heard that you were killed. Oh, why have you stayed away all this time?”

He stroked the feathery curls back from the little lady’s brow.

“I was taken prisoner. Nearly killed.” He touched a long scar on his temple. “It knocked me silly. Couldn’t remember anything. I was sent into Switzerland after a time with a batch of prisoners. Didn’t know who I was or anything about myself. At the end of the war I was shipped over to England and Dr. Strange—you’ve heard of him? He’s a marvel—put me right. It took ages, but he did it, and I’m here.”

Peter came running with in his brandy-flask. Ruth took it from him, but it was Jermyn who bathed the little lady’s forehead.

She gave a fluttering sigh, and her long lashes lifted. Straight into her lover’s eyes she looked, and, smiling as one awakened from a long sleep, stretched out her hands.