After I left Castle Karlstein, I must confess I felt a trifle disconcerted; and that was a feeling I had not experienced since being surrounded by savage tribesmen in the wilds of Turkestan.

However, then, as now, I was able to console myself with the reflection that an English gentlewoman can rise above any circumstances, given intelligence and a loaded pistol. Both of those properties I had, and, tucking the latter into my muff, I set off to find some quiet spot in which to exercise the former.

Very soon I found a deserted graveyard overlooking a rocky gorge. It was an admirable place; not only did it command an extensive view of some very fine geological formations, but it also had that gloomy air which invariably leads superstitious persons to declare such a place haunted and avoid it. And solitude was exactly what I wanted.

Later in the afternoon, however, I began to regret the action of that very foolish policeman in banning me from the village, since it made it necessary to camp. Fortunately I had my very useful Hermes patent folding cart with me, containing every necessity for survival; and, when I had come to certain conclusions regarding Count Karlstein, I set off down the road toward the forest, where I was sure, I thought, of finding some secluded glade in which to pitch my tent. I was very sorry that my maid Eliza had not been able to find me. She has a practical nature (which is good) and a warm heart (which is better) but a soft head (which is no good at all). She would be no more capable of walking alone up a deserted road toward a darkened graveyard, haunted or not, than of using the differential calculus. I would not ask her to. Nevertheless, I regretted her absence.

Judge of my surprise, then, when I rounded a bend in the road and encountered the girl herself. She was deep in conversation with a young man, evidently a servant of some kind, whose face seemed somehow familiar to me. I hailed her.

“Oh! Miss Davenport! Thank goodness you’re safe! Thank goodness we’ve found you!” she exclaimed.

I refrained from pointing out that it was I who had found her, and told her what had happened at the castle. She clasped her hands in horror.

“Oh, the wickedness!” she cried. “If only we’d known, we’d never have agreed to look for them! Oh, the monster of deceit and treachery—” and so on. I had no idea what she was talking about; I let her ramble for a moment or so, while I examined the young man.

“Have I not seen you before?” I inquired.