a fire-arm in my pocket," whispered he, pulling up, "and I'm going
to fire it off to relieve my feelings if you don't explain here and now.
Who, in pity's name, is _she_?"

"You mug--she's the Original Sleeping Beauty. I'm eloping with her, and
you've got her jewels."

"Pardon me, Jem," he says in his gentlemanly way, "if I don't quite see.
Are you taking her off to melt her or marry her? For how to get rid of
her else----"

The poor old creature had halted, too, three paces ahead of us, and
waited while we whispered, with the moonlight, that slanted down into
the lane, whitening her bare neck and flashing in her jewels.

"One moment," I said, and stepped forward to her. "You had better take
off those ornaments here, my dear, and give them to my servant to take
care of. There's a carriage waiting for us at the end of the lane, and
when he has stowed them under the seat we can climb in and drive
off----"

"To the end of the world--to the very rim of it, my hero."

She pulled the gems from her ears, hair, and bosom, and handed them to
Peter, who received them with a bow. Next she searched in her pocket and
drew out a tiny key. Peter unlocked the case, and having carefully
stowed the diamonds inside, locked it again, handed back the key,
touched his hat, and walked off towards the dog-cart.

"My dearest lady," I began, as soon as we were alone between the high
walls, "if the devotion of a life----"

Her bare arm crept into mine. "There is but a little time left for us in
which to be happy. Year after year I have marked off the almanack: day
by day I have watched the dial. I saw my sisters married, and my
sisters' daughters; and still I waited. Each had a man to love her and
tend her, but none had such a man as I would have chosen. There were
none like you, my Prince."

"No, I daresay not."

"Oh, but my heart is not so old! Take my hand--it is firm and strong;
touch my lips--they are burning----"

A low whistle sounded at the top of the lane. As I took her hands I
pushed her back, and turning, ran for my life. I suppose that, as I ran,
I counted forty before her scream came, and then the sound of her feet
pattering after me.

* * * * *

She must have run like a demon; for I was less than ten yards ahead when
Peter caught my wrist and pulled me up on to the back-seat of the
dog-cart. And before George could set the horse going her hand clutched
at the flap on which my feet res