ll she marry any of them," she said, "although they are brave and
honest and true and love her. Mademoiselle Julie has her own reasons
which she does not tell to me, but I know. She will not marry Prince
Karl of Auersperg. She will not marry Prince Wilhelm von Arnheim, she
will not marry Count Leopold Kratzek, she will not marry Count
Maximilien Pappenheim. Do I not know her well, I who have been with her
all her life?"

And once more that smile with the odd glint in it passed over her stern
face. But John in the thickening dusk could not see it, although her low
earnest voice carried conviction.

"Tell her for me, will you, Suzanne," he said, "that I think I can take
her from the castle of Zillenstein. Tell her, too, that I am in little
danger in my peasant's clothes. I have been face to face with the prince
himself and he has shown no sign of recognition, nor has Count Kratzek
who was my prisoner once. Tell her that I will not go. Tell her that my
heart is light because she fears for my safety and, O Suzanne, tell her
that I will watch over her the best I can, until all of us escape from
this hateful castle."

"It is much to tell. How can I remember it alt?"

"Then tell her all you remember."

"That I promise. And now it's time for me to go back. We cannot risk too
much."

She turned away, but John had another question to ask her. His heart
smote him that he had not thought of Picard.

"Your father, Suzanne?" he said. "I have not heard of him. Is he here?"

"They left him a prisoner at Munich. Doubtless he will escape and he,
too, will reach Zillenstein."

"Tell Mademoiselle Julie that her brother did not come to the appointed
meeting at Chastel, because he was wounded. Not badly. Don't be alarmed,
Suzanne. He'll be as well as ever soon."

"Then he, too, will come to Zillenstein. You are not the only one who
seeks, Monsieur Scott."

"But I am the first to arrive. Nothing can take that from me."

"It is true. Now I must hasten back to the castle. If I stay longer they
will suspect me."

She slipped from the shrubbery and was gone, and, John, afire with new
emotions, strolled in a wide circuit back to the stables.

A week went by. Twice every day he saw Julie on the terrace, but no word
passed between them, the chance never came. But the hosts of the air
were at work. The invisible currents were passing between the girl on
the terrace who was treated like a princess and the young peasant who
walked the