e knowledge
of it. Deep red flushed her from brow to chin, and then slowly ebbed
away.

"John," she said, putting her hand in his, "no woman has ever owed more
gratitude to a man."

"And I am finding repayment now for what I was happy to do," he said,
kissing her hand again in that far-off knightly fashion.

Again the red tide in her cheeks and then she swiftly left the room, but
John threw himself in a chair before the great fire and gazed into the
coals. Wide awake, he was dreaming. He knew they would be days in the
lodge. The storm was so great that no one could come from Zillenstein in
a week. Providence or fortune had been so kind that he began to fear
enough had been done for them. Such good luck could not go on forever,
and there, too, was the man Muller who might make trouble when he came.

Nevertheless his feeling was but momentary. The extraordinary lightness
of heart returned. The storm roared without and at times it volleyed
down the chimney, making the flames leap and dance, but the sense of
security and safety was strong within him. The war passed by, forgotten
for the time. History, it was true, repeated itself, and this was the
abandoned hotel at Chastel over again, but they were in a far better
position now. No one could come against them, unless the man Muller
should prove to be a foe. And he resolved, too, gazing into the flames,
that they should not steal Julie from him here, as they had taken her at
Chastel.

Darkness, save for the gleam of the snow, came over the mountain, but
the flakes were driving so thick and fast that they formed a white
blanket before the window, as impervious as black night itself. It
reminded him of a great storm he had seen once on his uncle's ranch on
the high table land of Montana, but to him it came that night as a
friend and not as an enemy, cutting them off from Zillenstein and all
the dangers it held.

He lighted candles and lamps in the great room and all the smaller rooms
clustering about it. He would have everything cheerful for Julie when
she returned.

He had seen Suzanne take several heavy packages from the automobile and
he had no doubt that they had come amply provided with clothing, that
for Julie, belonging doubtless to a young cousin or niece of the prince
who stayed sometimes at Zillenstein.

As for himself, if they remained long he must depend upon the spare
raiment of the forester, and, remembering suddenly that he might effect
his own improv