“That’s it.  Get there as soon as ever you can,” urged the stranger.  “Recollect that your enemies are still in active search of you.”

Hugh looked his mysterious friend full in the face.

“Look here!” he said, in a firm, hard voice.  “Are you known as Il Passero?”

“Pardon me,” answered the stranger.  “I refuse to satisfy your curiosity as to who I may be.  I am your friend—­that is all that concerns you.”

“But the famous Passero—­The Sparrow—­is my unknown friend,” he said, “and I have a suspicion that you and he are identical!”

“I have a motive in not disclosing my identity,” was the man’s reply in a curious tone.  “Get to Mrs. Mason’s as quickly as you can.  Perhaps one day soon we may meet again.  Till then, I wish both of you the best of luck. Au revoir!”

And, raising his hat, he turned abruptly, and, leaving them, set off up the high road which led to Perth.

“But, listen, sir—­one moment!” cried Hugh, as he turned away.

Nevertheless the stranger heeded not, and a few seconds later his figure was lost in the shadow of the high hedgerow.

“Well,” said Hugh, a few moments later, “all this is most amazing.  I feel certain that he is either the mysterious Sparrow himself, or one of his chief accomplices.”

“The Sparrow?  Who is he—­dear?” asked Dorise, her hand upon her lover’s shoulder.

“Let’s sit down somewhere, and I will tell you,” he said.  Then, re-entering the park by the small iron gate, Dorise led him to a fallen tree where, as they sat together, he related all he had been told concerning the notorious head of a criminal gang known to his confederates, and the underworld of Europe generally, as Il Passero, or The Sparrow.

“How very remarkable!” exclaimed Dorise, when he had finished, and she, in turn, had told him of the encounter at the White Ball at Nice, and the coming and going of the messenger from Malines.  “I wonder if he really is the notorious Sparrow?”

“I feel convinced he is,” declared Hugh.  “He sent me a message in secret to Malines a fortnight ago forbidding me to attempt to leave Belgium, because he considered the danger too great.  He was, no doubt, much surprised to-night when he found me here.”

“He certainly was quite as surprised as myself,” the girl replied, happy beyond expression that her lover was once again at her side.

In his strong arms he held her in a long, tight embrace, kissing her upon the lips in a frenzy of satisfaction—­long, sweet kisses which she reciprocated with a whole-heartedness that told him of her devotion.  There, in the shadow, he whispered to her his love, repeating what he had told her in London, and again in Monte Carlo.

Suddenly he put a question to her: 

“Do you really believe I am innocent of the charge against me, darling?”

“I do, Hugh,” she answered frankly.