“I sent him to Brussels, Dorothy, and he has learned something that will be of vital interest to you,” Philip went on, idly leaning against the gate as if fate itself had sent him there to frustrate her designs.

“Don’t talk to me now, Philip.  You must give me time.  In an hour, when I have gotten over this dreadful headache, I will listen to you.  But now, for heaven’s sake, leave me to myself,” she said, rapidly, resorting to deception.

“I’m sorry I have disturbed you.  In an hour, then, or at any time you may feel like listening.  It concerns Prince Ugo.”

“Is he—­what has happened to him?” she demanded, turning to him with alarm in her eyes.

“It is not what has happened to him, but to one who was his intimate.  The woman who warned me to beware of his treachery has been murdered in Brussels.  Shall I come to you here in an hour?”

“Yes,” she said, slowly, the consciousness of a new dread showing itself in her voice.  It was not until he reentered the house that she became fully possessed of a desire to learn more of this startling news.  Her mind went back to the strange young woman who came to her with the story of the prince’s duplicity, and her blood grew cold with the thought that brutal death had come to her so soon after that visit.  She recalled the woman’s voice, her unquestioned refinement, her dignity of bearing and the positiveness with which she declared that Ugo would kill her if he knew the nature of her visit to his promised wife.  And now she was dead—­murdered!  By whom?  That question burst upon her with the force of a heavy blow.  Who killed her?

A pounding on the heavy gate brought her sharply to the project of the moment.  She walked as calmly as her nerves would admit to the gate and called in French: 

“Who is there?”

“Father Paul,” came a subdued voice from the outside.  “Am I wrong in believing that I was called here by some one in the castle?  Kindly admit me.  I am fatigued and athirst.”

“I cannot open the gate, good Father, You must aid me to escape from this place,” she cried, eagerly, her breast thumping like a hammer.  There was no interruption, and she could have shrieked with triumph when, five minutes later, the priest bade her be of good cheer and to have confidence in him.  He would come for her on the next night but one, and she should be freed.  From her window in the castle she saw the holy man descend the steep with celerity not born of fatigue.  When he reached the road below he turned and waved his hand to her and then made his way swiftly into the forest.