All my fears, such as they were, left me instantly. Besides, I was not

without a certain amount of gallantry and humor. I stepped squarely

into the light and bowed.

"Ladies, I am indeed not a ghost, but I promise you that I shall be if

I am not offered something to eat at once!"

Tableau!

"What are you doing here?" asked she with the candle, her midnight eyes

drawing down her brows into a frown of displeasure.

I bowed. "To begin with, I find a gate unlocked, and being curious, I

open it; then I find a door unlatched, and I enter. Under these

unusual circumstances I am forced to ask the same question of you: what

are you doing here in this ruined castle? If it isn't ruined, it is

deserted, which amounts to the same thing." This _was_ impertinent,

especially on the part of a self-invited guest.

"That is my affair, sir. I have a right here, now and at all times."

Her voice was cold and authoritative. "There is an inn six miles

farther down the road; this is a private residence. Certainly you can

not remain here over night."

"Six miles?" I echoed dismally. "Madam, if I have seemed impertinent,

pardon me. I have been in the saddle six hours. I have ridden nearly

thirty miles since noon. I am dead with fatigue. At least give me

time to rest a bit before taking up the way again, I admit that the

manner of my entrance was informal; but how was I to know? There was

not even a knocker on the door by which to make known my presence to

you." The truth is, I did not want to go at once. No one likes to

stumble into an adventure--enchanting as this promised to be--and

immediately pop out of it. An idea came to me, serviceable rather than

brilliant. "I am an American. My German is poor. I speak no French.

I have lost my way, it would seem; I am hungry and tired. To ride six

miles farther now is a physical impossibility; and I am very fond of my

horse."

"He says he is hungry, Gretchen," said the English girl, dropping

easily into the French language as a vehicle of speech. (I was a

wretch, I know, but I simply could not help telling that lie; I didn't

want to go; and they _might_ be conspirators.) "Besides," went on the

girl, "he looks like a gentleman."

"We can not always tell a gentleman in the candle-light," replied

Gretchen, eying me critically and shrewdly and suspiciously.

As for me, I gazed from one to the ether, inquiringly, after the manner

of one who hears a tongue not understandable.




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