All at once she started as if
she had suddenly wakened from a dream, and on the spur of the moment
said:

"Now go, go!" I felt the conviction of necessity to obey, and turned at
once. As I moved towards the door by which I had entered, I asked:

"When shall I see you again?" "Soon!" came her answer. "I shall let you know soon--when and where. Oh, go, go!" She almost pushed me from her. When I had passed through the low doorway and locked and barred it behind
me, I felt a pang that I should have had to shut her out like that; but I
feared lest there should arise some embarrassing suspicion if the door
should be found open. Later came the comforting thought that, as she had
got to the roof though the door had been shut, she would be able to get
away by the same means. She had evidently knowledge of some secret way
into the Castle. The alternative was that she must have some
supernatural quality or faculty which gave her strange powers. I did not
wish to pursue that train of thought, and so, after an effort, shut it
out from my mind. When I got back to my room I locked the door behind me, and went to sleep
in the dark. I did not want light just then--could not bear it. This morning I woke, a little later than usual, with a kind of
apprehension which I could not at once understand. Presently, however,
when my faculties became fully awake and in working order, I realized
that I feared, half expected, that Aunt Janet would come to me in a worse
state of alarm than ever apropos of some new Second-Sight experience of
more than usual ferocity. But, strange to say, I had no such visit. Later on in the morning, when,
after breakfast, we walked together through the garden, I asked her how
she had slept, and if she had dreamt. She answered me that she had slept
without waking, and if she had had any dreams, they must have been
pleasant ones, for she did not remember them. "And you know, Rupert,"
she added, "that if there be anything bad or fearsome or warning in
dreams, I always remember them." Later still, when I was by myself on the cliff beyond the creek, I could
not help commenting on the absence of her power of Second Sight on the
occasion. Surely, if ever there was a time when she might have had cause
of apprehension, it might well have been when I asked the Lady whom she
did not know to marry me--the Lady of whose identity I knew nothing, even
whose name I did not know--whom I loved with all my heart and soul--my
Lady of the Shroud. I have lost faith in Second Sight. RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_. _July_ 1, 1907. Another week gone. I have waited patiently, and I am at last rewarded by
another letter. I was preparing for bed a little while ago, when I heard
the same mysterious sound at the door as on the last two occasions. I
hurried to the glass door, and there found another close-folded letter. But I could see no sign of my Lady, or of any other living being. The
letter, which was without direction, ran as follows:

"If you are still of the same mind, and feel no misgivings, meet me at
the Church of St. Sava beyond the Creek to-morrow night at a quarter
before midnight. If you come, come in secret, and, of course, alone. Do
not come at all unless you are prepared for a terrible ordeal. But if
you love me, and have neither doubts nor fears, come. Come!" Needless to say, I did not sleep last night. I tried to, but without
success. It was no morbid happiness that kept me awake, no doubting, no
fear. I was simply overwhelmed with the idea of the coming rapture when
I should call my Lady my very, very own. In this sea of happy
expectation all lesser things were submerged. Even sleep, which is an
imperative force with me, failed in its usual effectiveness, and I lay
still, calm, content. With the coming of the morning, however, restlessness began. I did not
know what to do, how to restrain myself, where to look for an anodyne. Happily the latter came in the shape of Rooke, who turned up shortly
after breakfast. He had a satisfactory tale to tell me of the armoured
yacht, which had lain off Cattaro on the previous night, and to which he
had brought his contingent of crew which had waited for her coming. He
did not like to take the risk of going into any port with such a vessel,
lest he might be detained or otherwise hampered by forms, and had gone
out upon the open sea before daylight. There was on board the yacht a
tiny torpedo-boat, for which provision was made both for hoisting on deck
and housing there. This last would run into the creek at ten o'clock
that evening, at which time it would be dark. The yacht would then run
to near Otranto, to which she would send a boat to get any message I
might send. This was to be in a code, which we arranged, and would
convey instructions as to what night and approximate hour the yacht would
come to the creek. The day was well on before we had made certain arrangements for the
future; and not till then did I feel again the pressure of my personal
restlessness. Rooke, like a wise commander, took rest whilst he could. Well he knew that for a couple of days and nights at least there would be
little, if any, sleep for him. For myself, the habit of self-control stood to me, and I managed to get
through the day somehow without exciting the attention of anyone else. The arrival of the torpedo-boat and the departure of Rooke made for me a
welcome break in my uneasiness. An hour ago I said good-night to Aunt
Janet, and shut myself up alone here. My watch is on the table before
me, so that I may make sure of starting to the moment. I have allowed
myself half an hour to reach St. Sava. My skiff is waiting, moored at
the foot of the cliff on the hither side, where the zigzag comes close to
the water. It is now ten minutes past eleven. I shall add the odd five minutes to the time for my journey so as to make
safe. I go unarmed and without a light. I shall show no distrust of anyone or anything this night. RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_. _July_ 2, 1907. When I was outside the church, I looked at my watch in the bright
moonlight, and found I had one minute to wait. So I stood in the shadow
of the doorway and looked out at the scene before me. Not a sign of life
was visible around me, either on land or sea. On the broad plateau on
which the church stands there was no movement of any kind. The wind,
which had been pleasant in the noontide, had fallen completely, and not a
leaf was stirring. I could see across the creek and note the hard line
where the battlements of the Castle cut the sky, and where the keep
towered above the line of black rock, which in the shadow of the land
made an ebon frame for the picture. When I had seen the same view on
former occasions, the line where the rock rose from the sea was a fringe
of white foam. But then, in the daylight, the sea was sapphire blue; now
it was an expanse of dark blue--so dark as to seem almost black.