I seemed
to have heard, both in the darkness of the crypt and through the dimness
of the church, mysterious sounds as of whispers and suppressed breathing;
but the memory of these did not count for much when once I was free. I
was only satisfied of my own consciousness and identity when I found
myself on the broad rock terrace in front of the church, with the fierce
sunlight beating on my upturned face, and, looking downward, saw far
below me the rippled blue of the open sea. RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_. _June_ 3, 1907. Another week has elapsed--a week full of movement of many kinds and in
many ways--but as yet I have had no tale or tidings of my Lady of the
Shroud. I have not had an opportunity of going again in daylight to St.
Sava's as I should have liked to have done. I felt that I must not go at
night. The night is her time of freedom, and it must be kept for her--or
else I may miss her, or perhaps never see her again. The days have been full of national movement. The mountaineers have
evidently been organizing themselves, for some reason which I cannot
quite understand, and which they have hesitated to make known to me. I
have taken care not to manifest any curiosity, whatever I may have felt. This would certainly arouse suspicion, and might ultimately cause
disaster to my hopes of aiding the nation in their struggle to preserve
their freedom. These fierce mountaineers are strangely--almost unduly--suspicious, and
the only way to win their confidence is to begin the trusting. A young
American attache of the Embassy at Vienna, who had made a journey through
the Land of the Blue Mountains, once put it to me in this form:

"Keep your head shut, and they'll open theirs. If you don't, they'll
open it for you--down to the chine!" It was quite apparent to me that they were completing some fresh
arrangements for signalling with a code of their own. This was natural
enough, and in no way inconsistent with the measure of friendliness
already shown to me. Where there are neither telegraphs, railways, nor
roads, any effective form of communication must--can only be purely
personal. And so, if they wish to keep any secret amongst themselves,
they must preserve the secret of their code. I should have dearly liked
to learn their new code and their manner of using it, but as I want to be
a helpful friend to them--and as this implies not only trust, but the
appearance of it--I had to school myself to patience. This attitude so far won their confidence that before we parted at our
last meeting, after most solemn vows of faith and secrecy, they took me
into the secret. This was, however, only to the extent of teaching me
the code and method; they still withheld from me rigidly the fact or
political secret, or whatever it was that was the mainspring of their
united action. When I got home I wrote down, whilst it was fresh in my memory, all they
told me. This script I studied until I had it so thoroughly by heart
that I _could_ not forget it. Then I burned the paper. However, there
is now one gain at least: with my semaphore I can send through the Blue
Mountains from side to side, with expedition, secrecy, and exactness, a
message comprehensible to all. RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_. _June_ 6, 1907. Last night I had a new experience of my Lady of the Shroud--in so far as
form was concerned, at any rate. I was in bed, and just falling asleep,
when I heard a queer kind of scratching at the glass door of the terrace. I listened acutely, my heart beating hard. The sound seemed to come from
low down, close to the floor. I jumped out of bed, ran to the window,
and, pulling aside the heavy curtains, looked out. The garden looked, as usual, ghostly in the moonlight, but there was not
the faintest sign of movement anywhere, and no one was on or near the
terrace. I looked eagerly down to where the sound had seemed to come
from. There, just inside the glass door, as though it had been pushed under the
door, lay a paper closely folded in several laps. I picked it up and
opened it. I was all in a tumult, for my heart told me whence it came. Inside was written in English, in a large, sprawling hand, such as might
be from an English child of seven or eight:

"Meet me at the Flagstaff on the Rock!" I knew the place, of course. On the farthermost point of the rock on
which the Castle stands is set a high flagstaff, whereon in old time the
banner of the Vissarion family flew. At some far-off time, when the
Castle had been liable to attack, this point had been strongly fortified. Indeed, in the days when the bow was a martial weapon it must have been
quite impregnable. A covered gallery, with loopholes for arrows, had been cut in the solid
rock, running right round the point, quite surrounding the flagstaff and
the great boss of rock on whose centre it was reared. A narrow
drawbridge of immense strength had connected--in peaceful times, and
still remained--the outer point of rock with an entrance formed in the
outer wall, and guarded with flanking towers and a portcullis. Its use
was manifestly to guard against surprise. From this point only could be
seen the line of the rocks all round the point. Thus, any secret attack
by boats could be made impossible. Having hurriedly dressed myself, and taking with me both hunting-knife
and revolver, I went out on the terrace, taking the precaution, unusual
to me, of drawing the grille behind me and locking it. Matters around
the Castle are in far too disturbed a condition to allow the taking of
any foolish chances, either in the way of being unarmed or of leaving the
private entrance to the Castle open. I found my way through the rocky
passage, and climbed by the Jacob's ladder fixed on the rock--a device of
convenience in time of peace--to the foot of the flagstaff. I was all on fire with expectation, and the time of going seemed
exceeding long; so I was additionally disappointed by the contrast when I
did not see my Lady there when I arrived. However, my heart beat freely
again--perhaps more freely than ever--when I saw her crouching in the
shadow of the Castle wall. From where she was she could not be seen from
any point save that alone which I occupied; even from there it was only
her white shroud that was conspicuous through the deep gloom of the
shadow. The moonlight was so bright that the shadows were almost
unnaturally black. I rushed over towards her, and when close was about to say impulsively,
"Why did you leave your tomb?" when it suddenly struck me that the
question would be malapropos and embarrassing in many ways. So, better
judgment prevailing, I said instead:

"It has been so long since I saw you! It has seemed an eternity to me!" Her answer came as quickly as even I could have wished; she spoke
impulsively and without thought:

"It has been long to me too! Oh, so long! so long! I have asked you to
come out here because I wanted to see you so much that I could not wait
any longer. I have been heart-hungry for a sight of you!"