The actual
deportation was easy enough, for the dock had all necessary appliances
quite up to date, including a pair of shears for gun-lifting which could
be raised into position in a very short time. The guns were well furnished with tackle of all sorts, and before many
hours had passed a little procession of them disappeared into the woods
in ghostly silence. A number of men surrounded each, and they moved as
well as if properly supplied with horses. In the meantime, and for a week after the arrival of the guns, the
drilling went on without pause. The gun-drill was wonderful. In the
arduous work necessary for it the great strength and stamina of the
mountaineers showed out wonderfully. They did not seem to know fatigue
any more than they knew fear. For a week this went on, till a perfect discipline and management was
obtained. They did not practise the shooting, for this would have made
secrecy impossible. It was reported all along the Turkish frontier that
the Sultan's troops were being massed, and though this was not on a war
footing, the movement was more or less dangerous. The reports of our own
spies, although vague as to the purpose and extent of the movement, were
definite as to something being on foot. And Turkey does not do something
without a purpose that bodes ill to someone. Certainly the sound of
cannon, which is a far-reaching sound, would have given them warning of
our preparations, and would so have sadly minimized their effectiveness. When the cannon had all been disposed of--except, of course, those
destined for defence of the Castle or to be stored there--Rooke went away
with the ship and crew. The ship he was to return to the owners; the men
would be shipped on the war-yacht, of whose crew they would form a part. The rest of them had been carefully selected by Rooke himself, and were
kept in secrecy at Cattaro, ready for service the moment required. They
were all good men, and quite capable of whatever work they might be set
to. So Rooke told me, and he ought to know. The experience of his young
days as a private made him an expert in such a job. RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_. _June_ 24, 1907. Last night I got from my Lady a similar message to the last, and
delivered in a similar way. This time, however, our meeting was to be on
the leads of the Keep. I dressed myself very carefully before going on this adventure, lest by
any chance of household concern, any of the servants should see me; for
if this should happen, Aunt Janet would be sure to hear of it, which
would give rise to endless surmises and questionings--a thing I was far
from desiring. I confess that in thinking the matter over during the time I was making
my hurried preparations I was at a loss to understand how any human body,
even though it be of the dead, could go or be conveyed to such a place
without some sort of assistance, or, at least, collusion, on the part of
some of the inmates. At the visit to the Flagstaff circumstances were
different. This spot was actually outside the Castle, and in order to
reach it I myself had to leave the Castle privately, and from the garden
ascend to the ramparts. But here was no such possibility. The Keep was
an _imperium in imperio_. It stood within the Castle, though separated
from it, and it had its own defences against intrusion. The roof of it
was, so far as I knew, as little approachable as the magazine. The difficulty did not, however, trouble me beyond a mere passing
thought. In the joy of the coming meeting and the longing rapture at the
mere thought of it, all difficulties disappeared. Love makes its own
faith, and I never doubted that my Lady would be waiting for me at the
place designated. When I had passed through the little arched passages,
and up the doubly-grated stairways contrived in the massiveness of the
walls, I let myself out on the leads. It was well that as yet the times
were sufficiently peaceful not to necessitate guards or sentries at all
such points. There, in a dim corner where the moonlight and the passing clouds threw
deep shadows, I saw her, clothed as ever in her shroud. Why, I know not. I felt somehow that the situation was even more serious than ever. But I
was steeled to whatever might come. My mind had been already made up. To carry out my resolve to win the woman I loved I was ready to face
death. But now, after we had for a few brief moments held each other in
our arms, I was willing to accept death--or more than death. Now, more
than before, was she sweet and dear to me. Whatever qualms there might
have been at the beginning of our love-making, or during the progress of
it, did not now exist. We had exchanged vows and confidences, and
acknowledged our loves. What, then, could there be of distrust, or even
doubt, that the present might not set at naught? But even had there been
such doubts or qualms, they must have disappeared in the ardour of our
mutual embrace. I was by now mad for her, and was content to be so mad. When she had breath to speak after the strictness of our embrace, she
said:

"I have come to warn you to be more than ever careful." It was, I
confess, a pang to me, who thought only of love, to hear that anything
else should have been the initiative power of her coming, even though it
had been her concern for my own safety. I could not but notice the
bitter note of chagrin in my voice as I answered:

"It was for love's sake that _I_ came." She, too, evidently felt the
undercurrent of pain, for she said quickly:

"Ah, dearest, I, too, came for love's sake. It is because I love you
that I am so anxious about you. What would the world--ay, or heaven--be
to me without you?" There was such earnest truth in her tone that the sense and realization
of my own harshness smote me. In the presence of such love as this even
a lover's selfishness must become abashed. I could not express myself in
words, so simply raised her slim hand in mine and kissed it. As it lay
warm in my own I could not but notice, as well as its fineness, its
strength and the firmness of its clasp. Its warmth and fervour struck
into my heart--and my brain. Thereupon I poured out to her once more my
love for her, she listening all afire. When passion had had its say, the
calmer emotions had opportunity of expression. When I was satisfied
afresh of her affection, I began to value her care for my safety, and so
I went back to the subject. Her very insistence, based on personal
affection, gave me more solid ground for fear. In the moment of love
transports I had forgotten, or did not think, of what wonderful power or
knowledge she must have to be able to move in such strange ways as she
did. Why, at this very moment she was within my own gates. Locks and
bars, even the very seal of death itself, seemed unable to make for her a
prison-house. With such freedom of action and movement, going when she
would into secret places, what might she not know that was known to
others? How could anyone keep secret from such an one even an ill
intent?