So anxious was I not to run any risk of being asleep at the time we had arranged to make our escape that I did not go to bed at all, but seated myself in an armchair and endeavoured to interest myself in a book until the fateful hour arrived. Then, leaving a note upon my dressing-table, in which was contained a sufficient sum to reimburse the landlord for my stay with him, I slipped into one pocket the few articles I had resolved to carry with me, and taking care that my money was safely stowed away in another, I said good-bye to my room and went softly down the stairs to the large hall. Fortune favoured me, for only one servant was at work there, an elderly man with a stolid, good-humoured countenance, who glanced up at me, and, being satisfied as to my respectability, continued his work once more. Of Valerie I could see no sign, and since I did not know where her room was situated I occupied myself, while I waited, wondering what I should do if she had overslept herself and did not put in an appearance until too late. In order to excuse my presence downstairs at such an early hour, I asked the man in which direction the cathedral lay, and whether he could inform me at what time early mass was celebrated.

He had scarcely instructed me on the former point and declared his ignorance of the latter, before Valerie appeared at the head of the stairs and descended to meet me, carrying her violin case in her hand. I greeted her in English, and after I had slipped a couple of florins into the servant’s hand, we left the hotel together and made our way in the direction of the Platz, where to my delight I found the cab I had ordered the previous afternoon already waiting for us. We took our places, and I gave the driver his instructions. In less than a quarter of an hour he had brought us to the station I wanted to reach. I had taken the tickets, and the train was carrying us away from Prague and the man whom we devoutly hoped we should never see again as long as we lived. Throughout the drive we had scarcely spoken a couple of dozen words to each other, having been far too much occupied with the affairs of the moment to think of anything but our flight. Knowing Pharos as we did, it seemed more than probable that he might even now be aware of our escape, and be taking measures to insure our return. But when we found ourselves safely in the train our anxiety lessened somewhat, and with every mile we threw behind us our spirits returned. By the time we reached Dresden we were as happy a couple as any in Europe, and when some hours later we stepped out of the carriage on to the platform at Berlin, we were as unlike the pair who had left the hotel at Prague as the proverbial chalk is like cheese. Even then, however, we were determined to run no risk. Every mile that separated us from Pharos meant greater security, and it was for this reason I had made up my mind to reach the German capital, if possible, instead of remaining at Dresden, as had been our original intention.

When our train reached its destination it was a few minutes after six o’clock, and for the first time in my life I stood in the capital of the German empire. Though we had been travelling for more than ten hours, Valerie had so far shown no sign of fatigue.

“What do you propose doing now?” she inquired as we stood together on the platform.

“Obtain some dinner,” I answered, with a promptness and directness worthy of the famous Mr. Dick.

“You must leave that to me,” she said, with one of her own bright smiles, which had been so rare of late. “Remember I am an old traveller, and probably know Europe as well as you know Piccadilly.”

“I will leave it to you then,” I answered, “and surely man had never a fairer pilot.”

“On any other occasion I should warn you to beware of compliments,” she replied, patting me gaily on the arm with her hand, “but I feel so happy now that I am compelled to excuse you. To-night, for the last time, I am going to play the part of your hostess. After that it will be your duty to entertain me. Let us leave by this door.”

So saying, she led me from the station into the street outside, along which we passed for some considerable distance. Eventually we reached a restaurant, before which Valerie paused.

“The proprietor is an old friend of mine,” she said, “who, though he is acquainted with Pharos, will not, I am quite sure, tell him he has seen us.”

We entered, and when the majordomo came forward to conduct us to a table, Valerie inquired whether his master were visible. The man stated that he would find out, and departed on his errand.

While we waited I could not help noticing the admiring glances that were thrown at my companion by the patrons of the restaurant, among whom were several officers in uniform. Just, however, as I was thinking that some of the latter would be none the worse for a little lesson in manners, the shuffling of feet was heard, and presently, from a doorway on the right, the fattest man I have ever seen in my life made his appearance. He wore carpet slippers on his feet, and a red cap upon his head, and carried in his hand a long German pipe with a china bowl. His face was clean shaven, and a succession of chins fell one below another, so that not an inch of his neck was visible. Having entered the room, he paused, and when the waiter had pointed us out to him as the lady and gentleman who had asked to see him, he approached and affected a contortion of his anatomy which was evidently intended to be a bow.

“I am afraid, Herr Schuncke, that you do not remember me,” said Valerie, after the short pause that followed.

The man looked at her rather more closely, and a moment later was bowing even more profusely and inelegantly than before.

“My dear young lady,” he said, “I beg your pardon ten thousand times. For the moment, I confess, I did not recognise you. Had I done so I should not have kept you standing here so long.”

Then, looking round, with rather a frightened air, he added, “But I do not see Monsieur Pharos? Perhaps he is with you, and will be here presently?”

“I sincerely hope not,” Valerie replied. “That is the main reason of my coming to you.” Then, sinking her voice to a whisper, she added, as she saw the man’s puzzled expression, “I know I can trust you, Herr Schuncke. The truth is, I have run away from him.”

“Herr Gott!” said the old fellow. “So you have run away from him. Well, I do not wonder at it, but you must not tell him I said so. How you could have put up with him so long I do not know; but that is no business of mine. But I am an old fool; while I am talking so much I should be finding out how I can be of assistance to you.”

“You will not find that very difficult,” she replied. “All we are going to trouble you for is some dinner, and your promise to say nothing, should Monsieur Pharos come here in search of us.”

“I will do both with the utmost pleasure,” he answered. “You may be sure I will say nothing, and you shall have the very best dinner old Ludwig can cook. What is more, you shall have it in my own private sitting-room, where you will be undisturbed. Oh, I can assure you, Fr?ulein, it is very good to see your face again.”

“It is very kind of you to say so,” said Valerie, “and also to take so much trouble. I thank you.”

“You must not thank me at all,” the old fellow replied. “But some day, perhaps, you will let me hear you play again.” Then, pointing to the violin-case, which I carried in my hand, he continued, “I see you have brought the beautiful instrument with you. Ah, Gott! what recollections it conjures up for me. I can see old — but there, there, come with me, or I shall be talking half the night!”

We accordingly followed him through the door by which he had entered, and along a short passage to a room at the rear of the building. Here he bade us make ourselves at home, while he departed to see about the dinner. Before he did so, however, Valerie stopped him.

“Herr Schuncke,” she said, “before you leave us, I want your congratulations. Let me introduce you to Mr. Forrester, the gentleman to whom I am about to be married.”

The old fellow turned to me, and gave another of his grotesque bows.

“Sir,” he said, “I congratulate you with all my heart. To hear her play always, ah! what good fortune for a man. You will have a treasure in your house that no money could buy. Be sure that you treat her as such.”

When I had promised to do so, the warm-hearted old fellow departed on his errand.

I must leave you to imagine the happiness of that dinner. Even now it sends a thrill through me to think of it. I can recall the quaint little room, so undeniably German in its furniture and decorations; the table laden with the good things the landlord had provided for us — even to the extent of a bottle of his own particular wine, which only saw the light on the most important occasions; the military-looking waiter, with his close-cropped hair and heavy eyes; and Valerie seated opposite, looking so beautiful and so happy that I could scarcely believe she was the same woman I had seen rising from her knees in the Teyn Kirche only the day before.

“I hope all this travelling has not tired you, dearest?” I said, when the waiter had handed us our coffee and had left the room.

“You forget that I am an old traveller,” she said, “and not likely to be fatigued by such a short journey. You have some reason, however, for asking the question. What is it?”

“I will tell you,” I answered. “I have been thinking that it would not be altogether safe for us to remain in Berlin. It is quite certain that, as soon as he discovers that we are gone, Pharos will make inquiries, and find out what trains left Prague in the early morning. He will then put two and two together, after his own diabolical fashion, and as likely as not he will be here in search of us to-morrow morning, if not sooner.”

“In that case, what do you propose doing?” she asked.

“I propose, if you are not too tired, to leave here by the express at half-past seven,” I replied, “and travel as far as Wittenberge, which place we should reach by half-past ten. We can manage it very easily. I will telegraph for rooms, and to-morrow morning early we can continue our journey to Hamburg, where we shall have no difficulty in obtaining a steamer for London. Pharos would never think of looking for us in a small place like Wittenberge, and we should be on board the steamer and en route to England by this time to-morrow evening.”

“I can be ready as soon as you like,” she answered bravely, “but before we start you must give me time to reward Herr Schuncke for his kindness to us.”

A few moments later our host entered the room. I was about to pay for our meal, when Valerie stopped me.

“You must do nothing of the kind,” she said; “remember, you are my guest. Surely you would not deprive me of one of the greatest pleasures I have had for a long time?”

“You shall pay with all my heart,” I answered, “but not with Pharos’ money.”

“I never thought of that,” she replied, and her beautiful face flushed crimson. “No, no, you are quite right. I could not entertain you with his money. But what am I to do? I have no other.”

“In that case you must permit me to be your banker,” I answered, and with that I pulled from my pocket a handful of German coins.

Herr Schuncke at first refused to take anything, but when Valerie declared that if he did not do so she would not play to him, he reluctantly consented, vowing at the same time that he would not accept it himself, but would bestow it upon Ludwig. Then Valerie went to the violin-case, which I had placed upon a side table, and taking her precious instrument from it — the only legacy she had received from her father — tuned it, and stood up to play. As Valerie informed me later, the old man, though one would scarcely have imagined it from his commonplace exterior, was a passionate devotee of the beautiful art, and now he stood, leaning against the wall, his fat hands clasped before him, and his upturned face expressive of the most celestial enjoyment. Nor had Valerie, to my thinking, ever done herself greater justice. She had escaped from a life of misery that had been to her a living death, and her whole being was in consequence radiant with happiness; this was reflected in her playing. Nor was the effect she produced limited to Herr Schuncke. Under the influence of her music I found myself building castles in the air, and upon such firm foundations, too, that for the moment it seemed no wind would ever be strong enough to blow them down. When she ceased I woke as from a happy dream; Schuncke uttered a long sigh, as much as to say, “It will be many years before I shall hear anything like that again,” and then it was time to go. The landlord accompanied us into the street and called a cab. As it pulled up beside the pavement a cripple passed, making his way slowly along with the assistance of a pair of crutches. Valerie stopped him.

“My poor fellow,” she said, handing him the purse containing the money with which, ten minutes before, she had thought of paying for our dinner, “there is a little present which I hope may bring you more happiness than it has done me. Take it.”

The man did so, scarcely able to contain his surprise, and when he had examined the contents burst into a flood of thanks.

“Hush,” she said, “you must not thank me. You do not know what you are saying.” Then turning to Schuncke, she held out her hand. “Good-bye,” she said, “and thank you for your kindness. I know that you will say nothing about having seen us.”

“You need have no fear on that score,” he said. “Pharos shall hear nothing from me, I can promise you that. Farewell, Fr?ulein, and may your life be a happy one.”

I said good-bye to him, and then took my place in the vehicle beside Valerie. A quarter of an hour later we were on our way to Wittenberge, and Berlin, like Prague, was only a memory. Before leaving the station I had purchased an armful of papers, illustrated and otherwise, for Valerie’s amusement. Though she professed to have no desire to read them, but to prefer sitting by my side, holding my hand, and talking of the happy days we hoped and trusted were before u............