“Good night,” said I.

Yes, I wanted to be alone.  But I did not smoke.  I sat and stared into the flickering flames in the grate.  I had lost Gretchen. . . .  To hold a woman in your arms, the woman you love, to kiss her lips, and then to lose her!  Oh, I knew that she loved me, but she was a Princess, and her word was given, and it could not be.  The wind sang mournfully over the sills of the window; thick snow whitened the panes; there was a humming in the chimneys. . . .  She was jealous of Phyllis; that was why I knew that she loved me. . . .  And the subtle change in Phyllis’s demeanor towards me; what did it signify? . . .  Gretchen was to be married Thursday because there were no proofs that Phyllis was her sister. . . .  What if Gretchen had been Phyllis, and Phyllis had been Gretchen. . . .  Heigho!  I threw some more coals on the fire.  The candle sank in the socket.  There are some things we men cannot understand; the sea, the heavens and woman. . . .  Suddenly I brought both hands down on my knees.  The innkeeper!  The innkeeper!  He knew!  In a moment I was rummaging through the stack of time tables.  The next south-bound train left at 3:20.  I looked at the clock; 2:20.  My dress suit began to fly around on various chairs.  Yes; how simple it was!  The innkeeper knew; he had known it all these years.  I threw my white cravat onto the table and picked up the most convenient tie.  In ten minutes from the time the idea came to me I was completely dressed in traveling garments.  I had a day and a half.  It would take twenty hours to fetch the innkeeper.  I refused to entertain the possibility of not finding him at the inn.  I swore to heaven that the nuptials of the Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia and the Prince Ernst of Wortumborg should not be celebrated at noon, Thursday.  I went into the bedroom.

“Pembroke?”

“What is it?” came drowsily.

“I am going on a journey.”

“One of those cursed orders you get every other day?” he asked.

“No.  It’s one on my own account this time.  I shall be back in twenty-four hours.  Goodby!” And I left him there, blinking in the dim light of the candle.

I rushed into the street and looked up and down it.  Not a vehicle in sight.  I must run for it.  The railway station was a long way off.  A fine snow pelted my face.  I stopped at the first lamp and pulled out my watch.  It was twenty minutes to three.  What if the time-tables had been changed?  A prayer rose to my lips; there was so much in the balance.  Down this street I ran, rounding this corner and that.  I knocked down a drunken student, who cursed me as he rolled into the gutter.  I never turned, but kept on.  One of the mounted police saw me rushing along.  He shaded his eyes for a moment, then called to me to stop.  I swore under my breath.

“Where are you going at such a pace and at this time of morning?” he demanded.