“We can live for each other, die for each other,—­apart.  Distance will not lessen my love.  You know that it exists; it has been betrayed to you.  Can you not be satisfied—­just a little bit—­with that knowledge?” she pleaded.

“But I want you in reality, not in my dreams, my imagination.”

“Ach, we must not talk like this!  There is no alternative.  You are to go, I am to stay.  The future is before us; God knows what it may bring to us.  Perhaps it may be good enough to give us happiness—­who knows?  Do not plead with me.  I cannot endure it.  Let me be strong again!  You will not be so cruel as to battle against me, now that I am weak; it would only mean my destruction.  You do not seek that!”

His soul, his honor, the greatest reverence he had ever known were in the kiss that touched her brow.

“I shall love you as you command—­without hope,” he said, sadly.

“Without hope for either,” she sobbed.

“My poor little soldier,” he whispered, lovingly, as her body writhed under the storm of tears.

“I—­I wish—­I were a—­soldier!” she wailed.  He comforted her as best he could and soon she was quiet—­oh, so very quiet.  Her head was on his shoulder, her hands in his.

“How far do we drive?” he asked, at last.

“To the monastery.  We are nearly there.” she answered, in tones far away.

“The monastery?  Why do we go there?” he cried.

“You are to stay there.”

“What do you mean?  I thought I was to leave Graustark.”

“You are to leave—­later on.  Until the excitement is over the abbey is to be your hiding place.  I have arranged everything, and it is the only safe place on earth for you at this time.  No one will think of looking for you up there.”

“I would to God I could stay there forever, living above you,” he said, drearily.

“Your window looks down upon the castle; mine looks up to yours.  The lights that burn in those two windows will send out beams of love and life for one of us, at least.”

“For both of us, my sweetheart,” he corrected, fondly.  “You say I will be safe there.  Can you trust these men who are aiding you?”

“With my life!  Quinnox carried a message to the Abbot yesterday, and he grants you a temporary home there, secure and as secret as the tomb.  He promises me this, and he is my best friend.  Now, let me tell you why I am with you, masquerading so shamefully—­”

“Adorably!” he protested.

“It is because the Abbot insisted that I bring you to him personally.  He will not receive you except from my hands.  There was nothing else for me to do, then, was there, Lorry?  I was compelled to come and I could not come as the Princess—­as a woman.  Discovery would have meant degradation from which I could not have hoped to recover.  The military garments were my only safeguard.”

“And how many people know of your—­deception?”