“I think I knew it first,” she said, with a winsome blush, “when we came back here alone after that trial of will, Bourgwan. You were very obstinate; but I—I—I won’t tell you any more.”
“I knew it before that; when you stood at bay against those scoundrels out on the hills there. But you must have thought me an awful scarecrow.”
“I did think you were a peasant, when I knew you were not a brigand. And when I found out my mistake, I could have bitten out my tongue for the way I had spoken to you.”
“I was a brigand. I stole your heart.”
She looked up with a bright, merry smile and was about to answer when some noise and confusion outside startled her.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Quite realistic—like it used to be. We’ll see.”
We went out and I laughed aloud at what we saw. Karasch had been seized by a couple of men who were leading him towards us while the little Austrian ex-official, now the superintendent, was abusing him volubly and with almost frantic gesticulations.
He was a sharp fellow and the instant his eyes fell on us he recognised us, and calling some more men from the tent, he ran toward me shouting, “Here’s the other man. So we meet at last, eh? And you, too?” he cried to Gatrina, who was inclined to be frightened and held my arm tight.
“You have good eyes and a keen memory for faces, Captain Hanske. I congratulate you. We only met in the dark and I see you recognise us.”