"What's that got to do with it? I say, Kate, what did he tell you?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because"—he hesitated—"because I——" He stopped abruptly to listen. The blackness above them was stirring. A tremor ran through the great tree. The darkness high overhead swayed with a sound like the sigh of rain on a lake. Unseen branches moved heavily and then were still. Mysteriously as it came, the wind died away. It was now quite dark under the tree. For a time neither spoke.
A fear he could not explain had come upon Lionel and stopped his speech. A few moments ago his only word for palmistry was tommyrot and now the writing on Kate's hand was to him the most momentous thing on earth.
Suddenly, out of the darkness came a strange sound——the sound of laughter, viewless laughter, that died away, leaving an uncanny silence.
"Kate! What is it? Where are you?"
There was no answer. He circled the tree swiftly with outstretched hand, guiding himself by the edge of the seat.
"Kate! For God's sake. What's the matter? Where are you?"
The next instant his free hand touched something and his arms closed around her. It was as if, in the space of a minute, he had lost this woman forever and suddenly found her again. And now he, Lionel Fitz-Brown, was holding Kate Clendennin in his arms. If the stone Diana in the sunken garden had turned to flesh and blood and found her way into his embrace it would not have been more astonishing, incredible. Here she was resting limply against him, her lovely head on his shoulder. He could feel her hair against his cheek.
"By Jove! She must have fainted," he muttered.