"I am Hardross Courage," I answered. "Please do not look at me as though
I were something uncanny. The report of my death was a little premature!"
She held out her hands.
"My dear Hardross!" she exclaimed. "You have taken my breath away! I am delighted, of course; but"—she continued, looking at me wonderingly—"what has happened to you? Where did you get those clothes?"
"I am going to explain everything to you, Lady Dennisford," I declared; "but before I do so, let me ask you something! I have given you one shock! Can you stand another?"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You see before you," I answered, "one dead man who has come to life. Can you bear to hear of another?"
Then every shred of color left her cheeks, and she trembled like one stricken with an ague. But all the time her eyes were pleading passionately with mine, as though it lay in my power to make the thing which she longed for true.
"Not—not Leslie! It is impossible."
"It is the truth," I answered. "He is alive."
I caught her just in time, and led her to the sofa. Her face was bloodless, even to the lips.