When again he saw her on the following day in the pretty drawing-room of the villa, with her head resting on Mary's shoulder and Mary's arm round her, and Mrs. Deroubigne hovering near, though colourless as a lily, she was scarcely like the same ghastly and hunted creature he had rescued in the boat, from whom he had so much to learn, and whose adventures had been so perilous.
She looked so pretty—so beautiful indeed—in her simple cotton morning dress, with its delicate crisp puffs and frillings, with her gentle eyes and pure, perfect face, that the young baron sighed to think she was not, and never might be, his!
And yet she owed him, by the chance of fate, a mighty debt of gratitude.
Her story was barely concluded when, with something that sounded very naughty on his lips in his anger, he put his sword under his arm and departed to look after that schelm Sleath and the Wyburgs too.
'Poor foolish Ellinor,' thought he, as he galloped his horse towards the Rathhaus Strasse, 'if she could not love, she always had a look of passionless affection for me—warm friendship shall I call it? Yet her bright face was somewhat delusive, for she would never love, nor flirt, nor even chatter nonsense with me.'
Ellinor knew not exactly the names of those who had been in league with Sleath against her, nor could she describe the exact locality of the house in which they had detained her, but the baron knew where he had found her, and with the police and some of the Uhlans who had been with him on the preceding night, proceeded by boat up the Bleichen Fleet; but, just as they were about to penetrate by the open back entrance, a loud explosion was heard high over head, and a quantity of bricks, tiles, and old timber came tumbling down to splash in the canal.
'Der Teufel! what is this!' exclaimed the baron, 'are we at the siege of Paris again?'
But, though the house was closely examined, the mingled tragedy and catastrophe which Herr Wyburg's revengeful scheme had brought about was never quite explained.
Mr. John Gaiters heard betimes of a dead and mangled body, answering to the description of his master, being discovered in the half-blown-up house; and found himself without a place and also without a character.
He applied a cambric handkerchief—one of Sir Redmond's—to his eyes, and then anathematised them. He then took possession of his late master's portmanteaux at the 'Hotel Russie,' lit a cigarette, and went leisurely on board the London steamer at the Hafenbasin, and Hamburg knew him no more.