“Sure enough it was our rescuer coming out of the Kronprinz, a pretty little hostelry by the roadside. He mounted a phaeton that had been standing at the inn door, and drove off. The innkeeper was known to us, and from him we learned that the stranger was an English nobleman, Viscount Courtenay by name, who had been staying in the neighbourhood during the previous fortnight. He had received the Prince’s permission to shoot upon the castle lands and to fish in its waters.
“We hesitated to put further questions, lest our duenna should ask us the reason for our interest in this stranger; but as soon as we returned to the Schloss we got from the library a book on the British Peerage, and learned what little we could concerning Lord Courtenay, his family, and his ancestry.
“We went on the following day to take a look at the bear’s den; this time armed foresters accompanied us. While I was walking round the spot, my eye was caught by a sparkle amid the fallen leaves. I stooped, and picked up a golden locket. We knew at once by whom it had been lost when we found within a miniature of yourself.”
Wilfrid had often wondered what had become of that locket, a locket he had ordered to be wrought after a special design, intending it as a gift to his mother.
“‘The restoring of this locket,’ said my sister, ‘will give us an opportunity of speaking with Lord Courtenay. We will take it to the “Kronprinz,” and tell him that we are the two youths whom he saved from the bear.’ But on coming to the inn we found you had that very day left for England; so the locket remained with me.”
“And you have kept it ever since?”
For answer, she pointed to her throat, and Wilfrid saw the long lost locket hanging from a slender gold chain.
“Is it necessary at this late day to restore it?” she asked, making as if to detach the locket from its chain.
But Wilfrid gently restrained her.
“It could not be in a fairer place.”