She withdrew her vizard, revealing her beautiful face, made more beautiful by the sweet colour that mantled it.
She looked round on all sides to make sure that no one was within sight. Satisfied that they were alone she turned to Wilfrid. Never had he so trembled as at this moment when the Princess set her hands lightly upon his shoulders and looked him full in the face with eyes that, striving to be bold, were yet full of timidity.
Her lovely face drew near to his; he caught the fragrance of her breath; their lips met in a kiss, given on her part with a warmth that could spring from but one feeling. The tender glance of her dark-blue eyes told him, as plainly as words, what place he held in her heart. Moved by an uncontrollable impulse he clasped her in his arms. She did not resent the action; on the contrary she clung to him in that wild, sweet, thrilling embrace that comes but once in a life-time.
“Princess!” he whispered in a voice trembling with emotion, “you love me—is it not so? I will not let you go back to your old life. You must come with me—”
“Oh no, no!” she gasped, seeking to unwind his arms. “My God! what am I doing? Lord Courtenay ... let me go.... Do not tempt me.... This ... this cannot be!”
“Why not?”
She gave a wild laugh.
“You would not ask, if you knew me. I am the—”
The words suddenly froze on her lips. Wilfrid, gazing upon her face, saw its loveliness distorted by a terrible change. With blanched cheek and open mouth she was staring at something or somebody behind him. Her strange set expression almost suggested the wild fancy that there had risen from out the foliage the head of Medusa, whose chilling stare could turn the beholder to stone. Something of her feeling communicated itself to Wilfrid; for a few seconds he stood, still holding the Princess in his arms, scarcely daring to turn lest he should see at his elbow some awful apparition.