Wilfrid felt that to say he was bent on going would but increase the look of sadness on her fair face. He therefore temporised.
“I will think over the matter.”
“I have warned you. If you will not take my warning you are lost. I have no more to say,” she added—words that Wilfrid interpreted as a hint to go.
“Your Highness,” he said, rising, “you know my name. Will you not favour me with yours ere I go?”
She shook her bright flowing hair in tantalising fashion.
“What good will it do you?” she said with a sad smile. “Let me remain unknown. Now go, and Heaven watch over you!”
“And over you, too, Princess!”
Wilfrid bowed, took up the lamp, and walked to the door. Arrived there, he cast one last lingering glance at the Princess. She was sitting up in bed watching him, her hand pressed to her side as if to repress the accelerated beating of her heart. Was its quickening due to fear, or to love, or to a mingling of both?
He extinguished his lamp, conscious that even in the darkness the Princess’s eyes were upon him.
He cautiously turned the key of the door, the steel tongue of the lock moved back almost silently. Wilfrid paused a few moments, fearing lest the sound, faint though it was, should have attracted attention.