“I will, the moment you can walk. Upon my soul, I meant to help you when I followed; but as you did not answer, I fancied it was Lottchen, the keeper’s little girl. Pardon the fright I’ve caused you, and let me take you to your friends.”
The true English accent of the words, and the hearty tone of sincerity in the apology, reassured Amy at once, and, rising, she said, with a faint smile and a petulant tone,—
“I was very silly, but my guide ran away, my candle went out, I lost the path, and can speak no German; so I was afraid to answer you at first; and then I lost my wits altogether, for it’s rather startling to be clutched in the dark, sir.”
“Indeed it is. I was very thoughtless, but now let me atone for it. Where is your uncle, Miss Erskine?” asked the stranger, with respectful earnestness.
“You know my name?” cried Amy in her impulsive way.
“I have that happiness,” was the answer, with a smile.
“But I don’t know you, sir;” and she peered at him, trying to see his face in the darkness, for the copse was thick, and twilight had come on rapidly.
“Not yet; I live in hope. Shall we go? Your uncle will be uneasy.”
“Where are we?” asked Amy, glad to move on, for the interview was becoming too personal even for her, and the stranger’s manner fluttered her, though she enjoyed the romance of the adventure immensely.
“We are in the park which surrounds the castle. You were near the entrance to it from the vaults when you fainted.”