"Your aunt?"
"She is dead. I have no one now—but you."
Silence fell on them. The little figure with the dark robes of her mourning clinging about her, rose and stood before him, her linked fingers twisting nervously together.
"You will let me stay? You told me once—you swore it, do you remember?—that your life was mine; that I had but to tell you of my need. You remember?"
"Yes, I remember."
His eyes were on the ground and never met her steady gaze, but she seemed satisfied with what she saw. Her hands stopped their nervous play.
She looked curiously about the room.
"This is a hunting-lodge, I suppose. But you must not think I care. I shall get on very well. And may I go to my room now?"
Von Rittenheim was startled into activity by the simple request.
"I think you must wait until some preparation is made. I will go and fetch a woman who will look after you. You will not be afraid if I leave you alone for a few minutes?"