Before twelve at midnight she was driving on the road to the University, saying farewell to what her mind reverenced, so that her lover might but have sight of her.

She imagined I had been assassinated.

For a long time, and most pertinaciously, this idea dwelt with her.

I could not dispossess her of it, even after uttering the word 'duel' I know not how often.

I had flatly to relate the whole-of the circumstances.
'But Otto is no assassin,' she cried out.
What was that she reverenced?
It was what she jeopardized--her state, her rank, her dignity as princess and daughter of an ancient House, things typical to her of sovereign duties, and the high seclusion of her name.