ABSTRACT
When the Prince had gone, Vansittart drew from his pocket the letter which Harland had given him earlier in the afternoon. Vansittart was a man of impulse. Whether Beaulieu had nearly saved his life or not mattered little. He was grateful even for attempted service. It needed but the call for help and it came. It was impossible for Jerome to resist the appeal this ex-dragoon had made. A steady walk along a straight country road, in a clear air and under a serene sky, would do Jerome good after the disturbing events of the day. Jerome could not admit that Honorine would allow this madman to repeat his constant protestations of affection in her presence. In due course Vansittart reached the little wood of Laudon. It was a deserted spot, and it lay quite out of the reach of the two main roads which came that way, being an uncultivated piece of land neither beautiful nor readily accessible.
