The two pursuers, tired and despairing, were lying on the ground in
front of the church ruins, taking a few moments of rest before
climbing to the summit of the hill, when the luckless Courant
ventured forth. With quick intuition, Turk called out the
detective's name, and the ruse worked. The man they could not see
gave a snort of dismay and turned to reenter the door. And then came
his undoing.

Turk was the general who planned the return to the castle. He
insisted that Quentin, who was very weak, take Miss Garrison upon
the horse's back and ride, while he and Savage walked. In this way
they reached the gates of Craneycrow. It was like the home-coming of
loved ones who had been absent for years. Three women were in tears,
and all of the men were in smiles. Quentin's was the smile of one
bordering on delirium, however. A chill broke over him, and the
fever in his body renewed its disputed sway. An hour later he was in
bed, and Turk, dispatched by Dorothy Garrison, was riding to the
nearest town for a physician, much against the wishes of the sick
man. He stubbornly insisted that he would start with her for
Brussels within twenty-four hours, and it was not until the doctor
told him that he was in extreme danger of pneumonia that he
consented to keep to his bed.

Resolutely he checked all desire to cry his love into the ear of the
gentle nurse who sat with him for hours. He would not grant himself
the slightest deviation from the course he had sworn to follow, and
he suffered more from restraint than from fever. She found herself
longing for the moment when he would call her to him and pour out
the love that would not be denied. He never spoke but she hoped for
signs of surrender; he never looked at her that she did not expect