It was as if the war had just made contact with our own shores, and never, not even when I was alone in the South German forest, had I felt so much the sport of a whimsical fate.

I only wished Peter could have been with me.

And so my thoughts fled to Peter in his prison camp, and I longed for another sight of my old friend as a girl longs for her lover.
Then I heard the hoot of an owl, and presently the sound of careful steps fell on my ear.

I could see nothing, but I guessed it was the Portuguese Jew, for I could hear the grinding of heavily nailed boots on the gritty rock.
The figure was very quiet.

It appeared to be sitting down, and then it rose and fumbled with the wall of the tower just beyond the boulder behind which I sheltered.