So, by a singular destiny, during the whole term of Wilfrid’s captivity, and for some time before and after it, the Princess had been on this island, separated from him by a distance of less than a quarter of a mile! While he had been anxiously wondering what had become of her, there, upon the warm sandy shore, the Princess had lain all day long, nature alone attentive to her. The sunlight had dried her clothing, the breeze had played with the tangles of her golden hair, but till nightfall no denizen of the isle had drawn near. As for passing boats, their occupants, unless they had come very near the shore indeed, would have been unable to distinguish the silver grey of her costume from the silver grey of the hollow in which she lay. Such was the train of thought pursued by Wilfrid during the suspense of waiting. By means of Vera he was kept informed as to the state of the patient. After a lapse of two hours a turn for the better was announced; each succeeding report became more and more favourable, till at last, his work apparently over, Beauvais himself made his appearance, his face expressive of pleasure at having come off victor in his wrestle with death. “A tough struggle,” he said, “but we’ve won it. Talk? No, she didn’t talk much. Wanted to, but I enjoined silence. She’s sleeping peacefully now, a natural, healthful sleep. She’ll wake up as bright as a new silver rouble.” This was all Wilfrid wanted to know. With a sense of relief he bade the doctor good-night, and, under the guidance of one of the maids, repaired to the room appointed him. Upon Wilfrid’s departure Beauvais went back to the Princess’s bed-chamber and dismissed the second maid, by which act Vera was left the sole attendant. Standing at some distance from the bed the doctor beckoned her to approach. She came forward on tip-toe. Keeping a watchful eye upon the sleeper, Beauvais said in a whisper:— “I saw that you recognised her, and cannot sufficiently commend your prudence in keeping a silent tongue. Those who attempted her life may attempt it again, should they find that their plan miscarried. Hence we must exercise caution, and keep her name and whereabouts a secret. So far you and I are the only two to recognise her. The Baroness will make a third, and perhaps we shall have to admit Lord Courtenay into our confidence, but that’s my business; yours is to be mute and to know nothing. It may be that our patient herself for reasons of her own will wish to keep her identity a secret, even from Lord Courtenay. In such case not a word to him. You may be quite sure that I should not give you this advice were it not for the good of the Baroness. Now show me where you have put our patient’s clothing.” Vera indicated the place, and the doctor, walking thither, proceeded to examine the Princess’s garments. Discovering a pocket within the domino, he placed his hand within and drew forth a sealed envelope, crumpled and discoloured. Its exterior was a blank.