“_She_ here!” muttered the Prince, confounded, “and preparing to fly.” “She has been living in concealment here since the night of the Sumaroff Masquerade. Now before you pronounce her guilty read this.”—She handed him a letter.—“It is a confession written by Nadia, once maid at the Inn of the Silver Birch.” By the light of the harvest moon Ouvaroff rapidly ran his eye over the document. His face wore at first an expression of surprise that finally merged into joy. “This establishes her innocence,” he said looking up from the paper, “at least as regards the affair at the inn.” And then, with a look of deep dismay, he added in a stammering voice, “And I—it was I who accused her to Alexander——” “Well, you can atone for that error by helping her now.” “But—but,” exclaimed the perplexed Prince, as he handed back the letter, “since she can now prove her innocence what need is there for flight?” “Because the Empress has lost her memory, and—But we’ve no time to lose. Come with me and I’ll explain matters as we go along.” He followed Pauline, and, as they went, she put him in possession of the chief events of the story, finishing her recital just as they reached the Silver Strand. Close to the shore with which it was connected by a broad plank, lay a handsome gondola, _The Pauline_, capable of holding eight or ten persons. Within it and resting upon their oars were four sturdy Finlanders, ready to undertake any charge, however perilous, at the bidding of their mistress. Marie had no more recollection of Ouvaroff than she had of the Czar, and gazed wonderingly at him as he knelt before her upon the sands. “Prince Ouvaroff,” whispered Wilfrid for her enlightenment. “Your Majesty,” said the Prince, “I—I have done you a grievous wrong, for which I know not how to atone. If the taking of my life can afford you any satisfaction it is yours to take.” The Empress put forth her hand and raised the Prince. “Aid me to escape, good Ouvaroff, and you are forgiven.” The Prince vowed that he would do all he could to further her wish, for he perceived that, till the recovery of her memory, it would be unjust and cruel to force her return to the Czar. For his part, zealous to retrieve his error, he desired nothing better than to die in her service. “As I am of like mind with you,” said Wilfrid, addressing Ouvaroff, “what is to prevent us from being the best of friends as once we were?” The Prince grasped Wilfrid’s outstretched hand and thus the two, so long estranged, were at one again. “Are you not coming with us?” said Marie to Pauline. The Baroness shook her head. “Have you the courage,” continued the other, “to face the Czar’s anger when he awakes and finds us gone?” “I must try to repair the wrong I have done. I remain to act as conciliator between you and the Czar.”