"Oh no, ma'am. They always go home at night. They've probably left already. The telephone's right in the studio by the front door. Yes, that's it." So they had gone! With a sensation of reprieve, Anne crossed the empty room quickly and got into communication with Regina. Half an hour later she was installed in the raised alcove off the studio. But it would be days before Anne would see her own house again. Days in which she and the doctor and the nurse would wrestle with fiery death for the life of Alexis Petrovskey. CHAPTER XII THE HEALING VISION The heavy glass door rang beneath the tap of impatient knuckles. Aroused abruptly from fitful unconsciousness into which she had drifted unawares, Anne sat up in bed and pressed both hands to her pounding heart. "Yes, yes, what is it?" she cried in muffled terror. Was Alexis perhaps dying? "Don't be scared. It's only me, Miss Wilson," replied the nurse's rather uncouth voice. "Mr. Petrovskey is conscious and I thought you'd better come." Anne sprang out of bed and donned slippers and dressing gown. "Is he asking for me?" Her voice was unsteady, as she opened the door and went out into the studio. "No ma'am, he seems quite rational for the moment. Asked for a drink of water. But I thought----" "Yes, yes," whispered Anne. She brushed by the woman impatiently. "You were quite right to call me." She stumbled across the shadowy studio and entered the dimly-lit bedroom beyond. Hair ruffled above the unshaven young face, Alexis' eyes stared into vacancy. Gliding forward, Anne slipped on to her knees by the bed. "Alexis," she murmured beneath her breath. "Alexis," she repeated barely louder than the pounding of her own heart. The sunken eyes turned slowly and met hers in a blur of bewilderment. "Anne?" he whispered, above his rough breathing. "Anne?" Blinded by a mist of tears, she nodded at him reassuringly. "Yes, dear, it is I. It is Anne." The sound of her voice seemed to puzzle him. He frowned helplessly. The uneven breathing broke suddenly, then became more clamorous than before. "Strange, you have never spoken before? And your hair--your hair?" He leaned towards her abruptly, and placed his hand upon the hair which streamed about her shoulders in a golden rain. "Your hair--I have never dreamed of it like this before to-night!" His fingers plunged into the gleaming tendrils. "It actually feels alive." He shuddered violently and closed his eyes. Anne feared he was losing consciousness again. Loosening the clutching fingers from her hair, she placed his hand upon her face. "This is not a dream, Alexis," she murmured, lips against his parched palm. "Am I not real? Can you not feel as well as hear me speak to you?" At the moist pressure of Anne's lips, a second shudder coursed through Alexis.