The memory of the shallow pretence tickled Paul so that he laughed; and then he half fainted in pleuritic agony. After the interlude with the devil he could recollect little. He was going up to London to make his fortune. A princess was waiting for him at the golden gate of London, with a fortune piled up in a coach-and-six. But being very sick and dizzy, he thought he would sit down and rest in a great green cathedral whose doors stood invitingly open ... and now he found himself in the hospital ward. Sometimes he felt a desire to question the blue-and-white nurse, but it seemed too much trouble to move his lips. Then in a flash came the solution of the puzzle, and he chuckled to himself over his cunning. Of course it was a dream. The nurse was a dream-nurse, who wanted to make him believe that she was real. But she was not clever enough. The best way to pay her out for her deception was to take no notice of her whatsoever. So comforted, he would go to sleep. At last one morning he woke, a miserably weak but perfectly sane man, and he turned his head from side to side and looked wonderingly at the fresh and exquisite room. A bowl of Morning Glow roses stood by his bedside, gracious things for fevered eyes to rest upon. A few large photographs of famous pictures hung on the walls. In front of him was the Santa Barbara of Palma Vecchio, which he recognized with a smile. He had read about it, and knew that the original was in Venice. Knowledge of things like that was comforting. The nurse, noticing the change, came up to him and spoke in a soothing voice. "Are you feeling better?" "I think so," said Paul. "I suppose I've been very ill." "Very ill," said the nurse. "This can't be a hospital?" "Oh, no. It's the house of some very kind, good friends. You don't know them," she added quickly, seeing him knit a perplexed brow. "You stumbled into their garden and fainted. And they're very anxious for you to get well and strong." "Who are they?" asked Paul. "Colonel and Miss Winwood. They will be so glad to see you better--at least Miss Winwood will; the Colonel's not at home." She lifted his head gently and smoothed his pillows, and ordained silence. Presently the doctor came, and spoke kindly. "You've had a narrow shave, my friend, and you're not out of the wood yet," said he. "And you'll have to go slow and take things for granted for some time." Then came Miss Winwood, whom he recognized as the puzzling but pleasant nurse out of uniform. "I don't know how to thank you for taking me in, a stranger, like this," said Paul. She smiled. "It's Providence, not me, that you must thank. You might have been taken ill by the roadside far away from anybody. Providence guided you here." "Providence or Destiny," murmured Paul, closing his eyes. It was absurd to feel so weak. "That's a theological question on which we won't enter," laughed Miss Winwood. "Anyhow, thank God, you're better."