Notwithstanding the discomforts, however, and the past excitement, that was the first night in which Erica had really slept since the day at Fiesole, the first night unbroken by dreams about Brian, unhaunted by that blanched, rigid face, which had stamped its image indelibly upon her brain in the amphitheatre. She awoke, too, without that almost intolerable dread of the coming day which had hitherto made early morning hateful to her. It was everything to have an actual and practicable duty ready to hand, everything to have a busy present which would crowd out past and future, if only for a few hours. Also, the disaster had its comic side. Through the thin partition she could hear distinctly the complaints of the people in the next room. “How ARE we to get on with no soap? Do go and see if James has any.” Then came steps in the passage, and a loud knock at the opposite door. “James!” No answer. A furiously loud second knock. “JAMES!” “What's the matter? Another fire?” “Have you any soap?” “Any what?” sleepily. “Any SOAP?” Apparently James was not the happy possessor of that necessary of life for the steps retreated, and the bell was violently rung. “'What, no soap?'” exclaimed Erica, laughing; “'so he died, and she very imprudently married the barber, etc.'” The chamber maid came to answer the bell. “Send some one to the nearest shop, please, and get me some soap.” “And a sponge,” said another. “And a brush and comb,” said the first. “Oh! And some hair pins,” echoed the other. “Why, destruction! She doesn't understand a word! What's the German for soap? Give me 'Travel Talk.'” “It's burned.” “Well, then, show her the soap dish! Brush your hair with your hands! This is something between Drum Crambo and Mulberry Bush!” The whole day was not unlike a fatiguing game of hide-and-seek, and had it not been for Raeburn's great anxiety, it would have been exceedingly amusing. Everything was now inside the hotel again, but of course in the wildest confusion. The personal property of the visitors was placed, as it came to light, in the hall porter's little room; but things were to be met with in all directions. At ten o'clock, one of Raeburn's boots was found on the third story; in the evening, its fellow turned up in the entrance hall. Distracted tourists were to be seen in all directions, burrowing under heaps of clothes, or vainly opening cupboards and drawers, and the delight of finding even the most trifling possession was great. For hours Raeburn and Erica searched for the lost papers in vain. At length, in the evening, the coat was found; but, alas! The pocket was empty. “The envelope must have been taken out,” said Erica. “Was it directed?”