“My dear girl, please pack one change of clothing into a little hand satchel for me, and put in the little case with my diamond jewelry. Perhaps I ought not to take Mrs. Howard’s gifts, since she hates me now, but I am poor and friendless, and I must sell them to get away from Italy. As for you, my good little friend, take this ring for my sake,” and she drew a solitaire diamond from her finger and held it out, but the good girl refused it. “It is too costly, and you will need it to buy bread some day, perhaps,” she said, with tears in her honest eyes. “But I will take that little turquois lace pin, if you please, to remember you by.” Fair gladly gave her the pretty trifle she desired, then she hurriedly dressed herself in the things Betty had just brought--a plain brown cashmere dress, small poke bonnet, and thick veil. Betty often wore this costume on little errands for her mistress, and as both were of about the same size, they made an excellent disguise for Fair, who kissed Betty gratefully, drew the thick veil closely over her face, took the little satchel in her gloved hand, and stepped boldly out into the hall. It lacked ten minutes yet of the time accorded Prince Gonzaga for the interview with his wife. Betty opened the door to him presently, with a frightened face, and gravely presented the two notes. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE LOVER’S RESOLUTIONS. Three weeks passed before Bayard Lorraine knew of the flight of Fair from the villa. For more than two weeks he had been critically ill, and it required all the strength of a superb constitution, combined with the best medical skill and nursing, to bring him through the terrible ordeal that had followed upon the shock of that night when Fair had made the bitter confession that she was Prince Gonzaga’s wife. For a time in the delirium of fever he had entirely forgotten the past, but after two weeks he began to grow slowly better, and then memory returned with all its bitter pain. Mrs. Howard was at his bedside daily, although she was far from looking well herself. The events of the last month had told severely on her health, and she grew more pale and delicate-looking daily, while her harassing cough had returned with almost the same severity that characterized it in foggy London. When Bayard first revived to full consciousness and found her sitting by his side, he tried to question her about Fair, but she gravely tabooed the subject. “Doctor Gavinzel left strict orders that you must not talk, nor be talked to, on exciting subjects,” she said, and for a week longer he was forced to endure the suspense and bitterness of not knowing the fate of the girl for whose sake he was lying here so ill, with only bitter memories as his reward for having saved her life. He wondered often if she had become reconciled to her husband and gone away with him.