potion. Everything had been
tried, even to artificial respiration and the injection of hot coffee.
Having emitted this pronouncement, the great specialist from Manchester
Square left. It was one o'clock in the morning. By one of those strange
and futile coincidences which sometimes startle us by their subtle
significance, the specialist met Theodore Racksole and his captive as
they were entering the hotel. Neither had the least suspicion of the
other's business.

In the State bedroom the small group of watchers surrounded the bed. The
slow minutes filed away in dreary procession. Another hour passed. Then
the figure on the bed, hitherto so motionless, twitched and moved; the
lips parted.

'There is hope,' said the doctor, and administered a stimulant which was
handed to him by Nella.

In a quarter of an hour the patient had regained consciousness. For the
ten thousandth time in the history of medicine a sound constitution had
accomplished a miracle impossible to the accumulated medical skill of
centuries.

In due course the doctor left, saying that Prince Eugen was 'on the
high road to recovery,' and promising to come again within a few hours.
Morning had dawned. Nella drew the great curtains, and let in a flood of
sunlight.

Old Hans, overcome by fatigue, dozed in a chair in a far corner of the
room.

The reaction had been too much for him. Nella and Prince Aribert looked
at each other. They had not exchanged a word about themselves, yet each
knew what the other had been thinking. They clasped hands with a perfect
understanding. Their brief love-making had been of the silent kind, and
it was silent now. No word was uttered. A shadow had passed from over
them, but only their eyes expressed relief and joy.

'Aribert!' The faint call came from the bed. Aribert went to the
bedside, while Nella remained near the window.

'What is it, Eugen?' he said. 'You are better now.'

'You think so?' murmured the other. 'I want you to forgive me for all
this, Aribert. I must have caused you an intolerable trouble. I did it
so clumsily; that is what annoys me. Laudanum was a feeble expedient;
but I could think of nothing else, and I daren't ask anyone for advice.
I was obliged to go out and buy the stuff for myself. It was all very
awkward.

But, thank goodness, it has not been ineffectual.'

'What do you mean, Eugen? You are better. In a day or so you will be
perfectly recovered.'

'I am dying,' said Eugen quietly. 'Do