whitest of fine linen, with a hot bottle at her feet,
and a fire burning so brightly in the room that the brass bedstead
seemed here and there red-hot, then the sound sleep that she sorely
needed seemed further off than ever, for always she dreamt she was in
prison and condemned to die, till at length she feared to close her
eyes. But nothing had been forgotten; and Rachel's last memory of that
eventful day, and not less eventful night, was of a mild, foreign face
bending over her with a medicine-glass and a gentle word.

And the same good face and the same soft voice were waiting for her when
she awoke after many hours; the fire still burned brightly, also the
electric-light, though the blind was up and the window filled with a
dull November sky. It was a delicious awakening, recollection was so
slow to come. Rachel might have been ill for days. She experienced the
peace that is left by illness of sufficient gravity. But all she ailed
was a slight headache, quickly removed by an inimitable cup of tea, that
fortified her against the perplexing memories which now came swarming to
her mind. This morning, however, enlightenment was due, and meanwhile
Rachel received a hint, though a puzzling one, from the Swiss maid, as
to the new identity which had been thrust upon her for the time being in
lieu of her own.

"It was very sad for madame to lose all her things," cooed the girl, as
she busied herself about the room.

"It was irritating," Rachel owned, beginning to wonder how much the
other knew.

"But it was better than losing your life, madame!" the girl added with a
smile.

And now Rachel lay silent. Could this amiable young woman know all? In
one way Rachel rather hoped it was the case; it would be something to
have received so much kindness and attention, even though bought and
paid for, from one of her own sex who knew all there was to know, and
yet did not shrink from her. But the young woman's next words dismissed
this idea.

"When so many poor people were drowned!" said she. And the mystification
increased.

Presently there was a knock at the outer door, which the maid answered,
returning with Mr. Steele's card.

"Is he there?" asked Rachel, hastily.

"No, madame, but one of the servants is waiting for an answer. I think
there is something written on the back, madame."

Rachel read the harmless request on the back of the card; nothing could
have been better calculated to turn away suspicion of one sort