e police. There he made his statement, and Gualtier was handed over
to the authorities, and put in prison on a charge of attempted murder
committed in Italian waters.

Gualtier was put into a small chamber, with whitewashed walls, narrow
iron-grated window, and solid oaken doors, in which there was a small
round opening. There was an iron bed here and a chair. Gualtier flung
himself upon the bed, and buried his head in his hands. He felt as if
he had reached the verge of despair; yet,-even at that moment, it was
not of himself that he thought. Far above his distress and his
despair arose the power of his love, and thus turned his thoughts
toward Hilda. Was she on her way out? Was she going to ruin? Or was
she still at her hotel? She had not said for certain that she was
going to the villa on that day; she said that she was going on that
day or the next. Perhaps she had postponed it, and reserved her visit
for the next. It seemed probable. If it were indeed so, then there
was yet time to make an effort to save her. How could he make such an
effort? How could he gain communication with her?

He rose from his bed, and watched through the opening of his door.
There was a guard outside, who paced backward and forward solemnly.
Gualtier's knowledge of human nature, and of Italian human nature in
particular, suggested to him a way by which he might send a message.
After some delay he signaled to the guard, who, after looking around
cautiously, came up to his door.

"I want to send a message," said Gualtier, in the best Italian that
he could muster. "It is very important. It is to a friend. I will pay
well."

The guard looked interested.

"Where is your friend?" he asked.

"In the city. Can I have the message sent? I will pay two hundred
piastres if I get an answer."

The guard hesitated.

"Wait," said he, after a few moments' thought; "I will see."

He went away, and was gone for about twenty minutes. When he returned
he exchanged a glance of profound intelligence with Gualtier, and
said:

"I think it can be done, signore."

At this Gaultier went back, and, tearing a leaf out of his
pocket-book, penciled the following words:

"A miracle has happened. _She has come to life again_. It was no
phantom, but _herself_ that appeared to you and me. I am in prison.
Do not go out to the villa. Fly and save yourself."

Folding this up, he took it to the guard.

"If you bring back an answer to this," said he, "you shall