had slept?

I returned to the hotel where I had stayed on my arrival, a comfortable
place called the Phoenix, and lunched there alone. Both Felix, the Finn,
and my host, the wood-cutter, had received their _douceurs_ and left,
but to the last-named I had given instructions to return home at once
and report by telegraph any news of my lost one.

A thousand conflicting thoughts arose within me as I sat in that crowded
_salle-a-manger_ filled with a gobbling crowd of the commercial men of
Abo. I had, I recognized, now to deal with the most powerful man in that
country, and I suffered a distinct disadvantage by being in ignorance of
the reason he held that sweet English girl a prisoner. The tragedy of
the dastardly manner in which she had been willfully maimed caused my
blood to boil within me. I had never believed that in this civilized
twentieth century such things could be.

Michael Boranski had given his pledge to assist me, yet he had most
plainly explained to me his fears. The Baron was intent upon again
getting Elma into his power. Was it at his orders, I wondered, that the
sweet-faced girl had been deprived of speech and hearing? Had she fallen
an innocent victim to his infamous scheming?

About me men were eating strange dishes and talking in Finnish, while
others were smoking and drinking their vodka; but I was in no mood for
observation. My only thought was of she who was now lost to me.

Why had she disappeared without warning I was at loss to imagine, yet I
could only surmise that her flight had been compulsory. Some women
possess a mysterious sense of intuition, a curious and indescribable
faculty of knowing when evil threatens them, that presents a strange and
puzzling problem to our scientists. It is unaccountable, and yet many
women possess it in a very marked degree. Was it, therefore, possible
that Elma had awakened, and being warned of her peril had fled without
arousing us? The suggestion was possible, but I feared improbable.

Another very curious feature in the affair was the sudden manner in
which Michael Boranski had exerted his power and influence in order to
render me that service. He had actually bribed the guards of Kajana; he
had instructed the faithful Felix, he had provided our boat, and he had
ordered the nun to open the water-gate to me. Why?

There was, I felt convinced, some hidden motive in all that sudden and
marked friendliness. That he really hated the English I had seen plainl