Pauline’s island of Runö was situated near the entrance of one of the deltoid arms of the Neva. Standing upon the Silver Strand and looking eastwards Wilfrid had before him a long perspective of broad water, its shores on each side dark with woods of birch and pine. Amid this night of groves gleamed many a white villa, whose twinkling lights were mirrored in the water. The beauty of the night had drawn the dwellers forth; gondolas glided to and fro; the laughter of men and women, mingling with the sweet strains of the guitar, came, mellowed by the distance, over the smooth, blue water.
“A midsummer night’s dream,” murmured Wilfrid.
Turning to his companion he found that his eyes were set, not upon the river-view, but upon a part of the Silver Strand itself, and following the direction of the doctor’s gaze, Wilfrid saw, some distance away, and a few feet from the water’s edge, a recumbent figure bearing resemblance to that of a woman.
She was lying at full length upon her left side, her face being turned from them, lying in a somewhat singular attitude, Wilfrid thought; for both arms were extended behind her back in such fashion as almost to suggest that they were tied at the wrists; distance and the twilight prevented him from seeing clearly whether such were the case.
“One of the Baroness’s girls asleep?” said Beauvais, taking the cigar from his teeth. “Parbleu! she chooses an odd hour and an odd place for sleeping.”
Thinking to rouse her, he gave utterance to a shout, loud enough, one would have thought, to awaken the soundest sleeper.
The woman did not stir.
The doctor looked at Wilfrid; Wilfrid looked at the doctor. There was something weird in the sight of this lonely figure as it lay there, silent and motionless, in the ghostly starlight, with the river plashing faintly at its feet, above its head the night-wind sighing through the pines.
Strange that both men hesitated to take the few paces necessary to solve their doubts!