By Neva's waters

by John R. Carling

But Wilfrid thought it best to let his next thought remain unspoken. He recalled the Princess’s expressed aversion for Pauline, and though he doubted whether that aversion had any real justification, still it might tend to retard her recovery if, upon opening her eyes, the first person seen by her should be the one whom she regarded as her deadliest enemy.

So Pauline was permitted to continue her sleep in ignorance of what was happening.

While the doctor was busied in his work, Wilfrid, sitting in the corridor without, tried to picture the circumstances that had brought the Princess to the shores of Runö.

Though her clothing had felt quite dry to his touch, it bore the appearance of having been saturated, proof that the body of the Princess had been carried to the Silver Strand by the current of the Nevka.

That her plight was due neither to accident nor to attempted suicide was shown by the fact that her hands had been fixed behind her back in such a fashion as to preclude the possibility of their being self-tied. As she was still wearing her mask and domino, it scarcely admitted a doubt that, falling into the hands of the four hirelings, she had been flung into the river from the terrace of the Sumaroff gardens before the bal masque had come to an end.

Her white satin shoes, he had noticed, were deep stained with black ooze, matter not to be found on any part of the Silver Strand; hence her feet must have touched the bed of the river, once at least. As the Nevka is remarkably deep, it followed, in Wilfrid’s opinion, that her feet could not have descended so far, unless they had been attached to some heavy weight; this must have somehow slipped from its fastenings, with the result that the body of the Princess rose immediately to the surface. She was evidently versed, to a greater or less extent, in the art of swimming, for though bound hand and foot, and weighted by heavy clothing, she had contrived to maintain her breathing during a course of three miles. Swimming or floating as she best could, her head now above water and now below it, blinded by her mask that had slipped down over her eyes, battling desperately for life, she was borne along on the broad bosom of the rushing river till, by happy chance, she found her feet touching ground, and making her way through the lessening depth of water, ended her course by crawling up the shelving shore.

The sudden revulsion of joy at this escape from death proved too much for her; catalepsy supervened.

So, by a singular destiny, during the whole term of Wilfrid’s captivity, and for some time before and after it, the Princess had been on this island, separated from him by a distance of less than a quarter of a mile!

While he had been anxiously wondering what had become of her, there, upon the warm sandy shore, the Princess had lain all day long, nature alone attentive to her. The sunlight had dried her clothing, the breeze had played with the tangles of her golden hair, but till nightfall no denizen of the isle had drawn near. As for passing boats, their occupants, unless they had come very near the shore indeed, would have been unable to distinguish the silver grey of her costume from the silver grey of the hollow in which she lay.

Such was the train of thought pursued by Wilfrid during the suspense of waiting.