"His name—oh, remember your oath! This name is Floris van der Hoist."
"Oh, do not weep thus, girl, for you make me weep too!"
"You weep! You weep for me!" cried Marguerite, in amazement. "Ah, you are good! And I thought the women of your rank were unkind."
"You were mistaken," replied Agnes, mastering her emotion. "I will help this Mynheer van der Hoist. Is he with you? Send him to me at once."
She had scarcely done speaking when a man's step was heard in the passage. The door opened, and Felix came in.
He stopped, astonished. Agnes had sprung to her feet. Marguerite attempted to do the same, but fell back.
"Felix, this lady is ill. She cannot reach her room. She came in here. You must help her." The room was full of the smell of "eau de Reine."
Flattered and pleased, Felix lifted the fair freight and bodily bore it into the adjoining apartment. Then, summoning the chambermaid, he at once led back his sister.
"Do you know who that lady is?"
"No—Felix—oh, Felix!—do you?"
"It is the little French hair-dresser from Haarlem. Her mother came with the officers—the 'marchande de beauté.'"
"I care not. What of Floris?"
"Nothing. It is past ten, and the ship sails before midnight. I suppose he has gone to the Kalverstraat to make purchases. But he must come back to this hotel for his luggage."
"True!" She pushed him towards the door. "Go, Felix—go to the shops—stop him—find him!"
"I'm sure I'm right," replied the youth, delighted with his own sagacity. But he turned in the doorway. "Agnes, you have been weeping!"
"Who would not weep? Go, Felix, but be back in an hour."
"Supposing I were to go to the customs?" he suggested.
"On no account do that!" she cried. "Your loitering there would be sure to arouse suspicion. If you do not find him, come back here at the last moment. As you say, he must return for his luggage."
She almost thrust him out. Then she came back, and was about to sink on the settee lately occupied by Marguerite. But she drew away and fell upon another couch, burying her face in the cushions in the darkness.
The doctor was in the next room, with the man who had brought him—Floris.
"Removal of any kind is out of the question," said the physician, "Surely you can see that?"
"Yes, I can—now," replied Floris, both sullenly and sadly. "I had hoped against hope."
"You were wishing to continue your journey?" inquired the doctor, curiously.
"Oh no; I was anxious to move to a private house."
The physician grunted such words as "immovable," "absolute repose"; he squeaked querulous protest, for the invalid had lifted herself on one arm.
"Floris!" she gasped, eagerly, "go into the next room. Speak to the lady there. Ask her to do as she promised me. She is willing to help us."
"She? Who? What lady?"
"A strange lady. A good woman. You can trust her. Go."
The young man obeyed. His heart, from its despair, gave a sudden leap of unexplained expectation. He hastened to the adjoining apartment, knocked, and entered.
A woman had half lifted herself on a couch in a dark corner. She came forward to the dim light, then shrank back.
"Agnes!" he exclaimed.
"Yes," she answered.
"Agnes, I do not understand. What has passed?" he stammered, wretchedly.
"You must allow me to explain."
"There is no time for explanations," she said, measuring the words she had prepared. "Nor do I think they are necessary. My brother is here to stop you."
"The blackguard!"
"Do not let us scatter epithets. I have put him off the scent."
"It is no use. I am lost, anyhow. I have but an hour left. Not a soul can I trust."
"You can trust me."
"Oh, Agnes—my darling." He had run forward; she put him away.
"I will be your—the woman you require. I ask no questions. I"—her voice
