The third week had nearly elapsed, and as yet no one was allowed to see the patient.  
For a time Stephen was inclined to be chagrined.  It is not pleasant to have even the most generous and benevolent intentions thwarted; and she had set her mind on making much of this man whom fate and his own bravery had thrown athwart her life.  But in these days Stephen was in some ways a changed woman.  She had so much that she wished to forget and that she would have given worlds to recall, that she could not bear even to think of any militant or even questioning attitude.  She even began to take herself to task more seriously than she had ever done with regard to social and conventional duties.  When she found her house full of so many and so varied guests, it was borne in upon her that such a position as her own, with such consequent duties, called for the presence of some elder person of her own sex and of her own class.
 
No better proof of Stephen’s intellectual process and its result could be adduced than her first act of recognition: she summoned an elderly lady to live with her and matronise her house.  This lady, the widow of a distant relation, complied with all the charted requirements of respectability, and had what to Stephen’s eyes was a positive gift: that of minding her own business and not interfering in any matter whatever.  Lady de Lannoy, she felt, was her own master and quite able to take care of herself.  Her own presence was all that convention required.  So she limited herself to this duty, with admirable result to all, herself included.  After a few days Stephen would almost forget that she was present.
 
Mr. Hilton kept bravely to his undertaking.  He never gave even a hint of his hopes of the restoration of sight; and he was so assiduous in his attention that there arose no opportunity of accidental discovery of the secret.  He knew that when the time did come he would find himself in a very unpleasant situation.  Want of confidence, and even of intentional deceit, might be attributed to him; and he would not be able to deny nor explain.  He was, however; determined to stick to his word.  If he could but save his patient’s sight he would be satisfied.
 
But to Stephen all the mystery seemed to grow out of its first shadowy importance into something real.  There was coming to her a vague idea that she would do well not to manifest any concern, any anxiety, any curiosity.  Instinct was at work; she was content to trust it, and wait.
 
One forenoon she received by messenger a letter which interested her much.  So much that at first she was unwilling to show it to anyone, and took it to her own boudoir to read over again in privacy.  She had a sort of feeling of expectancy with regard to it; such as sensitive natures feel before a thunderstorm.  The letter was natural enough in itself.  It was dated that morning from Varilands, a neighbouring estate which marched with Lannoy to the south.
 
‘My Dear Madam,—Will you pardon me a great liberty, and allow my little girl and me to come to see you to-day?  I shall explain when we meet.  When I say that we are Americans and have come seven thousand miles for the purpose, you will, I am sure, understand that it is no common interest which has brought us, and it will be the excuse for our eagerness.  I should write you more fully, but as the matter is a confidential one I thought it would be better to speak.  We shall be doubly grateful if you will have the kindness to see us alone.  I write as a mother in making this appeal to your kindness; for my child—she is only a little over eight years old—has the matter so deeply in her heart that any disappointment or undue delay would I fear affect her health.  We presume to take your kindness for granted and will call a little before twelve o’clock.
 
‘I may perhaps say (in case you should feel any hesitation as to my bona fides) that my husband purchased some years ago this estate.  We were to have come here to live in the early summer, but were kept in the West by some important business of his.
 
‘Believe me, yours sincerely,
‘Alice Stonehouse.’
 
Stephen had, of course, no hesitation as to receiving the lady.  Even had there been objection, the curiosity she had in common with her kind would have swept difficulties aside.  She gave orders that when Mrs. Stonehouse arrived with her daughter they were to be shown at once into the Mandarin drawing-room.  That they would probably stay for lunch.  She would see them alone.
 
A little before twelve o’clock Mrs. Stonehouse and Pearl arrived, and were shown into the room where Lady de Lannoy awaited them.  The high sun, streaming in from the side, shone on her beautiful hair, making it look like living gold.  When the Americans came in they were for an instant entranced by her beauty.  One glance at Mrs. Stonehouse’s sweet sympathetic face was enough to establish her in Stephen’s good graces forever.  As for Pearl, she was like one who has unexpectedly seen a fairy or a goddess.  She had been keeping guardedly behind her mother, but on the instant she came out fearlessly into the open.
 
Stephen advanced quickly and shook hands with Mrs. Stonehouse, saying heartily:
 
‘I am so glad you have come.  I am honoured in being trusted.’
 
‘Thank you so much, Lady de Lannoy.  I felt that you would not mind, especially when you know why we came.  Indeed I had no choice.  Pearl insisted on it; and when Pearl is urgent—we who love her have all to give way.  This is Pearl!’
 
In an instant Stephen was on her knees by the beautiful child.
 
The red rosebud of a mouth was raised to her kiss, and the little arms went lovingly round her neck and clung to her.  As the mother looked on delighted she thought she had never seen a more beautiful sight.  The two faces so different, and yet with so much in common.  The red hair and the flaxen, both tints of gold.  The fine colour of each heightened to a bright flush in their eagerness.  Stephen was so little used to children, and yet loved them so, that all the womanhood in her, which is possible motherhood, went out in an instant to the lovely eager child.  She felt the keenest pleasure when the little thing, having rubbed her silk-gloved palms over her face, and then holding her away so that she could see her many beauties, whispered in her ear:
 
‘How pretty you are!’
 
‘You darling!’ whispered Stephen in reply.  ‘We must love each other very much, you and I!’
 
When the two ladies had sat down, Stephen holding Pearl in her lap, Mrs. Stonehouse said:
 
‘I suppose you have wondered, Lady de Lannoy, what has brought us here?’
 
‘Indeed I was very much interested.’
 
‘Then I had better tell you all from the beginning so that you may understand.’  She proceeded to give the details of the meeting with Mr. Robinson on the Scoriac.  Of how Pearl took to him and insisted on making him her special friend; of the terrible incident of her being swept overboard, and of the gallant rescue.  Mrs. Stonehouse was much moved as she spoke.  All that fearful time, of which the minutes had seemed years of agony, came back to her so vividly at times that she could hardly speak.  Pearl listened too; all eagerness, but without fear.  Stephen was greatly moved and held Pearl close to her all the time, as though protecting her.  When the mother spoke of her feeling when she saw the brave man struggling up and down the giant waves, and now and again losing sight of him in the trough of the sea, she put out one hand and held the mother’s with a grasp which vibrated in sympathy, whilst the great tears welled over in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.  Pearl, watching her keenly, said nothing, but taking her tiny cambric handkerchief from her pocket silently wiped the tears away, and clung all the tighter.  It was her turn to protect now!
 
Pearl’s own time for tears came when her mother began to tell this new and sympathetic friend of how she became so much attached to her rescuer that when she knew he would not be coming to the West with them, but going off to the wildest region of the far North, her health became impaired; and that it was only when Mr. Robinson promised to come back to see her within three years that she was at all comforted.  And how, ever since, she had held the man in her heart and thought of him every day; sleeping as well as waking, for he was a factor in her dreams!
 
Stephen was more than ever moved, for the child’s constancy touched her as well as her grief.  She strained the little thing in her strong young arms, as though the fervency of her grasp would bring belief and comfort; as it did.  She in her turn dried the others’ eyes.  Then Mrs. Stonehouse went on with her story:
 
‘We were at Banff, high up in the Rockies, when we read of the burning and wrecking of the Dominion.  It is, as you know, a Montreal boat of the Allan Line; so that naturally there was a full telegraphic report in all the Canadian papers.  When we read of the brave man who swam ashore with the line and who was unable to reach the port but swam out across the bay, Pearl took it for granted that it must have been “The Man,” as she always called Mr. Robinson.  When by the next paper we learned that the man’s name was Robinson nothing would convince her that it was not her Mr. Robinson.  My husband, I may tell you, had firmly come to the same conclusion.  He had ever since the rescue of our child always looked for any news from Alaska, whither he knew Mr. Robinson had gone.  He learned that up away in the very far North a new goldfield had been discovered by a man of the same name; and that a new town, Robinson City, began to grow up in the wilderness, where the condition of life from the cold was a new experience to even the most hardy gold miners.  Then we began to think that the young hero who had so gallantly saved our darling was meeting some of his reward . . . !’
 
She paused, her voice breaking.  Stephen was in a glow of holy feeling.  Gladness, joy, gratitude, enthusiasm; she knew not which.  It all seemed like a noble dream which was coming true.  Mrs. Stonehouse went on:-
 
‘From Californian papers of last month we learned that Robinson, of Robinson City, had sailed for San Francisco, but had disappeared when the ship touched at Portland; and then the whole chain of his identity seemed complete.  Nothing would satisfy Pearl but that we should come ............