He advanced with bated breath, bent over and gazed at the sleeper's
face. One look, and his flashing first suspicion was a certainty.
This dark, youthful, faultlessly beautiful face was a woman's face. A
girl in velveteen shooting-jacket and pantaloons, handsome as some
dusky Indian princess, lay asleep before him.

Sir Everard Kingsland, in the last stage of bewilderment and amaze,
retreated precipitately and shut the door.

The instant the chamber door closed the mysterious young man raised
himself on his elbow, very wide awake, his handsome face lighted with a
triumphant smile.

"So," he said, "step the second has been taken, and Sir Everard has
discovered the sex of his preserver. As he is too delicate to disturb
a slumbering lady in disguise, the slumbering lady must disturb him!"

He--or rather she--leaped lightly off the bed, picked up the scarlet
bandanna, twisted scientifically the abundant black hair, bound it up
with the handkerchief, and crushed down over all the slouched hat.
Then, with the handsome face overshadowed, and all expression screwed
out of it, she opened the door, and saw, as she expected, the young
baronet in the passage.

He stopped at once at sight of her. He had been walking up and down,
with an exceedingly surprised and perplexed face; and now he stood with
his great, Saxon-blue eyes piercingly fixed upon the young person in
velveteen, whose jacket and trousers told one story, and whose
streaming dark hair told quite another.