“Did you see me on board the Lola?” I wrote.

“Yes.  But I could not warn you, although I had overheard their intentions.  They took me ashore when you had gone, to Siena.  After three days I found myself deaf and dumb—­I was made so.”

Her allegation startled me.  She had been purposely afflicted!

“Who did it?”

“A doctor, I suppose.  They put me under chloroform.”

“Who?”

“People who said they were my friends.”

I turned to the woman in the religious habit, and cried—­

“Do you see what she has written?  She has been maimed by some friends who intended that the secret she holds should be kept.  They feared to kill her, so they bribed a doctor to deliberately operate upon her so that she could neither speak nor hear.  And now they are driving her to suicide!”

“M’sieur, I am astounded!” declared the nun.  “I have always believed that she was not in her right mind, yet assuredly she seems to be as sane as I am, only willfully mutilated by some pretended friend who determined that no further word should pass her lips.”

“A shameful mutilation has been committed upon this poor defenseless girl!” I cried in anger.  “And I will make it my duty to discover and punish the perpetrators of it.”

“Ah, m’sieur.  Do not act rashly, I pray of you,” the woman said seriously, placing her hand upon my arm.  “Recollect you are in Finland—­where the Baron Oberg is all-powerful.”

“I do not fear the Baron Oberg,” I exclaimed.  “If necessary, I will appeal to the Czar himself.  Mademoiselle is kept here for the reason that she is in possession of some secret.  She must be released—­I will take the responsibility.”

“But you must not try to release her from here.  It would mean death to you both.  The Castle of Kajana tells no secrets of those who die within its walls, or of those cast headlong into its waters and forgotten.”

Again I turned to Elma, who stood in anxious wonder of the subject of our conversation, and had suddenly taken the old nun’s hand and kissed it affectionately, perhaps in order to show me that she trusted her.

Then upon the paper I wrote—­

“Is the Baron Oberg your uncle?”

She shook her head in the negative, showing that the dreaded Governor-General of Finland had only acted a part towards her in which she had been compelled to concur.

“Who is Philip Hornby?” I inquired, writing rapidly.

“My friend—­at least, I believe so.”

Friend!  And I had all along believed him to be an adventurer and an enemy!

“Why did he go to Leghorn?” I asked.

“For a secret purpose.  There was a plot to kill you, only I managed to thwart them,” were the words she printed with much labor.

“Then I owe my life to you,” I wrote.  “And in return I will do my utmost to rescue you from here, if you do not fear to place yourself in my hands.”