“Very well, very well,” said Isabella, relieved.  “But I must tell you they will not inquire for me.  I see you will not believe my story.  If you only would listen to me, I could tell it all to you.”

“That is the only condition I can make with you,” answered the Doctor, “that you will not tell your story,—­that you will never even think of it yourself.  I am a physician.  I know that it is not good for you to dwell upon such things.  Do not talk of them to me, nor to my wife or daughter.  Never speak of your story to any one who comes here.  It will be better for you.”

“Better for me,” said Isabella, dreamily, “that no one should know!  Perhaps so.  I am, in truth, captive to the White Prince; and if he should come and demand me,—­I should be half afraid to try the risks of another game.”

“Stop, stop!” exclaimed the Doctor, “you are already forgetting the condition.  I shall be obliged to take you away to some retreat, unless you promise me”——­

“Oh, I will promise you anything.” interrupted Isabella; “and you will see that I can keep my promise.”

Meanwhile Mrs. Lester and Celia had been holding a consultation.

“I think she must be some one in disguise,” suggested Celia.

Celia was one of the most unromantic of persons.  Both she and her mother had passed their lives in an unvarying routine of duties.  Neither of them had ever found time from their sewing even to read.  Celia had her books of history laid out, that she meant to take up when she should get through her work; but it seemed hopeless that this time would ever come.  It had never come to Mrs. Lester, and she was now fifty years old.  Celia had never read any novels.  She had tried to read them, but never was interested in them.  So she had a vague idea of what romance was, conceiving of it only as something quite different from her every-day life.  For this reason the unnatural event that was taking place this very day was gradually appearing to her something possible and natural.  Because she knew there was such a thing as romance, and that it was something quite beyond her comprehension, she was the more willing to receive this event quietly from finding it incomprehensible.

“We can let her stay here to-day, at least,” said Mrs. Lester.  “We will keep John at work in the front door-yard, in case we should want him.  And I will set Mrs. Anderson’s boy to weeding in the border; we can call him, if we should want to send for help.”

She was quite ashamed of herself, when she had uttered these words, and Isabella walked into the room, so composed, so refined in her manners.

“The Doctor says I may stay here a little while, if you will let me,” said Isabella, as she took Mrs. Lester’s hands.

“We will try to make you comfortable,” replied Mrs. Lester.

“He says you will teach me many things,—­I think he said, how to sew.”

“How to sew!  Was it possible she did not know how to sew?” Celia thought to herself, “How many servants she must have had, never to have learned how to sew, herself!”