When nabob Hugh Johnstone's carriage dashed swiftly down the crowded Chandnee Chouk, on its return to the marble house, the driver and footman, as well as the slim syce runners, were alarmed at the old man's appearance when he was half led, half carried out of his luxurious vehicle. The staggering sufferer reached his rooms and was surrounded by a bevy of frightened menials, while the equippage dashed away in search of old Doctor McMorris, the surgeon par excellence of Delhi. A second butler had hastily darted away to the Delhi Club with an imperative summons for Major Alan Hawke, who had, unfortunately, left for the day.

With a shudder of affright Mademoiselle Justine Delande had slipped into a booth on the great thoroughfare, only to feel safe when she glided into Ram Lal Singh's jewel shop, to be swiftly hurried into the rear reception room by the argus-eyed merchant, who had noted the swiftly pa.s.sing carriage. Her womanly conscience was as tender as her heart.

"Lock the door, Ram Lal!" cried Alan Hawke, "We will be in the paG.o.da in the garden. Let no one pa.s.s this door, on your life!" When they were alone, Major Alan Hawke led the trembling woman away to to the hidden bower, where Ram Lal had hospitably spread a feast of India's choicest cakes and dainties.

Only there, in that haven of safety, dared the excited Justine to falter. "If you knew what I have suffered! He drove almost over me as I crossed the Chandnee Chouk, and I had a struggle to leave Nadine. There is the curse of an old family sorrow there. The father and daughter are arrayed against each other."

"Forget it all, my dear Justine," murmured Alan Hawke. "Here you are hidden now and perfectly safe with me. Never mind those people now. Let us only think of each other. You were simply matchless in your behavior at the house."

"Oh, I fear him so! I fear that hard old man!" whispered the timid woman, as she dropped her eyes before Alan Hawke's ardent glances. He had noted the growing touch of coquetry in her dress; he measured the tell-tale quiver of her voice, and he smiled tenderly when she shyly showed him the diamond bracelet, securely hidden upon her left arm.

"I put this on to show you that I do trust you," she murmured. "And I wear it every night. It seems to give me courage." The happy Major pressed her hand warmly.

"Let it be a secret sign between us, an omen of brighter days for all of us. Stand by me and I will stand by you to the last. We will all meet happily yet by the beautiful sh.o.r.es of Lake Leman!"

In half an hour, Justine Delande was completely at her ease, for well the artful renegade knew how to circle around the dangerous subject nearest his heart--the secret history of Nadine Johnstone's mother.

He had dropped easily into the wooing and confidential intimacy which lulled Justine Delande into a fool's paradise of happy content.

She was sinking away and now losing her will and ident.i.ty in his own, without one warning qualm of conscience. For Alan Hawke's dearly bought knowledge of womankind now stood him in great stead.

"One single familiarity, one questionable liberty, and this cold-pulsed Heloise would fly forever. She must be left to her day dreams and to the work of a sweet self-deception," he artfully mused. They were interrupted but a moment, when Ram Lal Singh glided to the door of the paG.o.da.

"I must now go to the bungalow to see Madame Louison and have her approve her horses and carriage. She has sent word that she will drive this afternoon. And," he whispered breathlessly, "Old Johnstone is very sick. He has sent all over the city to find you, and now his own private man bids me go there at once. He must have me, if he can't find you."

Major Hawke mused a moment. "Give me the keys! Put your best man on guard to watch for any intruders! Go first to the Mem-Sahib! Keep your mouth shut! Remember about me and--" He pointed to the governess, now timidly cowering in a shadowy corner. "Let the old devil wait till you are done with her! Pump the old wretch! Find out what he wants! Say that I went off for a day's jaunt!" Alan Hawke smiled grimly as he seated himself tenderly at Justine Delande's side. "Old Hugh did not last long!

They must have had their first skirmish. If he is a coward at heart, she will rule him with a rod of iron. What is her hold over him? I warrant that the jade will never tell me. She will fight him to the death in silence, and try to hoodwink me. We will see, my lady! We will see!"

"Now, Justine," softly said the renegade, "tell me all of the story of this strange father and daughter! Ram Lal has reconnoitered! We are safe! Both Hugh and his daughter are at home!"

The rea.s.sured governess frankly opened her heart to her wary listener.

It was an hour before the recital was finished, and Miss Justine was gayly chatting over the impromptu breakfast, when the details of these last stormy days at Delhi were described. "I cannot make it all out. She is certainly his legitimate daughter. He is crafty, covetous, miserly, and yet he lives in a scornful splendor here. Both my sister and myself look forward to learning the whole story through my visit here. Of course, on our arrival, Nadine and myself wondered not at the gloomy solitude of the marble house. But the affronts to society, the practical imprisonment of this girl, this chilling silence as to her mother, have roused her brave young heart. Not a picture, not a single memento, not even a jewel, not a tress of hair, not even a pa.s.sing mention of where that shadowy mother lies buried!" the Swiss woman sighed. "He is a brute and tyrant--a man of a stony heart and an iron hand!"

"You have never been made his confidante?" earnestly asked the Major.

"Never!" promptly replied Justine. "Beyond a grave courtesy and the curt answers to our reports, with liberal payment, we know no more now than when the prattling child of four was brought to us.

"She has no childish memories of her own. I have overheard all the unhappy scenes of the last month. There are the tearful prayers of Nadine, then the old man's harsh threats, and then only his cold avoidance follows. Strange to say--gentle and warm-hearted, formed for love, and yearning to know of the dear mother whom she has fondly pictured in her dreams, Nadine Johnstone has all the courage of a soldier's daughter, and her fearless bravery of soul is as inflexible as steel. She returns frankly to the contest, and his only refuge is the wall of cold silence that he has built up between them!"

"Has he tried to punish her in any way--to intimidate her?" eagerly cried the Major.

"Not yet," answered Justine. "She tells me all, and he knows it. I can see that his eyes are fixed on me now with a growing hatred. He fears that I uphold her in this duel of words, of answerless questions.

"He has threatened her roughly with sending her away to some place, to 'come to her senses,' alone, and--" the frightened woman said, "That is what I fear--some sudden, rough brutality. He despairs of making her love him. If she were suddenly removed--and I cast adrift on the world, alone, here, he would, I suppose, send me back to Switzerland. He can do no less, but I would lose her forever from my sight. I know that he hates me, and we have always hoped that he would make us a handsome present, on her marriage. Euphrosyne and I have been as mothers to her."

There were tears in the woman's anxious eyes now. She was startled as Hawke bounded to his feet.

"By G.o.d!" he cried, forgetting himself. "That's just his little game!

It must never be! See here, Justine! I have reason to think that you are right. He may try to spirit her away and separate her forever from you and Euphrosyne. He would cut off the only two friends who could connect her with this strange past. Yes, that's his little game! And--" he slowly concluded, controlling himself, "I have reason to think he may go about it at once. He is afraid of me, also, about some old official business. Now, I will watch over your interests. The least this old miser can do is to give you a neat little home in Geneva, as a final recompense."

Justine Delande's eyes sparkled in grat.i.tude. The acute Major had easily learned from the garrulous Francois that the "Inst.i.tut Pour les Jeunes Dames" was an intellectual property only; the fine old mansion belonging to a rich Genevese banker. Major Alan Hawke was now busied in writing upon a few leaves torn from his betting book.

"Listen to me!" he gravely said. "Promise me that you will never let these papers leave you a moment."

"I will carry them in my pa.s.sport case, around my neck," murmured Justine. "My money in notes, and a few articles."

"Good!" energetically cried Hawke. "I will write the same to Euphrosyne, and send it by 'registered post' to-day."

"Here!" he suddenly cried, "Just pencil a few words to her to say that you are with me, and that we understand each other; that our interests are to be one; and that she must keep the faith and help us both, for both our sakes. I will mail it so that old Johnstone will be powerless to injure any of us three." He gave her another leaflet from his book, and detached a golden pencil from his watch chain.

There was a crimson flush upon her cheek, as she vainly essayed to write. Her hand trembled, and then with a sob, her head fell upon her breast; with an infinite art, the triumphant renegade soothed the excited woman, and, it was only through her happy tears that she saw him, before her there, duplicating the secret addresses.

"Now, Justine; my Justine!" softly said Alan Hawke. "Here is a secret address in Allahabad, and a secret address in London. If this man decides to send Nadine away, he will do it secretly in some way. There are several seaports open to leave India. You will be, of course, sent out of Hindostan with her. It would be just his little game, however, to separate you at the first foreign port, to pay you off royally, and then--neither you nor Euphrosyne would ever see Nadine again. There is something hanging over him that he would hide from her. He fears me, also, for my official power. Remember, now! No matter whatever happens you can always find a way to telegraph to me. If I am in India, here to Allahabad; if in Europe, to London. Now, Euphrosyne will know always where I am. Telegraph me the whereabouts of Nadine Johnstone, or, where you are forced to leave her, telegraph the vessel you are on, and her destination, and, I swear to you, by the G.o.d who made me, I will track her down, and we three shall find a way to reach her later. He would like to lock her up in a living tomb, if he found it to be to his interest. A cheap private asylum in Germany, or some low haunt in France, perhaps hide her away in Italy as a pretended invalid. The man is mad--simply mad--about this baronetcy, and in some strange way the girl stands between him and it. Do you promise?"

"I promise you all!" faltered the excited woman. "Let me go now. Let me go home, Alan," she murmured, and there were no heart secrets between them any more, as the blushing woman, still trembling with the audacity of her own burning emotions, was led safely to the door of the jewel mart.

"Be brave, be brave, dear Justine," he whispered. "Old Johnstone has sent for me. You shall have your home yet; I guarantee it. I shall be frequently at the house in the next few days. Remember to control yourself, and to watch the sly game of this old brute. I will stay here and send off at once our first letter to Euphrosyne. This girl will have a million pounds. You and your sister must not be robbed of the recompense of nearly twenty years of tenderness. Cleave to her, heart to heart, and tell me all. I will make you both rich!"

"Trust me to the death! I understand all now," whispered Justine, her breast heaving in a new and strange emotion, flooding her chilly veins as with a subtle fiery elixir.

"Then go, but, dear one, be here two days from now at the same time.

Should any accident happen, Ram Lal will then come and bear to you my message. You can trust him. I will stay here and send this registered letter from here at once. Then, Hugh Johnstone has three loving guardians to outwit before he can hide away your beautiful nursling!"

"For you." he softly whispered, as he slipped a little packet into her hand, when she stole out of the shop, after Alan Hawke had judiciously reconnoitered.

"Dear, simple soul!" contentedly reflected Major Hawke, as he busied himself with the important letter to the staid Euphrosyne. "She has given me her heart, in her loving eagerness to defend that child, and the key to the whole situation. It would be just like this old brute to spirit the girl away to baffle Madame Berthe Louison. That is, if he dare not kill or intimidate her. And that I must look to. I think that I see my way to that girl's side now. G.o.d, what a pot of money she will have!"

When Alan Hawke had finished his boldly warm letter to Euphrosyne, he sealed it and sent it to the post by Ram Lal's footman. The world looked very bright to him as, enjoying a capital cheroot, he studied for a half hour a wall map of India. "There's a half dozen ways to spirit her out of the Land of the PaG.o.da Tree. I must watch and trust to Justine.

To-night I may or may not know what this devil of a Berthe Louison is up to. Will she try to take the girl away? That would be fatal."

"Hardly--hardly," he decided, as he mixed a brandy p.a.w.nee. He gazed around at Ram Lal's sanctum, in which the old usurer received the Europeans whom he fleeced in his nipoy-lending operations. "A pretty snug joint. Many a hundred pounds have I dropped here." It was neatly furnished forth with service magazines, London papers, army lists, and all the accessories of a London money-lender's den. When the receipt for his registered letter was laid away in his pocket-book, Alan Hawke calmly ordered his carriage. "I'll take a brush around town and show them that I am out of all these intrigues," he decided. It was six hours later when he drew up at the Club, having pa.s.sed Madame Berthe Louison's splendid turnout swinging down the Chandnee Chouk. On the box the alert Jules, in a yager's uniform, sat beside the dusky driver, and, even in the dusk, he could see the neat French maid seated, facing her mistress.

"By G.o.d! She has the nerve of a Field Marshal! She will never hide her light under a bushel!" he had gasped when Madame Louison, at ten feet distant, gazed at him impa.s.sively through her longue vue, and then calmly cut him. He was soon besieged by a crowd of gay gossips at the Club upon dismounting from his trap.

"Tell us, Hawke, who is the wonderful beauty who has taken the Silver Bungalow," was the excited chorus.

"How the devil should I know, when you fellows do not," good-humoredly cried Alan Hawke, as the Club steward edged his way through the throng.

"There's a message for you, Major," said the functionary. "Mr. Hugh Johnstone is quite ill at his house, and has been sending all over for you."

"Ah! This is grave news" ostentatiously cried Hawke. "I'll drive over at once." And then he fled away, leaving the gay loiterers still discussing the lovely anonyma whose advent was now the one sensation of the hour.

"Who the devil can her friends be?"

"She plays a bold game," mused the startled Major.

On her return to the marble house, Justine Delande had been welcomed by the anxious-eyed apparition of Nadine Johnstone, who burst into her room in a storm of tears. "I have been so frightened," she cried as she clasped her returning governess in her trembling grasp.

"My father has just had a terrible seizure--an attack while riding out on business. He will see no one but Doctor McMorris, and besides, he has the old jewel merchant searching all over Delhi for Major Hawke. You must not leave me a moment, Justine."