“And now, darling, for I must tell you, the assassin of your father has saved his miserable life by a full confession made to General Willoughby. None but myself must ever tell you that your father’s memory, your uncle’s liberty were all involved in a tangled story of olden greed, intrigue, shame, and crime. Let the dead past rest unchallenged. The seal of the tomb will be unbroken. And it is your mother’s tender love that will gild your bridal. Let me be your sister forever. None but you and I must know the history until others have a right to it.” “Has--has Harry told you of our coming marriage?” faltered Nadine, hiding her head in her kinswoman’s breast. There were fleeting blushes as rosy as the Alpenglow now tinging her pale cheek. Nadine Johnstone saw her new-found sister now glowing in a woman’s gentle triumph. She had a secret of her own! It was Alixe’s turn to beg a fond heart’s throbbing sympathy when she whispered, “General Wragge advises and the Viceroy insists that we leave the island at once. Captain Anstruther must soon report to His Excellency the Viceroy at Calcutta, for his promotion to a Majority takes him back to his kinsman’s suite. The Earl has been honored with the control of Her Majesty’s Embassy at Paris. And so,” the words came slowly in trembling whispers, “both Anson and Harry have applied for ‘special licenses,’ and there will be two marriages at Edgemere, instead of one. Anson gave you to me, through a strange romance, and he demands to be my loving jailer! “In three days we can all leave for London. Justine Delande has finished her solemn duty even now, with General Wragge as sole escort. It was the only way to hoodwink useless public gossip.” “And will we be then so soon separated?” cried Nadine, clinging to her kinswoman, in a tremble of yearning love. “For you must go out with your husband to India. You must tell me of my mother, her life, her home, and I must see where she lies.” “Ah, my darling,” said Alixe, “we will all go on to my home--your home, at Jitomir, my castle in Volhynia. Your own yet to be. There, Anson and I will leave you and Major Hardwicke for your honeymoon. There, my dearest child, where your own mother’s sweet face still looks down from the walls. Where the Russian violets and Volhynian forget-me-nots bloom around her tomb, where you will see her name carved in the memorials of a princely line as ‘Valerie, Princess Troubetskoi.’ There, I will tell you the whole story.” An April rain of loving tears silenced the girl’s voice, as she looked out of the carriage window, and saw Major Hardwicke riding after them. “Tell me no more, now, Darling Alixe,” murmured Nadine, “I must have peace--even in this moment of happiness!” Her thoughts went back to the day when Harry Hardwicke had ridden “Garibaldi” straight to the rescue, in her moment of deadly peril, and his saber had fended off the huge cobra. And so, they journeyed on silently-linked in love, dreaming tender dreams.