“Precisely!” gravely said Major Hawke, as he tried a long shot. “Both Captain Anstruther and myself have the gravest secret duties in connection with Hugh Johnstone’s future. He soon may be Sir Hugh, you know. And I dare not divulge to him my own delicate functions in this matter. Now you understand me at last,” said Hawke, warmly pressing Justine Delande’s hand. “I feel that I must not lose you, because I have my duty to perform, and I trust my honor to you. All will be well if you will only favor me with your womanly kindness, and trust to me as frankly as I to you. We must meet to-day at Hugh Johnstone’s as absolute strangers. We must also remain strangers to all appearances for a time,” he said at last. The Swiss spinster gazed up at him piteously. “May I not even tell Nadine?” she faltered. “Ah!” carelessly said Alan Hawke, “she is a mere child; I shall probably never see her. It is you alone that I would trust. Will you not come here again? I dare not, for your own sake, detain you longer now.” The timid woman glanced hurriedly at her watch. “I have been here already too long, and I must go! And there is so much I would say to you!” She was almost handsome in her blushing confusion. “Then you will come again, here? Ram Lal is my old factotum!” the young Major pleaded. “I will come!” the half-subjugated woman whispered under her breath. “But when?” Her eyes were meekly downcast and her faltering voice trembled. “The day after to-morrow, at the same time,” said Alan Hawke, his heart leaping up in a secret victory, “but no living soul must ever know of it. I will be here in the pagoda, waiting for you. Ram Lal will wait for you himself and admit you. Do you promise?” he said, with a glance which set her pallid cheeks aflame. “I promise! I promise! Let me go, now!” gasped the excited woman. With stately courtesy, the Major then led her back into the jewel merchant’s luxurious lounging-room. “Wait here for a single moment!” he whispered as he quickly poured out a glass of cordial. And, then, returning in a few moments, he clasped upon the woman’s wrist a bracelet of old Indian gold, whose flexible links glittered with the fire of a row of old Indian mine stones. Justine Delande sat mute, as if dreaming. “Our little secret is now all our own!” he pleasantly murmured. “Remember! Should we meet at the marble house, you do not know me! Can you trust yourself? You must--for my sake! This will help you to remember our first meeting.” “You may depend upon me, whenever you may wish to call upon me,” she whispered. “I will come!” and then she fled away, with soft, gliding steps, to regain the safety of her own room before the trying hour of tiffin.