“Won’t you tell me your real name?” she asked half wistfully. “I do not want to think of you as ‘Frank Merryweather’ if that is only a pseudonym.” But he shook his head. “You must have patience a little longer, dear,” he rejoined. “I dare not tell you yet.” She glanced at him with reproach in her eyes, but forbore to put it into words. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead, and then assisted her to rise. They were both silent on the way back to the khan, and Raie, at least, was deep in thought. Suddenly a flash of light as dazzling as a revelation burst in upon her mind. She knew now why her lover’s personality had always seemed so familiar to her. The son of a Jewish baronet—expelled from home—fortune made in Australia. It was impossible that there could exist two such men. She stopped short in her walk, and faced him with excitement. “It is not necessary for you to tell me your name,” she said hurriedly. “I know it already. I first heard of you from my mother some months ago, and I have seen your photograph. You are the son whom Sir Julian so cruelly disinherited. You are Lionel’s half-brother—Ferdinand Montella!” CHAPTER III A GIRL IN LOVE He met her gaze of astonishment with a curious expression on his face. “Ferdinand Montella is dead,” he returned slowly, “or at least he is sleeping. For the present Frank Merryweather remains to take his place. You are a clever child, Raie. I did not think you would find me out so easily.” “I seemed, somehow, to know you from the first,” she said gladly, as they continued their walk. “There was something about your personality which gave me the impression of having met you before. I suppose I never have met you before; but your ways of looking and speaking are very like your poor father’s, and of course I knew him well.” The adjective arrested his attention. “You do not mean to say that my father is—” He broke off shortly. “Why did you say ‘poor’?” “Because he is dead.” Then realising her abruptness, she was filled with compunction. “Oh, I am so sorry,” she added respectfully. “I ought not to have told you like that. I made sure that you knew; it was in all the papers. He died over three years ago.” The tourist’s face grew grave, and unconsciously hardened. “I have lived practically away from civilisation for some time, where no news could reach me,” he rejoined, “but I do not suppose I should have been sent for, even had it been possible. Sir Julian treated me very unjustly, Raie, and I find it hard to forget. Still, he was my father, and loved me when I was a child. I am sorry he has died believing me guilty.” Raie was silent for a few moments, and left him to his own reflections; but before they rejoined their party, she spoke again. “Why did you come to Haifa without making yourself known to your people, Ferdinand?” she asked, eager for information.