Meanwhile the boat of the Flora approached the friendly submarine; Merton stepped aboard, and soon was on the deck of the Flora Macdonald.
Mr. Macrae welcomed him with all the joy of a father re-united to his daughter, of a capitalist restored to his millions.
Bude shook Merton’s hand warmly, exclaiming, ‘Well played, old boy!’
Merton’s eyes eagerly searched the deck for one beloved form. Mr. Macrae drew him aside. ‘Emmeline is below,’ he whispered; ‘you will find her in the saloon.’ Merton looked steadfastly at the millionaire, who smiled with unmistakable meaning. The lover hurried down the companion, while the Flora, which had rapidly got up steam, sped eastward.
Merton entered the saloon, his heart beating as hard as when he had sought his beloved among the
bracken beneath the cliffs at Castle Skrae. She rose at his entrance; their eyes met, Merton’s dim with a supreme doubt, Emmeline’s frank and clear. A blush rose divinely over the white rose of her face, her lips curved in the resistless Æginetan smile, and, without a word spoken, the twain were in each other’s arms.
* * * * * *
Half an hour later Mr. Macrae, heralding his arrival with a sonorous hem! entered the saloon. Smiling, he embraced his daughter, who hid her head on his ample shoulder, while with his right hand the father grasped that of Merton.
‘My daughter is restored to me—and my son,’ said the millionaire softly.
There was silence. Mr. Macrae was the first to recover his self-possession. ‘Sit down, dear,’ he said, gently disengaging Emmeline, ‘and tell me all about it. Who were the wretches? I can forgive them now.’