On the folding-table in the middle of the little room were two lighted candles beside a burning lantern. And in their light Heideck discerned—not Edith Irwin, but instead, the handsomest young rajah who had ever crossed his eyes under the glowing skies of India.
For a moment Heideck was uncertain, for the slender youth, in the silken blouse tied round with a red scarf, English riding-breeches and neat little boots, had turned his back to him, so that he could not see his face, and his hair was completely hidden under the rose-and-yellow striped turban. But the blissful presentiment which told him who was concealed beneath the charming disguise could not deceive him. A few rapid steps and he was by the side of the delicate-limbed Indian youth. Overpowered by a storm of passionate emotions, he forgot all obstacles and scruples, and the next moment clasped him in his arms with an exultant cry of joy.
“Edith! my Edith!”
“My beloved friend!”
In the exceeding delight of this reunion the confession which had never passed her lips in the hours of familiar tete-a-tete, or in the moments of extreme peril which they had endured together, forced its way irresistibly from her heart—the confession of a love which had long absorbed her whole life.
XXI
EDITH’S ADVENTURES
It was a long time before the two lovers were sufficiently composed to explain to each other fully the almost fabulous events that had lately occurred.
Heideck, of course, wanted to know, first of all, how Edith had contrived to escape without making a disturbance and calling for the aid of those about her. What she told him was the most touching proof of her affection for him. The Maharajah’s creatures must have heard, somehow or other, of Heideck’s imprisonment and condemnation, and they had reckoned correctly on Edith’s attachment to the man who had saved her life.