“What's the title, or, rather, the subject?” her husband inquired.
“Oh, it opens with a ship-wreck—not a collision but a fire was the cause. Among the passengers are many children—of high and low degree—and they get mixed up—fall into wrong persons' hands,—fathers and mothers are lost and cannot claim them, and their future lives have supplied me with the strongest and most intricate and exciting plot that I have ever constructed.”
“Which is the 'star' child?”
“He is the son of a Russian Grand Duke—the offspring of a morganatic marriage—his mother is driven from the country by order of the Czar. The title is The Son of Sergius.”
They did not remain in New York but took the first train for Boston. They were driven to the Mount Vernon Street house.
“I knew you were coming,” cried Maude, as she ran eagerly down the steps to meet them.
“Who has turned traitor? I pledged them all to secrecy,” cried Quincy.
“Harry told me, and I had a cablegram from Florence.”
“Did she use my name? If so, we are undone and the reporters will swarm like bees.”
“You are safe,” said Maude. “The message read: Brother found. Keep quiet.”