"There they are, Blair! Hold up your hand or they'll pass us! Florence! Florence!"
At the sound of her musical voice a girlish head appeared at the carriage window, and a girlish voice shouted an eager greeting. The coachman, looking rather scandalized at this want of ceremony, pulled up, and Prince Rivani and the Princess Florence sprung out.
The two men shook hands warmly, each looking into the other's face with that frank, steady glance which denotes a stanch friendship; and the two girls embrace, and laugh, and almost cry in a breath.
"Oh, you dear creature!" exclaimed the princess. "Isn't this just like you to come and meet us? And we thought it was only a young couple love-making as they strolled along, for you had got hold of each other's hand, just like two sweethearts; did you know that?"
Margaret blushed.
"We are two sweethearts," she whispered, almost piteously.
Then Margaret turned to the prince, who was waiting for his share of the greeting.
The prince looked older than when we saw him last, but as he took Margaret's hand in his and pressed it warmly, he was able to meet her clear, pure eyes without a trace of embarrassment or reserve. Good blood has many advantages over the ignoble sort, and not the least is the power to conquer self. In the twelve months that had passed since he stood opposite Blair, and sought to take his life, Prince Rivani had fought a sterner fight even than that memorable one at Naples; the fight with a passion which had threatened to absorb his life, and he had conquered so completely that he could return the gentle pressure of Margaret's hand with one of brotherly affection.
"If I cannot have her for lover and wife," he had sworn to himself, "at least, I will have her for friend!"
It was a noble and unselfish vow, and he fought for strength until he had accomplished it.