“And is he here? When shall I see him?” asked Frank, impatiently.
“No, Frank. He is in Italy; he was detained there by business of importance. Besides, it is not etiquette that we should travel together. When the Emperor's permission has been obtained—”
“What Emperor?” asked Frank, in astonishment.
“Our Emperor——the Czar.”
“What have you, an English girl born, to do with the Czar?”
“The Prince, my future husband, is his subject.”
“Why, there is no end to this mystification,” cried the boy, impatiently. “How can an English soldier be a Russian Prince?”
“I don't understand you, Frank. Prince Midchekoff is a Russian by birth.”
“So that you are married to a Russian,” said he, in a voice of deep emotion, “and all this time I have been fancying my brother-in-law an Englishman. I thought it was this same George——George Onslow.”
A heavy, dull sound startled him as he said this. It was Kate, who had fallen back, fainting, on the sofa. It was long before, with all Frank's efforts at restoration, she came to herself; and even when consciousness returned, tears flowed from her eyes and coursed down her cheeks copiously, as she lay speechless and motionless.