"But now for details. You take the place of my secretary, whom I dismissed this afternoon and saw on board a train for Albany, very much against his will and very badly frightened. I have ordered his rooms prepared for you. His things are there, and I imagine you will probably find some of them you can use until your own arrive in the morning. I will send Petro to you; his ideas are confined to doing as he is told, and I shall tell him that my invitation left you no time for packing. Of course you will resume your own name."
Allard drew back aghast at such a proposition.
"My own name—"
"Why not?" Stanief demanded. "Could anything be more safe? Masquerades are always dangerous and to be avoided. John Allard's unquestioned history, his journey abroad from which he reappears as my secretary, defy all investigation, where an assumed name and past could only arouse doubt. If you were challenged now as the escaped prisoner, your safest course would be to give indignantly your own name, proving it by your Californian connections and by me. John Allard has stepped back upon his stage. Write to your brother, if you choose; pick up your old friendships. The last three years simply do not exist for you; knot the past and the future together and let the marred strand go."
The logic was unanswerable; with a quivering breath Allard took back all he had resigned for ever.
"You are right," he yielded, and bent his head to hide what flashed on his lashes.
Stanief touched the bell and rose.
"You are tired, and I have much to arrange. No doubt," the dark eyes were amusedly expressive, "Monsieur Allard is familiar enough with yachting not to be bored to-morrow. You will find Vasili a cheerful companion, Rosal also. Marzio, show monsieur his rooms and send me Petro. And tell Captain Delsar that I shall have pleasure in receiving him. Good night, John."
"Good night, your Royal Highness," was Allard's reply, but his straight eloquent glance carried its message to the other's heart.
Alone at last in the coquettish suite set apart for him—the jewel-box luxury of the yacht here manifested in azure and silver daintiness—the great reaction seized Allard. So few hours since, he was Leroy; it was hard to grasp this reality. He was weary to exhaustion, but something very near fever drove him to the round window which swung back at his touch and let the wet sweet air rush in. Leaning there, the very chaos of his thoughts left physical torpor.