The old man strained her to him convulsively. “There—there, my child! You shall not!”
He looked in accusing wrath at Drexel. “My God, why did you wait till the very wedding-day to tell this?” he fiercely demanded.
“This was my first chance.”
“Well—if they were at the very altar we’d break it off!”
“There is no need to break it off,” said Drexel quietly.
“No need to break it off! Why?”
“Because he’s dead.”
“Dead!” they cried in one voice.
They stared at him, blanched, astounded—and relieved. Drexel went on to tell how the prince had come by his death, telling it as something he had overheard in the dining-room, and referring only in vaguest terms to Captain Laroque. Some day he might make known his part in this daring escape, with its triple tragedy, but that day was in the far, far future.
Alice again threw herself upon her father’s breast. “Take me home, father—please, please!” she begged him.