“Precisely so, Madame,” laughed Murray, “when I have sworn in my beautiful recruit to-morrow. Then we will be five in very truth.” There was a flying early morning visit to Hunt and Roskell’s on the morrow, which greatly astonished Captain Anstruther, who had escorted Madame Alixe Delavigne down on her way to the pretty chapel at Kew, where Captain Murray duly “swore in his beautiful recruit,” with bell, book, and candle. The parure of diamonds which the lady of Jitomir gave to Mrs. Flossie Murray caused even the eyes of “The Moonshee” to open in wonder at the little campaign breakfast of the leaders of this Crusade of Love. “Only suited to the wife of Prince Djiddin’s High Chamberlain,” laughed Alixe Delavigne, as the happy Captain departed on his honeymoon tour, escaping showers of rice, to “move upon the enemy’s works in Jersey.”
“Thank God that I have got that sharp-eyed Hawke safely out of town,” cried Captain Anstruther to his beautiful confidante, as they escorted Miss Mildred back to beautiful Rosebank. The “lass o’ Richmond Hill” was no fairer than the happy woman who had seen Major Hardwicke depart for a long conference with that all powerful sprite of the magic pen, Frank Halton, who was now busied in launching his creation, Prince Djiddin. “A single word at the ‘F. O.’ will legalize our useful myth, ‘Prince Djiddin,’ and I hope that Hardwicke and Murray will succeed. They can surely lose nothing by the attempt. I am known to be the Viceroy’s aide-de-camp ‘on leave,’ a near kinsman, and I am sure that old Fraser would take alarm at the first visit or written communication from me. Once startled, he would soon be off to hide the jewels on the Continent, and then only laugh at our efforts. Of course he will swear that the insured packet only contained family papers or some of the estate’s securities. Yes! Alan Hawke is the only man whom I fear now as to the safety of either the girl or the jewels. He seems to have had many old dealings with Hugh Johnstone, too!” They were silent as they threaded the beautiful Surrey garden lanes of the old burgh of Sheen. Loved by the bluff Harrys of the English throne, its beauties sung by poet and deputed by artist, the charming declivities of Richmond gained a new name from Henry VII, and its bosky shades once saw a kingly Edward, a Henry, and a mighty Elizabeth drop the scepter of Great Britain from the palsied hand of Death. Its little parish church to-day hides the ashes of the pensive pastoral poet Thomson, and the bones of the great actor Kean. But, Anstruther’s active mind was only dwelling in the present, as Miss Mildred nodded in the carriage. He saw again the simple wedding of the morning, and heard once more those touching words “I, Eric, take thee, Florence.” Then his eyes sought the face of Alixe Delavigne in a burning glance, which caused that lady to seek her own bower in Rosebank villa, and hide her blushes from “Him Who Would Not Be Denied.” Miss Mildred smiled and nodded behind her fan, for she heard the Bells of the Future sounding afar off.
The graceful woman escorted Captain Anstruther to the river’s edge that night, when he departed to a conference of moment with Hardwicke and Halton. She fled back, like the swift Camilla, to her own nest, as the Captain went forth upon the river. Only the listening flowers heard her startled answer when Anstruther had found a voice to tell the Pilgrim of Love his own story in a soldier’s frank way. “Wait, Anson! Wait, till you know me better, till our quest is done; wait till the roses bloom here once more,” she had whispered.
“And if I do wait, Alixe—if I ask you again?” Anstruther cried as he kissed her slender hand.
“Then you shall have my answer,” she faltered, but her eyes shone like stars as she lightly fled away.
Captain Anson Anstruther had reckoned without his host when he rejoiced over Alan Hawke’s departure. As the aide-de-camp sped down the darkened river, he still saw Alixe Delavigne’s eyes gleaming down on him in every tender twinkling star, but the wily agent whom he had dispatched to the Continent four days before, was near him yet, and comfortably dining in a little snug public in the Tower Hamlets, on this very night. He was looking for tools suited to a dark game which busied his reckless heart.
Major Alan Hawke (temporary rank) had passed two days at Geneva in a serious conference with the sorrowing sisters Delande. His meeting with the softhearted Justine had brought the color back to the poor woman’s face, and she shyly held up the diamond bracelet to his view, murmuring, “I have thought of you and kissed it every night and morning, for your sake, Alan!”
With a glance of veiled tenderness, the acute schemer took his fair dupe out upon the lake, while Euphrosyne directed the slow grinding of the mills of the gods. “I must lose no time,” Hawke pleaded, “as I have to report for duty in London.” And so, he gleaned the story of the hegira and the situation at the Banker’s Folly. He heard all, and yet felt that there was a gap in the story. Justine was true to her plighted word.
He instinctively felt that Justine was holding back something of moment, and yet in his heart he felt that the price of that disclosure would be his formal betrothal to the loving Justine. But he dared not vow to marry, and the Swiss woman was loyally true to her oath. He remained “their loving brother” as yet, and when two days later, Alan Hawke departed for London direct, he mused vainly over the tangled problem until he reported to Captain Anson Anstruther. “If this greenhorn girl has any designs of her own she has not told them yet to Justine. I must get a man to help me to work my scheme, or go over to Jersey myself,” he at last decided. He was secretly happy at Captain Anstruther’s prompt injunctions to make ready for a tour of two months upon the Continent. “I shall have all your detailed instructions prepared tomorrow, Major Hawke,” said the young aide-de-camp. “Meet me, therefore, at the Junior United Service at ten o’clock; you can take a couple of days to look over London, and then proceed at once to the delicate duty which I will give to you. And, remember, the Viceroy’s orders are that you are to report to me alone, and also to preserve an absolute secrecy. Your future rank will depend upon your discretion.” Major Alan Hawke was not as cheerful, however, when he opened his private mail at Morley’s Hotel, as when he had bade adieu to Captain Anstruther. A formal communication from the Credit Lyonnais informed him that Monsieur le Professeur Andrew Fraser had formally forbidden Messrs. Glyn, Carr & Glyn to pay the four bills of exchange, acting in his capacity of executor of a will duly filed at Doctor’s Commons, and that the four drafts must be proved as debts against the estate, and so paid later, in due process of law on proof of the claim. The refusal was due to the death of the drawer before presentment.
“Damn it! I must play a fine game now!” he glowered. “Anstruther I must obey in all! Once back in India with rank, however, I can force old Ram Lal to pay these drafts. He dare not resist—there’s the rope for him!