She promised—but with reluctance, because she hated to have a secret from her foster-aunt.
“Won’t you tell me your real name?” she asked half wistfully. “I do not want to think of you as ‘Frank Merryweather’ if that is only a pseudonym.”
But he shook his head.
“You must have patience a little longer, dear,” he rejoined. “I dare not tell you yet.”
She glanced at him with reproach in her eyes, but forbore to put it into words. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead, and then assisted her to rise. They were both silent on the way back to the khan, and Raie, at least, was deep in thought. Suddenly a flash of light as dazzling as a revelation burst in upon her mind. She knew now why her lover’s personality had always seemed so familiar to her. The son of a Jewish baronet—expelled from home—fortune made in Australia. It was impossible that there could exist two such men.
She stopped short in her walk, and faced him with excitement.
“It is not necessary for you to tell me your name,” she said hurriedly. “I know it already. I first heard of you from my mother some months ago, and I have seen your photograph. You are the son whom Sir Julian so cruelly disinherited. You are Lionel’s half-brother—Ferdinand Montella!”
CHAPTER III
A GIRL IN LOVE
He met her gaze of astonishment with a curious expression on his face.
“Ferdinand Montella is dead,” he returned slowly, “or at least he is sleeping. For the present Frank Merryweather remains to take his place. You are a clever child, Raie. I did not think you would find me out so easily.”