lush rose divinely over the white
rose of her face, her lips curved in the resistless AEginetan smile, and,
without a word spoken, the twain were in each other's arms.

* * * * * *

Half an hour later Mr. Macrae, heralding his arrival with a sonorous hem!
entered the saloon. Smiling, he embraced his daughter, who hid her head
on his ample shoulder, while with his right hand the father grasped that
of Merton.

'My daughter is restored to me--and my son,' said the millionaire softly.

There was silence. Mr. Macrae was the first to recover his
self-possession. 'Sit down, dear,' he said, gently disengaging Emmeline,
'and tell me all about it. Who were the wretches? I can forgive them
now.'

Miss Macrae's eyes were bent on the carpet; she seemed reluctant to
speak. At last, in timid and faltering accents, she whispered, 'It was
the Van Huytens boy.'

'Rudolph Van Huytens! I might have guessed it,' cried the millionaire.
'His motive is too plain! His wealth did not equal mine by several
millions. The ransom which he demanded, and but for Tom here' (he
indicated Merton) 'would now possess, exactly reversed our relative
positions. Carrying on his father's ambition, he would, but for Tom,
have held the world's record for opulence. The villain!'

'You do not flatter _me_, father,' said Miss Macrae, 'and you are unjust
to Mr. Van Huytens. He had another, _he_ said a stronger, motive. Me!'
she murmured, blushing like a red rose, and adding, 'he really was rather
nice. The submarine was comfy; the yacht delightful. His sisters and
his aunt were very kind. But--' and the beautiful girl looked up archly
and shyly at Merton.

'In fact if it had not been for Tom,' Mr. Macrae was exclaiming, when
Emmeline laid her lily hand on his lips, and again hid her burning
blushes on his shoulder.

'So Rudolph had no chance?' asked Mr. Macrae gaily.

'I used rather to like him, long ago--before--' murmured Emmeline.

A thrill of happy pride passed through Merton. He also, he remembered of
old, had thought that he loved. But now he privately registered an oath
that he would never make any confessions as to the buried past (a course
which the chronicler earnestly recommends to young readers).

'Now tell us all about your adventures, Emmie,' said Mr. Macrae, sitting
down and taking his daughter's hand in his own.

The narrative may have been anticipated. After Blake was felled, Miss
Macrae, screaming and struggling,