is old Indian acquaintances.
The mere hint of a secret governmental employ of gravity satisfied the
languid curiosity of the qui hais. For a week he lingered in the "City
of God," and daily haunted the post and telegraph offices.

He had sent on to the Delhi Club a note for the maw of the local
gossips, and also had dispatched a skillfully constructed letter to
the unsuspecting Hugh Johnstone. With a veiled flattery of the old
civilian's wisdom and experience, he referred to his desire to consult
him as to a secret journey in the direction of the Pamirs. The opportune
windfall of Anstruther's ecarte and Berthe Louison's liberal advance
enabled Major Alan Hawke to maintain a dignified and easy port as he
wandered through Allahabad. Strolling by the waters of the Ganges and
Jumna, he invoked anew the blessings of the goddess Fortuna, as he gazed
out upon the majestic heaven descended stream. The daily tide of travel
toward Delhi brought on each day some familiar faces, and yet Alan Hawke
lingered gently, declining their traveling company. "Waiting orders," he
said, with the sad, sweet smile of one enjoying a sinecure. His swelling
outward port thoroughly proved that the days were gone when he was to
be scanned before the morning salutation. Les eaux sout basses, the
impecunious Frenchman mourns, but there was a swelling tide bearing Alan
Hawke onward now.

A hearty welcoming letter from the ci-devant Hugh Fraser was a good
omen, for rumor of a thousand tongues had already invested the returning
Major with an important secret mission. His epistolary seed planted
in Delhi had brought forth fruit as rapidly as the magic of the Indian
conjuror's mango-tree trick. It was already rumored even in Allahabad
that "Hawke had dropped upon a decidedly good thing." The Major was
busied, however, in analyzing the motives of Alixe Delavigne, in her
change of name, her separate journey, her choice of the Calcutta route,
and the inner nature of her projected enterprise.

"A woman in her position, easy as to fortune, will stoop to none of the
arts of the blackmailer; she could choose a life of soft luxury, for she
is yet in the bloom of vigorous early womanhood. To her the personality
of Hugh Fraser is surely nothing. There are but two objects of
attack--his proposed social elevation, the nattering title, and the
peace of mind and future of the daughter, this lovely veiled Rose! Love,
a natural love, even for the stranger child, would wa