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