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.
Pages:
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379