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Updated: June 29, 2025
Nadine Johnstone, speeding on over sapphire seas, had already conquered the tender secret of the simple Justine Delande's heart; and in her own loving day-dreams: "Aye she loot the tears down fa' for Jock o' Hazeldean!" "I must see him again! I must see him!" she fondly pledged her waiting heart.
Miss Genie was frankly unconventional, and yet she was both hard-headed and hardhearted. When he carefully dressed himself for the intellectual feast of Mademoiselle Delande's "refined collation," he dimly became aware that the role of unpaid bear leader to the Chicago girl simply amounted to being an unsalaried valet de place!
"She is another woman," he mused. With one silent glance of veiled recognition, Alan Hawke returned to his diplomatic fence with the wary old nabob who sat at the head of the glittering table. He was in no doubt now as to the second meeting at Ram Lal Singh's shop, for Justine Delande's eyes promised him more than even his habitual hardihood would have dared to ask.
Ram Lal figuratively washed his hands in invisible water. "Running water, passing silently, leaves no story behind, Sahib," he said, simply. "We have not caught our eels yet. But they are both coming back into our eel pot." And as the days dragged on Alan Hawke beguiled the time with the most energetic inroads into Justine Delande's heart.
I dare not openly acknowledge an acquaintance with you, with your sister. It rests with you that we meet again, for my sake, for your own sake, for your sister's sake. I cannot lose you for a mere quibble." There was a genuine alarm in Justine Delande's voice as she started up, crying out, "You come to us to-day?" "Precisely!" gravely said Major Hawke, as he tried a long shot.
I am, forever, lost to the world." There was that in Justine Delande's face on her return which startled the heart-sick wanderer. "Ask me nothing nothing to-night. Only sleep, my darling," murmured the devoted Swiss. The shadows deepened over Nadine Johnstone as she fell asleep dreaming of her mother, the gentle vision, and, the absent lover of her girlish heart.
He has a heart of flint, this old tyrant!" murmured Justine, as with fingers trembling in haste she completed a toilet, which later caused even old Hugh Johnstone to growl "By Gad! This Swiss woman's not half bad looking!" A last pang, caused by the keen secret sorrow of not daring to wear her diamond bracelet, was effaced by the rising tide of indignation in Justine Delande's awakened heart.
Worn, harassed, and wearied out by travel, she had sought a refuge in Justine Delande's clinging arms, on the night of their arrival from Boulogne, for the path from India had been but a series of shadow-dance glimpses of strange scenes. The ashen face of the tottering old pedant had offered her no welcome to a happy home.
"Both Captain Anstruther and myself have the gravest secret duties in connection with Hugh Johnstone's future. He soon may be Sir Hugh, you know. And I dare not divulge to him my own delicate functions in this matter. Now you understand me at last," said Hawke, warmly pressing Justine Delande's hand. "I feel that I must not lose you, because I have my duty to perform, and I trust my honor to you.
Three hours later Justine Delande's arms clung desparingly around the handsome outcast, as he was leaving her to be escorted home by the adroit Francois, already in waiting without the restaurant with a closed carriage. The presage of sorrow weighed upon her loving heart. "Alan, My God, I can not let you go. You are the one brightness of my life. My heart of hearts.
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