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Updated: June 16, 2025
A low double gate, a break in the high stone wall, often gave him glimpses of the two women in their morning rambles and, with a softened feeling, born of her own secret passion for Hawke, Justine Delande watched a fluttering handkerchief often answer Captain Hardwicke's morning salute.
There was a gleam of steel, the rush of a charger's feet, and as man and horse swept by the fainting girl the swing of a saber, and the heavy trampling of iron-clad hoofs! Only Justine Delande saw the flashing saber cleaving the air again and again, as Hardwicke gracefully leaned to his saddle bow, in the right and left cut on the ground.
Justine Delande faced the old miser pedant as she indignantly cried: "God protect and keep the poor orphan who has drifted out of one hell on earth into another! Your dead brother robbed her of a mother's love, and you you old vampire you would bury her alive! She shall know yet her dead mother's love, and her brutal father's shame!"
The woman's eyes flashed fire. "Leave him also to me! I will handle him! A few rupees will serve as his bait. Stay! You say that this Swiss woman, Justine Delande, is sympathetic, and seems to be a worthy person?" She was scanning his impassive face with steely glances now. "She is younger than her sister Euphrosyne," gravely said Alan Hawke, "and not without some personal attractions.
"Mademoiselle Justine Delande must be my secret friend! I wonder if Euphrosyne really swallowed the bait! If she has fallen into the trap and written to her sister, then all is well!" His eyes roved over the familiar scene of the broad Chandnee Chouk, sweeping magnificently away from the Lahore gate to the superb palace. The sun beat down with its old ferocious glare on shop and bazaar.
I'm told the town has been vastly improved by the Duke of Brunswick's legacy. I've not seen it in later years." "Miss Delande is a Genevese," remarked the host. "I congratulate you, Mademoiselle," politely said the Major. "It is a famous city to date from."
"My accounts, I presume," he had muttered, thrusting them in his pocket. But, when he had read Captain Anstruther's formal note, he tore open the letter of the great French Banking Company. The two letters curtly illustrated the old saw, that "it never rains, but it pours!" With a fluttering heart poor Justine Delande watched her undeclared lover's blackening face.
Then Justine Delande, without another word, stepped forward, and, seizing the pen, signed her receipt for wages due, in silence. She defiantly gathered up her withheld letters and papers. She returned in a few moments with the maid, whose ox-like eyes glowed in the sudden joy of a return to Switzerland. For the ranz des vaches was now ringing in the stout peasant girl's ears.
While Abercromby dreamed of the lovely lady of the Silver Bungalow, Major Alan Hawke leisurely examined a sheaf of letters from Europe which had been thrust in his pocket by Ram Lal at parting. "Victory!" he cried, as he read a tender letter from Euphrosyne Delande, in which she promised her absolute compliance with his every wish.
With a shudder of affright Mademoiselle Justine Delande had slipped into a booth on the great thoroughfare, only to feel safe when she glided into Ram Lal Singh's jewel shop, to be swiftly hurried into the rear reception room by the argus-eyed merchant, who had noted the swiftly passing carriage. Her womanly conscience was as tender as her heart.
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