from round her neck, while honest tears trembled in her eyes.

The low cry: "My mother! My darling mother! He never even breathes
the name!" had loosened all the tide of repressed feeling long pent
up in Justine Delande's heart.

"Trust to me! You shall know all, dearest! I am sure that Euphrosyne
knows, and we shall see her soon!" So with an added reason for
their second meeting, Miss Justine descended the grand marble stair,
murmuring: "He shall tell me all he knows; he can search the past
here! He can help me, and he must--for Nadine's sake!"

And as he bowed low before her in courteous acknowledgment of the
master's presentation, Alan Hawke caught the lambent gleam of the
newly awakened fires in Justine Delande's eyes. "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. "What the devil's up now?" he mused,
"Something about the girl, I warrant. I suppose that the old brute
has exiled her here for safety." And then and there, Alan Hawke
swore to reach the side of the Veiled Rose of Delhi, though the
cold gray eyes of the host never caught him off his guard a moment
in the two hours of the pompously drawn-out feast. Both the men
were keenly watching each other now.

It had been no mere accidental slip of the tongue which guided
Alan Hawke in his greeting of the old ex-Commissioner when Hugh