The Lady Henrietta was desolated when Paul and his father announced their intention of taking a month or six weeks' cruise with Captain Grigsby. So unnecessary, she said, at this time of the year, almost the beginning of May, when England was really getting most enjoyable. And they were obliged to pacify her as best they could.

The Mediterranean! Such miles off—and so eccentric, too, starting when other people would be leaving! Really, she had never ceased regretting ever having tolerated her son's travels the year before. Since then there had been no certainty in any of his movements.

"Darling mother," said Paul, "I must see the world."

And Sir Charles had snorted and chuckled, as was his habit.

So they sailed away from Marseilles, this party of three, like a gunboat under sealed orders. A cruise to the Greek Isles, and beyond, was what they said attracted them. "Especially the beyond!" Captain Grigsby had added, with a grunt to Sir Charles. And if the ardour of love and impatience boiled in Paul's veins, the spirit of interested adventure animated his old friend and his parent.

They had not spoken much on the subject to the young man. He had briefly asked Mark Grigsby to do him this service to take him to a far sea in the new Blue Heather, and there to land him when he should give the word.

May was a fair month, and an adventure is an adventure all the world over, so Mark Grigsby had given a joyful assent.

Then Sir Charles had suggested accompanying them, and was welcomed by the other two as a third for their party with extra pleasure.

"I shall grow a young man again before I have done, Grig!" he had said happily. But down in his heart lurked some undefined fear for Paul, and that was the real reason for his journey.

They had a pleasant voyage, and picked up letters at Naples, which only added to Paul's impatience to be there. But they were not to arrive before the end of May, so the Grecian Archipelago could be investigated.

Life in these sunny seas was a joy to all concerned, and Paul's eyes—illuminated by his lady's ever-present spirit—saw beauties and felt shades and balances of which his companions never dreamed. So they came at last to the Bosphorus and Constantinople.

Here full instructions awaited them. That night Paul took his father and his friend some way into his confidence, as he showed them the chart and read aloud the directions. On the 29th of May, should the weather prove favourable, they were to anchor towards night at a certain spot—latitude and longitude given—and when they heard a sea-bird cry sharply three times, Paul was to come ashore to where he would see a green light. Vasili would be waiting for him, and from there it was but a few steps to the garden gate of the villa by the sea, in which his lady was passing the summer. It all seemed perfectly simple—only, the directions added, he must leave again before dawn, and the yacht be out of sight before daylight, as complications had occurred since the letter to Naples, and the To-be-hated one had not left the capital, so things were not so easy to manage, or safe.

Paul's impatience knew no bounds. The concentrated pent-up longing of all these months was animating him. To see his lady again! To clasp her! To kiss her—to kneel to her—and give her homage and worship. And to behold his little son. Always he carried the minute flaxen curl in a locket, and often he had looked at it, and tried to picture the wee head from which it had been cut. But she—his love—would bring his son to him—and perhaps let him hold him in his arms. Ah! he shut his eyes and imagined the tender scene. Would she be changed? Should he see the traces of suffering? But he would caress all memory of pain away, and surely this meeting would only be the forerunner of others to come. Fate could never intend such deep, true love as theirs to be apart. An exaltation uplifted him. And if his lady were a Queen, and wore a crown, he felt himself the greatest king on earth, for was not he the absolute ruler of her heart? And who could wish for a more glorious kingdom?

The hours from Constantinople seemed longer than the whole voyage. He could hardly keep his attention to talk coherently about ordinary things at meals, and his father and Mark Grigsby left him practically alone.

At last, at last, the 29th of May dawned, boiling hot and cloudlessly fair.

For obvious reasons they stayed beyond sight of the coast until darkness fell, and then came close inshore. It was a starlit night, with not a breath of air, and no moon would illuminate their whereabouts.

Paul dressed with the greatest care; never had he been more particular over his toilet. Tompson found him exigeant!

He had broadened and filled out in the past year, and his fair face was tanned, and blooming with health and excitement.

"The best-looking young devil a woman's eye could light on!" Mark Grigsby said, as he and Sir Charles watched him descend the gangway to the boat, when the impatiently awaited signal had been given.

"God keep him safe, Grig," was all Sir Charles could mutter, with a grunt in his throat.

The maddest excitement was racing through Paul, as he held the tiller-ropes and made straight for the light. And once he felt in his pocket to assure himself he had not forgotten Dmitry's pistol, which he had cleaned and loaded himself that afternoon.

He knew this adventure might be a dangerous one, simple as it looked superficially, and now he was an expert revolver shot, thanks to constant practice.

The light proved to be in a little sheltered cove, with a small landing-stage. And—yes—the man who held it was the Kalmuck, Vasili.

"Welcome, welcome to the Siyatelstvo," he whispered, as he kissed Paul's hand. And then in perfect silence they began to ascend a path. Presently it stopped abruptly. They had come up perhaps not fifty feet, when their way was barred by a great nail-studded door.

"Hist!" said Vasili softly, and instantly it was opened from within, and
Dmitry peered anxiously at them.

"Ah, the saints be blessed, the Excellency is safe," he said. But they must not delay a minute, he added. The Excellency must return to the waiting boat! A slight but unexpected ill-fortune had befallen them, connected with the to-be-execrated Troublesome one, and it would not be safe for the Imperial Highness if the Excellency should land tonight. She had sent him to say that the Excellency was to keep out at sea for two days, and return steaming past, and if he saw a white flag flying from the villa roof, then at night he was to anchor and come ashore at this same time. If not, for the moment he must go on back to Constantinople, where news and further instructions would be sent him.

As he spoke Dmitry indicated the return path, and bid the Excellency follow him, and hasten, hasten. This was a terrible blow to Paul, but the thought that he might bring danger to his beloved one made him not hesitate a moment.

They descended the path in silence, and as he stepped into the boat the old servant whispered, the Imperial Highness had bid him assure the Excellency that all was well, the meeting was only deferred, when they should have several days together in safety. "The saints protect the Excellency," the faithful creature added. Then, when Paul was safely in the boat, he stood back to make sharply three times the sea-bird's cry.

The weird minor notes floating out on the night seemed a wailing echo of the agonised disappointment in Paul's heart—more than once a mad impulse to go back convulsed his being before he reached the yacht—but it was not till afterwards that he remembered as a strange circumstance the fact that with Dmitry's first words at the nail-studded door Vasili had vanished into darkness.