the land of gaudy Asiatic
splendors, a strange land of wonderment and fairy riches, she sobbed
alone in her heart anguish:

"He will not speak! He tells me nothing! A marble palace this, but
never a home!" The timid girl had seen no beloved woman's face upon
the fretwork of the walls of this Aladdin's castle. And, in her own
frightened heart, she remembered the ashen pallor of her father's
face when she had faltered out the burning question of her yearning
heart--the question of long years! The past was still a blank to her,
while on this same night, crafty Alan Hawke in Delhi, and, in far
Calcutta, a woman, pacing her boudoir in sad unrest, were both busied
with the story of the vanished mother whom the Rose of Delhi had never
seen!

Alixe Delavigne, lonely and resolute, was thinking of her departure
on the morrow, to face the man who had locked his dead past in his own
marble heart, in his grand marble palace. Her busy days at Calcutta had
astounded the senior manager of Grindlay & Co. The old banker marveled
at the strange commissions and imperative orders of his beautiful
business client, but many years had taught him much of the
incomprehensibility of womanhood! Whereupon he marveled in silence, and
bowing with his hand upon his heart, assured the lady of his absolute
discretion, and the unbroken honor of the house. "Some very queer little
life histories go on out here in India!" mused the old banker, as he
handed the lady her special letter to the Delhi agents of the great
house which house which he directed. "As beautiful as a statue, as firm
as a flint! Where have I seen a face like hers?" mused the old man, as
he sought his rest.

The "beautiful statue" was steadfastly gazing at the picture of the
young Rose of Delhi, in her lonely boudoir. "She shall learn to love
her! To love her--through me! And this man of iron shall yield! He shall
hear my prayer! For, if he does not, then, he shall be struck to the
heart--blow for blow! And Fate shall pass her over! I swear it by that
lonely grave in far away Jitomir!" There were kisses rained upon the
pictured face smiling up at her, the face which had called back to her
the dead past, and then the "beautiful statue" tore aside her gown. She
gazed upon a folded paper which had long lain upon her throbbing heart.
"This shall speak for me--at the last! His pride shall bend! He shall
not break the child's heart! For the mother's sake, I swear it! She
shall love and be l