“But—­”

“No, let me do all the talking until you hear it to the end, and let me tell it in my own way.”

“All right,” and he pressed her hand lovingly.

“I never knew my father, Mark,” she went on, “and yet I heard of his death only a short time ago—­in Washington.  His name was not ‘Atheson.’  He was a very great personage, no less than the Grand Duke of Ecknor, Prince Etkar.”

Mark started, but Ruth put up her hand.  “You promised.  Let me go on.”

“My mother married my father, who then called himself Edgar Atheson, in London.  He was the younger son of the then reigning Grand Duke and had left home for political reasons, expecting never to return.  But his father and his elder brother were both killed by a bomb a few days after his marriage to my mother.  He returned to Ecknor, and she went with him.  In six months he had married, legally but not legitimately, a princess of the protecting kingdom.  Under the laws of the kingdom the princess was his legal mate, the Grand Duchess of Ecknor, but my mother was his wife before God and the Church.  The Grand Duke gave her a large fortune, and she had a beautiful home near the palace.  Everyone knew and pitied her, but they respected her.  The Grand Duke soon ceased to care for his morganatic wife, but he never deserted her.  Then, a year after the court marriage, I was born.  It was given out that the Grand Duchess had also given birth to a daughter, Carlotta.”

Mark patted her hand, but kept his promise of silence.  Ruth went on.

“After that, the Grand Duke seemed to lose all interest in his English wife.  My mother was very unhappy and wanted to return to England.  She finally escaped, with me, in a closed carriage.  My uncle met us as we crossed the frontier, and it was only then that mother understood why her escape had been so easy—­the Grand Duke had wanted her away.  She saw England only to die heart-broken, for she had loved her husband devotedly.  My uncle kept me with him until he became a Catholic and went to Rome to study.  Then I was sent to school in Europe.  Later I came to America.  But I had many friends in Europe and visited them frequently.  It was on one of these visits that I met Carlotta.  She knew, and we became fast friends, as well as sisters.”

“But not full sisters,” Mark said, thinking that the story was over.

“Wait,” cautioned Ruth.  “There is more.  Mother died thinking I was her only child.  But two girls were born to mother, and a dead child to the Grand Duchess.  Mother never saw one of her babies.  She never knew.  And it was years before the Grand Duchess learned that her child had died.  Carlotta was my full sister.  She was stolen to replace the dead child.  Now do you see?”

“But how did you come to know all this?” asked Mark.