Merton entered the saloon, his heart beating as hard as when he had sought his beloved among the bracken beneath the cliffs at Castle Skrae.  She rose at his entrance; their eyes met, Merton’s dim with a supreme doubt, Emmeline’s frank and clear.  A blush rose divinely over the white rose of her face, her lips curved in the resistless AEginetan smile, and, without a word spoken, the twain were in each other’s arms.

* * * * * *

Half an hour later Mr. Macrae, heralding his arrival with a sonorous hem! entered the saloon.  Smiling, he embraced his daughter, who hid her head on his ample shoulder, while with his right hand the father grasped that of Merton.

‘My daughter is restored to me—­and my son,’ said the millionaire softly.

There was silence.  Mr. Macrae was the first to recover his self-possession.  ‘Sit down, dear,’ he said, gently disengaging Emmeline, ’and tell me all about it.  Who were the wretches?  I can forgive them now.’

Miss Macrae’s eyes were bent on the carpet; she seemed reluctant to speak.  At last, in timid and faltering accents, she whispered, ’It was the Van Huytens boy.’

‘Rudolph Van Huytens!  I might have guessed it,’ cried the millionaire.  ’His motive is too plain!  His wealth did not equal mine by several millions.  The ransom which he demanded, and but for Tom here’ (he indicated Merton) ’would now possess, exactly reversed our relative positions.  Carrying on his father’s ambition, he would, but for Tom, have held the world’s record for opulence.  The villain!’

‘You do not flatter me, father,’ said Miss Macrae, ’and you are unjust to Mr. Van Huytens.  He had another, he said a stronger, motive.  Me!’ she murmured, blushing like a red rose, and adding, ’he really was rather nice.  The submarine was comfy; the yacht delightful.  His sisters and his aunt were very kind.  But—­’ and the beautiful girl looked up archly and shyly at Merton.

‘In fact if it had not been for Tom,’ Mr. Macrae was exclaiming, when Emmeline laid her lily hand on his lips, and again hid her burning blushes on his shoulder.

‘So Rudolph had no chance?’ asked Mr. Macrae gaily.

‘I used rather to like him, long ago—­before—­’ murmured Emmeline.

A thrill of happy pride passed through Merton.  He also, he remembered of old, had thought that he loved.  But now he privately registered an oath that he would never make any confessions as to the buried past (a course which the chronicler earnestly recommends to young readers).

‘Now tell us all about your adventures, Emmie,’ said Mr. Macrae, sitting down and taking his daughter’s hand in his own.

The narrative may have been anticipated.  After Blake was felled, Miss Macrae, screaming and struggling, had been carried to the boat.  The crew had rapidly pulled round the cliff, the submarine had risen, to the captive’s horrified amazement, from the deep, she had been taken on board, and, yet more to her surprise, had been welcomed by the Misses Van Huytens and their aunt.  The brother had always behaved with respect, till, finding that his suit was hopeless, he had avoided her presence as much as possible, and—­