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“Yes.”

She yielded her hand now, and her eyes were full of happiness, yet she added, wistfully,–

“And the betrothed, your cousin, Minna,–is she, in truth, not dear to you?”

“Very dear, but less so than another; for I could not learn of her in years what I learned in a day when I met you. Helen, this was begun in jest,–it ends in solemn earnest, for I love my liberty, and I have lost it, utterly and forever. Yet I am glad; look in my face and tell me you believe it.”

He spoke now as seriously as fervently, and with no shadow on her own, Helen brushed back the blond hair and looked into her lover’s face. Truth, tenderness, power, and candor were written there in characters that could not lie; and with her heart upon her lips, she answered, as he drew her close,–

“I do believe, do love you, Sigismund!” Meanwhile another scene was passing in the garden. Sidney, presuming upon his cousinship, took possession of Amy, bidding her “strike but hear him.” Of course she listened with the usual accompaniment of tears and smiles, reproaches and exclamations, varied by cruel exultations and coquettish commands to go away and never dare approach her again.

“Ma drogha, listen and be appeased. Years ago you and I played together as babies, and our fond mammas vowed we should one day mate. When I was a youth of fourteen and you a mite of seven I went away to India with my father, and at our parting promised to come back and marry you. Being in a fret because you couldn’t go also, you haughtily declined the honor, and when I offered a farewell kiss, struck me with this very little hand. Do you remember it?”

“Not I. Too young for such nonsense.”

“I do, and I also remember that in my boyish way I resolved to keep my word sooner or later, and I’ve done it.”

“We shall see, sir,” cried Amy, strongly tempted to repeat her part of the childish scene as well as her cousin, but her hand was not free, and he got the kiss without the blow.

“For eleven years we never met. You forgot me, and ‘Cousin Sidney’ remained an empty name. I was in India till four years ago; since then I’ve been flying about Germany and fighting in Poland, where I nearly got my quietus.”

“My dear boy, were you wounded?”

“Bless you, yes; and very proud of it I am. I’ll show you my scars some day; but never mind that now. A while ago I went to England, seized with a sudden desire to find my wife.”

“I admire your patience in waiting; so flattering to me, you know,” was the sharp answer.

“It looks like neglect, I confess; but I’d heard reports of your flirtations, and twice of your being engaged, so I kept away till my work was done. Was it true?”

“I never flirt, Sidney, and I was only engaged a little bit once or twice. I didn’t like it, and never mean to do so any more.”

“I shall see that you don’t flirt; but you are very much engaged now, so put on your ring and make no romances about any ‘S.P.’ but myself.”

“I shall wait till you clear your character; I’m not going to care for a deceitful impostor. What made you think of this prank?”

“You did.”

“I? How?”

“When in England I saw your picture, though you were many a mile away, and fell in love with it. Your mother told me much about you, and I saw she would not frown upon my suit. I begged her not to tell you I had come, but let me find you and make myself known when I liked. You were in Switzerland, and I went after you. At Coblentz I met Sigismund, and told him my case; he is full of romance, and when we overheard you in the balcony we were glad of the hint. Sigismund was with me when you came, and admired Helen immensely, so he was wild to have a part in the frolic. I let him begin, and followed you unseen to Heidelberg, meaning to personate an artist. Meeting you at the castle, I made a good beginning with the vaults and the ring, and meant to follow it up by acting the baron, you were so bent on finding him, but Sigismund forbade it. Turning over a trunk of things left there the year before, I came upon my old Polish uniform, and decided to be a Thaddeus.”