The Circassian shook her head.

“Why talk of things that must be first accomplished?  Return to the banquet, sir, that no one may suspect of you.  At midnight you will find the English lady in your tent, or you will never set eyes on me again.”

She turned as if to go; but after having taken a few steps came back once more to him.

“You will not tell the Prince that I am here, do you understand?  It is not time yet for him to learn that.”

With these words she disappeared, before Heideck could ask another question.  Little as he felt inclined after what he had just experienced to return to the mad riot of the banquet, he perceived that there was scarcely anything else open to him, for any interference with the unknown plans of the Circassian would scarcely be of any advantage to Edith.

But if the minutes had hitherto appeared endless, they now crept on with quite intolerable slowness.  He scarcely heard or saw anything that was taking place about him.  The rajah who had the next place to him tried in vain to open a conversation in his broken English, and at last, shaking his head, abandoned the silent stranger to his musings, which in the middle of this riotous festivity must certainly have appeared very strange to him.

Shortly before midnight, before Prince Tchajawadse and his other comrades thought of moving, Heideck once more left the state tent of the Maharajah and turned his steps towards the Russian camp, which was far away visible in the red glare of the bivouac fires, around which the loudest merriment was also taking place.

In reality he entertained very little hope that the Circassian would be able to fulfil her bold promise, for what she had taken upon herself appeared to him to be absolutely impracticable.  Yet his heart throbbed wildly when he thrust back the linen sheet that covered the entrance of the tent which had been assigned to him.

On the folding-table in the middle of the little room were two lighted candles beside a burning lantern.  And in their light Heideck discerned—­not Edith Irwin, but instead, the handsomest young rajah who had ever crossed his eyes under the glowing skies of India.

For a moment Heideck was uncertain, for the slender youth, in the silken blouse tied round with a red scarf, English riding-breeches and neat little boots, had turned his back to him, so that he could not see his face, and his hair was completely hidden under the rose-and-yellow striped turban.  But the blissful presentiment which told him who was concealed beneath the charming disguise could not deceive him.  A few rapid steps and he was by the side of the delicate-limbed Indian youth.  Overpowered by a storm of passionate emotions, he forgot all obstacles and scruples, and the next moment clasped him in his arms with an exultant cry of joy.

“Edith! my Edith!”

“My beloved friend!”

In the exceeding delight of this reunion the confession which had never passed her lips in the hours of familiar tete-a-tete, or in the moments of extreme peril which they had endured together, forced its way irresistibly from her heart—­the confession of a love which had long absorbed her whole life.