“I trust you wholly,” she whispered. “Help me to do right.”
“If I were thinking of myself, I would urge you with every means in my power to fly,” I said in low, rapid accents of passion.
“No, no, you must not counsel that,” she cried vehemently. “We must not, dare not, think of ourselves. Spare me that temptation.”
“You cannot stay here and be safe unless we make this desperate venture.”
“And the world would say I ran away because I feared for my safety, betraying all who have sought to help my cause; or else that I fled to——” She paused, her face aflame with sudden blushes. “You would not have me do that?”
“You are my world,” I answered recklessly. “Listen one moment. In our hearts we all know, Zoiloff as well as any, that the cause is lost. Till I fired him again—knowing how you would shrink from flight—he was saturated with hopelessness. When he heard the ill news, his one thought was how you could be saved. That is the thought of us all. The way to the frontier is still open. I have ready at instant command the means of securing your safety. If you will go, I will stay to check the slanderous tongues whose malice you dread. If you bid me I will never see you again. But for God’s sake, I implore you, leave me at least the solace that you are safe.”
The words moved her so that for a while she could not speak, but the clasp of her hand tightened on mine. Then she asked tenderly:
“Do you think the woman in me would know a moment’s happiness if you were in danger?”
“Then let it be a woman’s decision,” I urged passionately, carried away by the love in her voice. “Life is all before us.”
“No. It cannot be. Cannot. Must not,” and she shook her head and shuddered. “You know what this temptation must be to me. Do not urge it. I cannot listen. I dare not yield. I beg you be merciful,” she pleaded.