He thought for a while.
“It is only what I myself fear.”
“Then you can surely tell me,” I said eagerly.
“If your—your honour had been what I thought, and not an American only, Vastic’s anger and that of those with him would have fallen on mademoiselle herself.”
“Why?”
“It is so plain, your honour. He would have held it such treachery for—for such a one to have been at the villa and to have left it unharmed.”
“My God!” I cried as the light burst upon me. “You mean they would condemn the mademoiselle and M. Boreski for not having taken my life when apparently they had the chance?”
“Your honour can surely see that clearly.”
As the full danger and possible horror of the thing rushed upon me, I dashed my heels into my horse.
“Come, then, for God’s sake! Let us get to her and see that she is safe,” I cried, and we covered the remaining miles as fast as the gallant beasts under us could travel. And gallantly they carried us; up hill and down, without let or stop we rattled along, Ivan to the full as eager and urgent as I, until we reached Brabinsk and drew up before the door of a secluded house lying away from any road. I dismounted from my sweating, panting horse, and asked for Helga.