I tossed the remaining fragments away, and tried to regard the incident as neither important in itself nor significant of anything serious. But Helga’s evidently sincere earnestness affected me; and the bothersome trifle was in my thoughts when I left the carriage soon afterwards, and she renewed her injunctions to me to be cautious.
“Do not deceive yourself,” she said very earnestly as we parted. “I know you will do your best for me; I believe it with all my heart. But you do not understand these things—and we may never meet again.”
“If I get into a mess I will contrive to let you hear of it.”
“Not in Russia, M. Denver. I shall wait, how anxiously I cannot tell you, for news of you. And if I get none, I shall not misunderstand. I repeat—we may never meet again.”
“If you do not hear from me to-day, or at latest to-morrow, you will know there is a check somewhere, and you must fly.”
“I shall be quite safe in the Retreat.”
“You can safely communicate with me at the American Embassy. Remember that.”
“I shall not forget, and need not write it down,” she answered with one of her smiles. “And do you yourself remember—caution, such as you have never had to use. Good-bye. May God prosper us and our cause.”
“And our love, Helga,” I added in the lowest of whispers. A pressure of her fingers and a glance from her eyes answered me.
The carriage drove off rapidly, and left me to set about a task, which in its way was perhaps as difficult as any that ever plagued the wits of a sorely perplexed man.