“He strove hard. He seemed to know he could make me feel more keenly striking at you than at me; and when he said the papers were in his hands I was very near despair.”
“I can understand. Well, we’ll see it through to the end.”
“Not you,” she cried eagerly. “You must take no part. I——”
She stopped, meeting my look.
“You forget,” I said lightly. “It is I who have the papers now.”
“I cannot speak nor think lightly of it where you are concerned,” was her earnest reply. “You must see the danger is real.”
“I need no more evidence than your presence here. Yet you do not give in. If you are troubled for me, do you think I am indifferent about you? Helga!”
“No, no, I don’t think that. Oh, you know,” and she stretched out her hand to me. “But this purpose is my life. It is greater than all else. Yes,” she cried in answer to my look, “greater even than that.”
“Then I am jealous of it, Helga; so jealous that I will destroy it—or it shall destroy me. There is nothing to me greater than my love.”
“It can never be,” she said slowly, shaking her head sadly. “It would be cruel for me to give you hope, much as I would wish—ah, God! how much!”