"What—oh, what do you mean?" breathed Patricia, a partial light breaking in on her bewilderment.
"My father!—they have him, too, in their power, 'over there'! He was captured by them after the siege of Antwerp, and is now in a German prison. Can you not see now where they have complete control over me? I must do their will without hesitation, or my father's life will be forfeited. The first act of disobedience, of rebellion on my part, and his life is ended by a secret code message sent by them through Switzerland. And so you see, my friend, that my life is a daily torture."
She said no more. Patricia sat petrified by this hideous revelation. No tale of horror that she had heard from her father could exceed the exquisite cruelty of the torment and misery meted out to this lovely, helpless girl, forced against her will, her patriotism, and her affections to act as their tool in order to save the life of her father! Patricia understood it all now—all the strange conduct that had so puzzled her in their days together at the hotel. How torn between her love, her sense of right, and her fears this poor girl must have been—must be now! And a great thankfulness filled her that she had been moved to assure Virginie of her love and trust, in spite of all appearances, before she had known the whole truth.
But there seemed to be no words in which she could express her horror of what she had heard. So she only kept both arms about her friend, and in this close contact they sat together, Virginie clearly grateful for the unspoken sympathy. At length Patricia broke the silence.
"Have they—have they made you do many things you—hated?" she asked hesitatingly. "I do not quite understand how they could use you—"
"They have spent, as they say, a long time 'training me'," said Virginie. "I was to pose before people as just what I am, a Belgian refugee, and arouse sympathy, and get into their confidence, and then—" she shuddered again, "draw from them any secrets of interest to the German government, or—or perhaps take from them any secret papers of importance, if I could manage it, or—or that kind of thing. They thought at first that I should be very successful, very helpful to them, but I fear I have not—that is, I do not fear it, I am glad of it—only I know that I risk my father's life with every act of resistance.
"Twice I have failed them. Once, in England, in a hotel there, they arranged that I should become acquainted with the wife of a prominent British general at the front. She took a great fancy to me and had me with her very often. They knew that she had papers of her husband's of great importance in her possession, and I was to obtain them somehow. But I could not do it—if for no other reason that she had been so kind to me; and soon she went away to do Red Cross work at the front, so I never had another chance. I was thankful from my heart, but oh, they were very, very angry! I thought they would surely fulfil their threat and take my father's life, but they gave me another chance.
"When your country declared war, we came over here and stayed for a time in a big hotel in Washington. There, a second time, I was made to form the acquaintance of an American diplomat and his wife who were staying at the same place. They were very sorry for me and interested in me because I was a Belgian refugee, and invited me often to their rooms. I did not care for them, as I had for the English lady, but they, too, were kind and good to me. Madame Vanderpoel had ordered me, on a certain day when I had been visiting in the lady's room and she had left me alone for a time, to go through her writing-desk and hunt for one particular document. And again I failed them. I could not do this horrible thing when it came to the moment, and I pretended to be very ill and obliged to return at once to my room. That night the diplomat and his wife removed to the house of a friend, where they were to visit for an indefinite time.
"The wrath of these terrible people against me knew no bounds. And I thought for a time that nothing could save my father. But they decided to give me one more chance—and that chance was you!"
Patricia started in spite of herself. "But how—how do they know there is anything—about me of—of interest to them?"