"Unless what?"
She looked me in the face.
"Unless you give me your word of honor that you make no attempt to carry on the task which Leslie Guest had assigned himself, that you do not regard yourself in any shape or form as his successor. Don't you see that it must be so? You plead that you must keep faith with the dead. I, at least, must keep faith with the living. I offer you a chance of safety, and I beg you to take it. I can do no more."
There was a sharp, little yap from Nagaski. We looked around, Lady
Dennisford had come out. We turned towards her. Nagaski trotted on ahead.
His demeanor was generally more brisk, and his expression one of relief.
A cloud of anxiety seemed to have rolled away from his small brain. Adèle
pointed to him significantly.
"You see," she said, "his instinct is right. There are evil things between you and me. If I speak, there is no hope for you, and if I keep silent, there is danger for me, and I am a woman forsworn. If only I had never gone to Lord's and seen you play cricket!"
"Would that have helped us?" I asked.
"Of course! I should never have counted upon you as a possible tool! I saw you strain every nerve in your body to catch a ball, and I judged you by your pursuits, and—all this has come of it. Nagaski was right. We go ill together, you and I, and one of us must suffer."
"I can only pray then," I answered, as I handed her into the carriage, "that it may be I."
Nagaski sprang upon his mistress' lap, and his was the only farewell I received as the carriage drove away. His upper lip was drawn back over his red gums; there was something fiendish and uncanny in his snarl, and the hatred which shone from his tiny black eyes. I watched the carriage until it disappeared. He had not moved. He was still looking back at me.