"But he will not yield one hair's breadth concerning the woman."
"Death?"
"Death," he repeated solemnly, "in any manner the church elects. It may be by the stake, publicly, as was the fate of the Witch of Utrepect; or the slower and more painful death on the rack. I do not see how we can save her."
"Oh, my God, General, do not say that. I shall go mad. You must save her!" I cried in anguish.
"The King is fighting hard for you, Dr. Wharton—for you and your Solonika. He has surprised me at the concessions already won. You must appreciate this. The odds are great. Our Patriarch has been in communication with the Patriarch of all the Russias, the man who stands next to the Tzar. Nicholas had him wire this man, after sending his own representative in the Secret Order to state the case and plead for you. What little concessions he won came from this more enlightened Patriarch. But he, too, demands that the woman be given to the church she has wronged."
Solonika's fate seemed sealed. After our bitter fight upon the stairs, and all the heartburnings, she was lost.
"Tell Nick how much I thank him," I faltered.
"I will bear your message to the King," replied the General. "Acting under his instructions, I am here to ask you to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Your steamer trunk and suit case at Castle Framkor have been packed, and are now aboard my yacht at Bizzett. In a few hours it will be dark. We can smuggle you out very easily without being seen."
"Why all this secrecy?" I asked, aghast at the thought of leaving Solonika to her fate.
"The peasantry will tear you limb from limb if they see you."