They went up the stairs together, and they hardly spoke a word. And when they reached the cedar parlour Denzil let Verisschenzko go in in front of him.
"I have brought Stépan to you," he told Amaryllis. "I am going to leave you to talk now."
Amaryllis was white as milk and her grey eyes were disturbed and very troubled. She held out her two hands to Verisschenzko and he kissed them with affectionate worship.
"Lady of my Soul!"
"Oh! Stépan,—comfort me—give me counsel. It is such a terrible moment in my life. What am I to do?"
"It is indeed difficult for you—we must think it all out—"
"Poor John—I ought to be glad that he is alive, and I am—really—only, oh! Stépan, I love Denzil so dearly. It is all too awfully complicated. What so greatly astonishes me about it is that John has not written deliriously, or as though he has lost his memory, and yet if we had carried out his instructions and wishes we should be married now, Denzil and I,—and he never alludes to the possibility of this! It is written as though no complications could enter into the case—"
"It sounds strange—may I see the letter?"
She got up and went over to the writing table and returned with a packet and the envelope which contained the card. It was not one which prisoners use as a rule; it had the picture of a German town on it and the postmark on the envelope was of a place in Holland. Verisschenzko read it carefully:
"I have been too ill to write before—I was taken prisoner in the counter attack and was unconscious. I am sending this by the kindness of a nurse through Holland. Everyone must have believed that I was dead. I am longing for news of you, dearest. I shall soon be well. Do not worry. I am going to be moved and will write again with address.