“I can’t tell you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can’t tell you anything—even you. Don’t you understand?”
“No, I don’t. It’s your word against his. I would rather believe you than him. I want to, Cyril. God knows I want to.”
“Didn’t I ask you to burn the papers? Didn’t he try to prevent it?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you see? If he were acting for England, it wouldn’t matter what became of ’em if they didn’t reach Germany.”
“Oh, I thought of that—but what you have told me bewilders me. Why should you run away with secrets of England—given you by a traitor who is about to pay the penalty with—with death? What does it mean? Why didn’t you take those papers at once to the War Office? Why did Captain Byfield give them to you? He—a traitor—to you—Cyril! It is all so horrible. I am frightened. Your danger—Rizzio’s men, here—tonight—all about us.”
“If they were English secret service men,” Cyril put in quietly, “wouldn’t they come here to this house and arrest me in the name of the law?”
“Yes. There must be other reasons why they can’t. What is the contest between you and Rizzio? Tell me. Tell me everything! I will believe you. Haven’t I kept your trust? If I could do that—for your sake—do you not think that I could keep silent for England’s sake?”
Her arms were about his neck, and her lips very close to his, but he turned his head away so that the temptation might not be too strong for him.