"You have a good, warm heart," he answered faintly. "You are sorry for me—and I thank you. I am glad that I am going to set you free."
"Wolff!"
For the first time she understood. He did not believe her, and he was dying. The blow was almost annihilating in its force and cruelty. Hitherto she had defied Fate; it crushed her now beneath its inevitableness, and a cry of agonised revolt burst from her lips.
"Wolff, you must believe me! I can't begin life again without you—I can't! You must not leave me—you cannot leave me lonely!"
He smiled.
"Don't you see that it is for the best, my darling? It was not your fault. The sea between is so broad and strong——" He broke off suddenly, and a curious, unsteady light flickered into his glazed eyes. "Don't let her know it is anything—serious," he whispered. "She will be frightened—and she must not be frightened. She has gone, you say? With Arnold? That is a lie. I knew she was going—I sent her. Her mother is ill. The papers——? Oh, my God! my God!"
She clasped him tighter in her arms. The frightful outbreak of delirium—frightful because of its extraordinary yet heart-broken quietness—shook her to the soul. She looked about her, and in an instant Hildegarde was at her side.
"Nora is here," she said. "She will never leave you again. She has brought the papers. They are safe—the papers are safe."
She repeated the words over and over again, as though she were striving to break through the cloud in which his mind was shrouded. He thrust her from him, dragging himself upright in a stiff attitude of salute.
"Herr General, I am responsible—alone responsible. No one else is to blame. The papers?—I can tell you nothing but that I am responsible. Tell him, Seleneck! Tell him I boasted about them and was careless—anything! Swear—give me your word of honour! I am dying—what does it matter? No, no; you are not to send for her. She is to be happy—and free—among her own people. You must not blame her. It was too hard. We—must forgive each other. Oh, Nora! Nora!