“I am sorry so poorly to reward what you have done. But I cannot explain.”
He inclined his head. “As you please.”
“Thank you,” she said again.
If Drexel had thought this incident was to establish them at once in close acquaintance, that hope soon began to suffer disappointment. There was no lack of courtesy, of gratitude, in her manner; he was already so far in her confidence that she dropped her mask of perfect control, and let him see that she was palpitantly alert and fearful; but she spoke to him no more than a bare monosyllable or two. Her fear spread to him. Mixed with his wonderment as to who she was, and what was this mysterious danger that menaced her, was a trembling apprehension lest the captain, recovered from his intimidation, should reappear in the compartment.
But the captain did not reappear, and they rode on in their strange, strained silence. When the train drew into the Nicholayevsky Station in St. Petersburg, Drexel started to help her from the coach. She tried to check him, but he had her out upon the platform before she could say a word.
She quickly held out her hand. “Good-bye,” she said hurriedly.
“Good-bye?” he cried in dismay.
“Yes. We shall not meet again.”
An icy chill swept through him. “Not meet again! Why, I had hoped that you would let me come—”
“You cannot come,” she went on swiftly. “And you must not try to follow me.”