“I am afraid he will never explain, Olga.”
Then indeed horror had its way with her. Niburg executed as a spy, after making who knew what confession! What then awaited her at the old castle above the church at Etzel? Karl, seeing her whitening lips, felt a stirring of pity. His passion for her was dead, but for a long time he had loved her, and now, in sheer regret, he drew her to him.
“Poor girl,” he said softly. “Poor girl!” And drew his hand gently over her hair.
She shivered at his touch. “I can never go back,” she said brokenly.
But at that he freed her. “That would be to confess before you are accused,” he reminded her. “We do not know that Niburg told. He was doomed anyhow. To tell would help nothing. The letter, of course, was in code?”
“Yes.”
She sat down again, fighting for composure.
“I am not very brave,” she said. “It was unexpected. In a moment I shall be calmer. You must not think that I regret the risk. I have always been proud to do my best for you.”
That touched him. In the firelight, smiling wanly at him, she was very like the girl who had attracted him years before. Her usual smiling assurance was gone. She looked sad, appealing. And she was right. She had always done her best for him. But he was cautious, too.
“I owe you more than I can tell you,” he said. “It is the sort of debt that can never be paid. Your coming here was a terrible risk. Something urgent must have brought you.”