"Ruxton Farlow." There was a sharp, brutal ruthlessness in the manner in which Von Salzinger broke in.
Vita shrank at the tone.
"Yes," she said. "I love Ruxton Farlow, and have pledged myself to be his wife."
"Wife?" There was a smile in the man's eyes which did not conceal his jealous passion. "What chance have you of becoming his wife? None. There is only one chance—your escape from here. Your escape from here can only be contrived by me. Am I—I going to risk my life, and all my future, to hand over the woman I love to—Ruxton Farlow? Vita, I am only a man—a mere human man. I will risk all for you. I will dare even the vengeance of Von Berger if you but promise me. But no power on earth can make me stir a hand to deliver up all I care for in the world to—Ruxton Farlow."
The frank, ruthless honesty of the man's denial was not without its appeal to Vita. She even smiled a faint, gentle smile.
"It is as I said—useless. It is only as I could have expected. I could not hope it would be otherwise. I love Ruxton Farlow."
"Whom you can never hope to see again." Again came that savage crudeness of method which Vita recognized as part of the man. Then his eyes lit with a deep, primitive passion. "Oh, yes, I must seem brutal, a devil, like that Von Berger. Maybe I am, but I can see plain sense. In less than a week you will die here, murdered. How, I can only guess at. Von Berger knows no mercy. Your father is surrounded at Dorby, and will suffer a similar fate. All your plans and schemes will be frustrated. The works at Dorby are even now destroyed. There is no power on earth that can give you to this man you say you love. Well? Is not life still sweet to you? Is not your father's escape also something to you? I tell you I can contrive these things. All I ask is that you will marry me. Your solemn pledge. I love you, and will teach you to love me and forget this Englishman. It is madness to refuse. It is your one single chance of life, and you would fling it away for a shadow, a dream which can never be realized."
There was something in the man's manner which appealed to Vita. Perhaps it was the rugged brutality of his force. The repugnance in which she had held him had lessened. To her his genuineness was unmistakable. And he was honest enough to make no claim to generosity in the course he was prepared to adopt at her bidding.
Von Salzinger saw something of the effect he had achieved upon her and resolutely thrust home the advantage.
"Vita," he said, lowering his voice still more, but losing nothing of the urgency of his manner, "I have a plan whereby I can save you both—your father and you. Think of him, that great, but misguided man, who has lavished a world of affection upon you, and to whom you are more than devoted. Can you let him die? Think how he will die under Von Berger's hands. I tell you, Vita, better endure the agony of death at the hands of a common murderer a hundred times than be left at the mercy of that man. Even the torture of the old Inquisition might be preferable. He has neither soul nor conscience. And what does it mean to achieve this safety for you both? It means the sacrifice of your love for this Englishman. God! Is it so great a sacrifice when it can never be fulfilled? A passing dream which must end in the tragedy of your murder. You say you have no love. I ask for none. That will come. I will teach you a love which this Englishman could never have inspired. And I can give you back your life, and your father's life, in the great country across the Atlantic. Every detail of my plans are complete, but it must be now or never. Do you still refuse? Do you still desire to sacrifice your father to this selfish dream which can never be fulfilled?"