“Ah! you liar!” she cried, a new light breaking upon her. “Royda is not dead, and you know it; it was a vile trick. You dared not show her to me.”
Zarka laughed.
“So much the worse for you, dear. Say you are right and she is not dead, but alive a hundred leagues away, then why are you here? You are hopelessly compromised. Another alternative presents itself, and a worse one. To-morrow morning you are a disgraced woman—or Countess Zarka.”
Philippa could make no reply; her heart was over-full of indignation and bitterness. The man was too strong for her, and in his pitiless strength was driving her surely to her doom. She felt more and more her own weakness pitted against him, the futility of her struggles. All hope seemed to have vanished, and even could she beat this man, victory would only mean prolonged misery, since the zest of life was gone.
So she thought of her one feasible escape—death, and calmly balanced it against union with Zarka. This marriage would confirm Von Tressen’s opinion of her; death would give it the lie. So she began to contrive calmly how she could accomplish her end.
“The General would be delighted at the news of our secret marriage,” Zarka said, breaking the silence which he misinterpreted. “He would only be too glad to hear it was all over, and welcome you to-morrow as queen of Rozsnyo. Philippa, you must take the step now. You cannot go back. Honour is in front, shame and absolute disgrace behind. If I have taken a mean advantage, think of the odds I have had to fight against. Come! Be sensible. If you leave here now you can never hold your head up again; stay, and hold it higher than any woman of your acquaintance—as the bearer of my title. Is it so very dreadful?”
“The name of one of the greatest villains in Europe,” she said, in a low but perfectly distinct voice.
Zarka made an exclamation of impatience, but with wonderful self-control he gave no further sign of anger.
“We have talked long enough,” he said, crossing the room. “We shall never understand one another till we are man and wife.”
As he spoke he pushed away the tapestry which ran noiselessly on its rod, disclosing a pair of Gothic doors of polished oak. At a push these swung silently back revealing the private chapel of the castle, lighted up as for service. Behind the altar rails stood a man in robes, and with book in hand.