And, seizing a dog whip lying near, she struck the husky a sharp blow and, as he furiously leaped to his feet, flung herself upon the floor before him. He fastened his teeth in her arm as his master grasped his throat, and the struggle shook the cabin. At last the man broke the dog’s hold and dragged him to the door. Gertrude’s heavy clothing had saved her arm from anything but a superficial wound, but as he bound it up she said:
“The dog will not forget, and if he fails me I can find another way.”
His face, which had paled, flushed a dark red as he hastily spoke.
“For God’s sake do not think—but why should you not? You are free, mademoiselle. Such courage shows me I am not quite the brute I fancied I had become, and also that there is one woman in the world whose ‘no’ assuredly does not mean ‘yes.’ I will take you home at once, on the faith of a Marovitch.”
She stared at him incredulously and said slowly:
“Is it possible—are you Count Boris Marovitch?”
“Yes”—in deep wonder—“that is my name, but how could you know?”
“This letter should interest you,” she said. “It is from Varinka. I was at a convent school in Paris with her.” And she watched him excitedly as he read aloud the passage she indicated.
“Do you remember my telling you of my cousin Boris, who was sent to Siberia for killing Prince —— in a duel? It was supposed that he was shot while trying to escape, but the guard has confessed that he was bribed to assist him, and he may be living. The Czar would gladly pardon him if he would return, his homicidal tendencies being valuable in the present war crisis. And Olga has steadfastly refused to marry any one else, so——”
A sharply drawn breath interrupted the reading, and the letter fell to the floor from his shaking hands as he looked at her, his face white and drawn.