CHAPTER II.
THE TRIUMPH OF COUNT SANDOFF.
The effect of the girl’s brief words upon Sandoff was startling.
His face suddenly assumed the color of ashes; he retreated to his desk, and stood there supporting himself by one hand and looking down at Vera Shamarin with an expression that was hard to define—a glance of mingled horror and pity.
The girl sprang forward and threw herself at his feet.
“Save him! Save him!” she cried incoherently. “He is my brother—all that I have in the world. If he is taken they will send him to Schlusselburg or to Siberia—or perhaps even worse.”
Sandoff drew back a little.
“Do you realize what you are asking of me?” he said. “Do you know that I could have granted you anything rather than that?”
He spoke in a low tone and signified to the girl to be equally cautious. But she was in no mood for reasoning.
“Your oath! Remember your oath!” she cried. “You dare not break it. You must save my brother, as you have sworn to do. It cannot imperil you, for none will ever know how he escaped. Give him such a passport as you give to your own agents when they are sent out of Russia on police business. He will be perfectly disguised, and the manner of his escape will never even be suspected.”
She looked at Sandoff, and seeing no trace of pity or of yielding on his stern features, she sank back on the chair and gave way to a flood of tears, her slender frame shaking with emotion.