“I do not ask you to steal,” he answered, with the faintest touch of irritation. “I merely ask you to borrow the documents for me. When I have done with them—when my counsel have seen them—you can put them back. My dear child, why will you not understand? To approach Lionel at this crisis would be to spoil everything. He may be the best-meaning fellow in the world, but his course of procedure would be the very opposite of mine. Oh, I can’t explain it all; it would take days—weeks! But surely you can trust me—if you love me, dear?”
She took a step forward, and looked at him with doubt in her eyes.
“I do—love you,” she faltered, the colour returning to her cheeks; “but—but I hate anything that is not straightforward—that is underhand. Lady Montella and Lionel have been my best friends ever since I was a tiny girl; I could not bear to think I was perhaps acting as a traitor to them in their own house.”
Loyal little soul! Ferdinand could not help casting her a glance of admiration, even though he was vexed by her dalliance.
“There is nothing traitorous about the action; you exaggerate the importance,” he said; and then approaching nearer, he made her look straight into his eyes. “How can I make you believe in me?” he asked, in a voice which was almost stern, yet sad. “Raie, I swear to you that I am an honourable man, that I too would despise this means were the cause not so vitally urgent. Look!”—he held up the locket on his watch-chain, and opened it to disclose a minute but faithful portrait—“here is a picture of Sir Julian. Remember—I am my father’s son.”
She glanced down at the well-remembered features of the late baronet, and up again at the strong face of the new one, with an indefinable feeling of compunction; and her will gave way. After all, he was right; she ought to trust him—she would trust him, even with her very life. A wave of emotion swept right through her being, and found expression in the depths of her brown eyes. He saw it, and knew that he had conquered, knew too that the struggle had been keen.
“Dear little girl!” he exclaimed softly. “You would never forsake a man in distress. Think of the future; it will mean so much for us both.”
“Very well, I will try to do what you want,” she said, with an effort; “but you must never blame me if any evil comes of it. I cannot pretend to like the commission, even though I am doing it for your sake. But I believe in you—I do believe that you have been cruelly wronged in the past, although you will not tell me all. How much time can you give me? Lionel does not return until next Monday.”
“You can have a whole month, dear,” he returned eagerly, “a few days longer if necessary. I know I can rely on you to use your discretion.”
She nodded.