"But is it so very terrible?" she said, hurriedly. "Dearest, I will come over to you in America. I have told my mother; she will take me to you—"
"I am not going to America, Natalie."
She looked up bewildered.
"I have been commissioned to perform another duty, more immediate, more definite. And I must tell you now, Natalie, all that I dare tell you: you must be prepared; it is a duty which will cost me my life!"
"Your life?" she repeated, in a bewildered, wild way, and she hastily drew her hand away from his. "Your life?"
"Hush, Natalie!"
"You are to die!" she exclaimed, and she gazed with terror-stricken eyes into his face. She forgot all about his allegiance to the Society; she forgot all about her theories of self-sacrifice; she only heard that the man she loved was doomed, and she said, in a low, hoarse voice, "And it is I, then, who have murdered you!"
"Natalie!" he cried, and he would have taken her hand again, but she withdrew from him, shuddering. She clasped her hands over her face.
"Oh, do not touch me," she said, "do not come near me. I have murdered you: it is I who have murdered you!"