“I mean that you are condemned to die!”
“To die?”
“Yes. You will die in the same manner as General Yagodkin. The Nihilists have condemned you.”
“Tell me—how do you know?” he asked, breathlessly excited, and pale with alarm.
“Hush!” she urged. “Speak lower. I—I know you love me, Feodor. I have not forgotten your words when in London. You asked me to be your wife; but, alas! I can never be more to you than what I am—a friend—although we love one another so well.”
Her voice faltered as she spoke; the last words of the sentence were almost lost in choking sobs.
“And why?” he asked, slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her head down upon his gold-braided uniform coat.
She shuddered, gently disengaging herself from his embrace.
“Listen,” she said, in a hoarse, fierce whisper. “I have journeyed here, to Moscow, on purpose to warn you of your danger. I leave to-night, and you will never again see me. I am here at great risk, for my life would be taken by the Terrorists if they knew I had given you warning; whereas, if the Bureau of the Third Section knew of my presence on Russian soil, they would undoubtedly arrest me.”