Scarcely had the train moved off, however, when I felt a light touch upon my arm, and heard a musical voice utter my name with true Russian accent.
“I confess you have the advantage of me,” I said, surprised.
“Yes, possibly,” she replied, in Russian. “When last we met it was in Petersburg. But we never spoke.”
“In Petersburg! You are Russian, then?”
She nodded, adding a word by which I knew at once that she was a Nihilist.
“You are a friend,” she continued earnestly; “Jakovleff has told me so. Moreover, I have read your articles in the English magazines, in which you exposed the vile treachery of the Secret Police, described the prison horrors, and told the English public the truth about our oppressed people. You have rendered our cause great assistance, and,” she added, looking frankly into my face, “I—I wonder whether I, personally, might count upon your aid!”
“What is the nature of your difficulty?” I asked, rather interested.
“Well,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation, “I expect my brother to join me at South Kensington. If you will accompany us home, I will explain all to you. I am in great peril—how great you cannot imagine. Indeed, if you refuse your assistance, I shall probably lose my life.”
“What do you mean?” I asked in consternation. “Is your life threatened?”