Then, panting, she slowly disengaged herself from my arms, saying:
“Our dream is over. After to-night we may be friends, but never lovers. To love me would bring upon you a disaster, terrible and complete; therefore strive, for my sake, Stuart, to forget.”
“I cannot,” I answered. “Tell me of your peril.”
“My peril—ah!” she exclaimed sadly. “Ever present, it haunts me like a hideous nightmare, and only your companionship has lately caused me to forget it for a few brief hours, although I have all the time been conscious of an approaching doom. It may be postponed for months, or so swiftly may it descend upon me that when to-morrow’s sun shines into my room its rays will fall upon my lifeless form; my soul and body will have parted.”
“Are you threatened by disease?”
“No. My peril is a strange one,” she answered slowly. “If I might tell you all my curious story I would, Stuart. At present, alas! I cannot Come, let us go back to the hotel, and there bid me farewell.”
“Farewell! When do you intend to leave me?” I cried dismayed, as we turned and walked on together.
“Soon,” she said, sighing, her hand trembling in mine—“it will be imperative very soon.”
“But may I not help you? Cannot I shield you from this mysterious peril?”
“Alas! I know not. If your aid will assist me in the future I will communicate with you. I have your London address upon your card.”