“He is not to blame: it is I,” she interrupted. “You shield him at the expense of yourself. I see. Now, hear me. All my questions you have evaded; to none will you give direct answers. Enough of mysteries which you have refused to reveal ever since knowing me; therefore, we can do naught else but part.”
“What—you will leave me because of this?” she moaned, with a wild, hysterical cry. “Why don’t you go a step further—why don’t you say at once you are tired of me?” she cried, with an outburst of passion. “Say that you wish me dead.”
“That would be untrue,” I answered. “You know well I have lived only for you, Vera, and at nothing should I rejoice more than to be able to prove myself mistaken; yet, until that can be done, we must separate.”
She was grave and thoughtful for a moment, then, looking into my face, said haughtily:
“If you are determined upon this step, I am powerless to prevent it.”
“No, you are not,” I asserted.
“Why?”
“Because you might answer satisfactorily the questions I put to you just now.”
“No; no, anything but that,” she replied promptly, as with a frantic gesture she covered her face with her hands, continuing, “It—it would be far better for us to part, or the result—the result—might prove fatal.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded incredulously, as the mystery of the seal recurred to me.