“An infernal machine!”
“Yes. It was that which wrecked the Winter Palace on the day you were arrested. But listen, and you will learn the depth of Orselska’s villainy. Already by his treachery my poor father had been degraded and killed, and the fortune left to me was in his hands. He was determined to keep it, and there were but two ways of doing this: either I, too, must be killed, or marry his son Demetrius. Now you see why he schemed that you should be sent upon that dangerous errand. You were sent, Frank dear, so that on your arrival he, as a police spy, could give information which would secure your arrest and exile?”
“Impossible!” I cried. “Yet the explosion accounts for the excitement on the night of my arrest.”
“It is true, every word,” my wife asserted.
“I was arrested, nevertheless.”
“Yes, and it was with difficulty that we planned your escape. Partisans of Czaricide, those assisting in the struggle of freedom, however, are to be found in every class of society in my downtrodden country. The military and prison officials are no exception. My brother Boris, who was not—after all—dead, had allied himself with the Nihilists from the same motives as myself, and chanced to be the officer in command of the escort ordered to take your convoy to Siberia. Two of the prison warders were members of my Circle. Your trial was avoided by the judicious exercise of stratagem. When you changed clothes with the dead convict you ceased to exist in the eyes of the law, and your subsequent escape, due mainly to the exertions of Boris, was rendered easy.”
“Why did you remain silent so long after my return to England?”
She gazed upon me with loving eyes, and ran her fingers tenderly through my hair as she replied,—“Because I strove to forget you. I was ashamed at the deceit I had been compelled to practise, and felt that you could never forgive me sufficiently to again have confidence in me.”
“But I have done so, Vera.”
“Yes, that is why I am so happy—or—or rather, I shall be happy,” she replied, endeavouring to smile.