“You, Sonia? And in this disguise!” I cried.
“Hush! or we may be overheard!” she said quickly. “The choice fell upon me, but—but I have had a fainting fit, caused by over-excitement, and I cannot trust myself;” and she caused me to walk back and turn up Exeter Street, a short and practically deserted thoroughfare close by.
“Think, are not the risks too great?” I urged. “Why not abandon this attempt?”
“I have sworn to make it,” she answered determinedly.
“And the others—where are they?”
“An alarm has been raised. Baranoff, the chief of the Third Section, suspects, and is in London in search of us. We have all left England, with the exception of Karamasoff, who remains to witness the attempt, and make a report to the council.”
“And you will risk your life and liberty by endeavouring to strike this murderous blow, of which you do not feel yourself physically capable? For my sake, Sonia, defer the attempt until another occasion.”
“I cannot, even though you love me;” and her slim fingers tightened upon mine. Then, a second later, she clasped her hands to her forehead, and, reeling, would have fallen, had I not supported her.
“How—how very foolish I am!” she said, a few moments later. “Forgive me.” Then, as she steadied herself and strolled slowly by my side, she suddenly asked earnestly—
“Do you really love me, Andrew?”