“Traitors die slowly in London, but they do die,” she said slowly, with deep meaning.
“Curse you!” he cried. “What do you intend to do?”
“Listen!” she answered, rising slowly from her chair and standing before him resolute, desperate, and defiant. “I came here to-night for one purpose—to make a proposal to you.”
“A proposal! To marry me, eh?” he laughed.
“This is no time for weak jokes, signore,” she answered angrily. “Silence is best in the interests of us both, is it not?”
He paused, his eyes fixed on the hearthrug.
“I suppose it is,” he admitted at last.
“Think,” she urged, “what would be the result were the whole of those strange facts exposed. Who would suffer?”
He nodded, but no word passed his hard lips. She noticed that what she uttered now impressed him.
“Our acquaintance,” she went on in a more sympathetic tone, “was formed in curious circumstances, and it has only been fraught with unhappiness, sorrow, and despair. I come to you to-night, Frank,” she added in a low despondent voice, “to ask you to help me to regain my freedom.”