Part 23 (1/2)
”That grave was prepared for both of us,” she said in a calm, reflective voice.
”Then how did you escape?” I inquired, with curiosity.
”I do not know. I can only guess.”
”May I not know?” I asked eagerly.
”When I have confirmed my belief, I will tell you,” she replied.
”Then let us dismiss the subject. It is horrible, gruesome. Look how lovely and bright the world is outside. Let us live in peace and in happiness. Let us turn aside these grim shadows which have lately fallen upon us.”
”Ah!” she exclaimed, with a sigh, ”you are indeed generous to me, Mr.
Biddulph. But could you be so generous, I wonder, if you knew the actual truth? Alas! I fear you would not. Instead of remaining my friend, you would hate me--just--just as I hate myself!”
”Sylvia,” I said, placing my hand again tenderly upon her shoulder and trying to calm her, and looking earnestly into her blue, wide-open eyes, ”I shall never hate you. On the contrary, let me confess, now and openly,” I whispered, ”let me tell you that I--I love you!”
She started, her lips parted at the suddenness of my impetuous declaration, and stood for a moment, motionless as a statue, pale and rigid.
Then I felt a convulsive tremor run through her, and her breast heaved and fell rapidly. She placed her hand to her heart, as though to calm the rising tempest of emotion within her. Her breath came and went rapidly.
”Love me!” she echoed in a strange, hoa.r.s.e tone. ”Ah! no, Mr.
Biddulph, no, a thousand times no! You do not know what you are saying. Recall those words--I beg of you!”
And I saw by her hard, set countenance and the strange look in her eyes that she was deadly in earnest.
”Why should I recall them?” I cried, my hand still upon her shoulder.
”You are not my enemy, Sylvia, even though you may be the friend of my enemies. I love you, and I fear nothing--nothing!”
”Hus.h.!.+ Do not say that,” she protested very quietly.
”Why?”
”Because--well, because even though you have escaped, they----” and she hesitated, her lips set as though unable to articulate the truth.
”They what?” I demanded.
”Because, Mr. Biddulph--because, alas! I know these men only too well.
You have triumphed; but yours is, I fear, but a short-lived victory.
They still intend that you shall die!”
”How do you know that?” I asked quickly.
”Listen,” she said hoa.r.s.ely. ”I will tell you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN