"I must not say, dearest; but this you might know--that no harm was intended for you in any proceeding in which I had a hand."

"That is no answer, Vera," I said, somewhat sternly. "You say this was for `our' something, and for my future happiness! What does it all mean, and why this mystery? I'm tired of it. If you cannot explain, why ask me to call upon you?"

"Because, Frank--because I feel sure you would forgive me everything, could you know all."

"Is there a reason, then, that you will make no explanation?"

"Yes, a most important one. If I could, I would tell you--but I cannot," she said.

"Yet you were aware of my arrest, my imprisonment without trial, and transportation?"

"True. I knew of your arrest an hour after it had taken place."

"And it was you who planned my escape?"

"It was. Had I not been successful, you would now be working in the Kara silver mines, enduring that living death which is a worse punishment than the gallows," she replied, shuddering.

"For your timely a.s.sistance in that matter I must thank you," I said.

"Yet it is only fair that I should know the nature of my unknown offence, and the reason of my arrest I presume you are aware of it?"

"No, do not thank me, Frank. It was in my power to help you, and I did so. It was but my duty."

"But why was I imprisoned?" I asked.

"That I cannot tell you."

"Surely I have a right to demand an explanation, and if you do not tell me I shall place the matter before the English Consul, who will, perhaps, be able to fathom it," I observed.

"No, no!" she replied, starting up. "No, Frank, don't do that, for my sake. It would implicate me and I should be in deadly peril. Let the subject rest, and request no further explanation, promise me that?" she urged earnestly.

"I cannot. There is a mystery about the whole affair which I confess I don't like. I came here to-day expecting to hear it explained, but I find you indisposed to tell me anything," I replied angrily.

"Not indisposed, Frank--unable."

"Unable! Why, you admit you are fully cognisant of the facts!"

"I do, but unfortunately circ.u.mstances will not permit me to disclose the secret."

"There _is_ a secret, then?" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"Yes, one that must be kept at all hazards, alas! Therefore promise not to cause inquiries to be made, or it will be myself who will be the sufferer. Do promise me this?" she implored.

"If what you say is true," I replied, "you may rely upon my silence, though I think, in the interests of our friendship, you should tell me what you know."

"I wish I could. I know I am not _hors de blame_, for I deceived you when I said I was under my uncle's thrall. It is true he holds power over me, but not in the way I suggested."

"How, then?"

"Ah, it is part of the secret. Some day, perhaps, you may know--not now. I had a set purpose in asking you to go to Russia to perform that commission you so kindly undertook, yet it was in desperation that I asked you--the man who was to have been my husband."

"And I shall bitterly remember the experience until my dying day," I remarked.

"Yes! it is only natural that you should feel disgusted at what you conceive is my treachery. It is but another result of the fatal step--I mean of the cursed circ.u.mstances in which I am placed. I cannot hope for your forgiveness, for I dare not explain. On every side," she exclaimed disconsolately, with a vehement gesture of the hands, "I am watched and surrounded, hemmed in with difficulties, absolutely prevented from--"

"From telling me the object for which you sent me to Russia, when you knew it was a dangerous errand, likely to cost me my life? How can you expect that I should love you as I did with this terrible enigma unsolved?"

She remained silent.

For a moment I thought she was on the point of telling me all, when, with a look of piteous appeal, she threw herself at my knees and raised my hands to her lips.

"Frank," she murmured, so low that it was only by bending forward that I could catch the words, "why do you ask? Is it because you love me, or-- or--is it from mere curiosity you inquire?"

"Because I love you, Vera."

"Then," raising her beautiful face to my own, with a smile of hope, "then--trust me, Frank, and, in the future, when things have altered, you shall know _all_!"

"This is trifling," I said stiffly, raising her to her feet. "You ask me to trust you because I love you; if you care for me, why not trust me, and confide this trouble to one who would do so much for you?"

"Cannot you wait, Frank, for--for even a short time? Can you never think that it was by pure force of circ.u.mstances that I was compelled to practise deceit towards you? I have known of your return since the day of the murder--that is--I mean since the first hour you set foot in England, but I had not the courage to face you because I knew I deserved forgiveness so little."

"If this is all you have to say," I responded, rising, and taking up my stick and hat, as if going, "we may as well part. Force of circ.u.mstances may be compelling you to deceive me now."

My heart told me that Vera was wronged. As the cynical words fell from my lips she gave me a glance confirming that opinion. Standing erect, her features aglow with indignation, her whole frame quivering with excitement, she confronted me like a lioness.

"Go!" she exclaimed, with an energy which made me start violently. "Go, for we have both been deceived. I have been deceived, but now my awakening has come. Alas! this is my reward for the dangers braved, the difficulties surmounted, and the crimes committed for your sake!"

"Stay, Vera, for Heaven's sake! What crimes?"

"Oh, forgive me! What have I said? I think I'm mad. Nay, question me no further, but leave me. Could you but know my heart, Frank, you would have pity--you would know that my love is too great, too all-absorbing, to allow me for an instant to endanger your life unnecessarily. But it is absolutely certain I cannot tell you now, and therefore--"

I was conquered. As she paused again, in the midst of her anguish, and her eyes sought mine with an irresistible glance in which love and tenderness, mingled with entreaty, struggled with hope, I knew that all further resistance to the spell on my part was useless, for Vera spoke the truth--and she was all the world to me.

So I took her in my arms, and forgave her.

"And you will always trust me now, Frank?" she asked presently with happy and tender elation.

"Vera," I said, gravely, "I am showing my faith in you, am I not, by asking you to be my wife? I can trust you?"

"Trust me!" she cried. "_Mon Dieu_! I have loved only one man; it is you."

I bent down to kiss the pale upturned face and her lips met mine in a hot pa.s.sionate caress, enough to make any man's head reel.

"I will endeavour to blot out from my memory this strange deceit you have practised upon me," I exclaimed in a low voice.

"I am thankful to you, for I'm so undeserving," she cried, kissing me fondly again and again.

"But you must own your vindication has not been very satisfactory," I said, smiling.