"Vita!"

It was Von Salzinger. His manner was eager and urgent. It also had in it that suggestion of fear of detection which she had witnessed before.

"It is the answer to your letter. I had it this morning, and would have conveyed it you earlier, but I dared not risk it. Now Von Berger is away, and, for the moment, we are safe. So--here it is. Read it quickly and tell me of it. On it depends so much. The future. Our futures. Your father's. Read it."

But Vita's mood permitted no sudden reaction at the thought of that life and liberty for which she had bartered her soul. She took the letter, and, before opening it, her eyes searched the square features of the well-dined man before her. Her regard was sufficiently cold.

"Where has Von Berger gone?" she demanded.

"To Dorby."

In a moment the coldness had left Vita's eyes. She was caught again in the hot tide of alarm.

"To Dorby? Have they discovered--my father?"

The hard eyes of the Prussian lowered before the woman's alarm. Then his reply came, conveying a momentary confidence which Vita clung to.

"I can't be sure," he said. "But I don't think so. Still it is that possibility which has brought me here now. That, and your letter. There must be no delay if we are to get away. Von Berger has to go elsewhere before he reaches Dorby. He will not reach there until Monday. He will also leave there on Monday, and be back here on Tuesday morning. We must be on the sea before Von Berger reaches Dorby. Now--your letter.

Read it."

His final order came sharply. There was no request in it.

Vita tore it open. The alarm was still in her eyes, although there had been rea.s.surance in Von Salzinger's words.

For some moments she read down the two pages of the letter. Then she sighed in relief.

"It is all right," she said, pa.s.sing the sheets across to her companion. "Read it yourself. He will meet us at the cove on Sunday evening. The submersible will be standing off to pick us up. And--the whole thing remains a secret between us. He has merely told Mr. Farlow that he is going."

If she were relieved there was no enthusiasm in her manner. Safety was looming ahead, but the price was no less. The Prussian's eyes were raised from the letter and a cold severity looked out of them and shone down upon Vita's unsmiling features.

"It is well. But--you regret?" His gross lips pouted under their severe compression.

"Regret?" Vita pa.s.sed one delicate hand across her brow. It was a movement which expressed something like unutterable weariness. It was almost as if she were beyond caring for consequences. "It is more than regret," she said, and the eyes gazing up into Von Salzinger's were as hard as his own.

The man drew a whistling breath. He realized.

"I believe you hate me," he cried.

Vita shrugged.

"Hate? You are about to give me back my life."

"Yes." The man pa.s.sed her back the letter. His monosyllable conveyed nothing. It was the expression of one whose thoughts and feelings are entirely preoccupied. A hot fury was surging through his veins. His vanity was outraged. He wanted to pour out the tide of brutal invective which so naturally rose to his lips. But he drove it back under the powerful lash of almost superhuman restraint.

"But you do hate me," he said, with simple regret in his heavy voice.

"And I would do anything to change that hate. Why? Why is it? It was not always so. You know the discipline under which we live. All I have done I was compelled to do. Had I not obeyed I could not be here to serve you now. Had I rebelled, and refused to carry out my duty, what hope would there be for you now? None. Farlow could not save you. No one could save you once you were in the clutches of this demon Von Berger. It is only that I have performed my share in your persecution that makes it possible to hold you out a hand of help. You are hard on me--harder than you have any right to be. You would say you are buying your life, I know. Well, do we not buy everything in life? And do we not have to pay a price which always seems exorbitant? The price you are paying; what is it? Wifehood. A future cared for and sheltered by a strong man's hand. Behind you a memory, a memory of that which could never have been fulfilled, because you would have been sacrificed to the discipline of the country which claims you. Ach! it is unreasonable. It is ungenerous. I would give my right hand for your better regard."

But the man's appeal, his arguments, left Vita unmoved.

"Discussion is useless," she said firmly. "We have entered into an agreement which you had power to force upon me. Believe me, I shall not be ungrateful for my father's safety and my own life. But it is a business agreement which makes no demand for the modification of any regard. If my love is demanded, then you must invoke supernatural powers to bring it about. For surely no earthly power could bring about such a revulsion of my feelings. Let us keep to the business."

The hard eyes of the man had grown harder, but his lips smiled, displaying the strong white teeth behind them sharply clenched.

"Yes. To the business. There is much. To-day I have arranged those things which I could arrange. It is fortunate that your father has appointed the one day which we must have chosen ourselves. It must be Sunday night. Sunday night before Von Berger reaches Dorby. Vita, it is a pleasant thought to me that I--I can defeat this man. Ever since he came to England he has treated me like a conscript. I hate him."

Vita watching him realized the truth. It pleased and satisfied her that it was so. To her such animus between these men meant safety.

"Yes? Sunday night?"

Von Salzinger shrugged. He understood her manner.

"Listen," he said sharply. "On Sat.u.r.day evening at 6:30 you must be ready to get away. At that hour you must be ready, and I will provide you with a long dark cloak for travelling. We shall go by car. We dare not risk any other means. Car the whole way, and the journey must take us precisely the twenty-four hours. Now this is it. When the moment comes I will arrange that your attendants are engaged elsewhere, and that the doors of the corridor are unfastened. You will slip out and pa.s.s down the long pa.s.sage till you come to the main staircase. This you will descend, and reach the hall below. The entrance door will be open. You will pa.s.s out and down the drive. Beyond the gates a car will be standing--a cabriolet. The chauffeur will be at the wheel. Without a word you will get in the car. He will at once drive off. I shall join you at Bath, where we shall have a very late meal."

"How will you join me?"

Von Salzinger raised his brows.

"It is simple. I am in command here. My word is absolute. Within ten minutes of your going it will be discovered. I arrange this. I shall be in a fury, I shall terrify those with me. There will be three men.

Among them Johann Stryj. I shall curse the women, and then set about running you down. Each man will be despatched in a car to certain places, in directions you have not gone. I shall pursue you alone. So I shall come up with you at Bath. Then you will continue the journey to Dorby with me. I shall time it so we reach the--the cove, eh? at half-past six on Sunday evening. We shall travel all night."

In spite of herself excitement was growing in Vita. The prospect of the race for liberty was alluring and exciting.

"And we go straight for the Old Mill Cove?"

"It is so. This cove. Ha, it is a strange place and--secret. It is your secret and your father's. You will have to guide me." His manner became reflective. "We know so much of the coast, yet we missed this place. It is strange. You know it and your father, but Von Berger--no. So it was that your father escaped. It amuses me now. Still Von Berger does not know. And so we shall escape. Now write your answer to that letter. I will help. We must have no hitch, for unless we get away at that moment--disaster will follow."

Vita had finally thrown off her uncompromising att.i.tude of coldness.

She was alive with a thrilling excitement. The man's plans were so simple and adequate. Her only fear was Von Berger's unexpected return.

She had moved to a table where writing materials lay and prepared to write her letter.

"Von Berger will not change his plans?" she demanded eagerly.

"He will not change them. He has been summoned to meet---- He is on the sea. He has gone to make his report. Now write."

The next few minutes were occupied in the writing of Vita's reply to her father. It was practically dictated by Von Salzinger, as had been her earlier letter. He left her no choice in what she must say, and, at the conclusion of the writing, read it carefully over, and finally folded it and sealed it himself. He looked on silently while she addressed the envelope to Sir Andrew Farlow. Then he took possession of it and placed it in an inner pocket.

With the completion of the letter his manner seemed to undergo a change. The smoothness, even deferential atmosphere of the man merged into one of sharp suspicion. His brows drew together, and a quick sidelong glance flashed in the woman's direction, and a surly note sounded in his next words.

"It is a fool that can trust a woman--a woman in love. How do I know that your father will not betray me to this man, Ruxton Farlow? How do I know that you will fulfil your promise? You, a woman hating me, and in love with Farlow. I am mad, mad to risk it. You hate me--because I would save you and your father. If Farlow knew there would be no mercy for me. For you I am imperilling my life in every direction. Von Berger, and all he stands for, shadows me from behind. Before me is a man robbed of his love."

Vita had risen from the table. She had turned to the fire and stood leaning against the great mantel.

"Your estimate of human character need not alarm you. Remember, wanton treachery is almost as rare as the highest virtues. Men and women do not betray unless they can see some gain ahead. My father needs safety and security, not only for himself but for me. I, too, want these things. Your conditions will be fulfilled to the letter because we need your aid. Will that satisfy you? Is it commercial enough? You have set the price, and I have agreed to it. Nor am I bankrupt. It is an agreement between us, and the fact that it is not set out on paper, and duly signed by witnesses, makes it surely the safer."

The man's hard eyes were fixed steadily upon the beautiful face.

"Your tongue is bitter," he said in a deep guttural tone.

"But no more bitter than my lot. Please go now. Human endurance has its limits. If you force me to mine I shall fling all to the four winds of heaven, and accept the fate marked out for me by the merciless tyrants who prevail at Berlin."