"I have no fear of myself," I declared. "I am anxious on your behalf."
"Have no thought of me," she cried. "Leave, and return to England."
"And see you no more--eh?"
"If you will leave to-day, I--I will see you in England--perhaps."
"Perhaps!" I cried. "That is not a firm promise."
"Then, if you really wish," she replied in earnestness, "I will
promise. I'll promise anything. I'll promise to see you in
England--when the danger has passed, if--if disaster has not already
fallen upon me," she added in a hoarse whisper.
"But my place is here--near you," I declared. "To fly from danger
would be cowardly. I cannot leave you."
"No," she urged, her pale face hard and anxious. "Go, Mr. Biddulph; go
and save yourself. Then, if you so desire, we shall meet again in
secret--in England."
"And that is an actual promise?" I asked, holding forth my hand.
"Yes," she answered, taking it eagerly. "It is a real promise. Give me
your address, and very soon I shall be in London to resume our
acquaintanceship--but, remember, not our friendship. That must never
be--_never_!"