"Yes," Edith replied, "I met her in London; and while dining one night
at the Carlton with Wolf and Bertini she told me how she had misled you
into the belief that she loved you passionately, in order to obtain from
you certain official information which had been of the greatest use to
them at the Quai d'Orsay. She little dreamed that I knew you and loved
you, and the three of them laughed heartily over what they called your
gullibility."
I pursed my lips, for I now saw that woman's motive in responding to my
declaration of love long ago. At the time I would not believe the
whispered condemnation of the Countess and her daughter as secret
agents, but of late the truth had been shown me all too plainly.
"And did she mention an incident last year in Paris as the result of
which she nearly lost her life?" I inquired.
"Yes; she told us a long story of how a mysterious attempt had been made
to poison her in her own apartment in Paris by some subtle poison being
placed upon the gum of the envelopes in her escritoire. She wrote a
letter, and licked the envelope in order to seal it, when she was seized
suddenly by excruciating pains, followed by coma and a state so nearly
resembling death that even the doctors were at first deceived. Only by
an antidote administered by an English doctor--a friend of yours, I
believe--was her life saved. Because of your efforts she had, she said,
been seized by remorse, and ceased to mislead you further, because of
the debt of gratitude she owed you."
"Very kind indeed of her," I laughed.
A silence fell between us. We were both looking seaward, far away over
the great expanse of clear bright blue, to where a distant steamer was
leaving a trail of smoke upon the horizon. Down in the
carnation-gardens some girls were singing an old Italian folk-song while
they cut and packed the flowers for the London market; at our feet were
violets everywhere.
"Can you tell me absolutely nothing, in order to lead me to a knowledge
of the truth, Edith?" I asked again. "Remember that our love and our
future depend upon you alone. At present you are a spy, liable to
arrest as a traitress."
"I know--I know!" she cried, bursting into a flood of tears. "It was
not my fault. I could not help it. I was compelled--compelled!"
"You are aware of the channels through which knowledge of our diplomatic
secrets have been obtained by our enemies. Will you not make amends by
telling me the truth?" I asked in a low, persuasive, earnest tone, my
arm about her slim waist.
"I dare not!" she sobbed--"I dare not! They would kill me, as they have
sworn to do if I betrayed them!"
During the hour that followed, as we wandered together among the olives,
I ascertained a few unimportant facts from her--facts which threw
considerable light upon the ingenuity of the spies with whom she had
been compelled to ally herself. But upon the secret of how their great
coups had been accomplished her lips were sealed.
I gave her to understand that Bertini was now within an ace of arrest,
and that in less than an hour he would, if I willed it, be inside the
Prefecture, charged with treason against his own Government; but in such
terror did she hold him that even my assertion that his power over her
had ended did not induce her to disclose anything.
At first it had seemed to me almost impossible that she, living in the
country with the strictly prim and proper Miss Foskett, could at the
same time be a member of the secret service of our enemies. But I had
witnessed her midnight meeting with Bertini, and that had convinced me.
"And if you cause his arrest," she exclaimed reflectively, as we
descended the mule-path on our return, "what will be the result?"
"The only result will be, as far as I can tell at present, that his evil
influence over you will be ended, and you will be free."
"No," she responded, sighing, "there are the others. His arrest would
only bring their wrath upon me, for they would believe that I had
betrayed them."
"They are spies and enemies of our country and our Queen, Edith," I
urged. "To betray them is your duty as an Englishwoman."
"To disclose their secret would mean to me a swift and terrible death,"
she answered.
I saw that all my efforts at persuasion were unavailing. As we retraced
our steps the silence between us was a sad and painful one.
"You do not love me sufficiently to sacrifice all for my sake, Edith," I
said at last gravely; "otherwise you would help me to unravel the
mystery." We were just descending a narrow winding path to the high
road as I spoke, and she halted suddenly in indecision.
"I do love you, Gerald," she cried with sudden resolution. She flung
her arms about my neck; she buried her face upon my shoulder; she burst
again into tears. "I love you--I have never loved any man except
yourself!" she declared passionately, lifting her face to me until our
lips met.
"Then will you not make this sacrifice, if you really love me so well?"
I asked. "Will you not tell me the truth, and allow me to be your
champion?"
She hesitated, and I saw the terrible struggle going on within her.
"Yes," she cried hoarsely at last, "I will--I will! and if they kill me,
you will at least know that I loved you, Gerald--that I loved you deeply
and dearly!"
"I am convinced of that, darling," I said. "But in this affair your
interests are my own. Tell me the truth, and give me freedom of action.
If you will, we may yet overthrow our enemies."
For a few moments she did not speak, but sobbed convulsively upon my
breast. Then, suddenly holding her breath, she raised her tear-stained
face to mine. At last, her love for me conquering all else, she said in
a low whisper, as though fearful lest someone should overhear:
"Go to the little village of Feltham, near London, the next station to
Twickenham, and find Cypress Cottage. You will discover the secret
there."
Feltham! It was the place mentioned by Wolf when I had listened to that
conversation in the dingy little cafe at Batignolles.
"What is there?" I inquired quickly. "What secret does the cottage
contain?"
"Have a care in approaching the place. Obtain the assistance of the
police--surround it--search it--and see."
"Is there sufficient evidence there to justify the spy's arrest?"
"Certainly. Go and ascertain for yourself. I have betrayed their
secret--that is enough. If their revenge falls upon me, then I am
content to bear it, Gerald, for your sake. Tell me, however, that you
have forgiven me all the past; that you will believe no word of any vile
scandal that may be uttered against me by that pair of adventurers.
Promise me," she cried in deep earnestness.
"I will believe nothing without proof," I answered, kissing her fondly.
"I love you to-day, darling, just as passionately as I did when first we
met long ago. I start for London by the Calais express at six to-night,
and will at once follow your directions."
"And Bertini, what of him?" she asked in alarm. "He is here, in
Bordighera, for an evil purpose, without a doubt. If he knows, I shall
be in deadly peril."
"Have no fear," I assured her. "Before I leave he will be in the hands
of the police. My plans are already matured." We walked back through
the orange-grove down to the hotel hand-in-hand, both resolved to act
firmly and fearlessly. As we walked along we seldom spoke with our
lips; but our hearts discovered a beautiful language in the silence; and
used it.
I loved her and she had proved her affection for me. The betrayal of
their secret made it plain that after all she was really mine; for she
had now defied her enemies and had placed her life in deadly jeopardy
for my sake.