Princess Zara

I have thought since that I was playing with myself, as well as with

her, at that time; that I was making a study of Zara's soul, rather

than of her character; I have believed, and I now believe, that even at

that moment I was madly in love with this half wild creature, outwardly

so tamed, and yet inwardly more than half a barbarian, with the blood

of her Tartar ancestors on the one side coursing hotly in her veins. I

wanted to know her. I wanted to bring her out of herself. My own

intuition recognized, and was making the most of a boundless and

limitless sympathy that existed between us two, although I was not at

the time conscious of the fact; a sympathy that found voice in Zara's

heart as well as in mine, and which needed but a touch, as of the spark

to grains of powder, to fire it into a blaze of love so absolute as to

sweep every other consideration from its path. My heart recognized

hers, and I was subconsciously aware that hers recognized mine. It may

be that I was playing two parts with her at that moment, the one being

that of my ostensible character, as an agent of the czar; the other

asserting itself as plain Dan Derrington, an American gentleman who was

very much in love.

"Do you suppose, even then, that they would believe you, and spare me?"

I asked, with unconcealed irony, forcing myself even against my will,

to render my question bitterly offensive.

"Yes, oh, yes! I would give myself as hostage for your honor. My life

would be forfeited, too, if you should not keep the oath."

I hesitated. The opportunity was an alluring one in a way, for it would

render the entire organization like an open book to me. But more than

all else was the communion of interest that would thus be created

between this peerless woman and me. Still, there were other things to

be considered. The danger I would thus incur might render impotent the

entire fabric that I had constructed with so much care; and truth to

tell I could not bring myself to the point of utilizing a woman's

confidence in order ultimately to betray her and her friends.

"I cannot take the oath, princess," I said, calmly.

"Think! think!" she exclaimed.

"I have thought. I cannot do it."

"Sit down again, Mr. Dubravnik. There is no danger as long as you

remain here. I wish to tell you something. I want you to know why I am

a nihilist; then, perhaps, you may be of a different opinion."

I obeyed her and she resumed her position on the couch, but her entire

manner had undergone another change. The contempt, the scorn, the anger

had all died out of her face which now assumed a retrospective

expression and when she next addressed me her eyes had in them a

dreamy, far away light, as though she were living in the past while she

recited the strange tale that thrilled me as nothing else ever had, or

ever has done.