"And sweeter still to love you," she retorted, smiling and rousing
herself. "Sit here in this chair," she added, rising and forcing me to
do the same; and when I had complied she drew a large hassock toward
me, and seating herself upon it while she rested one shapely arm across
my knees, with her face upturned to mine, she continued the story.
"Shall I continue to represent you as being the embodiment of the
character I am describing?" she asked.
"If you prefer it so."
"Listen, then, for I think I do prefer it so. I want you to hear the
story to the end, for it will make you understand many things which are
now obscured; and if I give you the part of the great actor in this
tragedy, that also is for a purpose."
"Yes, dear."
"You returned to St. Petersburg intent upon two things, and only two.
After those two duties should be accomplished, you meant to take your
own life; and in that purpose you were upheld by those among your
friends who knew your story.
"You meant to kill the man who had betrayed your sister into the hands
of the police, and after that to destroy the real author of all her
misfortunes and yours--the czar. You had changed so that you needed no
disguise. Had your sister been alive and well, and had she met you on
the street she would not have known you. Your once tall form so erect
and soldier-like, was bent, and your former quick tread had become
unsteady. Your hair, black as the wing of a raven when you went away,
was now white, like the snow that is heaped out there in the street.
None of your old friends recognized you although you met and passed
many of them on the avenues and streets in the full light of the day.
Even your fiancé who loved you better than she did her life, saw you
and passed you by unheeded. She saw your wistful glance, and looked
upon you wonderingly; but she, like others, believed that you were
dead, and although she felt that her heart leaped to her throat and
that a spasm of sorrowful recollections convulsed her when she glanced
into your eyes, yet she did not know you. And you--you thanked God that
she did not, for you knew that she would have flown into your arms then
and there--would have risked Siberia with all its horrors for one more
word of love from you. So you passed each other on the street so nearly
that her furs brushed against you, and she never knew--never
knew--until long after you were dead, when those friends who had helped
you when all others failed, went to her and told her."
"You were an invalid when you returned to St. Petersburg, and you
waited for health and strength before completing your work. You had
learned patience during those weary months of searching and waiting in
Siberia. Then, too, that same Russian officer whom you had sworn to
kill, was absent, and you wished him to return. Your friends told you
that he had been restored to favor with the czar, that he had been sent
to a post in Siberia; but when you arrived he was expected back within
the month. He was to take the very place and assume the same official
rank that you had once filled in the palace, next to the sacred person
of the czar. Ah! If you could only find them together, and destroy them
at the same time! Such a climax would be sweet indeed. It was for that
that you waited and hoped. But he did not come; you waited, and he did
not come.