He threw away his cigarette, and came across the room to her, and his
hands fell heavily upon her shoulders.
"Look here, Fatalite," he said roughly; "we thought you were dying a
little while ago, and I helped to fight for your life, and all the time,
at the back of my brain I wished you were dead. Yes, you needn't look so
horrified." He gave her a fierce shake. "I hoped to see you in your
coffin. Can't you understand, Fatalite? No, of course you can't, and
you think me a brute. One of these days perhaps you will think
differently. Probably you imagine I don't care for you, but if I didn't
should I mind whether you were alive or dead? You've always been saying
that you feel something is going to happen. It seems you are right.
There have been several unexpected developments during the last few days.
It is most likely that I may be chosen to go back to Russia with
despatches to one of the secret societies there. Here I cannot be
arrested, there I can. Of course it means Siberia--eventually. That's
only what we all expect."
"Then I shall be here alone.
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