SONER AND CAPTIVE

It was with mingled feelings that Marishka found the sanctuary of her
sleeping room. Her abhorrence of Goritz as the murderer of Hugh Renwick
was uppermost in her breast, her fear of him as her captor of scarcely
less import, but his tumultuous plea for her forgiveness and his strange
avowal had given her food for thought. Such a rapid _volte-face_ was
beyond credence. This man had watched by her bedside, nursed her during
the week that she had lain unconscious. Her cheeks burned hot at the
thought of the situation, and quickly she questioned Ena who at last
reluctantly admitted the truth. Herr Hauptmann Goritz had sat many
nights by the bedside while she, Ena, had slept so as to be fresh for
the day to follow. He had commanded her silence, and Ena had obeyed. She
hoped that the Excellency would understand.

Marishka nodded and sent her from the room, for she wanted to be alone
with her thoughts. He had watched by her sickbed, carrying out the
orders of the doctor while she had lain unconscious--Goritz, the master
craftsman of duplicity--Goritz, the insensible! What did it mean? Had
the man spoken the truth? Was he--? Love to such a man as Goritz! It was
impossible.

He had always been courteous and considerate, but there was a new note
in his voice which rang strangely. Another lie--another hypocrisy? And
yet the very frankness of his admission with regard to her safety for a
moment disarmed her. He would have killed her--"eliminated" her--had the
necessities of his duty demanded it of him. And yet he had confessed his
love for her. What was the meaning of the paradox? Had he something to
gain by her favor? Had a change taken place in their situation? A chance
phrase had revealed the fact that there was now a danger of the
revelation of this hiding place. They had been pursued--what had balked
him in the continuance of their flight into Germany? Meditation only
served to enhance the mystery, and she emerged from an hour of thought
over the scene in the courtyard with no very clear idea of what the
future had in store for her, sure only of one thing--that she must not
hang importance upon the words of this man, who had already proved
himself a deadly enemy to her happiness. He had hired assassins to kill
Hugh, and when they had failed, had accomplished his purpose by a vile
expedient.

Love! She knew what love was. She closed her eyes and buried her face in
her arms in wordless, silent grief for