forgive me for saying so, but I do not believe it," I said,
with a boldness and a vanity that surprised even myself. "No, Fraeulein,
do not let us play at cross-purposes. It is evident you are afraid of
this man, and that you believe yourself to be in his power. I feel
convinced it is not as bad as you say. Look at it in a matter-of-fact
light and tell me how it can be so? Supposing you leave him now, and we
fly, shall we say, to London. You are your own mistress and quite at
liberty to go. At any rate, you are not his property to do with as he
likes, so if he follows you and persists in annoying you, there are many
ways of inducing him to refrain from doing so."

She shook her head.

"Once more, I say, how little you know him, Mr. Forrester, and how
poorly you estimate his powers! Since you have forced me to it, let me
tell you that I have twice tried to do what you propose--once in St.
Petersburg and once in Norway. He had terrified me, and I swore that I
would rather die than see his face again. Almost starving, supporting
myself as best I could by my music, I made my way to Moscow, thence to
Kiev and Lemburg, and across the Carpathians to Buda-Pesth. Some old
friends of my father's, to whom I was ultimately forced to appeal, took
me in. I remained with them a month, and during that time heard nothing
either of or from Monsieur Pharos. Then, one night, when I sat alone in
my bedroom, after my friends had retired to rest, a strange feeling that
I was not alone in the room came over me--a feeling that something, I do
not know what, was standing behind me, urging me to leave the house and
to go out into the wood which adjoined it, to meet the man whom I feared
more than poverty, more than starvation, more even than death itself.
Unable to refuse, or even to argue with myself, I rose, drew a cloak
about my shoulders and, descending the stairs, unbarred a door and went
swiftly down the path toward the dark wood to which I have just
referred. Incredible as it may seem, I had not been deceived. Pharos
was there, seated on a fallen tree, waiting for me."

"And the result?"

"The result was that I never returned to the house, nor have I any
recollection of what happened at our interview. The next thing I
remember was finding myself in Paris. Months afterward I learned that my
friends had searched high and low for me in vain, and had at last come
to the conclusion that my melancholy had induced me to make away with
myself