“May I not tell my mother now?” she said, imploringly.  “Dearest, how can I speak to her, and be thinking of you far away?”

“As you please, Natalie.  The little I have told you or Evelyn can do no harm, so long as you keep it among yourselves.”

“But I shall see again?” It was her heart that cried to him.

“Oh yes, Natalie,” he said, gravely.  “I may not have to leave England for a week or two.  I will see you as often as I can until I go, my darling, though it may only be torture to you.”

“Torture?” she said, sadly.  “That will come after—­until there is an end of the pain.”

“Hush, you must not talk like that.  You have now one with you whom it is your duty to support and console.  She has not had a very happy life either, Natalie.”

He was glad now that he was able to leave this terror-stricken girl in such tender hands.  And as for himself, he found, when he had left, that somehow the strengthening of another had strengthened himself.  He had less dread of the future; his face was firm; the time for vain regrets was over.

CHAPTER XLIII.

A QUARREL.

Meanwhile, almost immediately after George Brand had left the house in Lisle Street, Reitzei and Beratinsky left also.  On shutting the street-door behind them, Beratinsky bade a curt good-night to his companion, and turned to go; but Reitzei, who seemed to be in very high spirits, stayed him.

“No, no, friend Beratinsky; after such a fine night’s work I say we must have a glass of wine together.  We will walk up to the Culturverein.”

“It is late,” said the other, somewhat ungraciously.

“Never mind.  An hour, three-quarters of an hour, half an hour, what matter?  Come,” said he, laying hold of his arm and taking him away unwillingly, “it is not polite of you to force me to invite myself.  I do not suppose it is the cost of the wine you are thinking of.  Mark my words:  when I am elected a member, I shall not be stingy.”

Beratinsky suffered himself to be led away, and together the two walked up toward Oxford Street.  Beratinsky was silent, and even surly:  Reitzei garrulous and self-satisfied.

“Yes, I repeat it; a good night’s work.  For the thing had to be done; there were the Council’s orders; and who so appropriate as the Englishman?  Had it been you or I, Beratinsky, or Lind, how could any one of us have been spared?  No doubt the Englishman would have been glad to have Lind’s place, and Lind’s daughter, too:  however, that is all settled now, and very well done.  I say it was very well done on the part of Lind.  And what did you think of my part, friend Beratinsky?”

“I think you made a fool of yourself, friend Reitzei,” said the other, abruptly.

Reitzei was a vain young man, and he had been fishing for praise.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, angrily.