"
"Please don't say it," came a soft, pleading voice. "What can I
do? What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to release me from that vow made seven years ago."
Naida uttered a stifled cry. "How is it possible? You understand
that it is not possible."
Nicol Brinn seized her by the shoulders. "Is it possible for me
to remain silent while men are murdered here in a civilized
country?"
"Oh," moaned Naida, "what can I do, what can I do?"
"Give me permission to speak and stay here. Leave the rest to
me."
"You know I cannot stay, my Nicol," she replied, sadly.
"But," he said with deliberate slowness, "I won't let you go."
"You must let me go. Already I have been here too long."
He threw his arms around her and crushed her against him
fiercely. "Never again," he said. "Never again."
She pressed her little hands against his shoulders.
"Listen! Oh, listen!"
"I shall listen to nothing."
"But you must--you must! I want to make you understand something.
This morning I see your note in the papers. Every day, every day
for seven whole long years, wherever I have been, I have looked.
In the papers of India. Sometimes in the papers of France, of
England."
"I never even dreamed that you left India," said Nicol Brinn,
hoarsely. "It was through the Times of India that I said I would
communicate with you."
"Once we never left India. Now we do--sometimes. But listen.
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