THE CAVE ON THE THORWALD
She questioned him and he told her of the devotion of his old friend.
“And what will von Stromberg do to Lindberg?” she asked anxiously.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Nothin’ perhaps, unless Udo tells.” He paused and looked into the fire. “Wish I knew about Udo,” he said thoughtfully. “We were very good pals last year.”
“But he wouldn’t see you shot!”
“He couldn’t do anythin’. I am betrayin’ his country.”
“But not your country, Cyril,” she said.
“No, thank God. Not mine. I love Germany—the Germany of my mother—and the men like Lindberg. But the Germany of von Stromberg—that’s not Germany to me.”
“Do you think we will get away?”
“Yes,” he said quickly.
She read the anxiety in his voice and knew that he was thinking of her, and in that moment a new idea of her duty came to her.
“You mean,” she said quickly, “that you could get away if it wasn’t for me. O Cyril, I know. Don’t try to deceive me. You could disguise yourself and get away to the Swiss border. It would not be difficult for you. I am a weight around your neck which may destroy you.”
“Hush, child.”
“No. I am not too stupid to see that. You ought to be going now.” She clung to his arms and looked up into his face as her duty came more clearly to her, while her voice trembled with earnestness. “I want you to go, Cyril. Your life is valuable to England. They are on a false scent down there. You could get
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