She could not answer me. Her bosom heaved, and she seized my hand and covered it with kisses, as if in order to demonstrate her love for me in the midst of her distress. I succeeded in calming her; and then, making her sit down by my side, with her hands in mine, I pressed her to confess her troubles to me. Her hesitation increased my alarm: she turned her eyes away from me, and I could see that she feared to reply to me. At last, quite frantic with anxiety, I resorted to my marital authority. Then, with childlike submission, she related to me the following strange story, which filled me with astonishment. After luncheon her mother had joined her in the drawing-room, when in the course of a general conversation she began to speak about their native country and their family, and about the pleasure it would be for them to revisit them after so long an absence. Kondje-Gul let her go on in this strain, thinking that she was just indulging in one of those dreams of a far-off future which the imagination is fond of cherishing, however impossible their realisation may be. But soon she was very much surprised by noticing that her mother was discussing this scheme as one which might be carried out at an early date. She then questioned her about it. At last, after a lot of fencing, Madame Murrah informed her that she had learnt a marriage was arranged between me and Anna Campbell, who had been betrothed to me for a long while past; also that this marriage would take place in six months' time, and that I should have to go away with my wife the day after the wedding. The end of all these arrangements would be the abandonment of Kondje-Gul. I was dismayed by this unexpected revelation. The plan of my marriage with Anna had remained a family secret, known only to my uncle, to herself, to my aunt, and to me. How had it got to Madame Murrah's ears? I was unable to conceal my uneasiness. "But this marriage is true then?" continued my poor Kondje with an anxious look in my face. "Nothing is true but our love!" I replied, distressed by her fears; "nothing is true but this, that I mean to love you always, and always to live with you as I do now." "But this marriage?" she again repeated. It was impossible for me to escape any longer from the necessity of making a confession which I had intended to have prepared her for later on. "Listen, my darling," I said, taking her by the hands, "and above all things trust me as you listen to me! I love you, I love no one but you; you are my wife, my happiness, my life. Do you believe me?" "Yes, dear, I believe you. But what about her?" she added in a tremble. "What about Anna Campbell? Are you going to marry her?"