I could feel that Zara was shuddering with the horror of the scene she
had described; not at the deed of that brother who stabbed his sister
to death to save her, but because of the awful fate of that poor girl,
which the tragic act of her brother brought to an end. I drew Zara
tenderly into my arms, and held her so for a long time, while she wept
softly, with her head pillowed against my shoulder; and after a time
she resumed, haltingly: "When you turned away from your tragic deed of mercy, you killed the
guard who tried to stop you. You made your escape; how, you do not
remember; but you found your way back here--here, to St. Petersburg.
Nobody recognized you. Your hair was white, your face was the face of a
corpse. You had one more purpose; the death of two men, the czar and
the conspirator. And so you went again to your friends, the nihilists.
Hush! I am not through yet. There is more--much more, much more!"