Slowly she lifted the packet and turned it over and over, wondering what
it could possibly contain, questioning herself as to what could have
been Frederic Hoff's motive in entrusting it to her. Was there, she
wondered, under those seals, some evidence of his guilt and treachery
that he had not dared to leave behind him? He must have known that she
suspected him and was seeking to entrap him. Had he, knowing all this,
but sensing the love for him that he had kindled in her, taken advantage
of it and extorted from her her promise to keep it safe?
Wherein lay her duty now? More than ever she was certain that Frederic
Hoff was on some hazardous mission for the enemy. He had all but
admitted his nationality to her. Her own country's welfare demanded that
the Hoffs' plans should be discovered and thwarted. Should she, or
should she not open the package? Possibly it contained some secret code,
some clue to the dastardly activities in which he and his uncle
were engaged.
But her heart rebelled. She recalled what he had said, that she must
take him on trust. The memory of his burning kiss, of that last earnest
look he had given her, refused to be forgotten. Whatever he was, however
base the work in which he was engaged, she knew down deep in her heart
that Frederic Hoff had been earnestly sincere when he had said that he
loved her.
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