“Yes, I know that.”

“Very well, then.  I am going back to Washington.”

“How do you mean?”

“By land, across the country; the way you came.”

“You do not know what you say, Madam.  The journey you suggest is incredible, impossible.”

“That matters nothing.  I am going.  And I am going alone—­No, you can not come with me.  Do you think I would risk more than I have risked?  I go alone.  I am England’s spy; yes, that is true.  I am to report to England; yes, that is true.  Therefore, the more I see, the more I shall have to report.  Besides, I have something else to do.”

“But would Mr. Pakenham listen to your report, after all?”

Now she hesitated for a moment.  “I can induce him to listen,” she said.  “That is part of my errand.  First, before I see Mr. Pakenham I am going to see Miss Elisabeth Churchill.  I shall report also to her.  Then I shall have done my duty.  Is it not so?”

“You could do no more,” said I.  “But what bargain—­”

“Listen.  If she uses me ill and will not believe either you or me—­then, being a woman, I shall hate her; and in that case I shall go to Sir Richard for my own revenge.  I shall tell him to bring on this war.  In that case, Oregon will be lost to you, or at least bought dear by blood and treasure.”

“We can attend to that, Madam,” said I grimly, and I smiled at her, although a sudden fear caught at my heart.  I knew what damage she was in position to accomplish if she liked.  My heart stood still.  I felt the faint sweat again on my forehead.

“If I do not find her worthy of you, then she can not have you,” went on Helena von Ritz.

“But Madam, you forget one thing.  She is worthy of me, or of any other man!”

“I shall be judge of that.  If she is what you think, you shall have her—­and Oregon!”

“But as to myself, Madam?  The bargain?”

“I arrive, Monsieur!  If she fails you, then I ask only time.  I have said to you I am a woman!”

“Madam,” I said to her once more, “who are you and what are you?”

In answer, she looked me once more straight in the face.  “Some day, back there, after I have made my journey, I shall tell you.”

“Tell me now.”

“I shall tell you nothing.  I am not a little girl.  There is a bargain which I offer, and the only one I shall offer.  It is a gamble.  I have gambled all my life.  If you will not accord me so remote a chance as this, why, then, I shall take it in any case.”

“I begin to see, Madam,” said I, “how large these stakes may run.”

“In case I lose, be sure at least I shall pay.  I shall make my atonement,” she said.

“I doubt not that, Madam, with all your heart and mind and soul.”

“And body!” she whispered.  The old horror came again upon her face.  She shuddered, I did not know why.  She stood now as one in devotions for a time, and I would no more have spoken than had she been at her prayers, as, indeed, I think she was.  At last she made some faint movement of her hands.  I do not know whether it was the sign of the cross.