"I want you to release me from that vow made seven years ago."
Naîda uttered a stifled cry. "How is it possible? You understand that it is not possible."
Nicol Brinn seized her by the shoulders. "Is it possible for me to remain silent while men are murdered here in a civilized country?"
"Oh," moaned Naîda, "what can I do, what can I do?"
"Give me permission to speak and stay here. Leave the rest to me."
"You know I cannot stay, my Nicol," she replied, sadly.
"But," he said with deliberate slowness, "I won't let you go."
"You must let me go. Already I have been here too long."
He threw his arms around her and crushed her against him fiercely. "Never again," he said. "Never again."
She pressed her little hands against his shoulders.
"Listen! Oh, listen!"
"I shall listen to nothing."
"But you must—you must! I want to make you understand something. This morning I see your note in the papers. Every day, every day for seven whole long years, wherever I have been, I have looked. In the papers of India. Sometimes in the papers of France, of England."
