HOW ONE WENT TO THE COUNTRY AND ONE
WENT OUT OF IT
Time came when, in spite of all her zeal for others, Hope Palma found
it necessary, or at all events was prevailed upon, to think first of
herself. And yet, again, perhaps it was rather a possible other than
herself that she considered, when she allowed herself to be persuaded
to renounce her work for a time and go away into the country with old
Marya to look after her.
She had contracted a touch of the low fever that prevailed in the
poorer parts of the town, and found a difficulty in throwing it off.
For, so long as she was in town there was neither rest nor respite
for her. There was always so much to be done, and no appeal ever
reached her without meeting full and prompt response.
So Palma, who had an equal, nay, surely, a double, stake in the
matter, put down his foot gently but firmly, and carried them both
away from the strenuous life of the town to the restful quiet of a
small estate he had close to Akerman, where the Dniester flows wide
and free into the Black Sea. He saw them comfortably settled in the
house of his steward, stayed a few days with them, and thenceforward
divided his time between Akerman and Odessa.
One day, when he came, he brought with him news which it was useless
attempting to withhold from Hope, since the matter was being talked
of everywhere and had made itself felt throughout the empire.
Scherbatzky, chief of police at Odessa, had been shot one night as he
was driving home from his office, and was dead before they could get
him into his house.
The usual sweeping arrests followed, but, wide as the net was cast,
the actual perpetrator of the crime remained undiscovered.
Whence--rigorous enactments and much undeserved suffering.
When Serge came down with the news, Hope's anxiety on account of her
poor folk was painfully excited, and he could do but little to allay
it. Some of them were undoubtedly in the net. Whether they would
creep through the meshes remained to be seen.
Vehement in her belief in the integrity of her people, Hope was for
starting at once for the city, and it was all he could do to stop
her. Old Marya sided with him energetically, however, and between
them they prevailed upon her to remain quietly where she was, though
greatly exercised in her mind, and vicariously suffering much.
Serge brought and sent her all the news that was going. Most of
their poor folks were, one by one, in due course, and with extreme
reluctance, released, as the police found it impossible, in spite of
all their efforts, to bring the matter home to them. A new man
reigned in Scherbatzky's place and took his own measures to avoid
following in his steps, and matters seemed to quieten down again.
So things went on for a time. Serge came regularly to Akerman,
Hope's health was decidedly improving, and her work in the city was
not neglected, though Serge had deemed it wise, in the shadow of
recent occurrences and present enactments, to confine it strictly to
the relief of the needy, of whom, in consequence of the general
upsetting, there was no lack.
Then the end came swift and sudden; the end of Hope's quiet
resting-time; the end of her peace of mind for many a day; well nigh,
and but for the mercy of God, an end of Hope herself.
For one day, when they were expecting him, Serge never came, nor any
word from him.
All Hope's dormant fears crept out of their hiding-places and flapped
about her, a tormenting crew, obscuring all her heaven. As the hours
passed and still brought no word from Serge, they finally settled
down upon her hopes like a crowd of carrion crows.
It was all old Marya could do from hour to hour to keep her from
setting out for the city.
She was still in a somewhat tremulous state of health, and looking
forward with no little foreboding to that which lay before her. It
was inevitable that her fears should carry her thoughts to the
extremest possibilities of ill.
"He is dead, Masha," she said, with tragic finality.
"Nay, dearie, we should surely have heard if that was so," said old
Marya. "Maybe some business has kept him just as he was starting."
"He would have sent us word. He is dead, or he would certainly have
sent us some word."
"Maybe he's had an accident. Things do happen to folks in the city.
One's never safe there. Maybe they've taken him to the hospital,"
said Job's comforter, who hailed from the provinces.
"I must go and see. We will go at once."
"Nay, not to-day, dearie, or we might pass him on the road. He's
maybe coming yet."
"No, he is dead," said Hope gloomily, but old Marya's argument had
weight with her, in spite of her own convictions, and she drearily
allowed herself to be prevailed upon to wait till morning.
Morning brought no relief to their anxieties and they started at once
for Odessa--and beyond: started at one black day's notice on a quest
that led beyond their wildest imaginings.
When Hope and old Marya, pale and heavy-eyed from their night of
sleepless anxiety, reached their home on the cliff overlooking
Quarantine Harbour, they found it in possession of the police. As to
the why and wherefore of so summary a proceeding, or the whereabouts
of the master, no information whatever was vouchsafed them, nor could
their utmost endeavours procure any.
Palma had been arrested. That was all they learnt, but it was more
than enough.
Hope, forlorn and desolate, but driven to desperate daring by her
fears, sought the new chief of police in his office. He flatly
refused her any information whatever, and set his face like a flint
against the pitiful appeal of hers. She sought light in her sudden
overwhelming darkness among her husband's friends and acquaintances.
But arrest under administrative process falls on the ordinary ties of
friendship as sharp frost on flowers.
Where even the suspicion of untrustworthiness is sufficient to land a
man in Siberia, mere friendship affords but small salvage for the
unfortunate who falls beneath the ban. It needs closer ties to stand
the strain, and at times even these also fail him, and to all intents
and purposes he is dead, yet lacking the rest and relief that death
confers.
While strength lasted her, Hope strove blindly with the powers of
darkness. She wrote in desperate urgency to Paul Pavlof at Moscow,
and got no reply. Then she failed suddenly, and old Marya carried
her away, broken in spirit and feeble in body, to her own native
village in Old Khersonese, and none too soon.
There the old woman and her kin wrestled nobly with death for her,
and by God's grace won the fight, she not caring one whit, and as
fain to die as to live.
But when the soft head of her baby boy lay at last against her
feebly-beating heart, new strength and the desire for life ran
through her, and she woke again to all the sadness of living.