HOW THEY STRUCK A FRIEND
Pavlof's heart was beating wild alarms as he led Hope to police
headquarters a little before eight the following morning. What would
they find there, and how would Hope come through the ordeal? Had any
answer come from St. Petersburg? Was Serge even now under arrest and
this wild chance of liberty gone? Verily he wished the chance had
never offered.
One false step, a look too much, and Serge was ruined beyond
redemption, and he pressed Hope's arm tight inside his own to brace
her for the test.
But as soon as they turned in through the big gate of the stockade,
the sight of Colonel Zazarin's three-horse tarantas and a teléga, at
the door of Sokolof's quarters, set his mind at rest.
So far no discovery had been made and all was well. He arranged the
bundles in the tarantas to make as comfortable a seat as could be
managed for Hope. He took her hand through his arm again for the
crucial moment, and they stood waiting for Sokolof and Lieutenant
Vinsky.
"Now," said Pavlof shortly, as they appeared in the doorway.
Hope shot one quick glance at Serge, and then her hand began to
tremble violently on Paul's arm.
"Steady," he murmured, "it will be over in a minute," and Sokolof and
Palma came towards them, saluting Madame as they came.
"So, Madame, you have decided to be courageous once more," said
Sokolof.
She bowed, not daring to use her voice or raise her eyes.
"Well, that is as it should be. And be sure I shall do my utmost to
shorten your trials."
"It is very good of you," she murmured.
"This is Lieutenant Vinsky." Hope bowed again. "He will provide for
your comfort, as far as may be, on the journey, and you must remember
that he is only carrying out his orders. Mr. Palma," he said,
shaking hands with Pavlof, "I shall not forget what I owe to you, and
I shall not rest till I get this abominable order annulled. Now,
Vinsky is on tenterhooks to be gone. So-- Adieu! Adieu, Madame!"
They settled Hope among her bundles in the tarantas, and Pavlof and
the lieutenant disposed themselves as comfortably as circumstances
would permit.
"If you get any reply to your telegram, Captain, you know our route,"
said Serge, leaning over the side.
"Do not fear. I shall send after you post haste if it is good news,"
said Sokolof.
Then the driver climbed to his seat, gathered up his reins, cracked
his long lash over his horses' heads, shouted an encouraging
"Noo-oo-oo!" and they started at a wild gallop for freedom.
The road was full of holes, and the holes were full of mud, and the
mud from six madly spurning heels came flying past their heads, and
Serge laughed gaily as he drew down the leather curtain in front.
Then, with his face still lighted by a broad smile, and a blaze in
his bold blue eyes, he turned to Hope, and took her hands in his and
kissed them, gloves and all.
"Oh, Serge! Is it all real?" she cried, the words jerking out of her
to the bumping of the tarantas, and she, all in a red heat of
confusion, clinging tight to the side lest she should be thrown out
of her seat. "Are you alive? Am I awake? Are we really going to
freedom?"
"All those," he said, with a hearty laugh of enjoyment. "And
you?--you had given me up?"
"Yes, we had given you up," she began, but came to a stop. For how
was it possible to enter on explanations such as they had to make,
when they were all three jumping in their places like marionettes,
and their words were shot out of them like pellets, to the
endangerment of their teeth.
"Serge!" began Pavlof, in the same difficult case. "We have much to
tell you." He had to shout to get this out.
"So have I," jerked Serge, nodding and smiling happily still.
Paul shook his head. It was impossible. He clung to his seat with a
grim face, not the face of a man rejoicing at his escape from prison,
rather of one riding to trouble.
Serge glanced at him questioningly once or twice, but it was on Hope
that his eyes turned most of the time, and he looked at her with the
hungry gaze of a man who has been overlong deprived of his rightful
food.
She found it hard to bear, and presently closed her eyes as though
the bumping of the tarantas was painful to her.
They passed through Ust Kara at speed, and gained the posting road,
and turned sharp to the east in the direction of Ignashina. The
going was easier now, both as to speed and roadway, but Palma's
jubilant smile had faded by degrees for lack of response, and a look
of perplexity had taken its place.
There was something here which he did not understand, but nothing was
further from his thoughts than the actual fact.
He had looked for triumphant jubilation at the success of his
exploit. Instead, he found sober faces and quiet acquiescence, and
nothing more. But he put it all down to the effects of Kara, and it
was not till they drew up at the first post-house for change of
horses that Paul found his opportunity.
"I must speak with you, Palma," he said, as they dismounted.
"Nu! We will go along the road," said Serge, with a look of
surprise, but just then the teléga came lumbering up and its
occupants jumped out and came towards them.
"Tea for the barina," shouted Serge to the post-master, and turned to
meet the others.
They were bright-faced young fellows, clad in green Cossack uniforms,
with bandoliers and Berdan rifles. They saluted gravely, each with
one eye closed in a solemn wink, as they approached.
"Don't give yourselves away, my children!" said Palma. "Drivers have
eyes, and these return to Kara. Pavlof, this is Loris Blok, and this
Alex Rimof. They are from Moscow. Good boys both, and longing for a
fight before we get through. We are going to walk on. You two see
that Madame is attended to. Now, my friend!" and he and Paul turned
and walked along the road.
They walked in silence for a time. Never had Paul faced a more
difficult situation, and he scarcely knew how to begin.
"Well!" said Serge at last. "What is it?"
"I am going to bruise your heart, Serge Petrovitch. But you must
hear the whole truth, and you must not judge us harshly."
Palma looked sharply round at him. His face crumpled perplexedly and
the jovial light had fled from it. He was beginning to fear, if not
to understand.
"For two whole years we had no news of you, except news of your
death----"
"Ah!"
"Mikhail Barenin brought the first report. That was fourteen months
ago. Then one, Felix Ostrog, came saying you were shot while trying
to escape in his company near Tomsk. That was nearly twelve months
ago."
"Go on!" said Palma grimly. He began to understand.
"Hope Ivanovna waited for news of you with a breaking heart----"
"I sent you word."
"It never reached us. Nothing but news of your death. I was Serge
Palma. She was supposed to be my wife. Of her distress at finding
me there instead of you, I need not tell you. She lived in my house
with Madame Roskova, the wife of Dr. Feodor Roskof, who is at
Yakutsk. I held myself aloof from her till she deemed me cold and
hard. I did not tell her Barenin's news for three months after I had
heard it, leaving her still the hope of your being alive. But the
hope died, and she was in sore distress. When Ostrog came, saying he
had seen you lying dead in the grass with a bullet through the head,
we had no further hope of seeing you again. Before God, we believed
you dead. My love for her was what it always had been. Before God,
I would have died sooner than speak had I believed you still alive.
You must believe me, Palma. She was in great distress and
loneliness, and I loved her. She put me off for many months, still
hoping against hope. And then----at last----we wedded----"
They had come to a stand long since and stood facing one another.
At the word, Palma's fist rose and dropped expressively, and his face
tightened grimly. He turned and walked on without a word, and Pavlof
followed.
They walked on and on. Would the carriages never come? Would Palma
never speak? It seemed to Pavlof as if they might walk on so, in
gloomy silence, for ever. But he had no words wherewith to break it.
Of what avail words? He had struck this man over the heart, and he
must have time to recover from the blow.
So, on and on, in a silence that was dreadful and seemed endless.
But all things come to an end, and at last they heard the carriages
coming up the road behind them, and still Palma said no word of what
was in him.
"Palma," said Paul, "do not break her heart. She has suffered
enough. She is innocent of offence in this matter, as I am also.
But, if you have anything to say, say it to me, here and now."
"There is nothing to say," said Serge with a groan. "It is the will
of God. But it is hard to bear. She is all the world to me, Pavlof."
"God help us all!" said Paul, and the tarantas drove up.
They climbed silently to their places, and Hope's quick glance showed
her that the story had been told. She had been very nervous as to
the outcome. She was trembling now with anxiety as to what Serge
would do, and how he would treat her.
He took her hand in his, and bent and kissed it, not with the quick
passion of the former time, but reverently, as one kisses the hand of
a dead love.
She burst into tears of relief and gratitude, and her fears were gone.
They were on the great Eastern road now, and speech was possible.
And presently, when she had recovered her composure somewhat, he bent
towards her and asked very gently--
"And--the child, Hope? What of it?"
"Ah! You have not heard, Serge?" The words came in a nervous
torrent. "He died when he was three months old.--We did our best,
Marya Ostronaya and I, but we could not keep him.--And truly, Serge,
I was so broken with it all that I was glad when God took him. Did
you not find Masha, then?"
"She died two months before I got there."
"Dear old Masha! She was very faithful. It broke her heart to be
sent away, but I could not take her with me. Who told you I had come
here, then?"
"Nobody. I knew you, that was enough. That was my only fear in
getting away--that we might pass one another on the road."
"Then you did not know for certain till you got here?"
"Not till I got here. As soon as I heard that Madame Palma had come
out to join her husband I put two and two together. I knew it must
be you."
"And now--do you think it possible we can get clear away, Serge?"
"We will try for it anyway," he said valiantly.
"How do we go?" asked Pavlof.
"Up into the mountains to mislead them. Then down again to the Amur
and the Vladivostok road."
"Won't that be dangerous?"
"Not for us. I have fresh papers, giving you your freedom and
ordering me to see you safely out of Russian territory."
"You are well provided. How did you manage it?"
"You remember Egor Anenkof? He is employed in the Ministry of the
Interior and is a most useful man. He has worked for years to get
into his present position, with the sole object of being of service
to his friends in trouble. Some day he will be found out and then he
will come to the mines. However, there are others."
"Who are these two with you?" she asked.
"Loris Blok and Alex Rimof. They are from Moscow. I had to have
orderlies. That was where Muishkin made his mistake. They are
capital fellows and bold as lions. If it should come to a fight they
will be delighted. In fact they will be somewhat disappointed if it
does not, I'm afraid."
"Oh, I hope there is no chance of that," said Hope anxiously.
"We will hope not," said Palma, with a quick glance at Paul, which
showed him that she had heard nothing of the telegram. "But if they
should find out the trick and try to stop us we shall have--well, we
shall have to argue the point."