HOW SOKOLOF PAID HIS DEBT
"It is true what I told your friend," said Sokolof, when they had
returned to his quarters. "I had not intended to tell you until I
had finished my other inquiries, but I could not resist the
temptation.----A brave man.----It is a grievous thing that we must
have such against us.----But you understand, Mr. Palma--to me you
remain Palma. I know nothing of the rest. And you understand also
that if my inquiries implicate you in the fighting----"
Paul opened his mouth to speak, having no desire to skulk behind any
screen of silence.
But Sokolof held up a peremptory hand once more. "Tell me nothing.
Anything you say might harm you. It could not possibly help. We
will say nothing to Madame at present, in case it goes against you.
For her sake I hope it will not."
"And when----"
"I shall have all the statements completed by to-morrow. I can say
nothing more now."
"Was it Dr. Irbatsky's coming--no, I remember, you said he only
arrived last night----"
"I got a telegram from St. Petersburg the day you left, saying that
no orders had been sent to remove you to Yakutsk, and that a new
doctor was on the way with special instructions concerning you."
"I see. If Dr. Irbatsky had only arrived one day earlier----"
"As doubtless he ought to have done. But your friend would have
found himself in the lions' den. It would be interesting to know
what he would have done."
"He would have faced the matter boldly."
"That without doubt. But he would have found himself in a very tight
place."
"I think he would have got out of it."
"I'm inclined to think he would. He would probably have offered to
convoy you to the coast and see you safely off Russian territory."
It was late in the afternoon of the following day before Sokolof
acquainted Pavlof with the result of his inquiries.
"I have discovered nothing to incriminate you, beyond the fact that
you were present during the fighting," he said. "You received that
wound, I understand, in going to your friend's assistance when he was
down. I am justified, therefore, in concluding that you took no part
in the fight. I must insist on your not speaking"--as Pavlof opened
his mouth. "I have asked each man specifically if he saw you in
active resistance. They all agree that it was too dark to
distinguish persons, and that they never saw you till you ran in to
your friend. And so, Mr. Palma, I shall act on the instructions
brought by Dr. Irbatsky and hand you your papers. I have here also
certain documents from Palma's portmanteau. You had better take
them. They seem of importance--to Madame at all events. Now you are
at liberty to go to her and acquaint her with this matter, and--you
can leave Kara when you will."
Pavlof wrung the generous hand in silence. He could not trust
himself to speak. Captain Sokolof had repaid him with interest. He
took the papers and went out a free man.
He went quickly to his cottage, in such a tumult of emotions, that
Dr. Irbatsky, seeing him pass, took unction to his soul under the
mistaken impression that he and Sokolof must have been drinking
together, and argued well for his own prospective enjoyments of a
similar nature.
There was a light in the cottage, and Pavlof trod softly as he drew
near, and peered through the window.
Anna Roskova, and Marya Verskaïa, and Hope, were sitting at the table
with the samovar before them. He wondered, in the vague way in which
one's mind, when tightly strung, wanders off at times on inconsequent
trifles, which of them had slept on the hearth the previous night.
He thought it would be Marya. He was sure it was not Hope.
But none of the three looked as if they had slept for a week, and
there was little speech between them. They had had time to say all
that could be said, and now only a dull and hopeless expectation was
left to them.
He turned the handle and walked in, and the three speechless women
were changed, after one moment of breathless wonder, into incarnate
questions. They all talked at once and literally fell on his neck in
their excitement, till Marya, unable to express her feelings in any
other way, began to scream and beat her knees with her hands, and the
floor with her feet.
He got them quieted at last by declining to say a word till they gave
him a cup of tea, and Hope's hand shook so as she poured it out that
there was as much tea on the table as in the cup. Then--
"They have set me free, Hope," he said, "and we can go when we
choose."
"Oh, Paul!"--at which Anna and Marya opened their eyes very wide, and
wondered if excess of joy had really turned her brain. She clasped
her hands gratefully and gazed at him in wonder. "And I was fearing
I might never see you again. God is very good to us!"
"We have to leave Russia for good."
"I shall be glad to go. It is hopeless. And Serge?"
"He died last night."
At which she only bowed her head silently, for she had known that he
could not possibly live.
"Did he know?" she asked at last.
"Yes, Sokolof told him."
"I am going to tell Polokof, and Hugo Svendt, and all the rest the
good news," said Anna Roskova, jumping up.
"And I will go with you," said Marya, coming to her senses.
And they went off full of excitement and wonder, but, though they
often thereafter spoke together of the strange fact that Hope Palma
called her husband Paul, and that Serge was dead, they never
discussed it except between themselves, and they never got to the
bottom of it.
"Shall we go, Hope, or shall we stop and help them through the
summer?" he said thoughtfully.
"You have done enough, Paul," she said, startled at his suggestion,
for these last days had told on her. "Oh, let us go."
"It is bound to break out again, you see, though it won't be as bad
as it was before."
"You have done enough," she said again. "Your life has been at stake
these two years, and I--I long for the air of freedom."
"The man you saw in the prison yard was the new doctor, Irbatsky. I
don't much like the looks of him. I doubt if he has got much
constitution left. If he goes under they'll be as badly off as ever,
and I feel that I owe Sokolof much."
"You paid the debt in advance. You must think of yourself now----and
of me----and----" And she leaned over to him, with the flush of a
heavenly hope in her face, and whispered in his ear.
There were stars in his eyes as he looked into hers and kissed her
glowing face.
"That settles it, dearest. We will go at once--as soon as we have
buried our friends."
Then Dmitri Polokof, and Hugo Svendt, and Alexei Etelsky, and a host
of others came flocking in, to welcome Serge Petrovitch back and to
bid them both Godspeed.
Long after midnight the little house was still humming and swarming
like a beehive, till the wonder was that the walls could hold so
great an effervescence. There were messages to friends to be
delivered, if ever the chance offered, and if not, then to be
conveyed by letter from the land of freedom to the land that was not
free. And so many were they that Paul had to take them down on the
margin of a small Bible, in a species of shorthand which he had used
as a student, and which he had no fear of any one being able to read,
since at times he could hardly make it out himself. Actual letters
he regretfully but firmly declined to carry. But he took enough
notes to fill many pages and comfort many anxious hearts at home.
When at last they had their house to themselves--for Anna Roskova and
Marya Verskaïa flatly refused to intrude upon them, and billeted
themselves for the night among their friends--Paul came on the papers
Sokolof had handed to him. He had stuffed them into his pocket and
thought no more about them.
"These are yours, Hope," he said. "They are Serge's papers. Sokolof
sent them to you."
They looked through them with tender respect and with no thought of
gain. But among them they found a letter from Serge setting forth
the sums he had left in the hands of Gerrardius, the Geneva banker,
and with Rothschilds in London, and it stated that instructions had
also been left with both to pay over the amounts to Hope, in case of
his death.
It was a considerable amount, nearly 200,000 roubles.
But Pavlof said decisively, "That is for the cause--in some way or
other. We will not touch it except for our immediate necessities,
and that we will replace as soon as possible."
"Yes," said Hope, in a glow of happiness at the thought. "We will
send some of it here. They are so miserably poor, most of them."
"I will arrange it with Captain Sokolof. He is a man of his word. I
am beginning to like him."
They buried Palma, and Rimof, and Blok, in the little cemetery of the
Free Command on the hillside, and laid them close against the Eastern
boundary, as near to freedom as was possible. The white wooden post
which marks their resting place bears only the initials P.R.B. But
to Paul and Hope Pavlof, who alone know all that lies beneath that
simple monument, the memory of those three brave men is a fragrant
and ever cherished possession.
And when they speak together of the great heart that lies at rest
there, their own hearts are very full--of the loyal-souled one who
went so boldly to his death for them--and of that Guiding Hand which
inspired and accepted the sacrifice, and turned it to their lasting
good.
The same day Pavlof made arrangements for their journey to
Vladivostok, and then went up for a last talk with Captain Sokolof.
He told him their decision as to Palma's money, and Sokolof did his
best to veil his impression that the joy of freedom had made them
slightly mad.
"Da! 200,000 roubles!" he said. "That is a fortune not easily
arrived at. And you will throw it away."
"By no means, if you will help us to make good use of it."
"I will help you, but it is throwing it away all the same."
"We don't think so. I will send, to you direct, from time to time,
money to help our friends here who are in need. Dmitri Polokof and
Madame Roskova will give you their names."
"I will see to it. Are you taking any letters?" he asked, and fixed
him with a keen eye.
"Not one. I knew you would ask."
"Messages?"
"That you can hardly stop me doing," said Pavlof, with a smile, "but
none that will do you any harm."
And next morning they shook him warmly by the hand, and even felt
some regret at parting from him. For, if he was a hard man, he was
just, according to his lights and the cast-iron nature of his
environment, and to them he had proved a good friend and one who did
not forget.
Colonel Zazarin was still too ill to care a kopeck what became of
them or of the whole settlement. His thoughts were wandering in such
strange and shadowy places that Anna Roskova sat in his room with her
fingers stuffed into her ears, and her heart full of loathing and
pity at these self-revelations of a tortured soul.
Captain Sokolof provided Paul with the necessary papers for securing
their immunity on the road, and furnished him with the usual orders
for post-horses at the various stations.
And so, with hearts at ease, such as they had been very far from
feeling on the last occasion, they once more turned their faces
towards freedom. And if those who crowded to the cottage doors, to
wave them hearty farewells as they passed, envied them their great
good fortune, not one but acknowledged that none deserved it better,
and not one begrudged them the smallest piece of it.
THE END.
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.