PILGRIMS PERFORCE.
The long journey on which Nadia’s unflinching determination had
embarked her was performed alternately by road and rail until
Boloszjen was reached, but from that point it was possible to find a
train running directly to Pavelsburg. At Boloszjen Cyril parted from
the travellers, after seeing them safely into their carriage. Since
leaving Bellaviste, Nadia had not exchanged a single word with him
that was not absolutely necessary, for the hatred she had frankly
avowed to him during their interview at the gaol had not been
diminished by the taunt which had finally sealed Caerleon’s fate, but
now she put aside her dislike sufficiently to make an appeal to him on
behalf of poor old Madame Bruics, who was to return alone from the
Scythian frontier. Precluded by her deafness from receiving either
advice or warning, unless these were tendered in writing, the old lady
would be quite helpless if left to herself, and Nadia told Cyril that
it was his duty to send Wright to escort her and bring her home. Such
plain speaking was rather a bitter pill for Cyril, who was wont to
pride himself on his foresight and tactful consideration, and felt
that in this case especially he had done more than any one could have
expected of him; but he recognised the cruelty involved in sending
poor Madame Bruics upon a wild-goose chase over the railways of
Central Europe, and put the crowning touch to his self-abnegation by
depriving Caerleon of Wright’s services for some days longer. He
parted from Nadia in a polite and hostile manner--that is to say, she
did not offer to shake hands with him, and he went away marvelling at
the uncharitableness of some people.
Wright as an escort was much more to Nadia’s taste than his master had
been, although he considered it his duty to come to the window of the
carriage at every station and inquire whether the ladies would like
some tea--for tea, in his opinion, was the only refreshment acceptable
to the feminine mind, and as such, was capable of being imbibed at all
hours and at very short intervals. When they reached the Scythian
frontier, and Nadia, to her great joy, had discovered Marie Karlovna,
a German lady belonging to her godmother’s household, waiting to meet
her, she commended Madame Bruics to Wright’s care with great
earnestness, although he viewed her solicitude as impassively as he
did the coin which she ventured to slip into his hand, and at which he
glanced immediately in order to ascertain its value. But when she had
seen Madame Bruics established in the return train, and was turning
away with Marie Karlovna, she heard footsteps behind her, and looking
round, found Wright close at hand.
“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, in a low voice and with great
embarrassment, “but don’t you go for to take on about the King. ’E
always rides straight, ’e do--not like some people as ought to know
better and doesn’t; and ’e knows ’is own mind, and as some poetry chap
says, ‘’Is ’eart is always true.’”
For a moment after the utterance of this sentiment, the presumptuous
groom felt ready to sink into the earth under the combined weight of
his own daring and the glance which Nadia turned on him, but while he
was wondering apprehensively whether she would give him in charge on
the spot or write to Lord Cyril to complain of his conduct, the fire
died out of her eyes, and she said gently--
“Thank you, Wright. I know quite well that what you say of the King is
true. He is the best of men, and nothing of all that has happened is
his fault.”
Wright touched his hat and retired, red in the face but with a clear
conscience, deciding in his honest mind that Miss O’Malachy would make
a sight better wife for ’is Majesty than that there princess would
’ave done, and that he ’oped he might one day ’ave the honour of
trainin’ a ’orse for ’er to ride. And Nadia looked after his short
sturdy figure with something like affection, not unmingled with envy,
for he loved Caerleon, and he was going back to him now. She was
leaving him farther and farther behind as she travelled on to
Pavelsburg with Marie Karlovna, who had evidently received strict
orders not to tease her with questions, for she talked exclusively of
the great conference of members of different evangelical denominations
which had recently been held in the city, and of other matters
interesting to the supporters of the Cercle Evangélique. At last the
capital was reached, and Nadia saw awaiting her on the platform a tall
stout elderly lady, carelessly dressed, with her abundant grey hair
surmounted by a ludicrously unfashionable bonnet. If these personal
characteristics had not been sufficient of themselves to identify
Princess Soudaroff, other evidence would have been furnished by the
almost adoring reverence with which she was surrounded by the minor
officials of the railway, among whom she had worked for years. But
Nadia needed no such additional help. She could scarcely wait for the
door of the carriage to be opened, but precipitated herself down the
steps and into her godmother’s arms.
“Oh, Marraine, I have so longed to see you!” she cried.
“Not more than I to see you, dear child,” returned the Princess,
patting Nadia’s shoulder affectionately. “You have been out into the
world since we parted. How has it used you?”
“Oh, I have so much to tell you, to ask you,” said Nadia, with a sigh
that was almost a sob, but her godmother stilled her eagerness with a
gesture.
“When we reach home, my child--not now. Come, we attract attention. My
good Marie, I am rejoiced to see you. You are ready? The carriage is
waiting.”
“They have not been taking care of you while I have been away,
Marraine,” said Nadia, when she was seated in the carriage by the
Princess’s side. “You want me to choose your dresses and bonnets for
you again.”
“Very well, my child,” smiled her godmother. “Marie Karlovna has
looked after my clothes since you went to join your parents, and she
said that it was no use getting expensive things for me, because I
always gave them away.” Marie Karlovna made a deprecating gesture of
assent, and Nadia smiled, remembering that she had seen the Princess
take a sable-lined cloak from her own shoulders and give it to a
beggar-woman. “But this bonnet,” Princess Soudaroff went on, “I chose
for myself, and I think you must like it, dear child. I saw Olga
Ivanovna, the Bible-woman, wearing one, and it pleased me so much that
I asked her to have one made for me exactly like it. And she did, and
this is the bonnet.”
“Oh, Marraine, I shan’t rest until I have taken you out shopping, and
made you get some fresh clothes,” said Nadia, laughing; and then it
suddenly struck her what a mockery it was to come back and take up her
old duties as if she had scarcely been away a week, after the scenes
through which she had passed in the interval. The tears rose into her
eyes again, and her godmother laid a sympathising hand upon her arm.
“Have patience, my child; you shall tell me everything as soon as we
reach home,” and Nadia dried her eyes resolutely, and tried to assume
an interest in the changes that had taken place during her absence in
the streets through which they were passing. When they arrived at the
large house of which the Princess occupied a part, she had regained
her calmness sufficiently to be able to reply with a smile and a kind
word to the greetings of the servants who crowded to welcome her, and
who formed a motley group, owing to the Princess’s fondness for taking
her friends’ failures into her household and giving them another
trial.
“I see that the house is as full as ever,” said Nadia, as her
godmother led her up the stairs, after bestowing upon her a kiss of
welcome at the door.
“Yes, you will find many old friends, although some have succeeded in
obtaining other situations. Ah, do you remember my maid Katinka, the
pretty girl who married the handsome young carpenter on my country
estate? He has deserted her most cruelly, poor thing! and she came to
me almost in despair. I could not take her back as maid, for I am
trying to train little Vera, a _protégée_, as you may remember my
telling you, of Countess Wratisloff’s. She was serving in a little
shop, amid very undesirable surroundings, and she was not a success as
Countess Wratisloff’s kitchen-maid, so I offered to take her. It was a
little trying at first, but she has done better lately. Of course I
cannot turn her out and give Katinka her place, so Katinka is
sempstress now, and I can scarcely find her work enough to do.”
While she was speaking, the Princess was leading Nadia through the
rooms which had always been hers, and she now pointed out the little
changes and improvements she had made in view of the girl’s return.
“How good you are to me, Marraine!” said Nadia, gratefully.
“Would you have me cruel to you, my poor child? Now, come,” and she
sat down in the arm-chair--“come and tell me all about your troubles.”
“Oh, Marraine!” cried Nadia, throwing herself on the ground and
burying her face in her godmother’s dress, “I have given up everything
because it was right to do it, and I cannot even learn to forgive!”
“Not _even_ forgive? But that is often the hardest thing of all to do.
Tell me about it, my child,” repeated the Princess, and Nadia poured
forth the story of her first meeting with Caerleon, of his kindness to
her, and of the way in which each had learnt to love the other; then
his sudden acceptance of the kingdom, with all the changes it had
brought in its train; his repeated appeal to her to share his throne,
the intrigues by means of which Scythia had sought to gain ascendancy
over him through her, her journey to Bellaviste to warn him of the
plot against his life, and her resolute but ignominious departure.
“I gave him up because it was right to do it, Marraine,” she said;
“and not only am I miserable myself, but I have made him miserable.”
“Was it right?” asked the Princess, quietly.
“Oh yes, Marraine, of course,--at least I knew it must be right
because it was so hard to do.”
“Is that the way in which you test your duties, my child? It is a wise
plan in many cases, but sometimes dangerous--for instance, if you
begin to regard ‘difficult’ as synonymous with ‘right.’ You are told
to ‘endure hardness as a good soldier,’ but never to follow hardness
as an aim in itself. It is Christ you are to follow. What would you
think of a soldier who chose to live out in the snow rather than in
the barracks provided for him? Would he make himself a better soldier
by ruining his health and risking his life in such a way?”
“No, but----” the idea was too novel for Nadia to grasp it at once in
its entirety.
“And think what it is that you have been accepting as right,” the
Princess went on, with sudden passion. “You tell the man who has
assured you that he loves you alone in the world that if he desires to
please you he must marry another woman. This may be self-sacrifice, my
child, but it is certainly sin.”
“But the kingdom--the people----” gasped Nadia, confounded.
“Was the King to sin for the sake of his kingdom? Could you not have
parted from him for a time, if it was necessary, each assured of the
other’s love, and content to wait--all your lives, perhaps--in case a
way might possibly be opened for you? It may be that in taking your
own path you have missed the training God meant for you.”
“But the uncertainty would have been so dreadful. Surely it was better
to end it at once,” urged Nadia.
“Better? to you, perhaps. But what of this poor Carlino? Had you no
misgivings, my child?”
“None at all, at first. When Carlino told me at Witska that he had
accepted the crown, I had been wondering just before whether I had
done right in urging him to take it, and while he was speaking I saw
quite suddenly what I must do. Since I had goaded him into becoming
king--I really did, Marraine; I said dreadful things to him--this was
my punishment, that the kingdom should come between him and me. There
was no question about my duty.”
“But why punish the poor Carlino?” asked the Princess.
“I don’t know, Marraine--because I could not do my duty without
punishing him, I suppose. I am afraid I didn’t think of that--I was so
unhappy, and yet I never doubted that I was right. And then, when Lord
Cyril came to speak to me about it, it was just the same. He seemed
not to have a doubt as to my refusing Carlino, but took it for granted
both that I ought to do it and that I should.”
“And you felt unwilling to disappoint Lord Cyril?” said the Princess,
with a sarcasm that came oddly from her gentle lips. “Your parents,
also, would have been disappointed, no doubt, if you had become Queen
of Thracia?”
“Oh no,” returned Nadia in surprise. “They wished it above all
things.”
“And you felt that anything that they desired was on that account
alone to be regarded with suspicion? I know that you are inclined to
be always in opposition, my child. To us of the older generation,
dissent is a sorrowful necessity; to you young reformers it is the
breath of life. You feel happier when you have found something with
which you can disagree.”
Nadia digested this unpalatable remark with what patience she might.
“Carlino has hinted something of the same kind to me,” she said, “but
I did not know that I was quite so bad as that.”
“You have never doubted the wisdom of your action, then?”
“Oh yes, often, when we were at Witska the second time. The doubts
used to torment me. And then came the offer which was brought by
Vladimir Alexandrovitch. You would not have had me accept that,
Marraine?”
“And enslave your husband’s kingdom? God forbid, my child. But you
have received a message from Carlino himself, since that time, have
you not?”
“Yes, but---- It was Lord Cyril again, Marraine. I forgot all my
doubts when he put things before me.”
“Then it was only necessary for him to take it for granted again that
you would refuse his brother, and you did?”
“Oh no, Marraine; you do not know Lord Cyril at all. This time he took
it for granted that I should give way and marry Carlino, and I could
not resist proving him a false prophet.”
“You care much less, then, for the happiness of Carlino than for the
opinion of his brother, since you prefer to disappoint your lover
rather than hear Lord Cyril say, ‘I have prophesied it’?”
“No, indeed, I have no respect for Lord Cyril’s opinion; but it is the
things he says--he has a power over me.”
“You do not love Carlino sufficiently to disregard Lord Cyril’s
sneers?”
“Marraine! I love him well enough to give him up.”
“Yes; but you are afraid to marry him lest his brother should taunt
you if anything went wrong. If you loved him better, my child, you
would have no cause to fear Lord Cyril, for his words would have no
effect upon you.”
“Then it is my own fault, after all?” said Nadia, hopelessly.
“Marraine, it seems to me that I am continually discovering things too
late. Now that my mother is dead, I see that we might have been much
more to one another, and now that Carlino will never approach me
again, I find that it was I myself, and not Lord Cyril, whom I have
been blaming in my mind, that kept us apart. I am always wrong. But
you will help me; you will show me what I ought to do.”
“But I am not sure that I should be right in keeping you with me
here,” said the Princess. “You have come home at a sad time, dear
child. We Evangelicals are suspected by all the world just now, and
the spies of the Holy Synod are watching us.”
“But suspected, Marraine? How should we be suspected, when we pray
always for the Emperor and for Scythia, and counsel patient submission
even to unjust laws?”
“Alas, my child! why did the wolf suspect the lamb? Marie Karlovna
will have told you of our late conference, and of the blessing and
support which resulted from it to many among the brethren. But such a
gathering from all parts of the empire attracted the notice of the
police, and they made a raid on the hotel in which some of the
brethren, who could not all be accommodated in the houses of the
faithful here, were staying. Strange to say, there was a band of
Oudenist conspirators lodging in the same house, and on being apprised
of the approach of the police they fled, leaving a secret
printing-press and a quantity of seditious literature concealed in one
of our friends’ rooms. Happily, our brothers were able, after some
weeks’ imprisonment, to convince the tribunal of their innocence, but
M. Tourquemadischeff and the Holy Synod considered that the object for
which they had come together was scarcely to be preferred to Oudenism.
All the churches which had taken part in the conference were censured,
and ordered to keep their members at home for the future, and all our
free evangelistic services are forbidden. We are daily expecting to
hear that Anton Gregorievitch is exiled.”
“Oh, Marraine, Count Wratisloff! But what has he done, and what shall
we do without him?”
“‘God removes His labourers, and continues His work,’” quoted the
Princess. “The pillar of our faith and our work is the living God, not
Anton Gregorievitch. You ask what he has done. He has denounced wars
of aggression and religious persecutions, he has prayed in public that
the Emperor might be granted judicious advisers, and he has devoted
his fortune to helping the poor and needy.”
“But what is he doing now?” asked Nadia. “How does he endure the
suspense?”
“He goes on with his work, one day at a time. The great evangelistic
services held at his house have come to an end, but his
Bible-readings, his visiting of the sick, both at their homes and in
the hospitals, his efforts to raise the condition of the peasantry, he
will not cease.”
“Nor have you ceased yours, Marraine, I am sure.”
“Ah, we women are not in such imminent danger, my child. But still, I
do not like to involve you in any risk. Would you care to go and stay
in the South with my sister? or I have friends in England who would be
delighted to receive you?”
“Are you suggesting that I should leave you? Never, Marraine! Let me
stay and help you as much as I can. I am not good enough for the
Bible-readings and the visiting of the hospitals, but I can be some
use to you with your accounts, and the soup-kitchen, and the
sewing-class.”
“You shall, my child; and God grant that you may be blessed and be a
blessing in your life here.”
The very next day Nadia slipped into her old place in the household,
and began her chosen work, much to the relief of the Princess, who
had, as she was wont to lament, no head for accounts, and found it
very pleasant to be released from the consideration of the innumerable
business details connected with all her charitable institutions. To
the girl herself, also, it was a delight to be able to plunge into
work once more, and she was glad to be kept busy almost all day long,
getting in supplies for the girls’ boarding-house, checking the sales
at the Bible-depot, and arranging for the despatch of necessary stores
to the hospital on her godmother’s country estate. But wherever she
went, she was always conscious of the presence and scrutiny of various
watchful, ostentatiously quiet-looking men, who were invariably to be
seen lounging in the neighbourhood of the different institutions. The
Princess’s warning had given her the clue to their appearance there.
They were the spies of M. Tourquemadischeff, the Procurator of the
Holy Synod.
Things went on quietly, however, until the evening of the second
Sunday after her arrival in Pavelsburg, when Nadia accompanied her
godmother and several other members of the household to Count
Wratisloff’s house for a Bible-reading. There were only about twenty
persons present, for although many more would have been glad to
attend, the number of the invitations had been restricted, in order to
give the police no pretext for interference. The Count had been one of
Nadia’s heroes for years, and she embraced eagerly the opportunity of
hearing him once again, for what might, as she now learned, be the
last time. The address partook of the character of a farewell, and the
speaker prefaced it by remarking that it had been intimated to him by
a high authority that he might remain in Scythia unmolested if he
would consent to discontinue his evangelistic work, but that if he
persisted in carrying it on, however quietly, his exile would follow.
The holding of this meeting was his answer to the offer, and he seized
the occasion to make a last solemn appeal to those who heard him.
Their leaders might be exiled, he said, their assemblies prohibited,
but their faith did not depend on either the one or the other. Lands
and wealth might be taken from them, but they could live, as some of
their brethren already did from choice, like the poor, and share with
them what they gained by the labour of their hands. They might be
deported to distant parts of the empire, might be sent even to
Hyperborea, the dismal region of almost perpetual night; but, if so,
it was because there was work for them to do there, even though it
were only the exhibition of a contented spirit under hardships, and
God could make even Hyperborean darkness to be light. Let them feel
assured that for every earthly good of which they were deprived, there
was a greater blessing waiting to reach them, which could not do so
unless the way were prepared for it by the removal of the worldly
delight. Was there, then, any reason for condemning the rulers of the
empire, or even the authorities of the Church which they had quitted
with so much sorrow and reluctance, but which branded them as
heretics? None; they were only instruments in the hand of God, and
could do nothing without Him. And, therefore, no resentment must be
felt towards them, for all that happened would prove to be for the
best. And even when the cloud was darkest, and no silver lining was
visible, were the sufferers never themselves to blame? Had they never
injured any one without offering redress, never refused haughtily a
proffered reconciliation, never alienated by their unsympathetic
demeanour those who would fain have been friendly? If they had, and
there were few who could say they had not, let them bear their
punishment meekly, accepting it as less than they deserved, and asking
that even out of the sad consequences of their own faults and failings
good might arise to the people of God.
The coincidence between the burden of Count Wratisloff’s address and
the words which had fallen from the Princess on the night of her
arrival struck Nadia forcibly, in spite of the difference in the
circumstances to which they applied, but the similarity did not
altogether please her. It was hard to acknowledge to herself that her
heroic conduct in refusing Caerleon had been wrong from the outset and
based upon a mistake, harder still to confess that Cyril would have
been powerless for harm if she had not given him a hold upon her by
being willing to accept his arguments as true ones. She was silent
enough during the farewells and the drive home, but when they had
arrived at the Princess’s house she hesitated to face the solitude of
her own room, and lingered with Marie Karlovna, echoing her voluble
lamentations over the approaching loss of Count Wratisloff. Leaving
her at last, and passing along the passage, she heard sobs proceeding
from a room on her left, and looking in, found the sempstress Katinka
crying as though her heart would break.
“What is the matter, Katinka? Can I do anything for you?” she asked,
gently.
“No, thank you, Nadia Mikhailovna,” sobbed the girl. “No one can help
me, for the trouble is in myself. I have an enemy whom I cannot
forgive.”
Nadia started, surprised to find a story so like her own. “Tell me
about it,” she said, sitting down beside Katinka.
“It is Anna, my husband’s sister,” responded the maid, brokenly. “I
was so happy with my Yegor, he was so kind to me; and Pauline
Vassilievna had promised to have a cottage built for us close to her
own country-house, so that I might be near her still. But Anna always
hated me, because I came from the town, and she was jealous because
Yegor was so fond of me, and because of the new house. She never
showed her enmity to me--if she had I could have guarded against
it--but she made up lies about me, and told them to Yegor. He was
passionate, and I was proud. I told him that if he could listen to
such things about me it was enough to show that he did not love me in
the least. He told me to deny them, and I would not. He went to her
for advice, and she told him even worse tales, and then he left me
without another word, and I have never seen him since. And now Anton
Gregorievitch says that I must forgive Anna, though she has ruined my
home and taken away my husband and spoilt my whole life. And I cannot
do it.”
“I am like you, Katinka,” said Nadia. “I also have an enemy whom I
cannot forgive. He spoils even my prayers.”
“But you are a great lady, Nadia Mikhailovna,” said Katinka, in
surprise. “Who can have injured you?”
“He could not have injured me if I had not allowed him--helped him to
do it,” said Nadia. “That is why I can’t forgive him, Katinka.”
“But that is like me,” said Katinka. “If I had not been too proud to
explain, Yegor would have believed me at once, I am sure. Have we both
helped our enemies by doing wrong ourselves?”
“I believe we have,” said Nadia, and both girls sat silent for a
while, Nadia in her velvet and furs beside the sempstress in her
peasant dress. At last Katinka looked up.
“I have been thinking,” she said. “After all, Anna was fond of Yegor;
she had brought him up, and kept house for him until we were married.
Perhaps I was not as kind to her as I might have been, and a great
deal of the trouble was my own fault--and I want to be forgiven
myself, Nadia Mikhailovna----”
“And so do I,” said Nadia, softly.
“Somehow,” said Katinka, “looking at it in this way, I seem to have
been worse than I thought, and Anna not so bad. It is not so hard to
forgive--I will, I can forgive her.”
“I will forgive him; I do,” said Nadia.
“Marraine,” said Nadia the next morning, “I know why you took me to
Count Wratisloff’s last night.”
“I hoped you might hear something to help you, my child,” the Princess
answered. “Is your difficulty gone?”
“If I saw Lord Cyril now,” said Nadia, slowly, little thinking that it
would not be long before she had an opportunity of proving the truth
of her words, “ill or in any trouble, I should feel so sorry for him
that I would nurse him, or do anything I could to help him. And
yesterday I am afraid I should have been glad.”
“And you are happier now, my child?”
“So happy, Marraine, that I want you to find me some other work to
do,--a class of little girls, perhaps, to teach. I don’t want to keep
my happiness to myself. I can never feel really hopeless or miserable
again.”
“Take care, dear child,” said the Princess; then, her thoughts
reverting to the Scythian translation of the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’
which she was reading, she went on, “Christian’s path to the Celestial
City was not all smooth, even after he had lost his burden. There was
the Hill Difficulty, and the fight with Apollyon, and Vanity Fair, and
Doubting Castle. And there is always oneself to fight against.”
Although Nadia, in her eagerness, was scarcely willing to listen to a
forecast that seemed to her so gloomy, there came very soon to the
Cercle Evangélique a loss such as that which parted Christian from
Faithful. The first intimation of it reached Princess Soudaroff’s
household on the Thursday morning, when, as the ladies were at
breakfast, they heard a voice inquiring for Pauline Vassilievna, and
shortly afterwards the servant announced Vladimir Alexandrovitch, and
ushered in Prince Soudaroff.
“Pray don’t let me disturb you, ladies,” he said to Nadia and Marie
Karlovna, who had risen at his entrance, after a general greeting. “My
business is not private. I come merely to bring my sister-in-law a
piece of news. Anton Gregorievitch is exiled.”
“Hyperborea?” gasped the three ladies at once.
“No, merely exiled from the empire. I suppose this will make a good
deal of difference to you?”
“If God means His work to go on, He will supply the labourers,” said
the Princess.
“But will it make no change in your plans?”
“I think not. Why should it?” The Princess was on good terms with her
brother-in-law, although they differed in their religious views. Some
years before, when her own family, fearing that she would bestow the
whole of her property in charity, had applied that it should be placed
under legal guardianship, he had been appointed her trustee, and had
dealt out her money to her ever since faithfully, if with a good deal
of mockery. Hence she was grateful to him for continuing to supply her
with an unfailing store of cash for distribution to those in need,
whereas if left to her own guardianship she would have deprived
herself in a single year of all power to give.
“Oh, there is no reason whatever,” he answered lightly. “I am afraid
that this will not be the last of the banishments, that is all. But we
all know that ladies will have their way, though empires fall. I only
wish you good people could manage to keep out of the clutches of the
Holy Synod. You ought to know by this time that we are determined to
drive out all our most industrious subjects because they are Jews, and
exile all our best because they are heretics. We mean to be orthodox
if we can’t be either prosperous or pious. Adieu, my sister.”
He was gone, and the three ladies gathered round the table again to
discuss the situation.
“We shall be obliged to make new arrangements for some of the work
to-morrow,” said the Princess. “I fear that we cannot carry on all
Count and Countess Wratisloff’s classes to-day, but we will not let
them drop if we can help it. I will do my best to prepare an address
for the Count’s navvy Bible-class this evening. The police will have
prevented him from finding any one to take his place. Then there is
the Countess’s Bible-reading at the house of blind Dmitri
Nicolaievitch. We must think of some one for that.”
“I will try, if you like, Marraine,” said Nadia, timidly. “If I find
that I am too nervous, blind Dmitri will read, I know, and at any rate
I can tell the people what has happened to Anton Gregorievitch.”
“Very well, my child. The carriage shall take you on after leaving me
at the Mission-room, and I will call for you afterwards.”
In pursuance of this arrangement, Nadia found herself that evening a
member of the little gathering of poor people who met in the blind
man’s room to hear the Bible read and explained by Countess
Wratisloff, and of whom the host was the only one that could read.
None of them had heard of the fate which had befallen the Count and
Countess, and several burst into loud lamentations when Nadia told her
story. But above the tumult the voice of blind Dmitri was heard.
“Let us lay before God the case of our father, who has been taken from
us, brothers, and of the work which he must leave undone.”
They knelt down, and Dmitri prayed long and earnestly. Before he had
come to the end of his prayer, the cottage door opened. The blind man
heard the sound, but took no notice, thinking that one of the members
of the class had come in late; but Nadia, glancing up involuntarily,
saw the glint of uniform-buttons in the lamplight. She recognised the
state of affairs at once. M. Tourquemadischeff had sent a body of
police to break up the meeting. That they remained silent so long was
due to the unconsciousness of the blind man, who continued his prayer
without perceiving their presence. The moment that he had finished, an
officer stepped forward and arrested Nadia in the Emperor’s name.
Another was taking down the names and addresses of those who were
present, and their men were searching the cottage for forbidden books,
one carrying off the huge volumes of the Bible in Moon’s type which
Princess Soudaroff had provided for Dmitri. This done, her captors
ordered Nadia to accompany them; and she obeyed as though in a dream,
while the poor people pressed round her weeping, and trying to kiss
her hands or the hem of her dress. Outside the cottage was waiting a
covered sledge which she was desired to enter, the two officials
following. After a drive which lasted for some time the sledge
stopped, and she was conducted into a small stuffy room, in which two
officers were sitting writing. They looked up with some surprise on
seeing her, but proceeded to ask her name, age, abode, religious
views, and also what she was doing in Dmitri’s house. They made no
attempt to entrap her into any admissions, for it was evident that
this was a strictly preliminary inquiry; but when it was over she
found herself relegated to a bare stone cell for the night. This hard
reality brought home to her the nature of her position. The way she
was treading led to Caucasia or Hyperborea, to separation from
friends, to association with the vilest criminals, the stigma of a
felon. But in her exalted state of mind the thought did not trouble
her, and she preferred to dwell on the remembrance of Dmitri’s prayer.
“I will trust and not be afraid,” were the words with which he had
concluded; and with these on her lips she lay down upon the rough
bench without undressing and fell asleep.
“Nadia, my dear child!” were the words that awakened her in the
morning. “Forgive me. I was warned yesterday afternoon that a raid was
intended, but I thought it would be the navvies’ class which they
would attack, and I never dreamt of their arresting you. My child, I
have been driving about all night from police-station to
police-station, and from Minister to Minister, first to find you and
then to release you. I went first of all to Vladimir Alexandrovitch,
and he accompanied me everywhere. He said that it would never do to
allow you to be sent to Hyperborea, for we should have King Carlino
invading Scythia with an Anglo-Thracian army to release you. Of course
that was only his jest; but we left no stone unturned to set you free.
I threatened to force my way into the Emperor’s presence, and lay the
matter before him; I threatened to put it into the hands of the
British Embassy--although I really don’t know whether you are a
British subject or not--Vladimir Alexandrovitch says that you
certainly are not; I threatened to stir up English public opinion
through the Evangelical Alliance. At last I succeeded in obtaining an
order for your release, and for myself--this.”
Nadia took the paper she held out. It was an official permission for
Pauline Vassilievna Soudarova to travel outside the Scythian
dominions, until the Emperor should revoke the leave thus granted.
“Oh, Marraine!” cried Nadia, sadly, “and this is all through me.
Exile!”
“Oh no, dear child. It is merely permissive, you see. Now, what shall
we do? Shall we accept the permission, and place Dr Schmidt and Marie
Karlovna in charge of all our work, leaving the house as it is, and
directing operations by letter? Or shall we disregard it, and wait
until we are arrested, and conducted to the frontier by the police,
while the institutions are all closed, and our poor people sent to
Caucasia? I want your opinion.”
“I don’t like beating a retreat, Marraine,” said Nadia, frankly, “but
if we can ensure the continuance of the work better by leaving at
once, perhaps we ought to go.”
“That was just what I thought,” said the Princess. “Now, my child, I
have a scheme. I wish to follow in the footsteps of St Paul.”
“A pilgrimage, Marraine?” asked Nadia.
“Not quite. A friend of mine has a yacht, which is lying at Cadiz, and
which he is anxious to let for the winter, and I am thinking of hiring
it. I have visited the Holy Land already, but I should like to see
Malta and Asia Minor and the Ægean. It would be most interesting;
and, from the Bosphorus, one might even visit the Black Sea, and
perhaps meet some--some old friends. I have a strong conviction that
we are not driven out of Scythia in this way for nothing--without some
good purpose.”
“Yes, Marraine,” said Nadia, sedately, as the Princess ended her
sentence rather hastily; but in her heart she knew that her godmother
was anxious to see whether there was no possibility of bringing her
and Caerleon together again. Her heart leaped at the thought, but
calmer considerations succeeded to the momentary ecstasy. Was it
likely that Caerleon would be willing to put his fate again to the
touch after two refusals? It was scarcely probable.