VI

Ian, on waking that morning, found that all the Cossacks had left. He

went in to breakfast, feeling a little hurt with his cousin, Roman. He

might at least have shouted a farewell through the window.

"Has anybody seen Roman this morning?" he asked the rest of the family

as they met for the morning meal.

"He came in last night for a moment, after supper," said the Countess.

"But I was going to the wards and we did not talk. He said some officer

had sent for him."

"He was going to shoot a spy at daybreak," said Minnie. Vanda was

silent. She had not seen him at all, had kept away from the

supper-table, on purpose to avoid him.

At that moment Father Constantine came in. His face was ashen gray and

distorted with emotion.

"What's the matter?" they all asked.

"Nothing. That is..." He could not speak. Ian made him sit down and

went to a sideboard for brandy, which he waved aside.

"Joseph Skarbek is here," he stammered.

"Roman, you mean?" suggested Ian.

He shook his head and said with sudden vigor:

"No--not Roman. He..." Then, with another effort, painful to see, he

added: "Roman went away this morning."

They thought he was going to faint. Ian loosened his neckband, the

Countess dipped her napkin in water and dabbed his wrinkled face; Vanda

made him drink something. Minnie stood near, watching and listening.

He had enough people taking care of him; besides, it took all her time

to follow what was said. They talked Polish; a habit of theirs whenever

they got excited or related thrilling experiences, so that she had to

concentrate all her energies upon listening to them. They were pained

and puzzled over Father Constantine, speculating as to what had happened

to upset him like this.

"He is overworked," was Vanda's verdict, "I'm sure he's not been to bed

last night. Look how rumpled he is."

He lay back in the chair, his eyes closed, his thin hands, puckered with

age and none too clean, closing and unclosing on the chair arms.

"Worn out," said Ian, whilst his mother watched her faithful chaplain

with deep concern. "I'll take him into my room. It's quiet there." He

proceeded to do this; but the patient suddenly sat upright and said

peremptorily:

"Leave me alone!"

"But you must rest," explained the Countess, soothingly.

"Nonsense.... I was never better in my life." They exchanged glances;

the poor old man was out of his mind; never, in all the years he had

been at Ruvno, had he spoken to her like that. Before they had

recovered from their astonishment he got up and walked across the room,

tottering a little, but more sure of his step every minute. They

watched him in silence and Ian, at least, stood spellbound. This little

old man, with his creased alpaca soutane, muddy shoes and unshaven chin,

dominated the room.

He reached the door, which was a long way off, just as one of the

servants came in with coffee.

"Give me that! And go away!" he ordered, taking the tray from its

astounded bearer.

"Do as the Father says," said Ian, hurrying to take the heavy tray.

"Be off with you, quick!" repeated Father Constantine. The man obeyed,

filled with curiosity. He locked the door, and turned to Vanda,

whispering angrily:

"I tell you, Joseph Skarbek is in the chapel."

"Yes, yes," she agreed soothingly. Her tone only irritated him the

more. He stamped his foot.

"Not yes, yes--but give me something to eat for him. He's starving."

"But where is he?"

"In the chapel. Behind the altar of the Mother of God of Czestochova."

"Hiding?" She was white as a sheet

"Of course." He drew them in a circle, and went on, very low: "Listen.

Yesterday, the Russians took him prisoner."

"And he escaped?" asked Vanda.

"Rennenkampf said he must be shot...."

"What for?" she faltered.

"Mother of God, how should I know? Don't keep on interrupting." He

looked apprehensively at the door, motioned to them to move further away

from it and the windows, and went on: now, he spoke French, not for

Minnie's benefit, but for secrecy.

"They were to shoot him this morning----"

Minnie, still watchful, saw Ian put his arm round Vanda, who looked

ready to faint; she felt a pang of resentment. How dare he, seeing

Vanda was betrothed to Joseph! He said something encouraging to her,

but Minnie could not make out what it was.

"Last night," continued the priest, "a soldier came for me to see a

prisoner. He takes me up to the turret. Imagine my horror, Countess,

when I saw it was Joseph."

"Oh--but he's safe?" sobbed Vanda.

"Yes. He's safe."

"But how?" asked Minnie.

"Whilst I was talking to him in the turret, in comes Roman."

"Roman?" they echoed.

"Yes." He eyed Vanda. "Roman is the best man who ever lived. He--he

helped Joseph escape." He stopped, brushed away some tears with the

back of his hand, and sighed.

"But where is Roman now?" asked the Countess anxiously.

"With his Master."

"With the General?" Ian asked.

Father Constantine nodded, blew his nose with vigor, put his

handkerchief away and went on more calmly:

"Roman planned it all. He changed clothes with Joseph, who passed the

door with me. We reached the chapel without seeing anybody but a young

subaltern who ... who saluted him. I put him behind the altar in the

chapel of the Mother of God of Czestochova. Roman said he must stop

there till the General and all his soldiers leave Ruvno. Then, Joseph

must volunteer for our side. That is what Roman said."

"They've all left!" said Vanda, breaking from Ian and going over to the

sideboard, where she hastily piled food upon a plate, smiling and crying

in turns and taking no further interest in what the priest said. The

others were more interested in Roman.

"But how did Roman get out of the turret?" Ian asked. "Where is he?"

"I told you. With the General."

"You're sure?" insisted the Countess, anxiously.

"Quite. He picked the lock when the guards went to sleep." He turned

to Ian. "You remember that lock, how weak it was?"

"But how did he get past the guards?" asked Ian, to whom Roman's

non-arrival of the evening before was explained.

"I don't know. But he managed it. He is not a child." Father

Constantine spoke peevishly.

"You've seen him since?" asked the Countess.

"Yes, Countess, I've seen him since."

"After he was free?"

"As free as air." He leaned against the paneled wall and put his hand

to his head. "I am very tired ... had no sleep ... and no food.... I

am getting old."

"You must come and rest now." Ian put his arm round the stooping

shoulders. The old man made no further resistance. He was dead-beat.

"But you must help me give him this," said Vanda, holding up her plate

of food. Her face was radiant. Joseph was safe, above all he would

never fight with Prussia again.

"Let Father take a mouthful first," said her aunt reprovingly. "Can't

you see his condition?"

Vanda's heart smote her; she blushed and took some food to the priest,

who, however, could eat but little. All he needed was rest.

"The shock," he explained, seeing their anxious faces. "Joseph Skarbek

... up there..."

They would not let him go back to the chapel, but Ian and Vanda, with

infinite precaution, took the food to Joseph. Meanwhile, Minnie went to

see the turret chamber, which she knew only from the outside. The dark

stairway was littered with rubbish left by the soldiers. The chamber

door stood open, as if the guards had rushed out of it in vain pursuit

of their prisoner. She went in.

There were some dirty plates, and a straw pallet. Her eyes searched the

door and the blood rushed to her face. The lock was intact! She

examined it. Far from being old and weak, it was quite strong; indeed,

it had been put on when Rennenkampf sent Joseph up to await his death.

Roman had not escaped that way: she was certain of it, the old priest

had hidden the truth. She turned to the window, which was only a slit

in the wall, protected by a grating of iron bars. They, too, were firm

and strong in the stone work. She looked out and saw a sheer drop of

eighty feet, into the moat below. There was nothing Roman could have

held, even supposing he had accomplished the impossible and squeezed

himself between those bars.

She thought it out rapidly. The others, including Ian, would be curious

to see Joseph Skarbek's prison; he would probably come up here himself.

As she failed to see how Roman had escaped, since there was no other

exit, not even a chimney, she supposed that they, too, would be as

puzzled. The priest, she felt sure, knew exactly what had happened; but

he was not going to tell. Why should she betray his secret?

She went down to Martin, the old butler, and borrowed some tools he kept

in his pantry, then sneaked up again and took off the lock and bolt.

The bolt was rusty enough and looked as old as the room itself; but it

gave some trouble and she chipped her hands. No prisoner could have

taken them off the door without waking the guards, because the bolt was

on the outside. She only realized this when she had half finished, for

her nerves were upset. Then she put the bolt on again and threw the

lock on to the pallet.

On her way back she saw the Countess, Vanda and Ian on the large

staircase. They said they were off to see how Roman had escaped, and

would she go, too. The tools were under her white nursing apron, and

she was in no mood to discuss Joseph's adventure, so she muttered an

excuse and went to her room.

Why had she connived at keeping Father Constantine's secret? she asked

herself. Did she want to spare all the family the pain of knowing that

the door had been opened from the outside, or only Ian? What had Vanda

to do with her impulsive action? During that morning, whilst working in

the wards, she searched her heart and found the answer. She had been

jealous of Vanda for some time past. She felt, without knowing why,

that Ian's coldness to herself was connected in some way with Vanda's

presence in the house. He had never been the same since that day when

the Jew brought news of the Kalisz atrocities and she had refused to go

home. Where was Vanda to blame? Ian apparently had no more to say to

his cousin than to his visitor; and yet, she did blame the girl. The

sooner she married her precious Joseph and went away, the better.

Perhaps she would stop on at Ruvno, since Joseph, it appeared, was to

fight; but she would be married, and that would make a difference.

Thus she explained to herself the lock-picking of the morning; told

herself _she_ would have refused to have anything more to do with Joseph

under the circumstances. First, he fights for Prussia: then he risks

his brother's life, gives his brother's life, to save his own skin. And

now as Vanda did not know that Roman had given his life in exchange,

offered it for her happiness, she would marry Joseph. And that is what

Minnie wanted her to do, with as little delay as possible.

Ian, too, examined the door, and the lock that Roman, so he thought, had

picked and put on the dirty pallet. His mother asked what he made of

the business.

"Roman is worth a thousand Josephs," he answered hotly. "Think of the

risk! If the soldiers had shot the bolt, he would have been lost."

"But he saved Joseph so that he might fight for the right side," put in

Vanda.

Their eyes met. He had his own thoughts on the matter, and his face was

stern. Instead of speaking, he went out of the room.

He felt irritable. Though work waited him below he made for the old

priest's room; he wanted to hear how Roman had persuaded his brother to

accept the exchange. His contempt for Joseph grew at every step. How

was he to know the trick would succeed? Yes: Joseph had left his brother

in a trap, from which he escaped by the skin of his teeth, because the

guards were too lazy to shoot the bolt. And Roman had done it for

Vanda's sake. He believed love meant sacrifice and lived up to his

belief. How _could_ Vanda care for Joseph? Ian was disappointed in

her, thought she had a juster sense of values. How blind love made

women!

Father Constantine was asleep, and he had no opportunity that day of

talking about the adventure with him. And later on, even, Father

Constantine was very reticent about the scene in the turret chamber.

When questioned about it, he would shut his bright, bird-like eyes, fold

his thin hands together and say, in a voice shaking with emotion:

"It was the most terrible evening of my life. Let us not talk of it."

"Roman will tell me," said Ian, loth to disturb the old chaplain any

more. "He may be here any day."

But it was some time before any Cossacks stopped at Ruvno, and when the

first contingent rested there for a few hours, they told Ian they knew

nothing of Roman's regiment, but thought it was fighting in Galicia.

But Joseph's escape caused changes in the family, all the same.