IV

Whether it was all the same to her or not, the deep despair of the

daughter, who had not been in time to bid her father farewell, had not

been in time to receive his blessing, after many years of anger, which

had borne heavily on the head of the blameless young woman, was so

evidently sincere, and produced such a deep impression on everyone,

that her stepmother also was moved.

Anna Iurievna resembled her father, as much as a young, graceful,

pretty woman can resemble an elderly man with strongly-marked features

and athletic frame, such as was General Nazimoff. But in spite of the

delicacy of her form, and the gentleness of her eyes, her glance

sometimes flashed fire in a manner very like the flashing eyes of her

father, and in her strong will, firm character, and inflexible

adherence to what she believed to be necessary and right, Anna was

exactly like her father.

For nearly ten years his daughter had obediently borne his anger; from

the day of her marriage to the man she loved, whom evil-minded people

had succeeded in calumniating in the general's mind. Though writing

incessantly to him, begging him to pardon her, to understand that he

had made a mistake, that her husband was a man of honor, and that she

would be fully and perfectly happy, but for the burden of her father's

wrath, and of the separation from him, she had never until the last

few weeks received a reply from him. But quite recently something

mysterious had happened. Not only had her father written to her that

he wished to see her and her children in St. Petersburg, whither he

was just setting out, but a few days later he had written again, a

long, tender letter, in which he had asked her forgiveness. Without

giving any explanations, he said that he had received indubitable

proofs of the innocence and chivalrous honor of her husband; that he

felt himself deeply guilty toward him, and was miserable on account of

the injustice he had committed. In the following letters, praying his

daughter to hasten her coming, because he was dangerously ill, and the

doctors thought could not last long, he filled her with astonishment

by expressing his intention to make a new will, and his determination

to separate his youngest daughter "from such a mother," and by his

prayers to her and her husband not to refuse to take upon themselves

little Olga's education.

"What had happened? How could that light-minded woman have so deeply

wounded my father?" Anna asked in bewilderment.

"If she was merely light-minded!" her husband answered, shrugging his

shoulders. "But she is so malicious, so crafty, and so daring that

anything may be expected from her."

"But in that case there would be an open scandal. We would know

something for certain. Nowadays they even relate such stories in the

newspapers, and my father is so well known, so noteworthy!"

"That is just why they don't write about him!" answered Borisoff, her

husband, smiling. He himself flatly refused to go to St. Petersburg.

With horror he remembered the first year of his marriage, before he

had succeeded in obtaining a transfer to another city, and was

compelled to meet the woman he detested; compelled also to meet his

father-in-law, a wise and honorable old man, who had fallen so

completely into the toils of this crafty woman. Anna Iurievna knew

that her husband despised her stepmother; that he detested her as the

cause of all the grief which they had had to endure through her, and

most of all, on account of the injustice she was guilty of toward her

brother, the general's son.

For six years Borisoff had lived with young Peter Nazimoff, as his

tutor and teacher, and loved him sincerely. The boy had already

reached the highest class at school, when his sister, two years older

than he, finished her schooling, and returned to her father's house,

about the time of the general's second marriage. What the young tutor

tried not to notice and to endure, for love of his pupil, in the first

year of the general's second marriage, became intolerable when the

general's daughter returned home, and to all the burden of his

difficult position was added the knowledge of their mutual love. He

proceeded frankly, and the whole matter was soon settled. But the

young man had never uttered a syllable as to the cause of Madame

Nazimoff's hatred for him. For the sake of his father-in-law's peace

of mind, he sincerely hoped that he would never know. Anna was

convinced that the whole cause of her step-mother's hostility was her

prejudice against what was in her opinion a _mesalliance_. In part she

was right, but the chief reason of this hostility remained forever a

secret to her. Unfortunately, it was not equally a secret to her

father.

Of late years he had gradually been losing faith in his second wife's

character. It went so far that the general felt much more at ease when

she was away. Before the last illness of Iuri Pavlovitch, which, to

tell the truth, was almost his first, Olga Vseslavovna had gone abroad

with her daughter, intending to travel for a year; but she had hardly

been gone two months when the general unexpectedly determined to go to

St. Petersburg to seek a divorce, to see his elder daughter, and

change his will. Perhaps he would never have determined on such

decisive measures had not something wholly unexpected taken place.

Borisoff was quite mistaken in thinking that he had so carefully

destroyed all the letters which the general's young wife had written

to him, before his marriage to Anna, that no material evidence of Olga

Vseslavovna's early design of treachery remained. Even before she

married the general, she had had a confidential servant, who carried

out many commissions for the beautiful young woman, whose fame had

gone abroad through the three districts along the Volga, the arena of

her early triumphs. Later, the young lady found a new favorite in

foreign lands--the same Rita who was still with her. Martha, the

Russian confidential servant, heartily detested the German girl, and

such strife arose between them that not only the general's wife, but

even the general himself, was deprived of peace and tranquillity.

Martha was no fool; Olga Vseslavovna had to be careful with her; she

did take care, but she herself did not know to what an extent she was

in the woman's power. Foreseeing a black day of ingratitude, Martha,

with wonderful forethought, had put on one side one or two letters

from each series of her mistress' secret correspondence, which always

passed through her hands. Perhaps she would not have made such a bad

use of them but for her mistress' last, intolerable insult. Prizing in

her servants, next to swift obedience, a knowledge of languages, her

mistress did not make use of her when travelling abroad; but hitherto

she had taken both servants with her. But on her last journey she was

so heartily tired of Martha, and her perpetual tears and quarrels,

that she determined to get on without her, the more so that her

daughter's governess was also traveling with her. Her company was

growing too numerous.

There was no limit to Martha's wrath when she learned that she was

going to be left behind. Her effrontery was so great that she advised

her mistress "for her own sake" not to put such an affront upon her,

since she would not submit to it without seeking revenge. But her

mistress never dreamed of what Martha was planning, and what a risk

she ran.

Hardly had the general's wife departed when Martha asked the general

to let her leave, saying she would find work elsewhere. The general

saw no way of keeping her; and he did not even wish to do so, thinking

her only a quarrelsome, ill-tempered woman. The confidential servant

left the house, and even the city. And immediately her revenge and

torture of the general began, cutting straight at the root of his

happiness, his health, even his life. He began to receive, almost

daily, letters from different parts of Russia, for Martha had plenty

of friends and chums. With measureless cruelty Martha began by sending

the less important documents, still signed with her mistress' maiden

name; then two or three letters from the series of the most recent

times, and finally there came a whole packet of those sent by the

general's wife to the tutor, in the first year of her marriage with

the general, before Borisoff had met Anna.

The crafty Martha, knowing perfectly the whole state of affairs to

which these letters referred, often copied out their contents, and

kept the letters themselves concealed, saying to herself, "God knows

what may turn up, some day!

"If they are no use, I can burn them. But they may be useful. It is

always a good thing to keep our masters in our power," argued the

sagacious woman, and she was not mistaken in her calculations,

although these letters served not for her profit, but only for a

sanguinary revenge.

These notes and letters, which finally opened his eyes to the true

character of his wife, and his own crying injustice to his elder

children, were now lying in the general's dispatch box, in a neatly

tied packet, directed in the doctor's handwriting to "Her Excellency

Olga Vseslavovna Nazimoff."

As soon as she received her father's first letter Anna began to get

ready to go to St. Petersburg, but unfortunately she was kept back by

the sickness, first of one child, then of another. But for his last

telegrams, she would not have started even now, because she did not

realize the dangerous character of his illness. But now, finding that

she had come too late, the unhappy woman could not forgive herself.

Everyone was grieved to see her bitter sorrow, after the funeral

service for her father. Princess Ryadski burst into tears, as she

looked at her; and all the acquaintances and relations of the general

were far more disturbed by her despair than by the general's death.

Olga Vseslavovna was secretly scandalized at such lack of

self-control, but outwardly she seemed greatly touched and troubled by

the situation of her poor stepdaughter. But she did not venture to

express her sympathy too openly in the presence of others, remembering

the words of "the crazy creature" when she had come to herself after

her fainting fit, and her stepmother had hurried up to embrace her.

"Leave me!" Anna had cried, when she saw her. "I cannot bear to see

you! You killed my father!"

It was well that there were only servants in the ante-room. But the

general's wife did not wish to risk another such scene, now that so

many people were present. And besides she was extremely disturbed; the

friends who had come to the funeral service had brought flowers; and

the half-crazy princess, with the aid of two other ladies, had taken a

fancy to decorate the coffin, and especially the head, with them. It

is impossible to describe what Olga Vseslavovna suffered, as she

watched all those hands moving about among the folds of the muslin,

the frills, the covering, almost under the satin cushion even; a

little more and she would have fainted in earnest.

She had always boasted that she had strong nerves, and this was quite

true; nevertheless, during these days, their strength was evidently

giving way, as she could not get to sleep for a long time that night,

and heaven only knows what fancies passed through her mind. It was

almost morning before Olga Vseslavovna got to sleep, and even then it

was not for long.

She dreamed that she was descending endless stairs and dark corridors,

with a heavy, shapeless burden on her shoulders. A bright,

constantly-changing flame flickered before her; now red, now yellow,

now green, it flitted before her from side to side. She knew that if

she could reach it, the burden would fall from her. But the light

seemed to be taunting her, now appearing, now disappearing, and

suddenly going out altogether. And she found herself in the darkness,

in a damp cellar, seemingly empty, but filled with something's

invisible presence. What was it? She did not know. But this pervading

something frightened her terribly, smothered her, pressing on her from

all sides, depriving her of air. She was choking! Terror seized her at

the thought that it ... was Death! Must she die? Was it possible? But

that brightly shining light had just promised her life, gayety,

brilliance! She must hurry to overtake it. And she tried to run. But

her feet would not obey her; she could not move.

"Heaven! Heaven!" she cried, "but what is it? Whence has such a

disaster come? What is holding me? Let me go, or I shall be smothered

in this stench, under this intolerable burden!"

Suddenly Iuri Pavlovitch walked past her. She immediately recognized

him, and joyfully caught at his cloak. "Iuri! Forgive me! Help me!"

she cried.

Her husband stopped, looked sadly at her, and answered: "I would

gladly help you, but you yourself hinder me. Let me go; I must fulfill

your directions."

At that moment she awoke. She was bathed in a cold perspiration, and

clutched wildly at the coverlet with both hands. There was no one near

her, but she clearly felt someone's presence, and was convinced that

she had really seen her husband a moment before. In her ears resounded

his words: "I must fulfill your directions!" Directions? What

directions?

She sprang up, and began to feel about over the carpet with her bare

feet, looking for her slippers. A terrible thought had come into her

mind. She felt that she must settle it at once. She must take the

will, take it away from there! burn it! destroy it! She feverishly

drew on her dressing gown, and threw a shawl over her shoulders.

"Rita! Get up quick! Quick! Come!"

The frightened maid rose, still half asleep, and rubbed her eyes,

understanding nothing. Her mistress' ice-cold hands clutched her, and

dragged her somewhere.

"Ach lieber Gott ... Gott in Himmel!" she muttered. "What has

happened? What do you want?"

"Hush! Come quick!" And Olga Vseslavovna, with a candle in her

trembling hand, went forward, dragging the trembling Rita with her.

She opened the door of her bedroom, and went out. All the doors were

open _en suite_, and straight in front of her, in the center of the

fourth, shone the coffin of her husband, covered with cloth of gold

and lit up by the tall tapers standing round the bier.

"What does it mean?" whispered the general's wife. "Why have they

opened all the doors?"

"I do not know ... they were all closed last night," murmured the maid

in reply, her teeth chattering with fear. She longed to ask her

mistress whither they were going, and what for? She wanted to stop,

and not enter the funeral chamber; but she was afraid to speak.

They passed quickly through the rooms; at the door of the last the

general's wife set her candle down on a chair, and halted for a

moment. The loud snoring of the reader startled them both.

"It is the deacon!" whispered the general's wife reassuringly. Rita

had hardly strength to nod assent. All the same, the healthy snoring

of a living man comforted her. Without moving from where she stood,

the maid tremblingly drew her woolen shawl closer about her, trying to

see the sofa on which the deacon lay.

Knitting her brows, and biting her lips till they were sore, Olga

Vseslavovna went forward determinedly to the bier. She thrust both

hands under the flowers on the pillow. The frill was untouched. The

satin of the cushion was there, but where was ...? Her heart, that had

been beating like a hammer, suddenly stopped and stood still. There

was not a trace of the will!

"Perhaps I have forgotten. Perhaps it was on the other side," thought

Olga Vseslavovna, and went round to the left side of the coffin.

No! It was not there, either! Where was it? Who could have taken it?

Suddenly her heart failed her utterly, and she clutched at the edge of

the coffin to keep herself from falling. It seemed to her that under

the stiff, pallid, rigidly clasped hands of the dead general something

gleamed white through the transparent muslin of the covering,

something like a piece of paper.

"Nonsense! Self-suggestion! It is impossible! Hallucination!" The

thought flashed through her tortured brain. She forced herself to be

calm, and to look again.

Yes! She had not been mistaken. The white corner of a folded paper

appeared clearly against the general's dark uniform. At the same

moment a cold draught coming from somewhere set the tapers flickering.

Shadows danced around the room, over the bier, across the dead man's

face; and in the quick change of light and shadow it seemed to her

that the rigid features became more living, that a mournful smile

formed itself on the closed lips, that the tightly-shut eyelids

quivered. A wild cry rang through the whole room. With a desperate

shriek: "His eyes! He is looking at me!" the general's wife staggered

forward and fell fainting to the floor, beside her husband's bier.

V

The deacon sprang from his sofa with a cry, and an answering cry came

from the lips of the shivering Rita, as she fled from the room.

Servants rushed in, rubbing their eyes, still half-asleep, questioning

each other, running this way and that. The deacon, spurred by a

feeling of guilt, was determined to conceal the fact that he was

sleeping. "It was the lady!" he said. "She came in to pray; she told

me to stop reading while she prayed. She knelt down. Then she prayed

for a long time, and suddenly ... suddenly she cried out, and fainted.

Grief, brothers! It is terrible! To lose such a husband!" and he set

them to work with restoratives, himself rubbing the fallen woman's

chilly hands.

The general's wife opened her eyes after a few minutes.

Looking wildly round in bewilderment, she seemed to be wondering where

she was and how she had come there. Suddenly she remembered.

"The will! In his hands! Take it!" she cried, and fainted again. By

this time the whole household was awake. Anna Iurievna had come in,

full of astonishment at the sudden disturbance, but with the same

feeling of deep quiet and peace still filling her heart and giving her

features an expression of joy and calm. She heard the cry of the

general's wife, and the words were recorded in her mind, though she

did not at first give them any meaning.

She set herself, with all the tenderness of a good woman, to minister

to the other's need, sending her own maid for sal volatile, chafing

the fainting woman's hands, and giving orders that a bed should be

prepared for her in another room, further away from the bier. As she

spoke, quietly, gravely, with authority, the turmoil gradually

subsided. The frightened servants recovered themselves, and moved

about with the orderly obedience they ordinarily showed; and the

deacon, above all anxious to cover his negligence, began intoning the

liturgy, lending an atmosphere of solemnity to the whole room.

The servants, returning to announce that the bedroom was ready, were

ordered by Anna Iurievna to lift the fainting woman with all care and

gentleness, and she herself went with them to see the general's wife

safely bestowed in her room, and waited while the doctor did all in

his power to make her more comfortable. Olga Vseslavovna did not at

once recover consciousness. She seemed to pass from a faint into an

uneasy slumber, which, however, gradually became more quiet.

Only then, as she was leaving the room, did Anna Iurievna bethink her

of the strange words that had fallen on her ears: "The will! In his

hands! Take it!" And repeating them questioningly to herself, she

walked slowly back toward the room in which lay her father's body.

But she was even more occupied with her own thoughts. She no longer

felt in her heart the bitter resentment toward Olga Vseslavovna that

had filled it yesterday. She was conscious of a feeling of sorrow for

the helpless woman, of compassion for her empty, shallow life, the

fruit of an empty, shallow heart. And she was wondering why such

empty, joyless lives should exist in a world where there was such deep

happiness and joy.

She came over to her father's coffin, close to which the deacon was

still droning out his liturgy, and stood beside the dead body, looking

down at the strong, quiet face, and vividly recalling her dream of the

night before. Her eyes rested on the many stars and medals on his

breast, and on his hands, quietly clasped in death. Then suddenly, and

quite mechanically, Olga Vseslavovna's cry, as she returned to

consciousness, came back into her mind:

"The will! In his hands! Take it!" And bending down, she noted for the

first time something white beneath the muslin canopy. As she

scrutinized it wonderingly, she was conscious of an humble, apologetic

voice murmuring something at her elbow:

"Forgive me, Anna Iurievna. I humbly beg you, forgive me! It was I ...

in the night ... the flowers fell .... I was putting them back ...

fixing the head of your sainted papa .... It was under his head, the

paper ... I thought he wanted to keep it .... I put it in his hands,

to be safe! ... Forgive me, Anna Iurievna, if I have done any harm."

It was the deacon, still oppressed by a feeling of guilt. Anna.

Iurievna turned to him, and then turned back again, to her father's

body, to the white object shining under the muslin canopy. And once

more Olga Vseslavovna's words came into her mind:

"The will! In his hands! Take it!"

Gently raising the canopy, she softly drew the paper from beneath the

general's clasped hands, and unfolded it. She read no more than the

opening words, but she had read enough to realize that it was, indeed,

her father's will.