AT VASSILITZI'S
Into my dreams came voices that I knew, speaking in French, in low tones
which yet reached my ears distinctly.
"I think we should tell him; it is not right, or just, to keep him in
ignorance."
"No,--no,--we must not tell him; we must not!" Anne said softly, but
vehemently. "We shall need him so sorely,--there are so very few whom we
can really trust. Besides, why should we tell him? It would break his
heart! For remember, we do not know."
They were not dream voices, but real ones, and as I found that out, I
felt I'd better let the speakers,--Anne and Loris,--know I was awake;
for I'd no wish to overhear what they were saying, especially as I had a
queer intuition that they were talking of me. So I sat up under the fur
rug some one had thrown over me, and began to stammer out an apology in
English.
The room was almost dark, and through the window, with its heavy stone
frame, I saw the last glow of a stormy sunset. Anne and Loris stood
there, looking out, and as I moved and spoke she broke off her sentence
and came towards me.
"You have slept long, Maurice; that is well," she said, also in English,
with the pretty, deliberate accent I had always thought so charming.
"There is no need for apologies; we should have roused you if necessary,
but all is quiet so far. Will you come to my boudoir presently? I will
give you tea there. We have scarcely had one word together as yet,--and
there is so much to say! I will send lights now; some of the servants
have returned and will get you all you need."
Loris opened the door for her, and crossed back to his former post by
the window, while I scrambled up, as a scared-looking, shamefaced man
servant entered with a lamp, and slunk out again.
"Those wretches! They deserve the knout!" Loris said grimly, when we
were alone. "They were all well armed, and yet, at the first hint of
danger, they took themselves into hiding, leaving those two women
defenceless here. Well, they will have to take care of themselves in
future, the curs! The countess is dead," he added abruptly.
"Dead!" I exclaimed.
"Yes. Always, even in her madness, she remembered all she had suffered,
and her terror of being arrested again killed her. It is God's mercy for
her that she is at peace,--and for us, too, for we could not have taken
her with us, nor have left her in charge of Natalya and these hounds, as
we had intended. We shall bury her out in the courtyard yonder. It is
the only way, and later, if nothing prevents, we start for the
railroad."
"Where is Pendennis?" I asked. "Is he not here?"
"No; he may join us later; I cannot say," he answered, staring out of
the window. I felt that he was embarrassed in some way; that there was
something he wished to say, but hesitated at saying it. That wasn't a
bit like him, for he had always been the personification of frankness.
"I wonder if there's a bath to be had in the house," I said inanely,
looking at my grimy hands.
"Yes, in Vassilitzi's dressing-room; the servant will take you up," he
answered abstractedly, and as I moved towards the wide old-fashioned
bell-pull by the stove, he turned and strode after me.
"Wait one moment!" he said hurriedly. "Are you still determined to go
through with us? There is still time to turn back, or rather to go back
to England. It would not be easy perhaps, but it would be quite possible
for you to get through, via Warsaw and Alexandrovo, if you go at once."
"Why do you ask me that?" I demanded, looking at him very straight. His
blue eyes were more troubled than I had ever seen them. "Do you doubt
me?"
"No, before God I trust you as I trust none other in the world but
Mishka and his father! But you are a stranger, a foreigner; why should
you throw your life away for us?"
"I have told you why, before. Because I only value my life so far as it
may be of service to--her. If I left her and you, now, as you suggest,
smuggled myself back into safety,--man, it's not to be thought of!"
"Well, I will urge you no more," he said sadly. "But you are sacrificing
yourself for a chivalrous delusion, my friend."
"Where's the delusion? I know she does not love me; and I am quite
content."
Long after, I knew what he had wished to tell me then, and I can't even
now decide what I'd have done if he had spoken, whether I would have
gone or stayed; but I think I'd have stayed!
When I had bathed and dressed in Vassilitzi's dressing-room,--he was
still in bed and asleep in the adjoining one,--a servant took me to
Anne's boudoir, a small bare room that yet had a cosey homelike look
about it.
She was alone, sitting in a low chair, her hands lying listlessly on the
lap of her black gown. Her face was even whiter and more weary than it
had looked in the morning, and she had been weeping, I saw, for her long
lashes were still wet; but she summoned up a smile for me,--that brave
smile, that was, in a way, sadder and more moving than tears.
"You have heard that my mother is dead?" she asked, in a low voice. "She
died in my arms half an hour after we got in; and I am so glad,--so
glad. I have been thanking God in my heart ever since. She never knew
me; she knew none of us, but Yossof; and that only because he had been
near her in that dreadful place. You saw her--just for a moment; you saw
something of what those long years had made of her,--and we--my God, we
had thought her dead all that time!"
She shuddered, and sat staring with stern, sombre eyes at the fire, her
slender fingers convulsively interlaced.
She was silent for a space, and so was I, for I could find never a word
to say.
Suddenly she looked straight at me.
"Maurice Wynn, if ever the time comes when you might blame me, condemn
me,--justifiably enough,--think of my mother's history. Remember that I
was brought up with one fixed purpose in life,--to avenge her, even when
I only thought her dead. How much more should that vengeance be, now
that I know all that she had to suffer! And she is only one among
thousands who have suffered,--who are suffering as much,--yes, and more!
There is but one way,--to crush, to destroy, the power that has
done,--that is doing these deeds. It will not be done in our time, but
we are at least preparing the way; within a few days we shall have gone
some distance along it--with a rush--towards our goal. I tell you that
to further this work I would--I will--do anything; sacrifice even those
who are dearer to me than my own soul! Therefore, as I said, remember
that, when you would condemn me for aught I have done, or shall do!"
"I can never condemn you, Anne; you know that well! The queen can do no
wrong!"
The fire that had flashed into her eyes faded, dimmed, I thought, by a
mist of tears.
"You are indeed a true knight, Maurice Wynn," she said wistfully. "I do
not deserve such devotion; no, don't interrupt me, I know well what I am
saying, and perhaps you also will know some day. I have deceived you in
many ways; you know that well enough--"
"As I now know your purpose," I answered. "But why didn't you trust me
at first, Anne? When we were in London? Don't think I'm blaming you, I'm
not, really; but surely you must have known, even then, that you might
have trusted me,--yes, and Mary, too."
She was not looking at me now, but at the fire, and she paused before
she answered slowly.
"It was not because I did not trust you, and her; but I did not wish to
involve either of you in my fortunes. You have involved yourself in
them,--my poor, foolish friend! But she, have you told her anything?"
"No. She does not even know that I am back in Russia; and before I
returned I told her nothing."
"She thinks me dead?"
"She did not know what to think; and she fretted terribly at your
silence."
"Poor Mary!" she said, with a queer little pathetic smile. "Well,
perhaps her mind is at rest by this time."
"You have written to her?"
"No,--but she has news by this time."
"And your father?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"You must ask me nothing of him; perhaps you will learn all there is to
know one day. How strangely your fate has been linked with mine! Think
of Yossof meeting _you_ that night. He had heard of my danger from the
League. Ah, that traitor, Selinski! How much his miserable soul had to
answer for! And he did not know whom to trust, so he set out himself,
though he speaks no word of any language but his own, and bribed and
begged his way to London. He found out some of the League there, at a
place in Soho, learned there where Selinski lived, stole the key to his
rooms, and--met you. He is a marvel, the poor good Yossof!"
"Did you know it was he, when I described him that night?" I asked
impulsively.
She looked up quickly.
"I have told you, I did not wish to entangle you in my affairs, and--"
The door opened and her cousin entered.
"Ah, you are engaged," he exclaimed, glancing from one to the other of
us.
"No, we have finished our chat," said Anne. "Come and sit down,
Stepan--for a few minutes only. We have much to do,--and far to go,
to-night."
How weary and wistful her face looked as she spoke!