THE WHOLE TRUTH
"She must have been one of the Vassilitzis, and therefore Anne's near
kinswoman," Pendennis said slowly. "You say she was often spoken of as
Anna Petrovna? That explains nothing, for Petrovna is of course a very
common family name in Russia. 'The daughter of Peter' it really means,
and it is often used as a familiar form of address, just as in Scotland
a married woman is often spoken of by her friends by her maiden name. My
wife was called Anna Petrovna. But you say this unhappy woman's name was
given as 'Vassilitzi Pendennis'? That I cannot understand! It is
impossible that she could be my daughter; that the mad lady from Siberia
could have been my wife,--and yet--my God--if that should be true, after
all!
"They did send me word, and I believed it at the moment, though later I
thought it was a trick to get me--and Anne--into their power,--part of a
long-delayed scheme of revenge."
His face was white as death, with little beads of sweat on the forehead,
and his hands shook slightly; though he showed no other signs of
emotion.
"Treherne told you the truth about my marriage, Mr. Wynn," he continued,
raising his voice a little, and looking at me with stern, troubled eyes.
"Until you spoke of him I had almost forgotten his existence! But he
did not know quite everything. The one point on which I and my dear wife
were at variance was her connection with this fatal League. Yes, it was
in existence then; and I was--I suppose I still am, in a way--a member
of it; though I only became one in order that I might protect my wife as
far as possible. After she died and I was banished from Russia, I
severed myself from it for many years, until a few months ago, when I
received a communication to the effect that my wife was still alive;
that she had been released and restored to her relatives,--to her
brother Stepan, I supposed. He had always hated me, but he loved her
well, though he managed to make his escape at the time she was taken."
"But Stepan Vassilitzi is a young man,--younger than I am," I
interrupted.
"He is the son; the father died some years back, though I only learned
that after I returned to Russia. I started at once; that was how you
missed me when you came to Berlin. I sent first to the old chateau near
Warsaw, which had been the principal residence of the Vassilitzis. But I
found it in possession of strangers; it had been confiscated in '81, and
nothing was known of the old family beyond the name. I wasted several
days in futile inquiries and then went on to Petersburg, where I got in
communication with some of the League. I had to execute the utmost
caution, as you will understand, but I found out that a meeting was to
be held at a place I knew of old,--the ruined chapel,--and that Anna
Petrovna was to be there,--my wife, as I supposed.
"The rest of that episode you know. The moment I saw Anne brought out I
realized, or thought I did, for I am not so sure now, that it was a
trap. That big, rough-looking man who carried Anne off--"
"He was the Grand Duke Loris."
"So I guessed when you spoke of him just now; and at the time I knew, of
course, that he was not what he appeared, for he didn't act up to his
disguise."
"He did when it was necessary!" I said emphatically, remembering how he
had slanged the hotel servant that evening at Petersburg.
"Well, he said enough to convince me that I was right, though why he
should trouble himself on our behalf I couldn't imagine.
"We hadn't gone far when we heard firing, and halted to listen. We held
a hurried consultation, and I told him briefly who we were. He seemed
utterly astounded; and now I understand why,--he evidently had thought
Anne was that other. He decided that we should be safer if we remained
in the woods till all was quiet, and then make our way to Petersburg and
claim protection at the English Embassy.
"We went on again; Anne was still insensible, and he insisted on
carrying her,--till we came to a charcoal burner's hut. He told us to
stay there till a messenger came who would guide us to the road, where a
carriage would be in waiting to take us to Petersburg.
"He left us then, and I have never seen him since. But he kept his word,
though it was nearly a week before the messenger came,--a big, surly
man, very lame, as the result of a recent accident, I think."
"Mishka!" I exclaimed.
"He would not tell his name, and said very little one way or the other,
but he took us to the carriage, and we reached the city without
hindrance. Anne was in a dazed condition the whole time,--partly, no
doubt, as a result of the drugs which those scoundrels who kidnapped her
and brought her to Russia had administered. She knew me, but everything
else was almost a blank to her, as it still is. She has only a faint
recollection of the whole affair.
"I secured a passport for her and we started at once, though she wasn't
fit to travel, and the journey nearly killed her. We ought to have
stopped as soon as we were over the frontier, but I wanted to get as far
away from Russia as possible. She just held out till we got to Berlin,
and then broke down altogether--my poor child!
"I ought to have written to Mrs. Cayley, I know; but I never gave a
thought to it till Anne began to recover--"
"That's all right; Mary understood, and she's forgiven the omission long
ago," Jim interposed. "But, I say, Pendennis, I was right, after all! I
always stuck out that it was a case of mistaken identity, though you
wouldn't believe me!"
Pendennis nodded.
"The woman from Siberia--what was she like?" he demanded, turning again
to me.
"I can't say. I only saw her from a distance, and for a minute or so," I
answered evasively. "She was tall and white-haired."
I was certain in my own mind that she was his wife, for I'd heard the
words she called out,--his name, "An-thony," not the French "Antoine,"
but as a foreigner would pronounce the English word,--but I should only
add to his distress if I told him that.
"Well, it remains a mystery; and one that I suppose we shall never
unravel," he said heavily, at last.
But it was unravelled for us, and that before many weeks had passed.
One dark afternoon just before Christmas I dropped in for a few minutes,
as I generally contrived to do before going down to the office; for I
was on the _Courier_ again temporarily.
Anne and her father were still the Cayleys' guests; for Mary wouldn't
hear of their going to an hotel, and they had only just found a flat
near at hand to suit them. Having at last returned to England, Anthony
Pendennis had decided to remain. He'd had enough, at last, of wandering
around the Continent!
Mary had other callers in the drawing-room, so I turned into Jim's
study, where Anne joined me in a minute or so,--Anne, who, in a few
short months, would be my wife.
The front-door bell rang, and voices sounded in the lobby; but though I
heard, I didn't heed them, until Anne held up her hand.
"Hush! Who is Marshall talking to?"
The prim maid was speaking in an unusually loud voice; shouting, in
fact, as English folk always do when they're addressing a foreigner,--as
if that would make them more intelligible.
A moment later she came in, looking flustered, and closed the door.
"There's a foreign man outside, sir, and I think he's asking for you;
but I can't make out half he says,--not even his name, though it sounds
like Miskyploff!"
"Mishka!" I shouted, making for the door.
Mishka it was, grim, gaunt, and travel-stained; and as he gripped my
hands I knew, without a word spoken, that Loris was dead.
I led him in, and he started slightly when he saw Anne, who stared at
him with a queer expression of half-recognition. She knew who he was,
for I had told her a good deal about him; though we had all agreed it
was quite unnecessary that she should know the whole story of my
experiences in Russia; there were a lot of details I'd never given even
to her father and Jim.
She recovered herself almost instantly, and held out her hand to him
with a gracious smile, saying in German:
"Welcome to England, Herr Pavloff! I have heard much of you, and have
much to thank you for."
He bowed clumsily over the hand, with the deference due to a princess,
and watched her as she passed out of the room, his rugged face strangely
softened.
"So, she is safe, after all," he said when the door was closed. "We all
hoped so, but we did not know; that is one reason why you were never
told. For if she were dead what need to tell you; and also--but I will
come to that later. There is a marvellous resemblance; but it is often
so with twins."
"_Twins!_" I ejaculated; and yet I think I'd known it, at the back of
my mind, ever since the night of my return to England; only Pendennis
had spoken so decidedly about his only child. "Why, Herr Pendennis
himself doesn't know that!"
"No, it was kept from him,--from the first. It is all old history now,
though I learned it within these last few months, chiefly from Natalya.
It was her doing,--hers, and the old Count's, Stepan's father. The old
Count had always resented the marriage; he hated Herr Pendennis, his
brother-in-law, as much as he loved his sister. Herr Pendennis was away
in England when the children were born; and that increased the Count's
bitterness against him. He thought he should have hastened back,--as
without doubt he should have done! It was but a few days later that the
young mother was arrested, and, ill as she was, they took her away to
prison in a litter. The Count got timely warning, and made his escape.
It was impossible for his sister to accompany him; also he did not
believe they would arrest her, in her condition, and as she was the wife
of an Englishman. He should have known that Russians are without pity or
mercy!"
"But the child! He could not take a week-old baby with him, if he had to
fly for his life."
"No, Natalya did that. She escaped to the Ghetto and took the baby with
her,--and young Stepan, who was then a lad of six years. There was great
confusion at the chateau, and the few who knew that two children were
born doubtless believed one had died.
"For the rest, Natalya remained in the Ghetto for some three years, and
then rejoined the Count at the old house near Ziscky,--the hunting
lodge. It was all he had left; though he had patched up a peace with the
Government. He had friends at Court in those days.
"You know what the child became. He trained her deliberately to that end
as long as he lived; taught her also that her father deserted her and
her mother in the hour of need,--left them to their fate. It was a cruel
revenge to take."
"It was!" I said emphatically. "But when did she learn she had a
sister?"
"That I do not know. I think it was not long before she came to England
last; she had often been here before, for brief visits only. She came on
the yacht then, with my master; it was their honeymoon, and we had been
cruising for some weeks,--the only peaceful time she had ever had in her
life. He wished her never to return to Russia; to go with him to South
America, or live in England. But she would not; she loved him, yes, but
she loved the Cause more; it was her very life, her soul!
"The yacht lay off Greenwich for the night; she meant to land next day,
and come up to see Selinski. She had never happened to meet him, though
he was one of the Five."
"Selinski! Cassavetti! Mishka, it was not she who murdered him!"
"No, it was Stepan Vassilitzi who killed him, and he deserved it, the
hound! I had somewhat to do with it also; for I had come to London in
advance, and was to rejoin the yacht that night. Near the bridge at
Westminster whom should I meet but Yossof, whom I thought to be in
Russia; and he told me that which made me bundle him into a cab and
drive straight to Greenwich.
"The Countess Anna--she was Grand Duchess then, though we never
addressed her so--made her plan speedily, as she ever did. She slipped
away, with only her cousin Stepan and I. My master did not know. He
thought she was in her cabin after dinner.
"We rowed swiftly up the river,--the tide was near flood,--and I waited
in the boat while they went to Selinski's; Yossof had given them the
key. They found his paper, with all the evidences of his treachery to
the League and to her. Selinski came in at the moment when their task
was finished, and Stepan stabbed him to the heart. It was not her wish;
she would have spared him, vile though he was! Well, it is all one now.
They are all gone; she and Stepan,--and my master--"
"He is dead, then?"
"Should I be here if he were living? No, they did not kill him. I think
he really died when she did,--that his soul passed, as it were, with
hers; though he made no sign, as you know. I found him,--it is more than
a week since,--in the early morning, sitting at the table where she used
to write, his head on his arms,--so. He was dead and cold,--and I
thanked God for it. There was a smile on his face--"
His deep voice broke for the first time, and he sat silent for a
space,--and I did.
"And so,--I came away," he resumed presently. "I have come to you,
because he loved you. It was not his wish, but hers, that you should be
deceived, made use of. I think she felt it as a kind of justice that
she should press you into the service of the Cause,--as she meant to do
from the moment she heard of you. And it was quite easy, since you never
suspected that she was not the Fraulein you knew, and loved--_hein_? She
herself, too, had borne the burden so long, had toiled, and schemed, and
suffered for the Cause; while this sister had always been shielded; knew
nothing, cared nothing for the Cause,--though, indirectly, she had
suffered somewhat through that mistake on the part of Selinski's
accomplices. Therefore this sister should give her lover to the Cause;
that was the thought in her mind, I am sure. She was wrong; but we must
not judge her too harshly, my friend!"
"God forbid!" I said huskily.
* * * * *
All that was over a year ago, and now, my task done, I sit at my
writing-table by a western window and watch the sun, a clear red ball,
sink into the Atlantic. We are at Pencarrow, for Anthony Pendennis has
at last returned to his own house. He is my father-in-law now, for Anne
and I were married in the spring, and returned after a long honeymoon to
Pencarrow. We found Mishka settled on a farm near, as much at home there
as if he had lived in England all his life. He speaks English quite
creditably,--with a Cornish accent,--and I hear that it won't be long
before the farm has a mistress, a plump, bright-eyed widow who is going
to change her present name of Stiddyford for that of Pavloff.
We are quite a family party just now, for Jim and Mary Cayley and the
baby,--a smart little chap; I'm his godfather,--have come down to spend
Easter; and Mr. and Mrs. Treherne will drive over from Morwen vicarage,
for Mary's matchmaking in that direction panned out exactly as she
wished.
All is well with us,--pleasant and peaceful, and homelike,--and yet--
I look at a miniature that lies on the table before me, and my mind
drifts back to the unforgettable past. I am far away from Pencarrow,
when--some one comes behind my chair; a pair of soft hands are laid over
my eyes.
"Dreaming or working,--which?" laughs Anne.
I take the hands in mine, and draw her down till she has her chin on my
shoulder, her soft cheek against my face.
The dusk is falling, but through it she sees the glint of the diamonds
on the table,--and pulls her hands away.
"You have been thinking of those dreadful days in Russia again!" she
says reproachfully, with a queer little catch in her voice. "Why don't
you forget them altogether, Maurice? Let me put this in the drawer. I
hate to look at it,--to see you looking at it!"
She picks up the miniature, gently enough, slips it into a drawer, and
turns the key.
"I--I know it's horrid of me, darling, but I can't help it," she
whispers, kneeling beside me, her fair face upturned,--a face crowned
once more with a wealth of bright hair, which she dresses in a different
way now, and I'm glad of that. It makes her look less like her dead
sister.
[Illustration: _Some one comes behind my chair._ Page 354]
"I know how--she--suffered, and--and I'm not bitter against her,
really," she continues rapidly. "But when I think of all we had to
suffer because of her, I--I can't quite forgive her, or--or forget that
you loved her once; though you thought you were loving me all the time!"
"I did love you all the time, sweetheart," I assure her, and that is
true; but it is true also that I still love that dead woman as I loved
her in life; not as I love Anne, my wife, but as the page loved the
queen.
I shall never tell that to Anne, though. She would not understand.
THE END
_Mr. Oppenheim's Latest Novel_
THE ILLUSTRIOUS
PRINCE
_By_ E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Illustrated by Will Foster. Cloth. $1.50
Mr. Oppenheim's new story is a narrative of mystery and international
intrigue that carries the reader breathless from page to page. It is the
tale of the secret and world-startling methods employed by the Emperor
of Japan through Prince Maiyo, his close kinsman, to ascertain the real
reasons for the around-the-world cruise of the American fleet. The
American Ambassador in London and the Duke of Denvenham, an influential
Englishman, work hand in hand to circumvent the Oriental plot, which
proceeds mysteriously to the last page. From the time when Mr. Hamilton
Fynes steps from the _Lusitania_ into a special tug, in his mad rush
towards London, to the very end, the reader is carried from deep mystery
to tense situations, until finally the explanation is reached in a most
unexpected and unusual climax.
No man of this generation has so much facility of expression, so many
technical resources, or so fine a power of narration as Mr. E. Phillips
Oppenheim.--_Philadelphia Inquirer._
Mr. Oppenheim is a past master of the art of constructing ingenious
plots and weaving them around attractive characters.--_London Morning
Post._
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS
34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
PASSERS-BY
_By_ ANTHONY PARTRIDGE
Author of
"The Kingdom of Earth," "The Distributors," etc.
Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50
Has the merit of engaging the reader's attention at once and holding it
to the end.--_New York Sun_.
It is exciting, is plausibly and cleverly written, and is not devoid of
a love motive.--_Chicago Examiner_.
It can be heartily recommended to those who enjoy a novel with a good
plot, entertaining characters, and one which is carefully
written.--_Chicago Tribune_.
One of the most fascinating mystery stories of recent years, a tale that
catches the attention at the beginning and tightens the grip of its hold
with the turn of its pages.--_Boston Globe_.
A mysterious story in which nearly all the personages are as much
puzzled as the reader and a detective encounters a unique surprise.
Originality is the most striking characteristic of the personages.--_New
York Times_.
The first chapter compels the absorbed interest of the reader
and lays the groundwork for a thrilling tale in which mystery
follows upon mystery through a series of dramatic situations and
surprises.--_Philadelphia Press_.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS
34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
_By the Author of "Aunt Jane of Kentucky"_
THE
LAND OF LONG AGO
_By_ ELIZA CALVERT HALL
Illustrated by G. Patrick Nelson and Beulah Strong
12mo. Cloth. $1.50
The book is an inspiration.--_Boston Globe._
Without qualification one of the worthiest publications of the
year.--_Pittsburg Post._
Aunt Jane has become a real personage in American literature.--_Hartford
Courant._
A philosophy sweet and wholesome flows from the lips of "Aunt
Jane."--_Chicago Evening Post._
The sweetness and sincerity of Aunt Jane's recollections have the same
unfailing charm found in "Cranford."--_Philadelphia Press._
To a greater degree than her previous work it touches the heart by its
wholesome, quaint human appeal.--_Boston Transcript._
The stories are prose idyls; the illuminations of a lovely spirit
shine upon them, and their literary quality is as rare as
beautiful.--_Baltimore Sun._
MARGARET E. SANGSTER says: "It is not often that an author competes
with herself, but Eliza Calvert Hall has done so successfully, for her
second volume centred about Aunt Jane is more fascinating than her
first."
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS
34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
"_A howling success_"
AN AMERICAN BABY
ABROAD
_By_ MRS. CHARLES N. CREWDSON
Illustrations by R. F. Outcault and Modest Stein
12mo. Cloth. $1.50
When the American baby's mother hurries off from London to Egypt, where
her husband is ill with fever, the baby, in company with its colored
nurse and a friend of its mother's, follows more leisurely. The trio
stop at Oberammergau to see the Passion Play, in Rome to witness a
special mass conducted by Pope Leo,--in a word, do more or less
sightseeing, until they finally reach Cairo, where much more exciting
events befall them. The description of the places they visit is enhanced
by a pleasant vein of humor, and an attractive love episode sustains the
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with brisk dialogue and diverting situations--just the book for summer
reading.
A series of characteristic pictures, by the well-known artist, Mr. R. F.
Outcault, and Modest Stein gives additional charm to the volume.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS
34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,
every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and
intent.