THE CONVALESCENCE OF DENZIL
You saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself poised with herself, in either eye:
But in that crystal scales let there be weighed
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.
--SHAKESPEARE.
Vronsky had been wholly unprepared for the burst of indignation which
descended upon his devoted head when Stepan Stepanovitch heard that
he had telegraphed the disappearance of Felix to England.
The English relatives of young Vanston had not entered into the
calculations either of the Governor or Felix, when they planned their
little coup to bring Cravatz into the trap. Of all things which they
did not desire, it was that publicity should be given to their
movements.
Once the news of the disappearance of a young Englishman, with a
suspicion of Nihilist terrorism, had flashed over English wires,
there was the risk of some enterprising journalist taking up the
matter--the risk that the lost man's brother should appeal to the
Government of his country--the risk of questions in Parliament!----
The mind of Stepan Stepanovitch rapidly reviewed all the
possibilities which this new complication suggested.
It was a pity that they had not taken Vronsky into confidence from
the first. But it had seemed to them essential that he should be, at
least for a time, in the dark. Any such desperate step as this had
not occurred to them. He could, of course, be kept quiet by being
given a hint; but what of the forces he had let loose?
They did what they could. They telegraphed to Denzil the need of
secrecy, begging him to come first to Savlinsky, and hear all
details, before putting the matter before the representatives of
either the British or Russian Government.
Cravatz was still at large, and the Governor trembled lest he might
have such information as should lead to any interference with Denzil
upon his journey. He actually sent an English-speaking official to
Moscow, to intercept the traveler and bring him on, and this was so
successfully accomplished that Denzil arrived at Savlinsky having had
everything made easy for him during the journey, and not having
spoken a word to anybody except such persons as his escort considered
safe.
When he arrived both the Governor and Vronsky were much relieved to
find what manner of person he was. He had but a moderate
intelligence, they soon agreed, and his desire to find his brother
seemed also to be of a conspicuously limited nature. He spoke of
Felix with a subdued and resigned pity, as of a brand snatched from
the burning, a reformed ne'er-do-weel, a person of whom it was to be
expected that he might suddenly break out into discreditable conduct,
though his behavior latterly had shown distinct signs of improvement.
Vronsky disliked him from the first. He had an unfortunate manner,
possessed by many of our nation, a manner which seemed to suggest
that no foreigner could be considered as truly the equal of an
Englishman. Even with the Governor there was a distinct tinge of
condescension in his politeness. But Stepan Stepanovitch, less
sensitive than Vronsky, and less devoted to Felix, got on better with
him.
Nadia was very anxious to see him. In her eyes, the man who had
undertaken such a difficult journey, to try and rescue his brother
from danger, was a chivalrous figure. She was disappointed to hear
that he had fallen sick--that too, she thought, was a sign of his
anxiety of mind respecting Felix.
The next news from the mines was that the Englishman was not merely
ill, but very ill indeed.
By this time the main features of the case, as regards the
conspiracy, had changed altogether. Cravatz was arrested, and Felix,
disguised as one of the Governor's police, had left the Castle, and
was reported safely arrived at Gretz. With Cravatz was arrested the
man who had posed as a Kirgiz, and who had sheltered him. This
disposed of all the suspected persons in the province, since Streloff
was dead. There was no longer any need to keep Mr. Vanston in
ignorance of the fact of his brother's safety.
The Governor rode over to Savlinsky, and when he saw the patient, ill
and shaken, his heart smote him for all the unnecessary strain of
mind which he imagined him to have undergone. In an impulse of
hospitality he begged him to come up with him to Nicolashof as his
guest, and allow his daughter and Miss Forester to do what they could
to counteract the ill-effects of their climate, and obliterate the
memory of the unhappy circumstances of his first coming to the
province.
The idea of going to a place where there would be an English lady was
delightful to Denzil, who was exceedingly sorry for himself. A
domestic man, and one used to a woman in the house, he had been
miserable with Vronsky, with whom he was not in sympathy; and dimly
conscious that this inferior person presumed so far as to think
anything but highly of himself.
He was so weak that he had to be carried to the carriage, and laid
down among the rugs and pillows. Thus he was driven swiftly across
the plain, into the birch-wood, and on through the pines to
Nicolashof.
In the higher air of the woodland place he awoke next morning feeling
strangely invigorated. After breakfast he arose, with the help of
the manservant detailed to wait upon him, and was helped downstairs,
out upon the terrace overlooking the lovely garden, one bower of
flowers and beauty.
There was something very familiar, even home-like, in the English
arrangement of this house. When he was seated upon a luxurious
lounge chair, there was a table at his elbow, with English books and
magazines upon it. Miss Forester had welcomed him upon his arrival
the previous evening, but they had had no talk. Nadia he had not
seen. In this place he felt as though he should soon recover. The
deadly depression, which had been largely nostalgia, though of this
he was not aware, was dispelled as if by magic.
A new, dreamy, blissful content overspread him. He almost wished he
had not sent for Aunt Bee and Rona. It seemed unnecessary expense
and trouble for them. He thought of it, in a fashion more and more
broken, as sleep stole over his eyelids. Even the slight effort of
dressing and coming downstairs had made him weary. He slept.
When he opened his eyes he thought he was still dreaming. For over
him there stooped a face, lovely, vivid, delicately flushed. It
seemed to rise above a bank of flowers, of every gorgeous hue. To
gaze into its eyes was like looking into deep wells. He lay there
taking in the vision, saying nothing; and by degrees he saw that it
was a real girl, whose rounded throat rose above an embroidered white
gown, which was without the high collar which is usual in England,
and that she held a sheaf of blossoms in her arms.
When he had looked for a moment which seemed endless, her lips parted
in a smile which gave the effect of a glow of hot sunshine. "Oh,"
she said in fluent English, and a voice of a _timbre_ which he then
heard for the first time--"Oh, are you awake?"
"I think so," said Denzil vaguely. The tones of the voice moved him
strangely. Then, aware of the stupidity of his remark, he sat up,
and reddened a little.
"I am Nadia Stepanovna," said she. "You look very ill. I hope you
are feeling a little better this morning?"
"I feel a different man altogether," he responded with warm
cordiality. "My mind is at rest since I knew of my brother's safety.
And then this place--this fine air, this peace and repose--how good
of you to let me be here!"
"I have wanted to see you for some days," said she, frankly. "I was
so interested when I heard that you had come. Of course, I know your
brother quite well. He is often here."
"Of course," said Denzil, a little coldly.
"But then he has lived so long with Vronsky, he is more like a
continental," went on Nadia, seating herself upon a chair nearby, and
laying down her flowers upon a table. "But I have read quantities of
English books, and the men in them are so unlike our Russian men, and
I have always wanted to see a real, genuine Englishman--a man like
you."
She rested her two elbows upon her knees, and her delicate chin upon
her palms, gazing her fill upon the real Englishman.
"I'm a poor specimen of my race just now," said Denzil, in some
confusion. "When I have been here a day or two I shall be very
different, I hope."
"Father ought to have gone and fetched you before," she remarked. "I
told him so. I said that dear old Vronsky has no more idea of
nursing than a kangaroo. And we would have taken such care of you!"
"I could not have troubled you," he replied. "This is unheard-of
kindness. I feel sorry now that I sent for my aunt. You know she is
at St. Petersburg, with my--my----" he hesitated painfully, and at
last said, "My ward, Miss Leigh."
"And you sent for them--to come to Savlinsky?" cried Nadia, in
surprise.
"I did. I was so frightfully ill the night before last, I thought I
was dying. And you see, there is no doctor to be had."
"Oh!" said Nadia, "I wish we had known!"
His eyes roamed round the garden. "I had no idea there could be a
place like this in this country," he said. "Nor--nor anyone
so--anyone like you."
"Like me?" cried Nadia, with animation, glowing upon him. "How do
you mean--anyone so what?"
"Anyone so perfectly beautiful." It was out before he knew it. He,
Denzil, had said it--he, who never in his life previously had paid a
compliment to a woman. In England he would no more have said such a
thing than have taken his coat off and sat in his shirtsleeves in her
presence. But here all was different. And she was not angry, but on
the contrary, much pleased. She smiled slowly, mysteriously, with
lowered lashes, and Denzil, leaning forward, took up her childishly
small, delicately tended hand, and kissed it. "Forgive me," he said.
"My heart is full. Your great kindness!"
She raised her lids, very slowly, letting her night-deep eyes rest
full upon him. The look dazzled him like strong sunshine. "Oh, you
are just right," she said. "Just like the Englishmen in books. I
have always wanted to meet one. And now--I have."
There was a delicious silence between them. Nadia sat passive, the
hand which he had kissed resting lightly upon her lap, just as he had
laid it there. Her skin was warm and clear, with a glow of carmine
in either cheek. From each tiny ear hung a drop-shaped pearl. She
wore no color at all. The contrast of her beauty with her white
dress and the softly looped masses of her night-black hair was
exquisite.
Stock doves cooed in the trees, and the summer breeze wandered by.
The young man's eyes never left that astonishing little face, with
its rosy, pouted child lips, and eyes almost too large for proportion.
Then she asked a question. It slipped over the edge of her lip quite
harmlessly, but it made him tingle all over.
"Are you married?"
He sat bolt upright. "No," he said. And at the moment he was more
glad than words can say that this was so.
"I suppose"--again the heavy fringes came down to veil the eyes--"I
suppose there are many, many beautiful girls in England?"
"I daresay," replied Denzil.
"And yet you have not married any of them? Or--forgive me--perhaps
you have been married, and have lost? ..."
"Oh, no." He hastily reassured her. "The beauty of English girls
is--is different," he said. "They are--they are--I don't know how to
describe it. They run about, and get sunburnt, and hot, and untidy.
Or they are very sensible, and read a great deal, and improve their
minds. Very few of them are like a princess in a fairy tale."
"Am I?" said Nadia, with a half-smile, eying him sidelong under her
lids.
"Like the Princess that was a witch too," said Denzil, dreamily.
"A witch!" She reflected upon it, as not quite knowing herself
gratified or not. "I have always wanted to be like an English girl.
I am very fond of Miss Forester."
"You are just perfect. Don't try to change," said Denzil. "And you
are a witch. I will tell you how I know. It is because strength is
flooding back into me since I began to talk to you. I feel so much
better I believe I could get up and walk round the garden."
She leaned forward with the prettiest concern. "Oh, I don't think
you are strong enough yet! Do be careful, won't you?"
"I should do anything if you asked me like that! I am all the more
certain that you are a witch."
As he spoke, Miss Forester came out upon the veranda, and greeted him
very kindly. She, too, was delighted to welcome an Englishman, and
still more delighted to find that Mr. Vanston was undeniable--the
right kind of Englishman. Moreover, she was pleased to see Nadia
interested, for she had been moping considerably since the departure
of Felix.
"He says I am a witch," said the girl, half-pouting, half-laughing,
to her friend, when the greetings were over.
"What! Does he know that already, even before he has heard you
sing?" was the amused reply.
"Do you sing, Mademoiselle?" asked Denzil, wondering much how he
ought to address a young Russian lady of good birth.
"You shall sing to him this evening, when it is getting dark, and see
whether he does not want to light candles, and scare away the
creatures of the night," said Miss Forester.
Denzil sighed with pleasure. Here were two delightful women ready to
pet him. One of them more fascinating than he had believed a human
woman could be. He was in a whirl. He hardly knew where he was, or
what he said. He was sure that he said many things that in England
he would never even think. Some of them were brilliant, he believed;
but, as in a dream, he forgot one thing before the next bubbled up
from the soil of his fancy.
In the afternoon they took him driving, and Nadia sat by his side.
It was more like flying upon a rosy cloud.
And then, in the gloaming, as she had promised, Nadia sang.
Denzil, as we know, was not an emotional person. But in the friendly
dusk, his tears overflowed his eyes and slipped down his cheeks.
This, indeed, was music. This, indeed, was magic. It was as though,
until now, he had been insensate clay, and that some potent spell had
brought him, in a flash, to life. He was not physically strong--let
it be remembered in his defense. In this enchanted palace his life
of former days ceased to exist.
The white-robed girl, a miracle of slenderness, sang as she stood by
the piano, and the light of the two wax candles by which Miss
Forester played just gilded the edges of her outline and her
features, as he sat in the dark distance gazing, gloating, trembling
with the force of his feeling.
When that evening was over, and he retired to his room, he had ceased
to reflect. He had begun to live solely in the present, as those in
the clutch of a passion usually do. He gave no thought to his life
in England, nor to the fact that the girl to whom he was virtually
engaged was on her way to him by a difficult and dangerous route. He
thought merely that he would see Nadia Stepanovna the following
morning, and that he would pass the whole day in her company.
Nothing else mattered.