CHAPTER XXII

HOW THE CUP SPILLED

So the winter waxed and waned, and the skies began to brighten to the spring. The snows disappeared, except on the hills, the roads were knee-deep tracts of mud, and Colonel Zazarin, having escaped the typhus, was down with typhoid, and was a very sick man.

Pavlof prevailed on Hope and Madame Roskova to take charge of him, since nothing but the most careful nursing could save his life. They both detested the man, Hope for sufficient reason, and Anna by instinct, but neither was the woman to leave even an enemy in extremity.

Pavlof had laboured mightily all through the winter on such necessary sanitary improvements as might check, to some extent, the recurrence of the fever when the warmer weather came. And Sokolof, in the light of the previous year's experiences, did what he could to help him. He could give him free labour to any extent almost, but had received neither money nor encouragement from headquarters in answer to his applications, and so Pavlof's improvements must necessarily be of a homely character. But they were such crying evils that he had to fight, the appeal they made to the senses was so vital, that a blind man could have discovered them and known by his nose what needed to be done.

It was a busy, happy time for him, and he asked no more, for himself, than that the authorities at St. Petersburg should continue their neglect of Kara and leave him in possession of the field.

But one afternoon there came rattling up from Ust Kara a strange lieutenant of gendarmes, attended by two armed orderlies, and evidently in a hurry. He inquired for Captain Sokolof's quarters and descended from his teléga there with an air of relief and much stretching of the legs.

A quarter of an hour later Sokolof's orderly was hunting through the settlement for "Serge Palma," with instructions to attend him to his own house.

Thither came to him presently Captain Sokolof himself in great perturbation of mind. Paul, in fact, had never seen the hard face so moved.

"Palma," said the captain, "I bring you ill news. I tried to do you a kindness and this is the result. They have sent orders to move you on to Yakutsk. It is damnable. I told them of all your good work here, and this is their answer," and he delivered himself volcanically of his feelings on the matter, while Paul braced up under the blow.

"When?" was all that he asked at last.

"At once. I am to deliver you to this man, and his instructions are to carry you without delay to Yakutsk," and the hard face was all twisted between indignation and pity.

"What must be, must," said Paul philosophically. "The Governor will probably die, but I suppose we can't help that. What about my wife? Is it province or town?"

"Province. It is an awful life for a woman. But she has the right to go with you if she will. I shall do all I can to get the order reversed. Perhaps Madame would wait----"

"I will see her at once. Can we have till to-morrow morning?"

"I will arrange that. It is damnable. Let me know if Madame decides to go and I will procure her conveyance. There is Zazarin's tarantas. He will probably never need it again. Oh, it is damnable!" and Sokolof cursed his way back to his own quarters, while Pavlof sat with his head in his hands and tried to look this last blow of fate squarely in the face.

For life among the outer barbarians of the Yakut uluses, ignorant even of the most elementary decencies of life, cut off absolutely from civilisation, is life at its very lowest and its very worst.

How could he ask Hope to accompany him to such a place? How dissuade her from going? Nay, he knew beforehand that she would go. And, sitting there in utterest misery, he forecasted the marring and degrading of her bright young life and the breaking of their newborn happiness.

But there was little time for sitting still. Hope must be told and at once, and he went off heavily to Colonel Zazarin's house.

He paid a somewhat perfunctory visit to his patient and beckoned Hope out of the room. She had seen the trouble in his face and followed him anxiously.

"What is it?" she asked, with a hand on his arm.

"Bad news, dearest. The worst possible news,"--at the moment he could conceive no worse. "A special messenger has arrived from St. Petersburg. I am ordered to Yakutsk."

"Yakutsk!" she gasped, for she knew all that it implied.

"Sokolof is beside himself. He has been endeavouring to better our condition. He looks on this as their answer. It is grievous treatment, but there is nothing for it but to submit. But, Hope, it is possible it may be only for a time. Sokolof, I know, will do his utmost in the matter. For yourself, dearest----"

"Where you go, I go," she broke in hastily.

"But, Hope--Yakutsk!"

"I know, I know. But we will not be separated."

"God help us!" he said. "I dare not think of you there."

"And I dare not think of myself anywhere but there, Paul. No, we will go together. When is it?"

"To-morrow."

"To-morrow! Then we have no time to lose. I will go at once and get things ready."

"And I must go and tell Sokolof that you decide to go."