CHAPTER XXVII

HOW THREE CAME HOME AND ONE WENT FURTHER

As they jolted through the Lower Diggings and the settlement, all who could turned out to see them pass, and so they came at last to the political prison, where Captain Sokolof and a grizzly-bearded stranger stood awaiting them inside the great stockade.

Sokolof listened with a grim face to Lieutenant Tschak's report, while the wounded men were being carried into the hospital and the teléga discharged its ghastly load.

Pavlof had got down stiffly from his horse, and Hope climbed down from the tarantas as soon as Serge's body had been lifted down, and, when he had disposed of the rest, Sokolof came across to them. Hope's eyes swept his face anxiously for indications of their fate, but found it inscrutable. The grizzly-bearded man had followed the wounded men into the hospital.

"Madame, you are at liberty to return to your own house," said Sokolof abruptly. "You, Mr. Palma, must remain here."

"May I not stop with my husband, sir?" asked Hope. "He is wounded."

"It shall be seen to. You will be better at home, Madame."

"You will be far better there, dearest. God keep you!" said Paul, and kissed her very tenderly, thinking it might well be for the last time.

With the same fear in her, she took one long look at him, and then went brokenly down the enclosure. The great gate opened and closed, the pointed black fangs of the stockade grinned derisively, and Paul wondered if he would ever see her more.

He was still staring blankly at the gates, as though he could see through them and after her, when Sokolof touched him on the shoulder, and said quietly, "Follow me!" and strode away to his own quarters.

"You made a great mistake," he said, turning upon him abruptly, as soon as they were in his room. "What made you go with that man?"

"It was impossible for me to do otherwise."

"Da! Impossible? What hold has he on you?"

Pavlof hesitated. He did not know where he stood, and least said soonest mended.

"Who is he?" asked Sokolof again. "And why had you to go with him?"

And still Pavlof made no reply.

"See, Mr. Palma, I have been your friend. I would still be so. But, as I see things at present, it is an ill return you have made me in this matter."

Pavlof made a gesture of dissent.

"Yes," said Sokolof, "an ill return, and calculated to damage me sorely at headquarters. An escape is nothing. But to be gulled in this fashion, and to call their attention to it myself by that cursed telegram, which was intended entirely for your benefit----"

"He tried hard to dissuade you from it."

"For his own ends. The result has been disastrous, and the matter, and your share in it, must be investigated. But, in the fact of your going, you are not incriminated. His papers were all in order, so far as we could possibly make out. In going with him you only obeyed orders supposed to have come from St. Petersburg. But that is not enough for me. There is that behind which I do not understand. If I am still to stand your friend I must understand it."

Upon which Pavlof took his fate in his hands.

"It is a strange story," he said, "and may try your credence at times. But I will tell you the whole matter, and you shall judge me. The man who is dying in the hospital there is Serge Palma----"

"Serge Palma!" echoed Sokolof in vast surprise. "Then who----? Who the devil are you?"

"I am Paul Pavlof."

At which Sokolof shook his head with a perplexed pinching of the brows. He had never heard of Paul Pavlof.

"But Madame----" he asked, with sudden inspiration, "Is she then not Madame Palma?"

"She was Palma's wife. She came out here to join him. He and I had exchanged names on the road. He stopped at Minusinsk. I came on to Kara. Instead of her husband, she found me here."

"You had known her before she married Palma?"

"Yes, I had known her and loved her. But I was very poor, and she was very enthusiastic on the subject of the people."

"And Palma was rich?"

"Palma was rich."

"I begin to see. And now--is she your wife or Palma's?"

"She is my wife--now. We awaited news of Palma. We got only news of his death----"

"Ah?"--as if he would have liked much to inquire how such news had reached him.

"And so, after long waiting, we married. Then Palma came, at the risk of his life, to pay the debt he considered he owed me. I was quite happy here. So was my wife. His coming was terrible to us. What could we do?"

Sokolof nodded.

"We could not refuse to go, though we had no wish to go. If we had refused, you would have sent us. The only thing we could have done was impossible, and that was to expose the man who was risking his life for us. Would you have done that, Captain Sokolof?"

"I would not."

"And what would you have thought of me if I had done it?"

"I should have thought you a cur."

"Exactly. Now you understand the whole matter."

"Now I understand." He paced thoughtfully to and fro. Once he stopped and faced Pavlof, as if about to speak, but thought better of it and went on.

"I must keep you here for the present," he said at last, "till inquisition is made into the matter."

"You will let me see to Palma and the others?"

"They will be seen to. The man you saw with me arrived last night. He is the new doctor appointed by headquarters."

"Ah, then I would be glad to have him strap up my shoulder."

"You are wounded? Yes, I remember, Madame mentioned it."

"A bullet went through it in the _mêlée_, but I don't think any great damage is done. It was a narrow defile----"

"Don't tell me anything about it," Sokolof held up his hand. "Tschak and the rest will no doubt have quite enough to say about it. A good deal will depend on what they say. I will send Irbatsky in to look at your shoulder. And, remember, the less said the better."

"Will you as a favour allow me to nurse Palma to the end? It cannot be far off. You can understand--I feel as if I had used him ill, though God knows, I never intended to do so."

"I will see what Irbatsky says. I am a bit suspicious of him and must walk warily. Perhaps he will be glad of your help with the wounded. He is a drinker, unless I'm mistaken, which is perhaps the reason for his coming here. I will see you later."

And presently Dr. Irbatsky came in, and Pavlof bared his wound, and the doctor washed and strapped it, talking meanwhile of the fight.

"Ach, so you were fighting, too, Mr. Palma? Bad job, bad job! And no good came of it after all."

"I saw my friend fall, and went to help him," said Paul. "It was then that I got hit. How do you find him, Doctor?"

"Bad, very bad. It is a wonder he got back here alive."

"He can't last long?"

"Not many hours. Might die any minute."

"I would be grateful for your permission to sit by him till he goes. Can I help with the others also? I am ready to be of use."

"Da! I see no objection, if Captain Sokolof does not. But you are pretty well done up yourself and have lost blood. You can hardly keep your eyes open."

"I shall keep them open longer than he will."

"That's so. Well, come along. Captain Sokolof is with the prisoner now, but I doubt if he'll get anything out of him."

They crossed the enclosure and entered the hospital, and found Sokolof standing beside the bed on which Palma had been laid.

"Will he come to before he goes, Doctor?" asked Sokolof.

"He may, at the last. Or he may just drift out like that. He has no right to be here alive after what he's gone through."

"You can wait by him, Mr. Palma," said the captain. "I will leave you an orderly. If he shows signs of consciousness send for me instantly. It is of importance."

Pavlof bowed and sat down by the bed, and Sokolof and the doctor went out.

Serge breathed so slightly and softly that Paul doubted at times if he breathed at all, and more than once he had to bend close over him to make sure. He sat for a couple of hours in the dim light of the tiny lamp, and found it hard to keep his eyes open, as the doctor had said.

Then, suddenly, Palma made a slight uneasy movement, and Paul bade the orderly fetch Captain Sokolof.

The captain was there almost immediately.

"Has he come to?" he asked quickly, as he dismissed the orderly.

"He has moved for the first time since I came, and it indicates a change. He has not spoken,"--and they sat and waited.

Presently a slow sigh from the bed, and they bent over it. Palma opened his eyes wearily and looked up at them.

"Do you know who I am?" asked Sokolof.

A faint smile flickered over Palma's lips.

"I want you to tell me who you are?"

Serge's eyes turned inquiringly on Paul, who bent down and took his cold hand in his.

"Paul Pavlof," whispered Serge.

"And who is this?" asked Sokolof, indicating Paul.

He looked steadily into Sokolof's eyes and answered, "Serge Palma."

"I have thought it wise to trust Captain Sokolof with the whole truth, Serge," said Paul, slowly and distinctly.

A faint surprise showed in the tired eyes.

"Now tell me," said Sokolof again. "Who is this?" indicating Paul.

"Paul Pavlof."

"And you are----?"

"Serge Palma."

"And that is the truth as you are about to appear before God?"

"The truth."

"Now I want to know who furnished you with the documents you brought here."

At that, the shadowy smile flickered over the dying man's lips once more, but he made no answer.

"You will not tell me?"

"Never," came the feeble whisper.

They saw the lips move again presently, and both bent close.

"Hope?" he murmured.

"She is at home, Serge," said Paul. "It has tried her hard, all this."

"Sorry."

"We shall never forget it, or you. You did nobly."

He looked at Sokolof, who bent down to him.

"I pay----not them."

Sokolof straightened up and pondered for a moment. Then he bent down again, and spoke slowly and clearly as Pavlof had done. "Listen, Palma. I received from Petersburg last night papers authorising me to set Serge Palma at liberty, on account of his services here, and on condition of his leaving the country at once and never setting foot on Russian territory again."

A great light glowed in the dulling eyes for a moment.

"That is Serge Palma," he said, in so loud a voice that it startled them--and died with the beautiful lie on his lips.

Paul knelt down by the bed, still holding the hand which grew colder and colder in his. He forgot Sokolof and all else for the moment. This man had given his life for him and for the woman they both loved, and his heart was sore stricken at his going, and by so sorrowful a path.

It was Sokolof who broke the silence at last.

"The pity," he said gravely, "that such men should be wasted."