CHAPTER XIX

THE DESPAIR OF VRONSKY

Old men love, while young men die. --RUDYARD KIPLING.

The Governor, his daughter, and Miss Forester were all at breakfast, in a charming room into which the sunshine was streaming, when, unannounced, Vronsky staggered into the room, a piteous figure.

The pallor of fever was still upon him; his eyes were wild, his demeanor agitated. He greeted nobody; his usually courtly manners had deserted him completely. His head fell upon his chest as he sank down on a chair, ejaculating hoarsely, "My boy! I have lost my boy!"

The three breakfasting rose simultaneously to their feet. The Governor looked disconcerted, Miss Forester as though amused, and ashamed that she should feel amused; and Nadia's eyes were swimming with tears of pure pity.

They had but that moment been speaking of Felix, and Stepan Stepanovitch had been impressing upon them both the absolute necessity of complete reticence at present. He had not confided to the ladies the plight in which the young man had returned to the castle. They only knew that he had returned, and that he was resting--under lock and key, as the Governor had threatened!

But, as it happened, Miss Forester had heard more. She knew that Felix had been wounded, though the wound was quite superficial. She knew other things as well--things she must not let the young girl know.

They all simulated astonishment; sympathy they had no need to simulate. For it would have been a hard-hearted woman who was not moved by the extremity of Vronsky's trouble.

"He was everything to me--my whole future--and if they have taken him," he vowed, "I will spend the rest of my life and my fortune in hunting down and torturing every member of that vile Brotherhood as if they were vermin."

"But give me all the details," said Stepan Stepanovitch. He had been displeased at the dramatic action of his subordinates in placing the corpse of Streloff in the tarantasse. But nothing, as a matter of fact, could more completely have put not only Vronsky, but others, off the scent.

Vronsky explained, in shaken tones. He told how Streloff had behaved the previous day; how his suspicions had been awakened; how the great, strong Hutin had been told off to watch the spy; how the spy had managed to drug Hutin's coffee, and had got off unseen between nine and ten in the evening. He told how he had been asleep, for the first time in forty-eight hours, and how his own servant had declined to allow him to be disturbed by Hutin upon a matter of business; and how an hour later he had started up out of his slumbers, at sound of the maddened horses dashing into the yard.

"All is mystery," said Vronsky. "Who shot Streloff? Not Felix, for he had no revolver with him. In this peaceful province we no more think of carrying firearms than we should in London. But if Felix did not shoot him, who did? And where is my boy? Ah! where? I shall never see him again."

"Have you searched the road carefully?" asked the Governor, after a pause.

"Yes. The spot is obvious--a mile on the Savlinsky side of the village, in the forest. There is blood on the ground, and the trampling of many feet. I found, also, the small amber mouthpiece in which my boy smokes his cigarettes." He laid it on the table, and his voice broke in a sob.

The Governor rose. "I shall go myself at once," he said, "and examine the ground. If Mr. Vanston was really kidnapped there, and carried off helpless, there must be some sign of the way he was taken. Find Cravatz, and we find him--that is my notion." He laid a kindly hand upon Vronsky's shoulder. "Courage!" he said. "I leave you here with the ladies. You must not go back yet awhile to Savlinsky to eat your heart out. Wait here and rest until I bring you tidings."

"Yes, do," said Nadia, with all the ardent impetuosity of her nature, deeply moved by the sight of the man's grief. She came and stood by Vronsky, holding out her hand, and he let his craving eyes feed upon her beauty. He even dared to carry the sympathizing little hand to his lips. It was astonishing how much it comforted him.

"There never was such a boy," he said, "and all his life he has had such misfortune to contend against! His father was a good man; but I fear his mother was not exemplary. His half-brother never understood him. Then he got involved with these thrice-accursed tyrants who call themselves friends of liberty. And then he performed an heroic action--he saved from worse than death a young girl ... and with her he fell deep, deep in love. She promised to wait for him, and his heart is altogether hers. But I do not think she is faithful to him. He could marry now, and he longs to do so. He was to have his holiday and go to England and see what his chance was. But now, where is he? Once again his evil fate has been too strong for him."

Nadia withdrew her hand somewhat precipitately as he spoke, and went to the window. Miss Forester, watching her curiously, saw the red color mount to her very brow, and pitied her. Miss Forester thought Felix a most attractive young man, and marveled that Stepan Stepanovitch should allow him to be so freely in his daughter's company. It had seemed almost impossible that these two young creatures, thrown so exclusively into each other's society, should not fall in love with each other. Yet all along the Englishwoman had been doubtful whether Felix returned the feeling which she was positive he had aroused in Nadia. And this morning, when she had received the whispered confidences of Kathinka, the woman who had been summoned to wash and bind up Felix's wound, there had been a small thing said:

"And though he is a heretic, he wears around his neck a charm or a token. It is the half of a small silver coin."

Miss Forester's heart contracted with a sharp pang. She did not like the notion that her darling Nadia should be made unhappy.

Vronsky saw the withdrawal of Nadia, and rose to his feet. He followed her. "Alas!" he said, "men are selfish things! I am bewailing my loss, and cutting you to your sympathetic heart. I am lamenting, and I do not reflect that my Felix, who is to me wife and son and all I have to love in a desolate world, is nothing to others--nothing!" He covered his face. "Mademoiselle, I cannot control my feeling. Let me go out into the garden until I have got the better of this weakness." His tears were actually falling, and he shook with emotion. To the astonishment of her governess Nadia went up to him, and laid her hands upon his shoulders; it seemed as if she almost embraced him, as though he had been a father.

"Oh!" she cried, and her sweet voice--the Slav voice, with tears in it--quivered and vibrated with emotion. "Oh! is it possible that he should love a girl who--who cannot keep faith with him?"

Vronsky grew suddenly very still. His sobs ceased. As though he were touching some sacred thing, he put his arms about the girl's shoulders. A curious succession of feelings played over his fine, expressive face. It was as if he knew that she felt towards him as towards an elderly relative--him, who was quivering with the true passion of a man for her--and as if, in the moment of his hopeless craving and bitter sadness, some other idea, new and sweet, had dawned upon his unselfish soul.

"Dorogaya (dearest)," he faltered, hardly knowing that he used the word--"these English girls are not like ourselves. They are selfish and grasping. They think of their own feeling, the gratifying of their own desire. They do not think of what a man may suffer in their cruel hands." He had grown very white. The girl's face, trustful, uncomprehending, was very near his own lips. He turned, with a supreme effort of strength, and seated her in a chair near. "The comfort of knowing that I have your sympathy," he muttered, brokenly.

Miss Forester, watching, thought she had seldom seen anything more delicate, more touching, than his handling of the situation. Nadia was very young, and her whole heart went out to the man who thus wonderfully responded to her inmost feeling. She let her hand lie in his hold, while she leant languidly back in her chair and let him talk to her of Felix--of the young man's excellencies, and his own hopes and fears. Then suddenly she started up.

"My friend," she said, with a beautiful earnestness and confidence, "I have a vision--I have a presentiment. Your son, whom you love so much, is safe! He is safe! I know it! He will come back to you--my father will restore him to you safe and sound! Will you share my faith?"

Vronsky, who had been kneeling by her chair, rose slowly to his feet. His wondering eyes were fixed upon her glowing, kindled face. "Yes," he said, slowly, "I will share your fine faith. I will not despair, since you--you, Nadia Stepanovna, tell me to hope."

The girl turned impulsively to where a huge and beautifully carved Eikon hung upon the wall. Side by side, Vronsky and she knelt before it, and their united prayer for Felix arose in the deep silence which followed.