CHAPTER XXV

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.