CHAPTER XXX

VELIA'S TYRANTS

A STUNTED, emaciated, broken-spirited child, dumb, and not opening her mouth, was Velia when the spring came. Yarina's heart ached for her, but she could show the girl so little kindness! Her house was quite a mile away, on the farther side of Knishi; and the old Matoushka did not welcome visitors, unless they brought in their hands gifts worth having. Yarina was rich, and the old Matoushka was obsequious to her, but she gave her no chance of seeing Velia alone; and the warm clothes she brought for the girl lay in a chest till there was a chance of selling them.

The summer brought out-of-door work for Velia. It was better for her than the dark, cold days of winter, when she was always under the lash of her mistress's tongue. But in every other way her lot was unchanged, and the toil was even harder. She had never been at school since Father Cyril left.

The priest who had succeeded him was one of the old sort—a man after Okhrim's own heart, except that he was very eager after dues, and extorted a great deal more money from his parishioners than Father Cyril received. The new Batoushka could drink like a man, said Okhrim; and was a sharp hand at making bargains. The drinking shops prospered, and the congregation in church dwindled. But there were little secret meetings in the village for reading the Bible, where the seed sown by Father Cyril, as well as by the Stundists, was springing up. Many of the people in Knishi knew now the difference between true religion and the imitation of it. But the chance of a real revival of religion in the Orthodox Church was gone from Knishi.

Yarina felt it more deeply than anyone else, and her heart yearned after her old friends the Stundists. She felt speechless indignation at the thought of their sufferings. She longed to hear them sing praises as if God was really listening to them, and praying as to a real Father ready to give good gifts to His children. There were many besides herself who remembered them with affection, and almost with remorse. There was no man now like Alexis, to whom they could go for intelligent counsel, or the friendly settlement of disputes. There was no woman like Matrona, or Tatiania, to watch beside the dying, and pray for them with simple, heartfelt prayers, which the passing soul could join in.

The last days of harvest were come, and every man and woman, except Yarina, were busy in the golden harvest-field, when one evening, as the air grew cooler, she strolled down her garden to the margin of the river, which formed one of the boundaries of it. She was quite alone, for the children were gone with the servants to the harvest-field. A tall, thin, overgrown lad was hiding among the thick forest of reeds, but crept away as she came into sight.

"Come out! I see you!" she called, in spite of the fact that she saw nobody. "I see and hear you. Come out, or I'll send for the Starosta."

Still there was no sign of any human being. She could hear the joyous twittering of birds, and the distant lowing of cattle feeding along the banks of the river, the swish of the current and the rustling of reeds, but there was no other sound. Yet she was sure someone was near her.

"Come out," she said gently, "and I'll help you, if you need help. Perhaps you are hungry, I will bring you food. Even if you are a thief, I am sorry for you."

The reeds parted, and a face looked up to her.

She thought she had seen it before, but was not sure. It was a thin, pinched face—one that had been burned black under a scorching sun, and made pallid by cold and hunger. But the deep blue eyes that gazed beseechingly into her own touched some chord of memory.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Michael Ivanoff," he answered.

"Oh, heavenly Tsaritza!" she exclaimed.

The next moment she took the wayworn face between her hands, and kissed the sunburnt forehead.

"I'm come back to save Velia," said Michael, with a sob of joy.

"Thank God!" she cried. "You're none too soon. But oh, we must be careful! Stay, while I fetch you something to eat."

She ran hastily to the house, and brought back with her a knitting-basket and a stool. She could sit knitting on the bank of the river without anyone suspecting she had a companion hidden among the reeds. This artifice she had learned when she was a girl.

So Michael, lying out of sight, ate his food, of which he was sorely in need, and told the story of the journey to Eastern Siberia.

Yarina wept bitter tears, and flew into a passion of anger and horror as she listened. So many of her old friends dead—murdered, she called it—and the children! Nine of them, did Michael say? Was it true? Oh, the pity and the shame and the sin of it!

"Where are you hiding now?" asked Yarina.

"Every night I go to the haunted hut," he said; "there's no danger of being found there. But all day long I linger here, on the chance of seeing Velia alone, but I have not seen her yet."

"You will never see her alone," said Yarina gloomily.

"I must!" he exclaimed. "I've money enough, if we can once get out of Knishi and reach Kovylsk. My mother's cousin in Odessa has given me money, and got somebody's passport for me. Only Velia will have to travel as a boy. I've got boy's clothes for her."

"But how to get her out of that old harridan's clutches!" exclaimed Yarina.

They discussed plans as long as they dared, until they heard the voices of the harvesters coming home in the bright moonlight. One thing only was settled, that Yarina should conceal enough food for every day among the reeds. Michael had been living on berries. It was a great thing to be supplied with food. He could afford to wait longer than he could have done otherwise.

But day after day passed by, bringing no chance of seeing Velia alone. The harvest was gathered in, and concealment among the reeds became more risky. The men had time to fish in the river; the children were playing about; and very soon the cutting of the reeds would begin. Then it would be impossible to hide among them.

Now, too, came the autumnal washing of clothes, after the harvest was over and before the winter set in. Troops of women and girls carried great bundles, hanging upon yokes, down to the little wooden pier, where the washing was done in the river, amid much laughing and gossiping. Michael was obliged to keep out of sight round a bend of the stream two or three hundred yards away. He could hear their voices, and often catch the words. Yarina stayed by the pier hour after hour, apparently watching her maid, but in reality hoping for a chance to speak to Velia, if the old Matoushka sent her down with any washing.

But the old Matoushka had no intention of exposing her rags to the criticism and derision of her neighbours. She reflected that she was the widow of a priest. Waiting till the bulk of the merry party had gone home with their dripping burdens, she went down to the pier, with Velia dragging after her, broken-hearted and despairing. The harvest had brought no joy to her, for she had not been permitted to speak to one of her old neighbours and friends.

The poor girl knelt down on the wet planks, and stooped over the water, washing the old clothing with her wasted hands and arms. The last peasant had gone, muttering a sulky "Good-night" to the old Matoushka.

They were quite alone now. Behind Velia was her oppressor—the hard woman to whom she was a slave, and from whom she could not escape. A terrible winter lay before her; for in this, the misery of children is greater than that of beasts—that they can foresee as well as remember. Life was a confusing mystery and an intolerable burden to her. Why did not God let her die? Her misery had taken such hold upon her that she had forgotten even the prayers her mother had taught her. Only the Lord's Prayer, which she heard daily in the church, remained in her memory, but even that was now connected in her mind with blows and curses.

The night was falling fast, but a lovely light was still lingering where the sun had gone down, and was reflected with changeful opal colours on the swift stream. She paused for a moment to look round, and then, as if some mischievous hand had snatched it from her, the old petticoat she was washing floated away down the shining river.

Velia sprang to her feet, and stood paralysed with terror for an instant or two. She heard the loud breathing of the old woman close beside her, and felt rather than saw the heavy hand lifted against her. With an agonised shriek, caring no longer what became of her, she sprang into the rapid current, which flowed under the end of the pier. To her dying day, the old Matoushka was not sure that her blow had not thrown her in.

Michael heard the cry, and saw a girl floating rapidly down towards him. In an instant, he plunged into the water, and dragged her out of the dangerous current into his hiding-place among the reeds. There was scarcely light enough for him to see the face, and this was not the sweet, smiling face of his young sister. Yet some hope, mingled with fear, set his pulses throbbing. Could this girl be Velia?

He did not know what to do. If he lingered, the life might leave the half-drowned frame, but if he called for aid, both of them would be discovered. He laid his hand on her heart to feel if it was beating, and in the bosom of her ragged dress, he found a Testament. No doubt it was Velia! No one but a Stundist girl would carry a Testament about her in secret. God had brought her to him as if by a miracle.

He would not stir, but he prayed fervently for direction. Was it a fancy, or did he really feel his mother's hand on him, restraining him? There was a sense of her soothing presence upon him, as there had been before in Knishi. No; he must keep silent. The water, heated all day by the sun, had not been very cold, and he held Velia closely pressed to him in his arms. As soon as it was quite dark, he saw a lantern moving hither and thither in Yarina's garden, and her clear voice came distinctly to his ear.

"No," she said, "it's not any use searching for it any longer. All of you go in, and get to bed. I'll stay out a little while."

But before Yarina came, he felt Velia stirring in his arms, and breathing with long-drawn sighs. She had not been many minutes in the water, and had become unconscious rather from fright than from drowning. Michael laid his hand gently on her mouth.

"Keep silent! Oh, keep silent!" he said. "I am here—Michael, your big brother."

"Are we dead?" she whispered, as she opened her eyes on the thick tangle of reeds. "Are we dead and buried?"

"No! Hush!" he answered. "We are in Yarina's garden."

Yarina herself was cautiously drawing near, swinging her lantern, and calling the cat in a loud voice. When she was sure everyone had returned to the house, she came on quickly.

"Michael!" she called softly.

He parted the reeds, and came towards her, carrying Velia in his arms. They listened to the girl's account of how she had flung herself into the river, but she could not say whether or no her mistress had pushed her.

"But she will rouse the neighbours to seek you!" cried Yarina. "They will come at once to search the river banks. And who knows! Okhrim squints askance at me, as if he suspected me of being one of you. He can't bear my adopted little ones. They may search my house, and all over the place. Michael, you and Velia must get away to the forest at once."

The village was already sinking into stillness and darkness, except the inn, where the window was still lit up. But they avoided the street as much as possible, and stole along little by-paths familiar to them. It was not so late that the watch-dogs were in full vigilance, and they only growled a little in the fold-yards. The sky was full of stars so bright as to cast their shadows before them as they stepped southwards. All the pleasant yet weird sounds of night accompanied them; the shrill sighing of the wind across the stubble of the cornfields; the drowsy twittering of the birds, roused a little by their passing footsteps; the melancholy cry of the owls flitting past them in pursuit of the night-moths; the bats were zig-zagging through the sweet air, especially over the ponds, and a thin white mist hung all over the land. Michael and Velia walked on hand in hand, almost speechless, but immeasurably happy. It seemed to them as if they were wandering in some utterly strange country, and, exhausted as they were with the perils and the strong emotions of the last few hours, they only felt a joy beyond words.