CHAPTER XIX.

PILGRIMS PERFORCE.

The long journey on which Nadia’s unflinching determination had embarked her was performed alternately by road and rail until Boloszjen was reached, but from that point it was possible to find a train running directly to Pavelsburg. At Boloszjen Cyril parted from the travellers, after seeing them safely into their carriage. Since leaving Bellaviste, Nadia had not exchanged a single word with him that was not absolutely necessary, for the hatred she had frankly avowed to him during their interview at the gaol had not been diminished by the taunt which had finally sealed Caerleon’s fate, but now she put aside her dislike sufficiently to make an appeal to him on behalf of poor old Madame Bruics, who was to return alone from the Scythian frontier. Precluded by her deafness from receiving either advice or warning, unless these were tendered in writing, the old lady would be quite helpless if left to herself, and Nadia told Cyril that it was his duty to send Wright to escort her and bring her home. Such plain speaking was rather a bitter pill for Cyril, who was wont to pride himself on his foresight and tactful consideration, and felt that in this case especially he had done more than any one could have expected of him; but he recognised the cruelty involved in sending poor Madame Bruics upon a wild-goose chase over the railways of Central Europe, and put the crowning touch to his self-abnegation by depriving Caerleon of Wright’s services for some days longer. He parted from Nadia in a polite and hostile manner--that is to say, she did not offer to shake hands with him, and he went away marvelling at the uncharitableness of some people.

Wright as an escort was much more to Nadia’s taste than his master had been, although he considered it his duty to come to the window of the carriage at every station and inquire whether the ladies would like some tea--for tea, in his opinion, was the only refreshment acceptable to the feminine mind, and as such, was capable of being imbibed at all hours and at very short intervals. When they reached the Scythian frontier, and Nadia, to her great joy, had discovered Marie Karlovna, a German lady belonging to her godmother’s household, waiting to meet her, she commended Madame Bruics to Wright’s care with great earnestness, although he viewed her solicitude as impassively as he did the coin which she ventured to slip into his hand, and at which he glanced immediately in order to ascertain its value. But when she had seen Madame Bruics established in the return train, and was turning away with Marie Karlovna, she heard footsteps behind her, and looking round, found Wright close at hand.

“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, in a low voice and with great embarrassment, “but don’t you go for to take on about the King. ’E always rides straight, ’e do--not like some people as ought to know better and doesn’t; and ’e knows ’is own mind, and as some poetry chap says, ‘’Is ’eart is always true.’”

For a moment after the utterance of this sentiment, the presumptuous groom felt ready to sink into the earth under the combined weight of his own daring and the glance which Nadia turned on him, but while he was wondering apprehensively whether she would give him in charge on the spot or write to Lord Cyril to complain of his conduct, the fire died out of her eyes, and she said gently--

“Thank you, Wright. I know quite well that what you say of the King is true. He is the best of men, and nothing of all that has happened is his fault.”

Wright touched his hat and retired, red in the face but with a clear conscience, deciding in his honest mind that Miss O’Malachy would make a sight better wife for ’is Majesty than that there princess would ’ave done, and that he ’oped he might one day ’ave the honour of trainin’ a ’orse for ’er to ride. And Nadia looked after his short sturdy figure with something like affection, not unmingled with envy, for he loved Caerleon, and he was going back to him now. She was leaving him farther and farther behind as she travelled on to Pavelsburg with Marie Karlovna, who had evidently received strict orders not to tease her with questions, for she talked exclusively of the great conference of members of different evangelical denominations which had recently been held in the city, and of other matters interesting to the supporters of the Cercle Evangélique. At last the capital was reached, and Nadia saw awaiting her on the platform a tall stout elderly lady, carelessly dressed, with her abundant grey hair surmounted by a ludicrously unfashionable bonnet. If these personal characteristics had not been sufficient of themselves to identify Princess Soudaroff, other evidence would have been furnished by the almost adoring reverence with which she was surrounded by the minor officials of the railway, among whom she had worked for years. But Nadia needed no such additional help. She could scarcely wait for the door of the carriage to be opened, but precipitated herself down the steps and into her godmother’s arms.

“Oh, Marraine, I have so longed to see you!” she cried.

“Not more than I to see you, dear child,” returned the Princess, patting Nadia’s shoulder affectionately. “You have been out into the world since we parted. How has it used you?”

“Oh, I have so much to tell you, to ask you,” said Nadia, with a sigh that was almost a sob, but her godmother stilled her eagerness with a gesture.

“When we reach home, my child--not now. Come, we attract attention. My good Marie, I am rejoiced to see you. You are ready? The carriage is waiting.”

“They have not been taking care of you while I have been away, Marraine,” said Nadia, when she was seated in the carriage by the Princess’s side. “You want me to choose your dresses and bonnets for you again.”

“Very well, my child,” smiled her godmother. “Marie Karlovna has looked after my clothes since you went to join your parents, and she said that it was no use getting expensive things for me, because I always gave them away.” Marie Karlovna made a deprecating gesture of assent, and Nadia smiled, remembering that she had seen the Princess take a sable-lined cloak from her own shoulders and give it to a beggar-woman. “But this bonnet,” Princess Soudaroff went on, “I chose for myself, and I think you must like it, dear child. I saw Olga Ivanovna, the Bible-woman, wearing one, and it pleased me so much that I asked her to have one made for me exactly like it. And she did, and this is the bonnet.”

“Oh, Marraine, I shan’t rest until I have taken you out shopping, and made you get some fresh clothes,” said Nadia, laughing; and then it suddenly struck her what a mockery it was to come back and take up her old duties as if she had scarcely been away a week, after the scenes through which she had passed in the interval. The tears rose into her eyes again, and her godmother laid a sympathising hand upon her arm.

“Have patience, my child; you shall tell me everything as soon as we reach home,” and Nadia dried her eyes resolutely, and tried to assume an interest in the changes that had taken place during her absence in the streets through which they were passing. When they arrived at the large house of which the Princess occupied a part, she had regained her calmness sufficiently to be able to reply with a smile and a kind word to the greetings of the servants who crowded to welcome her, and who formed a motley group, owing to the Princess’s fondness for taking her friends’ failures into her household and giving them another trial.

“I see that the house is as full as ever,” said Nadia, as her godmother led her up the stairs, after bestowing upon her a kiss of welcome at the door.

“Yes, you will find many old friends, although some have succeeded in obtaining other situations. Ah, do you remember my maid Katinka, the pretty girl who married the handsome young carpenter on my country estate? He has deserted her most cruelly, poor thing! and she came to me almost in despair. I could not take her back as maid, for I am trying to train little Vera, a _protégée_, as you may remember my telling you, of Countess Wratisloff’s. She was serving in a little shop, amid very undesirable surroundings, and she was not a success as Countess Wratisloff’s kitchen-maid, so I offered to take her. It was a little trying at first, but she has done better lately. Of course I cannot turn her out and give Katinka her place, so Katinka is sempstress now, and I can scarcely find her work enough to do.”

While she was speaking, the Princess was leading Nadia through the rooms which had always been hers, and she now pointed out the little changes and improvements she had made in view of the girl’s return.

“How good you are to me, Marraine!” said Nadia, gratefully.

“Would you have me cruel to you, my poor child? Now, come,” and she sat down in the arm-chair--“come and tell me all about your troubles.”

“Oh, Marraine!” cried Nadia, throwing herself on the ground and burying her face in her godmother’s dress, “I have given up everything because it was right to do it, and I cannot even learn to forgive!”

“Not _even_ forgive? But that is often the hardest thing of all to do. Tell me about it, my child,” repeated the Princess, and Nadia poured forth the story of her first meeting with Caerleon, of his kindness to her, and of the way in which each had learnt to love the other; then his sudden acceptance of the kingdom, with all the changes it had brought in its train; his repeated appeal to her to share his throne, the intrigues by means of which Scythia had sought to gain ascendancy over him through her, her journey to Bellaviste to warn him of the plot against his life, and her resolute but ignominious departure.

“I gave him up because it was right to do it, Marraine,” she said; “and not only am I miserable myself, but I have made him miserable.”

“Was it right?” asked the Princess, quietly.

“Oh yes, Marraine, of course,--at least I knew it must be right because it was so hard to do.”

“Is that the way in which you test your duties, my child? It is a wise plan in many cases, but sometimes dangerous--for instance, if you begin to regard ‘difficult’ as synonymous with ‘right.’ You are told to ‘endure hardness as a good soldier,’ but never to follow hardness as an aim in itself. It is Christ you are to follow. What would you think of a soldier who chose to live out in the snow rather than in the barracks provided for him? Would he make himself a better soldier by ruining his health and risking his life in such a way?”

“No, but----” the idea was too novel for Nadia to grasp it at once in its entirety.

“And think what it is that you have been accepting as right,” the Princess went on, with sudden passion. “You tell the man who has assured you that he loves you alone in the world that if he desires to please you he must marry another woman. This may be self-sacrifice, my child, but it is certainly sin.”

“But the kingdom--the people----” gasped Nadia, confounded.

“Was the King to sin for the sake of his kingdom? Could you not have parted from him for a time, if it was necessary, each assured of the other’s love, and content to wait--all your lives, perhaps--in case a way might possibly be opened for you? It may be that in taking your own path you have missed the training God meant for you.”

“But the uncertainty would have been so dreadful. Surely it was better to end it at once,” urged Nadia.

“Better? to you, perhaps. But what of this poor Carlino? Had you no misgivings, my child?”

“None at all, at first. When Carlino told me at Witska that he had accepted the crown, I had been wondering just before whether I had done right in urging him to take it, and while he was speaking I saw quite suddenly what I must do. Since I had goaded him into becoming king--I really did, Marraine; I said dreadful things to him--this was my punishment, that the kingdom should come between him and me. There was no question about my duty.”

“But why punish the poor Carlino?” asked the Princess.

“I don’t know, Marraine--because I could not do my duty without punishing him, I suppose. I am afraid I didn’t think of that--I was so unhappy, and yet I never doubted that I was right. And then, when Lord Cyril came to speak to me about it, it was just the same. He seemed not to have a doubt as to my refusing Carlino, but took it for granted both that I ought to do it and that I should.”

“And you felt unwilling to disappoint Lord Cyril?” said the Princess, with a sarcasm that came oddly from her gentle lips. “Your parents, also, would have been disappointed, no doubt, if you had become Queen of Thracia?”

“Oh no,” returned Nadia in surprise. “They wished it above all things.”

“And you felt that anything that they desired was on that account alone to be regarded with suspicion? I know that you are inclined to be always in opposition, my child. To us of the older generation, dissent is a sorrowful necessity; to you young reformers it is the breath of life. You feel happier when you have found something with which you can disagree.”

Nadia digested this unpalatable remark with what patience she might. “Carlino has hinted something of the same kind to me,” she said, “but I did not know that I was quite so bad as that.”

“You have never doubted the wisdom of your action, then?”

“Oh yes, often, when we were at Witska the second time. The doubts used to torment me. And then came the offer which was brought by Vladimir Alexandrovitch. You would not have had me accept that, Marraine?”

“And enslave your husband’s kingdom? God forbid, my child. But you have received a message from Carlino himself, since that time, have you not?”

“Yes, but---- It was Lord Cyril again, Marraine. I forgot all my doubts when he put things before me.”

“Then it was only necessary for him to take it for granted again that you would refuse his brother, and you did?”

“Oh no, Marraine; you do not know Lord Cyril at all. This time he took it for granted that I should give way and marry Carlino, and I could not resist proving him a false prophet.”

“You care much less, then, for the happiness of Carlino than for the opinion of his brother, since you prefer to disappoint your lover rather than hear Lord Cyril say, ‘I have prophesied it’?”

“No, indeed, I have no respect for Lord Cyril’s opinion; but it is the things he says--he has a power over me.”

“You do not love Carlino sufficiently to disregard Lord Cyril’s sneers?”

“Marraine! I love him well enough to give him up.”

“Yes; but you are afraid to marry him lest his brother should taunt you if anything went wrong. If you loved him better, my child, you would have no cause to fear Lord Cyril, for his words would have no effect upon you.”

“Then it is my own fault, after all?” said Nadia, hopelessly. “Marraine, it seems to me that I am continually discovering things too late. Now that my mother is dead, I see that we might have been much more to one another, and now that Carlino will never approach me again, I find that it was I myself, and not Lord Cyril, whom I have been blaming in my mind, that kept us apart. I am always wrong. But you will help me; you will show me what I ought to do.”

“But I am not sure that I should be right in keeping you with me here,” said the Princess. “You have come home at a sad time, dear child. We Evangelicals are suspected by all the world just now, and the spies of the Holy Synod are watching us.”

“But suspected, Marraine? How should we be suspected, when we pray always for the Emperor and for Scythia, and counsel patient submission even to unjust laws?”

“Alas, my child! why did the wolf suspect the lamb? Marie Karlovna will have told you of our late conference, and of the blessing and support which resulted from it to many among the brethren. But such a gathering from all parts of the empire attracted the notice of the police, and they made a raid on the hotel in which some of the brethren, who could not all be accommodated in the houses of the faithful here, were staying. Strange to say, there was a band of Oudenist conspirators lodging in the same house, and on being apprised of the approach of the police they fled, leaving a secret printing-press and a quantity of seditious literature concealed in one of our friends’ rooms. Happily, our brothers were able, after some weeks’ imprisonment, to convince the tribunal of their innocence, but M. Tourquemadischeff and the Holy Synod considered that the object for which they had come together was scarcely to be preferred to Oudenism. All the churches which had taken part in the conference were censured, and ordered to keep their members at home for the future, and all our free evangelistic services are forbidden. We are daily expecting to hear that Anton Gregorievitch is exiled.”

“Oh, Marraine, Count Wratisloff! But what has he done, and what shall we do without him?”

“‘God removes His labourers, and continues His work,’” quoted the Princess. “The pillar of our faith and our work is the living God, not Anton Gregorievitch. You ask what he has done. He has denounced wars of aggression and religious persecutions, he has prayed in public that the Emperor might be granted judicious advisers, and he has devoted his fortune to helping the poor and needy.”

“But what is he doing now?” asked Nadia. “How does he endure the suspense?”

“He goes on with his work, one day at a time. The great evangelistic services held at his house have come to an end, but his Bible-readings, his visiting of the sick, both at their homes and in the hospitals, his efforts to raise the condition of the peasantry, he will not cease.”

“Nor have you ceased yours, Marraine, I am sure.”

“Ah, we women are not in such imminent danger, my child. But still, I do not like to involve you in any risk. Would you care to go and stay in the South with my sister? or I have friends in England who would be delighted to receive you?”

“Are you suggesting that I should leave you? Never, Marraine! Let me stay and help you as much as I can. I am not good enough for the Bible-readings and the visiting of the hospitals, but I can be some use to you with your accounts, and the soup-kitchen, and the sewing-class.”

“You shall, my child; and God grant that you may be blessed and be a blessing in your life here.”

The very next day Nadia slipped into her old place in the household, and began her chosen work, much to the relief of the Princess, who had, as she was wont to lament, no head for accounts, and found it very pleasant to be released from the consideration of the innumerable business details connected with all her charitable institutions. To the girl herself, also, it was a delight to be able to plunge into work once more, and she was glad to be kept busy almost all day long, getting in supplies for the girls’ boarding-house, checking the sales at the Bible-depot, and arranging for the despatch of necessary stores to the hospital on her godmother’s country estate. But wherever she went, she was always conscious of the presence and scrutiny of various watchful, ostentatiously quiet-looking men, who were invariably to be seen lounging in the neighbourhood of the different institutions. The Princess’s warning had given her the clue to their appearance there. They were the spies of M. Tourquemadischeff, the Procurator of the Holy Synod.

Things went on quietly, however, until the evening of the second Sunday after her arrival in Pavelsburg, when Nadia accompanied her godmother and several other members of the household to Count Wratisloff’s house for a Bible-reading. There were only about twenty persons present, for although many more would have been glad to attend, the number of the invitations had been restricted, in order to give the police no pretext for interference. The Count had been one of Nadia’s heroes for years, and she embraced eagerly the opportunity of hearing him once again, for what might, as she now learned, be the last time. The address partook of the character of a farewell, and the speaker prefaced it by remarking that it had been intimated to him by a high authority that he might remain in Scythia unmolested if he would consent to discontinue his evangelistic work, but that if he persisted in carrying it on, however quietly, his exile would follow. The holding of this meeting was his answer to the offer, and he seized the occasion to make a last solemn appeal to those who heard him. Their leaders might be exiled, he said, their assemblies prohibited, but their faith did not depend on either the one or the other. Lands and wealth might be taken from them, but they could live, as some of their brethren already did from choice, like the poor, and share with them what they gained by the labour of their hands. They might be deported to distant parts of the empire, might be sent even to Hyperborea, the dismal region of almost perpetual night; but, if so, it was because there was work for them to do there, even though it were only the exhibition of a contented spirit under hardships, and God could make even Hyperborean darkness to be light. Let them feel assured that for every earthly good of which they were deprived, there was a greater blessing waiting to reach them, which could not do so unless the way were prepared for it by the removal of the worldly delight. Was there, then, any reason for condemning the rulers of the empire, or even the authorities of the Church which they had quitted with so much sorrow and reluctance, but which branded them as heretics? None; they were only instruments in the hand of God, and could do nothing without Him. And, therefore, no resentment must be felt towards them, for all that happened would prove to be for the best. And even when the cloud was darkest, and no silver lining was visible, were the sufferers never themselves to blame? Had they never injured any one without offering redress, never refused haughtily a proffered reconciliation, never alienated by their unsympathetic demeanour those who would fain have been friendly? If they had, and there were few who could say they had not, let them bear their punishment meekly, accepting it as less than they deserved, and asking that even out of the sad consequences of their own faults and failings good might arise to the people of God.

The coincidence between the burden of Count Wratisloff’s address and the words which had fallen from the Princess on the night of her arrival struck Nadia forcibly, in spite of the difference in the circumstances to which they applied, but the similarity did not altogether please her. It was hard to acknowledge to herself that her heroic conduct in refusing Caerleon had been wrong from the outset and based upon a mistake, harder still to confess that Cyril would have been powerless for harm if she had not given him a hold upon her by being willing to accept his arguments as true ones. She was silent enough during the farewells and the drive home, but when they had arrived at the Princess’s house she hesitated to face the solitude of her own room, and lingered with Marie Karlovna, echoing her voluble lamentations over the approaching loss of Count Wratisloff. Leaving her at last, and passing along the passage, she heard sobs proceeding from a room on her left, and looking in, found the sempstress Katinka crying as though her heart would break.

“What is the matter, Katinka? Can I do anything for you?” she asked, gently.

“No, thank you, Nadia Mikhailovna,” sobbed the girl. “No one can help me, for the trouble is in myself. I have an enemy whom I cannot forgive.”

Nadia started, surprised to find a story so like her own. “Tell me about it,” she said, sitting down beside Katinka.

“It is Anna, my husband’s sister,” responded the maid, brokenly. “I was so happy with my Yegor, he was so kind to me; and Pauline Vassilievna had promised to have a cottage built for us close to her own country-house, so that I might be near her still. But Anna always hated me, because I came from the town, and she was jealous because Yegor was so fond of me, and because of the new house. She never showed her enmity to me--if she had I could have guarded against it--but she made up lies about me, and told them to Yegor. He was passionate, and I was proud. I told him that if he could listen to such things about me it was enough to show that he did not love me in the least. He told me to deny them, and I would not. He went to her for advice, and she told him even worse tales, and then he left me without another word, and I have never seen him since. And now Anton Gregorievitch says that I must forgive Anna, though she has ruined my home and taken away my husband and spoilt my whole life. And I cannot do it.”

“I am like you, Katinka,” said Nadia. “I also have an enemy whom I cannot forgive. He spoils even my prayers.”

“But you are a great lady, Nadia Mikhailovna,” said Katinka, in surprise. “Who can have injured you?”

“He could not have injured me if I had not allowed him--helped him to do it,” said Nadia. “That is why I can’t forgive him, Katinka.”

“But that is like me,” said Katinka. “If I had not been too proud to explain, Yegor would have believed me at once, I am sure. Have we both helped our enemies by doing wrong ourselves?”

“I believe we have,” said Nadia, and both girls sat silent for a while, Nadia in her velvet and furs beside the sempstress in her peasant dress. At last Katinka looked up.

“I have been thinking,” she said. “After all, Anna was fond of Yegor; she had brought him up, and kept house for him until we were married. Perhaps I was not as kind to her as I might have been, and a great deal of the trouble was my own fault--and I want to be forgiven myself, Nadia Mikhailovna----”

“And so do I,” said Nadia, softly.

“Somehow,” said Katinka, “looking at it in this way, I seem to have been worse than I thought, and Anna not so bad. It is not so hard to forgive--I will, I can forgive her.”

“I will forgive him; I do,” said Nadia.

“Marraine,” said Nadia the next morning, “I know why you took me to Count Wratisloff’s last night.”

“I hoped you might hear something to help you, my child,” the Princess answered. “Is your difficulty gone?”

“If I saw Lord Cyril now,” said Nadia, slowly, little thinking that it would not be long before she had an opportunity of proving the truth of her words, “ill or in any trouble, I should feel so sorry for him that I would nurse him, or do anything I could to help him. And yesterday I am afraid I should have been glad.”

“And you are happier now, my child?”

“So happy, Marraine, that I want you to find me some other work to do,--a class of little girls, perhaps, to teach. I don’t want to keep my happiness to myself. I can never feel really hopeless or miserable again.”

“Take care, dear child,” said the Princess; then, her thoughts reverting to the Scythian translation of the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ which she was reading, she went on, “Christian’s path to the Celestial City was not all smooth, even after he had lost his burden. There was the Hill Difficulty, and the fight with Apollyon, and Vanity Fair, and Doubting Castle. And there is always oneself to fight against.”

Although Nadia, in her eagerness, was scarcely willing to listen to a forecast that seemed to her so gloomy, there came very soon to the Cercle Evangélique a loss such as that which parted Christian from Faithful. The first intimation of it reached Princess Soudaroff’s household on the Thursday morning, when, as the ladies were at breakfast, they heard a voice inquiring for Pauline Vassilievna, and shortly afterwards the servant announced Vladimir Alexandrovitch, and ushered in Prince Soudaroff.

“Pray don’t let me disturb you, ladies,” he said to Nadia and Marie Karlovna, who had risen at his entrance, after a general greeting. “My business is not private. I come merely to bring my sister-in-law a piece of news. Anton Gregorievitch is exiled.”

“Hyperborea?” gasped the three ladies at once.

“No, merely exiled from the empire. I suppose this will make a good deal of difference to you?”

“If God means His work to go on, He will supply the labourers,” said the Princess.

“But will it make no change in your plans?”

“I think not. Why should it?” The Princess was on good terms with her brother-in-law, although they differed in their religious views. Some years before, when her own family, fearing that she would bestow the whole of her property in charity, had applied that it should be placed under legal guardianship, he had been appointed her trustee, and had dealt out her money to her ever since faithfully, if with a good deal of mockery. Hence she was grateful to him for continuing to supply her with an unfailing store of cash for distribution to those in need, whereas if left to her own guardianship she would have deprived herself in a single year of all power to give.

“Oh, there is no reason whatever,” he answered lightly. “I am afraid that this will not be the last of the banishments, that is all. But we all know that ladies will have their way, though empires fall. I only wish you good people could manage to keep out of the clutches of the Holy Synod. You ought to know by this time that we are determined to drive out all our most industrious subjects because they are Jews, and exile all our best because they are heretics. We mean to be orthodox if we can’t be either prosperous or pious. Adieu, my sister.”

He was gone, and the three ladies gathered round the table again to discuss the situation.

“We shall be obliged to make new arrangements for some of the work to-morrow,” said the Princess. “I fear that we cannot carry on all Count and Countess Wratisloff’s classes to-day, but we will not let them drop if we can help it. I will do my best to prepare an address for the Count’s navvy Bible-class this evening. The police will have prevented him from finding any one to take his place. Then there is the Countess’s Bible-reading at the house of blind Dmitri Nicolaievitch. We must think of some one for that.”

“I will try, if you like, Marraine,” said Nadia, timidly. “If I find that I am too nervous, blind Dmitri will read, I know, and at any rate I can tell the people what has happened to Anton Gregorievitch.”

“Very well, my child. The carriage shall take you on after leaving me at the Mission-room, and I will call for you afterwards.”

In pursuance of this arrangement, Nadia found herself that evening a member of the little gathering of poor people who met in the blind man’s room to hear the Bible read and explained by Countess Wratisloff, and of whom the host was the only one that could read. None of them had heard of the fate which had befallen the Count and Countess, and several burst into loud lamentations when Nadia told her story. But above the tumult the voice of blind Dmitri was heard.

“Let us lay before God the case of our father, who has been taken from us, brothers, and of the work which he must leave undone.”

They knelt down, and Dmitri prayed long and earnestly. Before he had come to the end of his prayer, the cottage door opened. The blind man heard the sound, but took no notice, thinking that one of the members of the class had come in late; but Nadia, glancing up involuntarily, saw the glint of uniform-buttons in the lamplight. She recognised the state of affairs at once. M. Tourquemadischeff had sent a body of police to break up the meeting. That they remained silent so long was due to the unconsciousness of the blind man, who continued his prayer without perceiving their presence. The moment that he had finished, an officer stepped forward and arrested Nadia in the Emperor’s name. Another was taking down the names and addresses of those who were present, and their men were searching the cottage for forbidden books, one carrying off the huge volumes of the Bible in Moon’s type which Princess Soudaroff had provided for Dmitri. This done, her captors ordered Nadia to accompany them; and she obeyed as though in a dream, while the poor people pressed round her weeping, and trying to kiss her hands or the hem of her dress. Outside the cottage was waiting a covered sledge which she was desired to enter, the two officials following. After a drive which lasted for some time the sledge stopped, and she was conducted into a small stuffy room, in which two officers were sitting writing. They looked up with some surprise on seeing her, but proceeded to ask her name, age, abode, religious views, and also what she was doing in Dmitri’s house. They made no attempt to entrap her into any admissions, for it was evident that this was a strictly preliminary inquiry; but when it was over she found herself relegated to a bare stone cell for the night. This hard reality brought home to her the nature of her position. The way she was treading led to Caucasia or Hyperborea, to separation from friends, to association with the vilest criminals, the stigma of a felon. But in her exalted state of mind the thought did not trouble her, and she preferred to dwell on the remembrance of Dmitri’s prayer. “I will trust and not be afraid,” were the words with which he had concluded; and with these on her lips she lay down upon the rough bench without undressing and fell asleep.

“Nadia, my dear child!” were the words that awakened her in the morning. “Forgive me. I was warned yesterday afternoon that a raid was intended, but I thought it would be the navvies’ class which they would attack, and I never dreamt of their arresting you. My child, I have been driving about all night from police-station to police-station, and from Minister to Minister, first to find you and then to release you. I went first of all to Vladimir Alexandrovitch, and he accompanied me everywhere. He said that it would never do to allow you to be sent to Hyperborea, for we should have King Carlino invading Scythia with an Anglo-Thracian army to release you. Of course that was only his jest; but we left no stone unturned to set you free. I threatened to force my way into the Emperor’s presence, and lay the matter before him; I threatened to put it into the hands of the British Embassy--although I really don’t know whether you are a British subject or not--Vladimir Alexandrovitch says that you certainly are not; I threatened to stir up English public opinion through the Evangelical Alliance. At last I succeeded in obtaining an order for your release, and for myself--this.”

Nadia took the paper she held out. It was an official permission for Pauline Vassilievna Soudarova to travel outside the Scythian dominions, until the Emperor should revoke the leave thus granted.

“Oh, Marraine!” cried Nadia, sadly, “and this is all through me. Exile!”

“Oh no, dear child. It is merely permissive, you see. Now, what shall we do? Shall we accept the permission, and place Dr Schmidt and Marie Karlovna in charge of all our work, leaving the house as it is, and directing operations by letter? Or shall we disregard it, and wait until we are arrested, and conducted to the frontier by the police, while the institutions are all closed, and our poor people sent to Caucasia? I want your opinion.”

“I don’t like beating a retreat, Marraine,” said Nadia, frankly, “but if we can ensure the continuance of the work better by leaving at once, perhaps we ought to go.”

“That was just what I thought,” said the Princess. “Now, my child, I have a scheme. I wish to follow in the footsteps of St Paul.”

“A pilgrimage, Marraine?” asked Nadia.

“Not quite. A friend of mine has a yacht, which is lying at Cadiz, and which he is anxious to let for the winter, and I am thinking of hiring it. I have visited the Holy Land already, but I should like to see Malta and Asia Minor and the Ægean. It would be most interesting; and, from the Bosphorus, one might even visit the Black Sea, and perhaps meet some--some old friends. I have a strong conviction that we are not driven out of Scythia in this way for nothing--without some good purpose.”

“Yes, Marraine,” said Nadia, sedately, as the Princess ended her sentence rather hastily; but in her heart she knew that her godmother was anxious to see whether there was no possibility of bringing her and Caerleon together again. Her heart leaped at the thought, but calmer considerations succeeded to the momentary ecstasy. Was it likely that Caerleon would be willing to put his fate again to the touch after two refusals? It was scarcely probable.