The Adventures of an Ugly Girl

I verily believe that for the space of half an hour I was beside myself. But so far from being violent under my emotions, I was stunned by them, and rendered temporarily incapable of connected thought. Prince Michaelow was, I think, unable to endure the look of anguish which my face must have borne; for, after whispering a few words to his wife, he quitted the room, wearing an expression which even my dulled senses were able to construe into a conviction of the hopelessness of expecting to see Sergius again.

The Princess Nina sat down beside me, clasped my hands in hers, and comforted me more by her sympathetic attitude than words could have done. Presently my thoughts were able to collect themselves again, and I began to question Nina eagerly.

“How long has Sergius known that he would have to go back to Russia?”

“Only a few minutes before he left.”

“Why did he not bid me good-by first?”

“He had not time. The summons was urgent. Besides, he loves you so dearly that he could not have borne to witness your distress at his departure.”

“If he loved me half so dearly as you say, he would not have forsaken me at anybody’s call.”

“But he was compelled to go! It was his sacred duty to do so.”

“Then he ought to have taken me with him. If he is in danger, who so fit to bear him company as his wife? And to whom can he owe a more sacred duty than to me? Have I not been told more than once that all his near relatives are dead? Then who is there left to call him from me? Ah! now I have it! It is the woman whom I saw recognize him at Hyde Park Corner, and whom he tried to avoid! Who is she?”

“My dear child, now you ask of me more than I know. But you may rest assured upon this point. If any woman exerts influence over him, and has used that influence to bring about your husband’s return to Russia, her motive and power are purely political. You know that Sergius has been very much involved with secret societies, and your knowledge of his character ought to assure you that nothing but the most irresistible claims upon him could have induced him to leave you at this juncture, to return to a country of which every inch is fraught with danger to him.”

“Then I ought to be with him! Is it right that I should remain in a land of peace and safety, while he rushes into the jaws of death?”

“My dear child, his chances of security are much better while he is alone. If you were with him, he would perhaps have to neglect the duty to which he is called, in order to watch over your safety.”

“And suppose he did?”

“Then he would meet certain and speedy death which you would no doubt share.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Perhaps not. I had better be more explicit. Years ago, your husband joined a society which had for its object the removal of the Emperor Alexander. It is one of the rules of this society that its members shall unhesitatingly perform any duty which the Executive Council may deem necessary for the welfare of the country. A ballot decides which of the members shall undertake any given task. Sergius has hitherto escaped the ballot. But, even as he almost ran from the house, he said that his turn had come; that he could not bid you farewell himself, and that if we never saw him again, we would know that he had done his duty. You think me cruel to tell you all this, dear; but I know your strong sense of what is right, and am sure that you would rather think of Sergius as dead than as one who could betray either his country or his wife.”

Think of him as dead!

Sometimes, when I remember that scene, I wonder how it is that I did not go mad. Or that the phantom mockery of joy which had again eluded me did not leave brain and heart alike seared with hatred of all mankind.

But, after all, both hearts and brains can bear an enormous strain ere they fail their owners, and mine proved themselves to be at least of average strength. They both survived this new ordeal, and soon after this I was back in my dressing-room, anxiously trying to reduce into less chaotic sequence the thoughts which chased each other through my mind.

Was Sergius really lost to me forever? And was the errand he was bent upon as terrible as Nina’s words suggested?

Alas! what room for doubt was left me? He belonged to a secret society, which had for its object the removal of the Emperor Alexander. There was only one way in which an obscure society could compass that removal.

Its members would no doubt term it justice. The world would call it assassination. But to me the contemplated deed had only one name by which it could be fitly designated—murder! That was what was meant. And look where I would, that self-same word stared me in the face with demoniac persistence.

Murder! Good Heaven! was my whole life to be darkened by its foul environment? Did not my poor old earl become its victim? And was not my own sister an object of secret horror to me because I knew her to have worshiped at its shrine?

And now my newly-wedded husband, who was dearer to me than aught else on the face of the earth, was being drawn into its fearsome toils! What was it to me that he believed the czar to be a tyrant and oppressor, and that he was but doing the bidding of his superiors in office? Whatever the motive, or whatever the provocation, the deed would be the same. I have, I think, a strong sense of the duty owing to one’s country. But, if a Charlotte Corday had been my ancestress, I should have made a very degenerate descendant; for I prefer moral suasion to physical force, and the assassination of the most objectionable tyrant would weigh on my conscience like lead.

And, since Sergius was now part and parcel of my being, everything that touched him touched me. Could I bear the thought that the guilt of murder lay on his conscience—on our conscience? I knew that I could not, and I prayed God to forbid that this evil thing should come to pass. Prayer alone would not avail me, I knew, since God helps those who help themselves. I must act, if I would compass my desire.

Yet what, after all, could I do? After an hour’s almost maddened thought I succeeded in forming something like a definite plan of action. I would follow Sergius as quickly as a fast through service could take me. As to whither I was to follow him must be speedily discovered, else I might arrive on the spot too late to effect my purpose.

Said purpose was to frustrate the errand upon which my husband had been summoned. If I succeeded in doing so, what would be the consequences to him? Would the secret society to which he belonged, on finding its mandates outraged, avenge itself upon him? And would the salvation of his soul from bloodguiltiness prove his own death knell?

Truly, it was hard for me to know my own duty. But in one respect I did not hesitate. I was determined to follow my husband to Russia as soon as possible, in order that, if an opportunity offered, I might at least be on the spot to do what seemed right.

But, first, I must discover exactly where Sergius had gone to. And I must so comport myself as to hide my real intentions from Prince Michaelow and his wife. Otherwise they might decline to give me the information I sought, since I could not expect them to enter into all my thoughts and feelings respecting my husband’s expedition.

Thus it happened that my outward bearing was that of one who is already resigned to her fate, when I begged them to give me some information that would enable me to picture the whereabout of my husband until he returned to me. I knew that my friends had very faint hopes that he would ever return. But they were also acting a part. They wished to blind me concerning the real gravity of the situation, in order to preserve me from the shock of sudden and hopeless bereavement. The interview was, in fact, a little comedy which had for its motif the enshroudment of a terrible tragedy.

But it sufficed my purpose. I learned all that my friends could tell me, and when I begged to be excused from dining with my hosts, on the plea of being too ill and sick at heart for any society but my own, I was not wasting my time in self-indulgent grief, as was imagined, but was hastily gathering together everything that I could conveniently take which would be necessary for a long journey.

I had even room to feel thankful that I had received so many valuable presents of jewelry, which might, on occasion, be turned into cash, and that the generosity of my friends had prevented me from spending much of the money which Lady Elizabeth had sent to me. Neither money nor jewelry took up much room, and it was an object with me to be as unencumbered as possible. I already knew something of the exigencies of sudden departures, and had no mind to take anything that would hinder my progress.

Luckily for my present purpose, Sergius and I, in view of a possible Continental trip, had studied Bradshaw to some purpose lately, and I now had little difficulty in extracting some information that would guide me to Moscow, whither I was told that Sergius had gone.

My newly-engaged maid was not a little bewildered by the turn of events. But she proved amenable to reason and did as she was bid without questioning. I told her to fetch me a hansom, and to tell the driver to stop at the tradesmen’s entrance, where my portmanteau was put into the vehicle. Then, accompanied by my maid, I also went out by the tradesmen’s entrance, my object in doing so being to escape the observation of the Prince and Princess Michaelow, who might have noticed my departure from the front door, and who would then assuredly have tried to dissuade me from following Sergius.

On arriving at Victoria Station I found that I had thirty-five minutes to spare. This I occupied in visiting a hairdresser’s shop in the vicinity. Here I was enabled to purchase a gray wig and sundry etceteras which would effectually transform my outward semblance into that of a staid, elderly lady who would not be thought unfit to travel unescorted. I had already purchased a quiet black bonnet and a long black cloak from my maid, and felt sure that my ultimate transformation would be complete enough to deceive even Sergius, if he saw me.

At half-past eight I left Victoria, after giving the maid some messages for the Michaelows. She was to tell them that I thanked them for all their kindness to me, and that I felt it to be my duty to join my husband at once, without risking the delay which even my best wishers might possibly consider advisable.

I was not without hope that I might see Sergius even before I left the boat, or, at all events, before I had been long en route. But he had probably not taken the same direction that I was taking, and I felt bitterly disappointed when I failed to overtake him. I was at Brussels by five o’clock in the morning, and twelve hours later was in Cologne. The next morning saw me on the way to Berlin, and I pushed on thence to Alexandrovo with as little delay as possible.

I represented myself as an English lady on her way to Moscow to visit her sister’s family, and had not much difficulty in obtaining a passport. In two hours from leaving Alexandrovo I was in Warsaw. Now that I had crossed the frontier I was in momentary dread of betraying myself by overanxiety, and did my best to appear as careless and joy-expecting as if I verily expected nothing more exciting than a reunion with my sister.

But in Warsaw I felt so ill with suspense, disappointment, and travel-fatigue, that I was compelled to rest at a hotel for a day, in order to recruit my strength sufficiently to complete my long journey without a breakdown. Two days later I reached Moscow, via Smolensk, and then the fever of unrest and anxiety allowed me no ease for a time.

Suppose Sergius were not here, after all! Suppose some accident had befallen him, and I had actually passed him on the way! In fact, no end of suppositions suggested themselves to me, as I drove to a hotel in which Sergius had, I knew, found a safe resting-place on more than one occasion.

Now I did not expect to encounter my husband at the public table-d’hote, nor, indeed, in any of the public rooms. He had come upon a secret errand, and he was not likely to ruin his chances of executing that errand by leading too open a life. I felt the burning blush of double-distilled shame on my cheeks even as I thought this. Shame at the idea of any one whom I loved lending himself to crime even at his country’s bidding, and shame that I, so much the inferior of Count Sergius Volkhoffsky, should dare to judge him by my own inexperienced standard of right and morality.

Perhaps, when I knew all his reasons for coming hither, I might even sanction the fulfillment of his task. Perhaps—but here I suddenly pulled myself up in horror, for was I not approaching perilously near to a line of argument which might ruin my peace of mind forever? Sanction murder? How could I for one single moment imagine myself capable of such an iniquity!

Rest and comfortable refreshment did wonders for me, and, on the day after my arrival in Moscow, I sat in the salon, eagerly scanning a German paper which the hotel management had provided for the use of visitors. From it I gathered that the czar was expected in Moscow, but that some rearrangement of plans at St. Petersburg had caused a postponement of the Imperial visit.

How utterly unlikely it would have seemed to those around me that the emperor’s visit to Moscow could possibly concern me! And yet what a pæan of thankfulness rose from my heart as I realized that this postponement of which I had just read meant the deferring of what might prove the greatest tragedy of my life. I knew that Sergius could not hope to enter St. Petersburg without detection, and that it was hardly likely that those who at the present time had the power to direct his movements would order him thither, since he was so well known there, and had already been denounced to the government. This delay gave me a chance of meeting him soon, and of at least trying to weigh my influence against that of the terrible secret society of which he was a member.

On the second day of my stay in Moscow my wish was gratified. I saw my beloved in the flesh, safe and well, and yet, incredible as it seems to me now, I gave no outward sign of the rapture which filled my breast. He was very well disguised, but my love was so keen that it could have penetrated even more elaborate disguises than the one he had adopted, while it was so cautious that not even to himself would I betray my knowledge of him until I could feel sure that no mortal eye but ours beheld our meeting.

As I had expected, he was an inmate of the same hotel in which I had pitched my temporary habitation, and when I first saw him there he was emerging from the room next to mine, just as I approached my room door, after partaking of breakfast in the coffee-room. There were other people in the corridor at the time, so I quietly entered my own apartment and closed the door behind me, for my joy would have been too visible if I had done otherwise.

But I knew that I should see Sergius again, for I knew also that he was certain to remain in Moscow until the expected visit of the czar took place. Now that I had discovered the very location of his room, it would be easy for me to watch his movements, or at least so I thought. It was, however, nearly nightfall ere I, peeping through the chink of my partially opened door, saw him return to his own room. And even then it was impossible for me to make myself known to him, for he was accompanied by a stranger who might be either friend or foe, for anything I knew.

So I waited perforce with augmented impatience until my longed-for opportunity should come. It was very hard to know that he was within a few feet of me, yet separated from me by the barriers of caution and expediency for an indefinite period. How astonished he would be when he learned how very near I was to him! And what hopes I pitched upon my persuasive powers! No wonder that my impatience rose to an almost agonizing pitch as the hours wore on, and the stranger still lingered in my husband’s room.

I would have tried to listen to the conversation of the two men, had I conceived it to be of the slightest use. But there was no conveniently placed connecting-door between the two rooms through which scraps of conversation, if not carried on in a low key, might have been heard, and the constantly frequented corridor was not an ideal resort for an eavesdropper. So I was obliged to bide my time, ere I could make any sign of my presence to Sergius.

At last the low, unintelligible murmur of voices ceased and there were indications that a move was being made in the next room. “At last!” I thought, “my weary probation is nearly over. Sergius will soon be alone, and I can then slip a note under his door that will warn him of my presence.”

But picture my disappointment when the two men passed my room-door together! Sergius was going out again with the stranger, and I might not have another chance of seeing him again to-night. For a moment I hesitated as to what course to follow. Then I resolved to keep my husband in sight, and to ascertain, if possible, whither he was going.

I was convinced that, be he never so cautious, he was in danger from all sides, and, though not probable, it was certainly possible that I might be of service to him. Nina had told me that my presence near my husband would only be another source of worry and danger to him. But I could not bring myself to believe this, for I was resolved to be cautiousness itself.

Indeed, I was so cautious that Sergius and his companion were almost out of sight when I emerged from the hotel portico, and I had to accelerate my speed considerably before I succeeded in bringing myself within measurable distance of them. Sergius wore a gray wig and a flowing beard of the same venerable hue. This in itself would not have been disguise sufficient to blind any one inclined to be suspicious of his identity. But that he never lost sight of the extreme perilousness of his position was borne into my mind by his adoption of a somewhat feeble gait and carriage, more in unison with his assumption of the character of an old man than his own light, swinging walk would have been.

The stranger seemed young, being of a lithe, supple figure, and destitute of hirsute adornment. He wore smoked glasses, and his face was disfigured by a singular contortion, which seemed to draw his features all to one side. Now and again, as they passed under a gas-lamp, I was able to scrutinize them closely, and it did not take me long to decide their errand was a secret one, for they glanced back from time to time, as if apprehensive of being followed, and doubled up one street and down another, with such a reckless disregard of distance and probable fatigue that I was convinced they were trying to elude pursuit.

By the time this sort of thing had gone on for over an hour, I began to feel desperately tired, and was seriously contemplating the necessity of returning to the hotel, when I saw something that convinced me that Sergius needed some one to give him a friendly warning, and banished all sense of fatigue.

The two men were being followed. A man stepped from a doorway after they had passed it, and, slouching into first one corner, then another, contrived to keep near them, although he did his best to avoid being seen in his turn.

In an instant I thought of Count Karenieff. Was it possible that he or his myrmidons were already on the trail? That the fiends had almost got my husband in their power, and that his denunciation was already a thing accomplished!

At thought of this awful possibility I turned sick with dread. But I no longer hesitated about revealing my own presence. At all hazards, Sergius must be warned. He must be made aware that an enemy dogged his footsteps. And he must be cautioned against betraying the secret resort of the Society to those interested in, and intent upon, its destruction.

With this object in view, I sprang forward, and would soon have reached my husband’s side, but for an occurrence which was as unexpected as it was horrifying to me. The man who was acting the spy upon Sergius and his companion had also come to some sudden resolution; for he also sprang forward, but was intercepted by two individuals who appeared to have come upon the spot by magic.

I saw the glitter of gleaming steel, as a dagger flashed in the moonlight. I heard a stifled, gurgling cry, and before I could echo it, I felt myself gripped by the throat and rendered for the moment incapable of uttering a sound. It seemed to me that my last moment had come. My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth; my breath seemed to be forsaking me; my eyes felt as if they were starting from their sockets, and the horrible dread of immediate violent death possessed me.

Presently—the time may have been a few seconds; to me it seemed an age—the pressure was taken from my throat, and even as my senses were leaving me I felt a gag put in my mouth; some heavy garment was thrown over me; I was lifted from the ground, and was borne away, possibly to endure a fate which I was no longer even capable of imagining.