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-                        THE PLAYGROUND OF SATAN
-
-
-
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost
-no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
-under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
-eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-
-
-Title: The Playground of Satan
-Author: Beatrice Baskerville
-Release Date: December 04, 2012 [EBook #41560]
-Language: English
-Character set encoding: US-ASCII
-
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAYGROUND OF SATAN ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Al Haines.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration: Cover]
-
-
-
-
-                                  THE
-                         Playground _of_ Satan
-
-
-                                   BY
-                          BEATRICE BASKERVILLE
-
-                               AUTHOR OF
-            "Baldwin's Kingdom," "When Summer Comes Again,"
-                  "Their Yesterday," "The Polish Jew,"
-           English Translation Of Gogol's "Taras Bulba," Etc.
-
-
-
-                                NEW YORK
-                          W. J. WATT & COMPANY
-                               PUBLISHERS
-
-
-
-
-                          Copyright, 1918, BY
-                          W. J. WATT & COMPANY
-
-
-
-
-                                   TO
-                            Janina Korsakova
-                               WITH LOVE
-
-                              _Rome_, 1917
-
-
-
-
-                        THE PLAYGROUND OF SATAN
-
-
-
-                                   I
-
-
-Ian went into his mother's sitting-room, carrying an open telegram.
-
-"Roman Skarbek has wired for horses to meet the express from Posen," he
-remarked.  "He says it's important business."
-
-As Countess Natalie looked up from her letter--she wrote hundreds a
-year--her hazel eyes twinkled with a mischievous thought.
-
-"Roman and business, indeed!  He's after Vanda."
-
-Ian's brows contracted over his clear gray eyes; they were of the kind
-you find in outdoor men, used to gazing over long distances and watching
-for wild fowl to come out of the rushes at the dawn of day.  Vanda was
-his cousin, and an orphan; she had lived at Ruvno since her babyhood.
-
-"Give me a cigarette," said his mother, leaving her letter.
-
-He obeyed, offered one to Minnie, who refused, and lit another for
-himself.  The two smoked on in silence for awhile.  Roman Skarbek was
-his cousin, too, though not Vanda's.
-
-"I don't think so," he said.
-
-"Why?" asked his mother.
-
-"He's been to Monte Carlo.  If he's had any luck he'll want some
-horses."
-
-"He never had any luck.  No.  It's Vanda.  _She's_ in love."
-
-"Vanda in love?"  He laughed.  "Nonsense!"
-
-"Why not?" put in Minnie, the English girl, from her seat in the window.
-
-He did not answer.  His mother went on:
-
-"Something has happened to Vanda lately.  I don't know what, yet.  When
-she was stopping with Aunt Eugenie she must have seen Roman every day.
-They rode together, too."
-
-He walked over to the long window which opened into the rose garden.  On
-the sward beneath it, thirty years ago, his father was shot in a famous
-duel with the rakish Prince Mniszek, neighbor and quondam friend.
-
-"What will you say to him, if it is?" he asked.
-
-The Countess considered.  In her little world marriages were "arranged,"
-thought out with the help of the Almanach de Gotha and a profound
-knowledge of the young couple's incomes, debts, acres and ancestors.
-
-"Roman," she said, "is generous and chivalrous.  I shouldn't mind
-helping him with his debts, if he'd only stop gambling."
-
-"Does a man ever stop?"
-
-"Not when it's got into his blood," said Minnie.
-
-"It's in his right enough," rejoined Ian.  He gambled, too, but with
-circumspection, unhampered by passion.
-
-"I wonder what he sees in Vanda," the Countess mused.
-
-"She's a charming girl," remarked Minnie.
-
-Ian went out, his setters following him.  An hour later he sought the
-two women with another telegram, finding them in the rose garden.  The
-Countess walked with a stick, though she was only sixty.  Her hair was
-perfectly white and her face much lined.  Perhaps her youth, so full of
-interests and emotions, had faded too soon.  But she looked the great
-lady she was, queen of herself and fit to rule Ruvno, with its
-traditions, its wealth and dignity.
-
-"Here's Joseph now," he announced.  "Wants to be met at the afternoon
-train from Warsaw."
-
-"Which Joseph?" asked Minnie.  "You know a dozen."
-
-"Roman's brother."
-
-"What does he want?" asked the Countess.
-
-"Vanda," he returned, a twinkle in his eye.
-
-They walked down the garden together, Ian and Minnie sparring gently, as
-often happened.  But his mother was thinking of Vanda again, for she
-said at last:
-
-"If I were her, I'd choose Roman.  Joe is cold."
-
-"I'm sure they're coming to see us, that's all," said Ian.  "They're
-coming from opposite directions.  I'll send a motor for Roman.  He's
-always in such a hurry.  Joe can have horses."
-
-And again he left them.
-
-Until August, in the year of strife nineteen hundred and fourteen, you
-could find no pleasanter country house than Ruvno, Poland.  It stood a
-little way back from the high road between Warsaw and Kutno, slightly on
-a hill, surrounded by pines and hardy hornbeams which guarded it, like
-sentinels, from the gaze of passers by.  It had stood thus for
-centuries, ever since another Ian, Lord of Ruvno, built him a great
-house with the spoils of war against the Turk, laying the foundation of
-a hard-fighting, hard-living race, good for anything on earth but trade,
-always ready for a row, out of sheer love for adventure and broken
-heads.  And of adventures they had full share, both in love and war.
-All the hordes of Europe passed over their land during the centuries;
-for Poland is Europe's eastern battlefield, as Belgium is her western.
-And the plows were forever turning up human bones, which lay where they
-fell; and human treasure, which lay where it was buried, either because
-the owners failed to find it when peace came again or because they
-happened to go where neither Turk nor Swede, Russian nor Prussian, could
-trouble them more.
-
-And so the domestic history of Ruvno, half fortress, half palace, filled
-many parchment volumes.  I am not going to bore you with it; but quite
-recently, as Ruvno counts time, Napoleon slept there when on his
-luckless march to Moscow.  And he supped at the large oaken table which
-was carved out of Ruvno oak long before the discovery of America brought
-mahogany to Poland. And in his clumsy, violent way, he made love to the
-reigning Countess of Ruvno, toasting her in that Hungarian wine which
-looks like liquid sunshine and makes your feet like lead.  Some of the
-same vintage still lingered in the cellars when one smaller than
-Napoleon crossed the Polish borders a hundred years later.
-
-Napoleon, remembering the good cheer, paused here again to take breath
-on his homeward flight.  But this time there was neither toasting nor
-courting.  The Countess, in solitude, wept for her gallant husband,
-whose body lay at Beresina, his gay tongue frozen forever, his blue eyes
-staring up at the stars in the fixed gaze of death.  So the great man
-sat at the dead one's board, silent and sullen, surrounded by the weary,
-ragged remnants of his staff.  Those who were in Ruvno that night said
-that he paced his room, restless and sleepless, till daybreak.  Then he
-went his way, no longer a conquerer, but a fugitive.
-
-A century later, Ruvno belonged to another widow and her son Ian, ruddy
-of face and broad in the shoulder.  They were both up to date.  They
-spoke English and French, and followed the fashions of western Europe.
-But their hearts and souls were with Poland, not only because they loved
-her, but because, too, race is stronger than love and hatred and death
-itself.
-
-Ian spent most of his time on the Ruvno estate, and his mother's
-patrimony in Lithuania; but Ruvno was his heart's beloved.  The
-Lithuanian estate was let on a long lease.  He had a lively sense of his
-responsibilities, knowing that two watchful neighbors, Russia and
-Prussia, were ever working to denationalize the country and stamp out
-his race.  His many acres were well cultivated, the peasants who worked
-on them well cared for.  Though the Russian government forbade Polish
-schools, he and his mother saw to it that the children on their land
-learned to read and write their mother tongue.  The Agricultural Society
-that had spread its branches all over Poland, despite opposition from
-Russian bureaucracy, had no more energetic member than he.  Modern
-machinery and methods were rapidly replacing the old throughout the
-country, which was prosperous and enterprising.  Ian did his share of
-this good work with intelligence and cheerfulness.
-
-He thoroughly enjoyed his life; was a keen hunter; had no hankering
-after urban pleasures; knew no debt, confined his distractions to
-racing, in which he was moderate, and to a very occasional supper party
-after the opera, in Warsaw, Paris or Vienna.
-
-To his mother he felt bound by a degree of affection and sympathy which
-rarely survive a son's early childhood.  Other women bored him.  His
-name had not been linked with one, of good repute or bad.  Indeed, his
-circumspection with the opposite sex had become a joke among his
-friends, who teased him about it and searched for some well-hidden
-passion.  But they did not find one, and contented themselves with
-dubbing him a woman-hater; which he was not.  He knew he must marry some
-day; for what would become of Ruvno without an heir?  But as the
-pleasant years slipped by, he told himself there was still time.  And
-far down in his heart he had always relied upon Vanda.
-
-Did he love her?  The question rapped him as he left the rose garden for
-the paddock.  He thought not. He liked to have her in the house, driving
-with his mother, keeping her company, helping her to entertain visitors
-during the shooting season, or going with her to Warsaw for shopping and
-the play.  He knew she was fond of him; accepted her affection as he
-accepted so many other things which were daily facts in his existence.
-In the rare moments when he thought about marriage at all he comforted
-himself with the reflection that she was there, ready for the asking
-when the inevitable day came.  It never crossed his mind that she might
-refuse.  It would be so comfortable, one day, to wed her.  Life would be
-the same as before. His mother would go on living with them; Vanda would
-wear the family jewels; the rooms that had been his own nurseries would
-be reopened and refurnished.  And in due time little people would play
-and sleep in them as he and Vanda had done.
-
-He was shy of other girls; they bored him; he never knew what to talk
-about.  And he would have had to woo anybody but Vanda; no girl with any
-self-respect would marry him without preliminaries in which compliments
-and attention played a large part.  Vanda did not ask to be wooed.  They
-had met daily for years.  And she was so suitable; so comely and
-well-bred, so thoroughly sound in her ideas of life, marriage and
-society.  She would not want to drag him off to Monte Carlo and Paris
-every year.  She loved the country, and Ruvno; knew his life and would
-not expect him to change it.  Another bride might have all kinds of
-ideas in her head, might not like the place, or his mother, from whom he
-refused to be parted, whatever happened.  Therefore her remarks about
-the Skarbeks worried him; if she noticed a difference in Vanda, then a
-difference there must be.  He had not noticed it; but then he was
-particularly interested in some alterations that he was making in the
-Home Farm and had not paid much attention to her and to Minnie Burton,
-the English girl who was staying with them.  He and Minnie "got on" very
-well; she was a good horsewoman and a good comrade; rode about with him
-and Vanda, quite content to talk of whatever work happened to be going
-on at Ruvno, or not to talk at all.  He had been to England a good deal,
-spent a couple of years at Oxford after leaving Theresarium and made
-friends with Minnie's two brothers, who were coming to Ruvno for
-shooting in a month's time.  She was to return home with them.
-
-Thus the summer had been passing very pleasantly. Crops were promising,
-the weather kept fine.  Life had never seemed fairer, he and the two
-girls had agreed that very morning, on their way back to breakfast after
-an early canter.
-
-And now, the aspect was subtly changed.  He looked up at the sky; it was
-still clear.  There would be no rain; his hay was safe.  What meant this
-feeling of vague unrest?  Vanda?  The idea was absurd.  Both brothers
-could not be coming after her.  Roman and Joseph were as different as
-any two men of one class and race can be.  No; they were after horses,
-or Roman wanted to buy an estate in the neighborhood. He had often
-spoken of it; all he needed was the cash.  Perhaps he had won plenty at
-Monte Carlo and was coming to spend it.  Joseph, with his business head,
-was meeting him to see he did not spend foolishly.  That was the whole
-thing in a nutshell. Anyway, they would be here before long.
-
-Near the paddock he met Vanda.  He was glad; he wanted to watch her
-face.
-
-"Not so fast," he called out as she was running past with a nod.  "Where
-are you going?"
-
-"Aunt Natalie.  I promised to give her an address and forgot all about
-it.  My filly is better.  I've just been there."
-
-"You're very smart to-day," he remarked.
-
-She looked down at her skirts.
-
-"It's a hundred years old.  You've seen it dozens of times."
-
-"And very bonny," he added.  And so she was. She had pretty brown hair
-and soft brown eyes, carried herself well and bore the marks of the
-healthy outdoor life they all led at Ruvno.  A sweet wholesome girl, he
-thought, not for the first time, but with more interest than ever
-before.  He did not guess that under her quiet manner lay a capacity for
-a deep passion; and pride to quell it.
-
-She blushed at his compliment; he rarely gave her one.
-
-"The Skarbeks are coming," he said, watching her closely.  She was
-frankly pleased, but he noticed she did not blush again.
-
-"Oh, how nice.  It's years since they were here together.  We can have
-some long rides."  And she left him.
-
-He watched her closely at lunch; but failed to see signs of the change
-which his mother professed to find in her.  And he felt relieved.
-Nevertheless, he thought about her a good deal during the afternoon; the
-vague uneasiness of the morning returned.  After all, she might find a
-lover elsewhere, marry him and leave Ruvno forever.  He would have to do
-something to avoid that; and without further delay.  He had waited too
-long.  He never doubted that she would marry him.  True, he had not made
-love to her; but they were such good friends, and he had always been
-fond of her in a quiet, unquestioning way, without passionate
-discomforts.  Yes, he must secure her before another man stole her
-affections. He went to speak to his mother about it.
-
-He came to this decision whilst riding back from some meadows; but the
-Countess he found sitting under the chestnuts behind the garden with
-Minnie and Father Constantine, the chaplain who had lived with them for
-years and taught Ian his catechism and the Latin declensions.  A moment
-later Vanda joined them.  So he put off again.  He would wait till the
-evening, when he always had a quiet chat with his mother, in her
-dressing-room.
-
-The Skarbeks met in the Countess' sitting-room.
-
-"You here?" was Roman's curt greeting.  Ian noted the tone and wondered
-what they had quarreled about.
-
-Joseph kissed his aunt's hand before replying.  They were both fine men,
-alike in figure, unlike in feature and temperament; both on the right
-side of thirty, straight, lissome and as thoroughbred as you please.
-Roman was dark, generous, lithe; Joseph fair, blue-eyed and cold.
-Matchmaking mothers were very civil to him; but their daughters liked
-Roman better.
-
-"I've come from Warsaw," remarked Joseph at his leisure.  He looked
-round the room, presumably for Vanda; but he did not ask for her.  Ian
-knew she was sitting in the garden with Minnie.  It was unnatural for
-her to hold aloof thus; his uneasiness grew.
-
-"I'd no idea you were coming," said Roman hotly. "I ought to have been
-here sooner."  He turned to his aunt.  "It's no use mincing words; I've
-come to ask for Vanda."
-
-"For Vanda!" echoed Ian blankly.  Then he turned from them, to compose
-his face.
-
-"Joe has cone for her, too," pursued Roman.  "It's in his face.  It's
-just as well to have it out at once. She must choose for herself."
-
-"Yes," said Ian quietly.  "Vanda must make her own choice.  She is quite
-free."  Privately, he determined to speak to her himself, as soon as he
-could escape from the room with decency.
-
-"You followed me," said Roman to his brother.
-
-"No.  I thought you were still gambling."  Joseph spoke with a sneer.
-How well Ian remembered it; it used to drive him to fury in their boyish
-days, and many a fight had it caused between him and the superior
-Joseph, who could use his fists all the same.
-
-"If I win her I'll never touch a card again," cried Roman.
-
-"You forget your debts," his brother retorted.
-
-"Debts!" fairly shouted the other.  "Look here, all of you!"
-
-Out of inner pockets, he drew bulky pocket-books, took banknote after
-banknote and put them side by side on a table.  And when there was no
-room for them to lie singly he set them three and four deep, till a
-fortune lay there, in the evening sunlight.
-
-"Look at them!  Count them!" he cried in triumph. "Where are my debts
-now?"
-
-They gazed at the money in silent wonder.  Never had they seen so big a
-harvest from turf or green table.  The Countess smiled across at Ian; he
-said something in a careless undertone.  He would not let even her see
-what was on his mind.
-
-"It's a haul," admitted Joseph.  "You must have broken the bank."
-
-"Luck.  Six weeks of it.  And now I've done with gambling forever."
-
-He crammed the notes away carelessly, as men treat money lightly won.
-He paced the room, talking.
-
-"I was afraid of it," he admitted.  "I wanted to win.  But it grew so
-huge that it became a menace. Luck at play, no luck in love.  And
-now..." he swung round to his brother: "I meet you here."
-
-"It's unfortunate," remarked Joseph.
-
-"Unfortunate?  It's Destiny!  Oh, you'll have the family on your side; I
-don't blame 'em.  You're a deuced-good match, well off, sober,
-economical.  I'm not.  I don't pretend to be."  He measured the room
-with his long stride, and hurled at Joseph: "But I've something you
-haven't!"
-
-"You?"  This with a sneer.  Ian felt inclined to punch his head, as in
-years gone by.
-
-"Me.  It's love.  You don't know what it means. Men like you--" he
-jerked his head at Ian--"and Ian there, can't love.  You want to keep up
-the race, that's all.  What could you do to prove your love?"
-
-Ian said nothing, though the challenge was for him as well.  Was Roman's
-reproach true?  Was this new uneasiness, that fast became pain, love, or
-but wounded pride?
-
-"I'll ask her to marry me," Joseph was saying. "Offer my name, home,
-protection and ... and affection."
-
-"Ah ... affection!" and Roman laughed.
-
-"What more can any man offer?" put in Ian.
-
-Roman was at the door now.  He threw them a stream of hot words over his
-shoulder, and left the room.  He was going to her.
-
-There was silence after he left.  Ian tried to say something, but
-failed.  The brothers were poaching on his preserves; yet he could not
-find the words to tell them so.  And now Roman had gone to her, and
-again he must wait.  What a fool he had been!  He was angry with them
-and furious with himself for being angry.  The whole business was a
-nuisance. But, after all, why should he mind?  Sitting on one of the
-broad window-sills, he lighted a cigarette and tried to calm his
-thoughts.  Some time passed.  He heard Joseph and his mother talking in
-low tones at the far end of the room, and was glad they did not expect
-him to talk.  What was Roman telling Vanda now?  He was the sort of man
-girls always liked.  Words would never fail in his wooing.  A
-spendthrift, a gambler, yes; but handsome, full of life, eloquent.
-There was the rub.  He, Ian, had always to search for words when he
-wanted to speak of things near his heart.  Roman, as a lover, surpassed
-him by untold lengths.  He realized that now. And yet Roman, as a
-husband, could hardly give happiness; but girls don't think of those
-things till it is too late.  And he could not go and tell Vanda so,
-either. He had had years in which to tell her many things; and he had
-wasted them.  Now, when seconds were of importance, he could not even
-get her alone.
-
-He shook the ash off his cigarette, watching it fall on to the bed
-outside; glanced at the other two, and determined to go to the stables.
-He had only to slide his legs over the window-sill and be off.  They
-would not notice his departure, and he would be alone, unwatched, free
-to shake off this sudden malaise and regain his old composure.  He
-wanted solitude; had new thoughts to worry out, vague awakenings which
-he must stifle.  He wanted to be quite honest with himself, to examine
-his heart, free it of this new burden and go back to the old, quiet life
-of yesterday, of this morning even.
-
-But he did not move.  He knew he would not till Roman came back.  Would
-he come hand-in-hand with Vanda, or alone?  He would not come alone.
-Vanda would take him and there would be a wedding.  That meant a lot of
-fuss.  He had put off his own wedding year by year to avoid a pother,
-and here it came, all the same.  And with the same bride, too: only the
-bridegroom and best man had changed places.  Roman was right.  Destiny
-played odd tricks.  He would see Vanda go off with another man; give her
-away to an unconscious rival.  Was it going to hurt?
-
-Suddenly the door opened.  Roman burst in.  He was alone; he addressed
-Ian.
-
-"Can I have a car, at once?" he asked.  His sunburnt face was drawn, his
-eyes haggard.  No need to ask for Vanda's answer.  It was written all
-over him. They rose; the Countess took his hand and said something to
-him, Ian knew not what.  A load had fallen from his heart.  Vanda still
-cared for him.  Sweet, loyal little Vanda!  He might have known it, and
-saved himself all that worry.
-
-"But you're not going yet?" he said.
-
-"I am.  I'll be in Warsaw to-night; and, by God, I'll never go home
-again.  Will you order the car, old man?"
-
-"If you must go."  Ian walked towards the bell that lay on his mother's
-writing-table.  Roman turned to Joseph.
-
-"I put it to her, squarely," he said in hoarse tones. "You've won.
-She's in the library."  And he strode from the room before any of them
-could speak.
-
-Ian rang the bell and stood by the table, his back to the others.  He
-had heard every word that Roman said and it burnt his brain, if not his
-heart.  So Joseph had won!  It was preposterous.  Roman as a rival he
-could bear.  But that cold, selfish prig!  He could never give a woman
-happiness.  Vanda must be saved from herself.  And he would do it.
-
-Mastering his face, he turned round, ready with passionate words to save
-Vanda from Joseph, to use his authority as head of the family.  But the
-room was empty.
-
-
-
-
-                                   II
-
-
-Roman tumbled into the car the moment it was ready and insisted on
-taking the wheel.  Ian gave in, though he knew his cousin for a wild
-driver at the best of times.
-
-They went off at breakneck speed.  The road was clear, for it happened
-to be Friday night, when Jews are at rest, so that factors, omnibuses
-and other vehicles which belong to the children of Israel east of the
-Vistula did not get in the way.  On they rushed through the cool, dark
-night, past fields of whispering corn, ready for cutting; skirting
-forests of tall trees, racing through little villages where savage dogs,
-let loose for the night, chased them, barking like the wolves with whom
-they shared parentage, till lack of breath held them in; past flat
-country, rich in soil well tilled, past rare towns where no lights shone
-except for here and there a candle-decked table where Jews hailed the
-Sabbath in squalid tenements; past a rare wagon of non-Jewish ownership,
-with the driver fast asleep, his team in the middle of the highway, deaf
-to hooting and shouting; past, in short, the various sights and sounds
-of the Polish country-side, where life is simpler than in England and
-men stick closer to mother earth.  Ian loved it all; even the Jews he
-accepted as part of the picture, though his race was divided from theirs
-by a deep gulf; he loved the chilly breeze, the stately pine forests,
-the night birds' cry, the smell of rich earth, all the promise of
-revolving seasons; the very monotony of the life was dear to him.
-
-Near Sohaczev they dashed into a drove of cattle, on its way to the
-capital.  There was much shouting; the drovers swore by all they could
-think of that half their fortune was gone.  However, after being able to
-check these statements by the help of lanterns, Ian decided that ten
-roubles more than covered the damage. Roman's flow of language left the
-others speechless; he had not opened his mouth since leaving Ruvno, and
-certainly made up for it when he did.  They started off again.  The
-swift, uneven motion over the ill-kept road soothed Ian.  He had come
-partly out of sympathy for Roman, partly to avoid searching eyes at
-home.  He must get accustomed to the new state of things, let the smart
-of Vanda's engagement wear off, prepare himself to meet Joseph without
-picking a quarrel with him.  Neither could he have faced the usual
-evening confab with his mother without betraying himself; and he hated
-the idea of confession, even to her.  He pondered about many things,
-business, politics, crops and the chase; but he always came back to
-Vanda.  His memory rediscovered charms he had long ceased to note--her
-soft eyes, the dimples that came into her cheeks when she laughed, her
-cheerfulness, her nice ways with his mother, her good heart for the
-poor, her adaptability to _his_ house and _his_ ways.  What a good wife
-Joseph had won!  Then he remembered she was portionless.  Her parents
-had been ruined by a combination of adverse circumstances, so that she
-had come to Ruvno with little more than the baby clothes she wore and a
-box full of toys.
-
-He burnt with the thought of Joseph's feelings of self-righteousness at
-marrying a portionless maid.  But he should not get the chance to crow.
-She should have an outfit to make her new neighbors open their eyes;
-jewels, sables and linen fit for Ruvno.  He meant to insist on this,
-foresaw mild objections from his mother, who knew all about Joseph's
-investments.  But thank God he could afford to set the girl up in such a
-way that her groom could not boast.  And the wedding should be in
-keeping; the Archbishop of Warsaw, Metropolitan of Poland, must marry
-them; Ruvno must entertain the guests royally.  More: Joseph should
-never be able to say he had married a penniless girl.  Vanda should have
-a generous dowry.  Here he foresaw more opposition from his mother.  But
-he was not going to let Joe puff himself out over every check he wrote
-for his bride.  For such was Joe's nature; he would do it with a certain
-refinement; but would drive the truth home all the same.  Vanda did not
-know this, or had forgotten it, being in love.  But she would suffer
-from it later on; and he was determined she should bear as little pain
-as possible.
-
-Ian's landed property represented a rough sum of twenty million roubles;
-he had another million invested in sugar refineries, and in a hardware
-factory, recently started in Warsaw, which was already paying well. His
-father's debts had been legion.  But he had a minority of twenty years
-and good guardians, and found Ruvno almost clear when he took it over.
-Now, there was not a rouble's worth of debt on the place. He never spent
-his entire income.  Whenever the chance came, he used to buy up land
-around Ruvno, adding to its acres and its efficiency.  Neighbors
-wondered that the son was so different from the sire, and declared he
-would be one of the wealthiest men in those parts before he reached
-middle age.  Not that he cared especially for money.  His one aim was to
-add to Ruvno and keep up its name for good farming and good horses, to
-entertain generously without ostentation, to have prize cattle and
-modern machinery. His tastes were simple; a certain fastidiousness saved
-him from such "affaires" as were constantly getting Roman into trouble,
-and from pleasures which had ruined his father.  Yes: he could afford to
-give Vanda a handsome dowry, and the thought was like balsam.
-
-Arriving in the capital, Roman drew up before the "_Oaza_" a place where
-people drank champagne at exorbitant prices and listened to dubious
-songs and patter, not bereft of wit, but suited for neither the young
-nor the squeamish.  It stood at the corner of the Theatre Square, where
-the Opera House is, and the Vierzbova, that narrow street which runs
-thence from the Saxon Square.  Ian seldom went to the haunt; but Roman
-knew every woman in it.  One, with little on but a feather boa and a
-gigantic hat, was screaming a new song at the top of her voice.  The
-audience was meager enough, for the races were over, the heat had set
-in, and people of pleasure had gone to their country homes, or abroad to
-drink the waters at Carlsbad and other places where those who live too
-well hope to patch up battered constitutions for future pleasures.
-There were a few Russian officers, who made a great deal of noise, a
-couple of Polish squires, sunburnt and opulent, some of the inevitable
-Children of Israel, of those who no longer keep the Sabbath nor believe
-in anybody's God; and many sirens in marvelous hats and plentiful paint.
-
-Roman ordered the supper and drank freely of champagne.  He took not the
-least notice of the entertainment, which went on just above their table,
-on a small raised platform.  Ian wondered why he insisted on being so
-near it; but to-night he was prepared to give in about everything, as to
-a spoilt child who has broken its favorite toy.  Roman drank, ate and
-talked, smoking cigarettes all the time.
-
-"What does she see in him?  Tell me what she sees in him?" he asked,
-elbows on the table, cigarette between his lips, glaring with his dark
-bright eyes at his cousin.  "Now--if it had been you..."
-
-Ian became ruddier than ever and bent over his plate. He said nothing.
-
-"I thought of _you_ as my rival," pursued the disappointed lover.  "A
-dangerous one, too."
-
-"You needn't have," mumbled Ian, his mouth full of lobster mayonnaise.
-
-"I see that now.  But I feared it.  You've always been together.  It
-seemed the obvious thing for you to make a match of it.  Why, there were
-bets on you at the club here."
-
-"The devil there were!" cried Ian indignantly.
-
-"Well, we all do that sort of thing.  Their gossip worried me.  I can't
-think how you managed not to fall in love with her.  I'd have been in
-love with any woman under the circumstances, let alone her ... why,
-she's an angel, an..."
-
-He broke off and fumed in silence for some time. Ian finished his
-lobster and attacked some cold meat. Roman looked as if he expected some
-remark, so he gave it, huskily:
-
-"The obvious never happens."
-
-"But Joe never came into my head.  You could have knocked me down with a
-feather when she owned it."
-
-"Me, too," admitted Ian, with more sincerity than he had yet commanded.
-
-"I don't wonder.  Of course, I'm a rip.  Not worse than most of my
-fellows.  I don't count you.... Can't make you out.  You must be a
-fish."  He cast a glance round the room, nodded to a couple of women,
-signed that he did not want them at his table, ordered a bottle of
-champagne to be taken over to them, shifted his chair so that his back
-was towards them, and went on:
-
-"Who isn't?  I've had my fling.  I was quite ready to settle down.  This
-sort of game disgusts me.  I've had enough of it."
-
-"I don't wonder."
-
-"I suppose you people at Ruvno think Joe's a steady old horse," retorted
-Roman vehemently.  "He enjoys life, too.  Only he's more careful of
-appearance than I am."
-
-"Prig!" said Ian savagely.
-
-Roman laughed at the tone.  His dark eyes were very bright.  These, with
-his fine head, broad shoulders and open hand, suggested other, less
-prosaic days, when men gave fuller play to their emotions, and were not
-ashamed of their feelings.  He produced a hundred-rouble note from one
-of his fat pocket-books and sent it across to the little orchestra.
-
-"Tell them to play my favorites," he told the waiter.
-
-"Don't be a fool," admonished his more careful cousin.  "You'll be glad
-enough of your money before you've done with the Jews."  He knew Roman's
-reckless ways; and disapproved of them.  A man nearing thirty had no
-right to lead the sort of life that concentrated at the _Oaza_ between
-midnight and sunrise. The place was stuffy and gaudy and depressing.  He
-began to feel sorry he had come.
-
-"The devil take my debts," said Roman.  "The Jews can wait now."  Then
-he went back to Vanda.
-
-"Do you imagine that Joe's in love with her?" he exclaimed.  "Not a bit.
-He wants to settle down, doesn't need money and thinks her _suitable_.
-I loathe that word.  It sums up all the hypocrisy of our lives."  He
-gulped champagne, wiped his mustache, threw the napkin on the table, and
-pursued:
-
-"He thinks she'll look well at the head of his table. And it saves
-trouble to marry her because he's known her all his life.  He hasn't got
-to waste time paying her attention and risk the publicity of a refusal.
-You can't go near a girl at the races or a dance but everybody knows it.
-That's not old Joe's plan.  He's too safe."
-
-Ian bent over his plate again.  Roman had too much insight; he was
-attributing to Joe the very thoughts that had passed through his own
-mind that morning. But the words gave him comfort.  If Joe was not in
-love with Vanda, neither was he.  Their symptoms were alike.  Men in
-love talked like Roman, acted like him.  So he was saved.  His precious
-armor of male vanity was intact.  Thank God, he could face himself and
-his little world again.
-
-"If I thought she'd be really happy, I'd not care so much," remarked
-Roman after a short silence.
-
-His cousin looked up in alarm.
-
-"If I doubted it I'd never let him marry her," he muttered.
-
-"What can you do?  She's set her heart on him.  I don't mean he's going
-to ill-treat her.  He'll be so proud of her that he'll hang on to her
-till she'll long to be left alone a bit.  But she'll find him a bore
-after a time.  She's not used to bores.  God!  If I had to live with old
-Joe I'd blow my brains out."
-
-And he talked on; he had the philosophy of life at his tongue's tip; and
-yet what a muddle he made of his own!  He reminded Ian of agricultural
-experts he knew, drawn from the ranks of ruined landed proprietors, yet
-ready to give advice to those who prosper on their acres.  Gradually, he
-ceased to pay heed to the flow of words.  He was an early riser and his
-bedtime hour had long passed.  And he followed his own train of thought,
-nodding occasionally at his cousin's eloquence, and trying to get him
-out of the place.
-
-"The essence of real love," remarked the oracle, as they left for the
-Hotel Europe at last, "is sacrifice.  A man who's not ready for that is
-no lover."
-
-And again Ian felt comforted.
-
-He stopped two days in town, saw his lawyer anent Vanda's dowry, looked
-at sables, bought her a diamond pendant, and prepared to leave his
-cousin.  This last much against his will.  With his old impetuosity, he
-was playing heavily at his club, where a few gamblers lingered, detained
-for lack of funds to take them abroad.  They hailed Skarbek's coming
-with joy, knew all about his fantastic winnings, and set about fleecing
-him.
-
-"You'd be far happier if you settled down," said Ian as they finished
-lunch on the day of his departure. He could not understand any
-full-grown man caring to live from day to day.  For him, happiness lay
-in the even road, a steady income, regular employment and an entire
-absence of excitement.
-
-"Settle down?" echoed the other.  "On what?"
-
-"You've that money you won at Monte Carlo.  Bank it and let me tackle
-your Jews."
-
-Roman laughed bitterly.
-
-"Ten thousand roubles of that money is in other men's pockets," and he
-named two who lived upon their earnings at the green table.  "They're
-off to Ostend this evening."
-
-"You're a damned fool," was his cousin's verdict.
-
-"I know it.  But who would gain by my being wise?"
-
-Ian looked him straight in the eyes.  Roman noticed how clear and honest
-they were, with their tale of outdoor life, their gaze of the man who
-has found himself and keeps his house in order.  Yet there was nothing
-priggish about him.  He enjoyed life thoroughly.  It was not the life of
-champagne suppers and high stakes; but he took his pint of Veuve
-Clicquot and played his game, conformed to the customs of his class.
-The difference was that such pleasures were incidents for him; for Roman
-they had become necessities.
-
-"You know perfectly well that your Prussian government and my Russian
-one like to see us Poles squander our lives and money," retorted the
-squire.
-
-"They do," agreed the gambler.
-
-Ian saw his chance and followed it up, speaking earnestly, his habitual
-shyness undermost for the moment.
-
-"They like to get us off the land because that is the rock bottom of
-national existence," he said.  "Lots of people forget it.  England is
-forgetting it.  Every time I go there I see it clearer.  But Prussia
-hasn't forgotten it for a moment these last hundred years.  And she's
-taught the Russians something about it, too."
-
-"I never had any land," protested Roman.  "Joe got it, and has kept it.
-I'll say that for him."
-
-"You can buy land."
-
-"Not under Prussian law."
-
-"Become a Russian subject."
-
-"Easier said than done."
-
-"I'll help you," Ian said eagerly.  "Do you remember Kuklin?"
-
-"That little place near Ruvno?"
-
-"Yes.  It's for sale."  He did not add that the owner had ruined himself
-in places like the _Oaza_. "The land's first class.  The house is a
-hovel.  But it's only five versts from us and you can stop at Ruvno till
-you've built something fit to live in.  I'll give you the materials and
-help you with the labor.  The chief outbuildings are brick and in good
-condition.  The squire is a good farmer when he remembers to stop at
-home.  It's a bargain."
-
-Roman was interested.
-
-"I suppose the Jews will buy it."
-
-"Not if I know it.  I was going to buy it myself. But you take it.  I'll
-let you have the money.  Come, Roman, here's your chance."
-
-"You mean you'd advance me the cash?  Without security?"
-
-"I'll make you a present of Kuklin."
-
-Roman's handsome face filled with astonishment. Though not a mean man,
-Ian had the reputation of being exceedingly careful.  He gave freely to
-causes which he thought furthered the prosperity of his country; but was
-wary of giving for the sake of giving, or for the popularity that comes
-to the open-handed.  Roman knew him well; he realized that this offer
-meant more than cousinship; it meant affection and a firm belief that he
-would settle down and "make good."  He was touched, and said so in his
-ardent way.
-
-"So you're willing?  That's right.  I'll go to Kuklin tomorrow and wire
-when you can see it."  The other's face clouded, so he added hastily:
-"You needn't come to Ruvno.  I'll meet you at the station, the owner
-will give us something to eat and I'll motor you back here.  We'll have
-to settle with the Jews before you actually buy, or you'll get no terms
-from them.  I'll go to Posen with you."
-
-"Old man, you're the best friend I ever had," cried Roman, wringing his
-hand.  "I can't tell you how I feel about it.  But..."
-
-"What 'but'?"
-
-"I don't believe I could bury myself in the country--now. With Vanda it
-would have been different.  Can't you understand?"
-
-"No, I can't."  He was disappointed.  He had never felt lonely in his
-life, never knew the yearning after hot, brightly lighted restaurants
-filled with men and women on excitement bent.
-
-"You won't want to come to Warsaw," he argued. "You don't know how land
-draws you.  You'll have to drag yourself here when you've some special
-business and hurry back as quick as can be."
-
-Roman doubted it, but gave up the argument.  They parted on the
-understanding that he should telegraph when he had made up his mind.
-
-Though he found Joseph still at Ruvno Ian showed a cheerful face and
-calm exterior.  He felt completely master of himself again and talked
-freely of the coming marriage.  The Countess was full of it.
-
-"I can't understand what Vanda sees in him," she remarked during their
-evening chat "He's more selfish than ever.  He never does a thing she
-wants unless he happens to want it, too.  I suppose that's why she is so
-devoted."
-
-Ian observed, and found that his mother was right. Not that he saw much
-of the happy pair.  He only met them at meals, and delegated his mother
-to sound Joseph about the marriage settlement.  He won his argument with
-her about that, too.  But the thing had yet to be discussed and he put
-it off, not wanting to see Joseph alone if he could help it.  There was
-time for that.  Meanwhile, the estate kept him busy. But the marriage
-date was settled for three months hence.  That was his work.  He would
-have had it earlier, but the Countess thought it looked too hasty.
-
-Joseph was quite satisfied to wait.  He wanted to do up his country
-house, and furnishing took time.  He did not consult Vanda about the
-furniture.  He had ideas of his own and meant to carry them out.  Yet he
-seemed proud of the girl and pleased to have won her; the rest of the
-family admitted that.  What annoyed them was his boundless
-self-satisfaction.  She would be his in the same way as his beautiful
-estate in Eastern Prussia, as his horses, or his sound investments.
-
-"She is his chattel," was Ian's verdict one evening when alone with his
-mother.  She gave him a sidelong look, but said nothing for the moment.
-Later on she mooted matrimony to him.
-
-"It is high time you settled down," she said.  "It is a great mistake
-for people to put off marriage too long.  They lose courage as they grow
-older."
-
-"Give me another year of liberty," he pleaded, laughing. "I'm not
-thirty-five yet.  By next year I'll have the new farm buildings finished
-and the new forest planted.  Then you shall find me a wife."
-
-"I've one for you already," she said, caressing his face with her fine
-hazel eyes.
-
-"What a matchmaker!  Tell me the worst.  Who is it."
-
-She hesitated before saying: "Minnie Burton," and watched him closely.
-
-"Minnie?"  This in surprise.  He had never thought of her.  Then: "But
-she is a foreigner."
-
-"But she is fond of Poland and of us.  She's well bred, well connected,
-good-looking."
-
-"A heretic."
-
-"That might be changed."
-
-He took alarm at this.  There was nothing more hateful to his thoughts,
-just then, than marriage with anybody--but Vanda.  And she had deserted
-him.
-
-"I hope you've not been 'sounding' her, as you call it," he cried in
-alarm.
-
-"No.  Don't be afraid.  But bear her in mind.  She's a dear girl.
-She'll come back to us next year.  I'd like to chaperon her to Nice in
-the winter."
-
-"I'm not going to lose my shooting," he said firmly.
-
-"You could run over there for a week or so.  However, there's no hurry.
-Let's get Vanda safely settled first."  And wisely, she dropped the
-subject.  She knew all about his disappointment, and meant to tell him
-so one day.  Meanwhile she would throw him and Minnie together as much
-as possible.  But there was plenty of time.
-
-The following evening they were finishing dinner when a servant handed
-Joseph a telegram.  Thinking it one of many that had arrived since his
-engagement, he opened it carelessly.
-
-"Who is it this time?" asked Vanda.
-
-He did not answer, but read the missive twice, his face changing.  She
-took alarm.
-
-"It's bad news?"
-
-He took no notice.  She peered over his shoulder. Everybody was waiting
-for him to speak.
-
-"It's in German," she announced to the expectant table.  "Do tell us,
-Joe."
-
-She put out her hand for the telegram, but he gave it to Ian instead.
-She sat down again, looking snubbed.
-
-"Read that," he said.  Ian obeyed, aloud, for Vanda's sake, and in
-English, for Minnie's.
-
-"'The Head of this Military District orders your immediate return, that
-you may report at headquarters.'"  He looked up, puzzled.  "It's signed
-by your manager.  What does it mean?"
-
-"Mobilization," answered the Countess promptly. They looked at her in
-surprise.  She was the only member of the household who had read the
-last batch of papers from Warsaw.
-
-Frowning, Ian reread the telegram.  There was silence round the table.
-Joseph, like Roman, was a German subject.  Eastern Prussia, where he
-lived, belonged to Poland till Frederick the Great snatched it from the
-Polish Republic, weakened by internal strife. And ever since that sad
-day the Prussians have done all they know to hound the Poles off their
-land.  But the owners stood firm from the first, helping one another to
-keep every acre they possessed from the German colonists, who have their
-government's backing in money and legislation.  It is considered a
-disgrace for a Pole to sell his land in Prussia or the Grand Duchy of
-Poland, because Prussian law forbids a Pole to buy it.  But a Polish
-squire or peasant in financial difficulties can always get a more
-fortunate compatriot to help him, so that he need not sell.
-
-"I've got to go," remarked Joseph gloomily.
-
-Ian's thoughts ran ahead.  Joseph would be away for some time; perhaps
-for months.  The wedding would have to be postponed.  Meanwhile, he and
-Vanda would be meeting hourly as in the old days, yet with the
-difference that she was no longer free.  At this moment he did not
-imagine that Prussia's mobilization could affect his life.  The thought
-that tempted him was that he could undo Joseph's wooing, win her in his
-absence.  Then honor's voice intervened and he put temptation from him.
-Another thought came to his aid.  He would get his mother to send her to
-England with Minnie Burton.  When Joseph was ready to wed, she could
-come back.  Not till then.
-
-He looked at her.  Her face was no longer bright, she gave her lover a
-long, sad gaze.  Then he glanced at Joe over the broad table, handsome
-with plate and flowers, covered with the remains of a well-served,
-well-cooked meal.  There was nothing supercilious about him now.  He was
-frankly downcast.
-
-"It's for Roman, too," he observed.
-
-"I'll tell him," said Ian.  The idea of Roman's going back to Prussia
-annoyed him.  He would not be able to finish the Kuklin business.  And
-he had set his heart on having his wayward, impulsive cousin near by.
-They had always been great friends; but since the affair with Vanda he
-found something very comforting in his company.
-
-Everybody began to talk about the telegram and its probable import.
-Newspapers were opened and consulted, only to be thrown aside in
-disgust.  They said so little.  Father Constantine and the Countess
-argued things out according to their ideas of the political situation,
-whilst Joseph and Vanda had a final talk together.  Ian saw his duty was
-to amuse Minnie Burton, and he did it with thoughts elsewhere.  Joseph
-left the house at two in the morning to catch the night express from
-Warsaw to Posen.  They all waited up with him; their farewells were
-cheerful.  He would soon be back.  Meanwhile, he could set the workmen
-at his house.  Ian watched Vanda as they parted.  She was sad, but held
-herself bravely.  He liked that.  He noticed, too, that Joseph was
-unusually demonstrative. He knew he ought to be glad of it, for her
-sake.  But it angered him all the same.  In a group at the open door
-they watched the car go down the straight avenue and turn into the road.
-On the way Joseph would have to knock up a local petty official and get
-his passport vised.  But he saw no difficulties; nobody dreamed of war
-just then, not outside the German Empire. When he had gone they went to
-bed, sleepy and unconcerned.
-
-Ian motored to Warsaw for lunch.  The streets were as deserted as usual
-at that time of year, except for a sprinkling of troops.  But everybody
-was discussing the possibility of Russia's fighting to help Serbia.  How
-could the big Slav brother leave the weak one to be strangled?  He found
-Roman at the Europe, eating iced soup, and delivered his message.
-
-"What did old Joe do?" he asked.  The other told him.
-
-"Went off like a lamb?  I thought as much," and he laughed scornfully.
-
-"And you?"
-
-"I'm no friend of the Kaiser's."
-
-"But he may win," and Ian lowered his voice, for a party of Russian
-officers sat at the next table.  "He'll make it pretty awkward for
-Polish deserters if he does."
-
-At this stage Ian had no more dislike for the Kaiser's army than for the
-Tsar's.  They were both the hereditary enemies of his race.  He was glad
-to think that he, at any rate, could keep aloof from the quarrel. Russia
-has enough men without taking only sons and had never called him to
-serve.  He was no more obtuse that bright July day than thousands of men
-in the British Empire, in France, or in Belgium.  Perhaps he had a
-greater respect for Prussia's efficiency and fighting spirit; but this
-vaguely, as of a fact that could not touch him.
-
-Not so Roman Skarbek.  With that odd insight you sometimes find in men
-who never get the practical hang of life he peered into the future as
-few, alas, peered then.  Ian remembered his words long afterwards, in
-the warm, humming room, his eyes dim and dreamy with thought.
-
-"He won't win," he said.  "At least, not in the end. But he will at
-first, and let Hell loose on Europe. He'll apply all the Prussian
-methods of persecution on other nations that he and his cursed breed
-have tried on us Poles for the past century.  That will send the world
-against him.  _We_ know what Prussianism means; the world doesn't.  But
-it will before he's beaten.  What he'll do to me for deserting won't
-matter.  The only deuced thing that matters is to stop Prussianism from
-spreading all over the world."
-
-"You'll find it awkward here with a German passport, if Russia does go
-to war."
-
-"I've not haunted the _Oaza_ and the club for nothing. I expect I know
-more influential Russians than you do."
-
-"I wish you would become a Russian subject," said the other, thinking of
-Kuklin.  "I'd help you."
-
-"Thanks awfully.  I'll ask you to, if I can't manage it myself."
-
-"Oh, the whole thing will blow over.  Why, there's always a scare about
-this time.  The papers made it to have something to write about."  And
-they talked of other things, and of Vanda.  Roman asked a dozen
-questions about her; and he perforce must answer.
-
-He took home the gossip of the town; they talked politics all the
-evening.  Minnie, who had been in St. Petersburg with her elder brother
-when he was Military Attache to the British Embassy, told them with
-confidence born of little knowledge that _if_ the Germans were mad
-enough to fight, the Russians would be in Berlin by Christmas.  Her
-host, knowing Russian ways better than she, doubted her.  Hence came
-animated talk.  Yet none of them seriously thought the storm was near.
-Least of all Ian, who tried to cheer Vanda for the temporary loss of her
-lover by planning a new paddock which must be ready before the wedding.
-Never did he feel more secure in his quiet life and snug possession than
-when, bound for bed, he crossed the large hall, with its vaulted roof
-painted in Gothic blue with faded gilt stars, and its antler-covered
-walls. True, there was still a vestige of that uneasy feeling which he
-unwillingly put down to Vanda.  But he had plenty to occupy him till Joe
-came back; then for a speedy marriage--and oblivion.
-
-
-
-
-                                  III
-
-
-After much discussion, Father Constantine decided to seek relief for his
-rheumatism at Ciechocinek, a place which lies nearer the Prussian
-frontier than Ruvno, on the main line between Warsaw and Berlin.  He
-felt too old to take a long journey abroad, and hated the idea of some
-fashionable place in Austria or Germany.  Ciechocinek was quiet, if
-primitive, and near at hand.  He started off in state a couple of days
-after Ian's flying visit to Warsaw, in one of Ian's motors, the family
-at the front door to wish him a pleasant journey.  There was as much
-bustle when the old chaplain went away--which rarely happened--as though
-the whole household were leaving.  Everybody carried something to the
-car for him; everybody heard over and over again what the two
-canvas-covered portmanteaux held and knew their owner had packed and
-unpacked them half-a-dozen times within the week, in the agony of
-indecision and the search for some necessary garment that had been put
-at the bottom.  Nothing would induce him to let a servant pack them.
-Besides the portmanteaux he carried several loose packages; to wit,
-three long loaves of home-made bread, because any other kind gave him
-indigestion; a small collection of home-smoked ham, sausage and tongue
-to take in the evening with his glass of weak tea (Ciechocinek sausages
-were all very well, but Father Constantine would sooner have gone
-without than have eaten them).  And, for his morning tea, the
-housekeeper had packed up a large _baba_ or cake, whose very name makes
-one's mouth water in days of dark flour and scarce eggs.  There was a
-little basket containing his lunch, for he eschewed restaurant cars and
-preferred cold chicken and fresh bread and butter to the best meal to be
-had at railway stations. I had almost forgotten the parcel of butter
-which he carried to his cure, too; it was firm and fresh and creamy,
-food fit for the gods, for he would not eat the watery, saltish rubbish
-which, so he declared, the hotel-keeper in Ciechocinek provided.  At the
-last moment, when he was in the midst of his good-byes, a maid came
-hurrying along with a heavy square parcel.  It contained linen sheets.
-The baths at the cure place, so Father Constantine declared, were
-frequented by many people whom he thought none too clean.  And he had no
-faith in the attendant's scrubbing.  So he had a sheet spread in the
-bath before it was filled with the muddy substance that drew out his
-pains.  Then there were wraps and pillows and books for the journey,
-till you would have thought the good old man was to travel for days,
-instead of hours.  Only a generously proportioned Russian railway
-carriage would have taken so many bundles on the racks.  For Father
-Constantine never trusted his precious portmanteaux to the luggage van.
-He was firmly convinced that highway robbers would have learned of his
-coming, laid wait and robbed him of his baggage whilst he dozed.  He
-invariably counted the sum total of his packets each time the train
-stopped, when he awoke and glared suspiciously at new-comers.  But
-everybody at Ruvno took his little ways with good humor; he had been
-there so long that he was an institution.  They loved his bright eyes
-and sharp tongue; they knew his heart was in the right place, and knew
-all his anecdotes so well that they could think of other things whilst
-he told them, and yet, by force of habit, make the right remark when he
-had finished.  Ian was devoted to him; would never have thought of going
-off, on his mid-morning round until he had departed.  He asked to be
-allowed to go with him as far as the station; in fact, the priest
-expected this offer from the sturdy squire whom he had spanked and
-taught in by-gone years.  But he would never accept it.  He disliked
-being seen off.  It looked as though he was no longer capable of buying
-his own ticket or finding a porter.  But the little comedy had to be
-enacted all the same.
-
-"Father, I'm going to the station," Ian would say on these occasions,
-when the last package was stowed away and the housekeeper had counted
-them at least twice.
-
-The priest held up his hands in mock horror.  He was small and rather
-shrunken.  His nose was hooked and his scant hair white.  He had seen a
-good deal of trouble in his day; was in Siberia for five years in his
-youth for defending his church against a sotnia of Cossacks in 1864, and
-owed his misshapen ears to frostbite which he got on the terrible
-journey, made on foot in those days.  But these things were a memory,
-and life was peaceful enough now.
-
-"No, my child," he said.  "Think of the packages. By the way, where's
-the _baba_?  Zosia! where did you put the _baba_?"
-
-"It's under the seat," said the Countess from the steps.  "I saw her put
-it there.  You'd better let Ianek go with you.  He'll enjoy it."
-
-"No, no, Countess.  Thank you all the same.  He'd crush the bread or sit
-on the butter when we begin to bump about on the bad part of the road.
-I'll get on by myself.  The old horse isn't done yet.  Not by a long
-way.  God bless you all.  Farewell!"
-
-Making the sign of the cross, he wrapped the yellow dust-cloak round
-him.  Ian gave the word to start and off he went.
-
-The three women strolled over to the chestnuts, glad of the shade that
-warm morning, and Ian went to where men were busy laying out his new
-paddock. He gave some directions there, had gone over the stables and
-was waiting for his horse to be saddled for a visit to some wheat
-fields, reported damaged by a shower of early-morning hail, when the
-familiar hoot of his motor made him look up in surprise.  He had given
-the driver orders to wait for the papers from Warsaw, and knew he could
-not have done it in so short a time.  But surprise grew when, as the car
-drew nearer, he saw Father Constantine's dust-cloak. He waved to them to
-drive to the stables instead of round by the avenue and the house.
-
-"What has happened?" he asked as they pulled up. "You can't have lost
-the train.  It's not due for an hour yet."
-
-"There is no train," announced the priest.  "The Muscovites are
-mobilizing troops.  We're cut off from everywhere.  I might have saved
-myself the trouble of packing."
-
-"But there's worse than that, my lord Count," put in Bartek, the young
-chauffeur, who had been born on the land and had served first as
-stove-tender, then as gun-cleaner before being trained as a mechanic.
-"The tales they're telling at the station made my hair stand on end."
-
-"What tales?" asked Ian.
-
-"Jewish lies," snapped the priest.
-
-Ian turned to the driver, who said:
-
-"The Prussians have crossed the frontier and are in Kalisz."
-
-"Don't you believe it, Ian," put in Father Constantine. "The Jews will
-say anything to scare honest Christians."
-
-"And please, my lord Count," pursued Bartek the driver, "they are
-murdering men and women and children there.  First they took a lot of
-money, gold, too, from the town, as a bribe to let the people alone.
-Then when they'd got the money they went up on that hill that stands
-over the town.  And when the people thought they were safe on account of
-the gold they had given to the Prussian Colonel, that very officer came
-down into the town again, shut the people in their houses and shot at
-them through the windows, like rats in a trap."
-
-"The Prussians so near us?" murmured Ian, looking from one to the other.
-"It's incredible.  What are the Russians doing?  There were several
-regiments in Kalisz."
-
-"They retired before the Prussians came," answered Bartek, who had kept
-his ears open at the station.
-
-"Incredible!" echoed the priest.  "It's impossible. They wouldn't dare
-to do it."
-
-The boy produced a crumpled newspaper from one of his pockets and handed
-it to Ian.
-
-"The ticket man gave it to me," he explained.  "One of the recruits
-brought it in a train from Warsaw. He says it tells what the Prussians
-are doing in some foreign part, I forget what it's called, but it's
-smaller than our country, and they've ravished the maids and murdered
-the children and done such things that haven't been done in Poland since
-the Turks were here.  And they say they'll do the same thing to us if
-they get any further."
-
-"You never told me you'd a paper," cried the priest. "What does it say,
-Ianek."
-
-And Ian read the first story of Belgium's martyrdom.
-
-"It's some trick to sell the paper," was Father Constantine's remark,
-when he had done.
-
-"I hope so."  Ian glanced at the head of the paper. It was the _Kurjer
-Warszawski_, which would hardly have printed such news without reason.
-He reread the account, to himself this time, whilst the old priest sat
-back in the car and piously called upon God to know if it were true.
-Some minutes passed.  Ian read and reread the news, unbelievingly at
-first, then with growing conviction.  In the late-news column was a
-telegram from London, saying that England would probably declare war on
-Germany.
-
-"There must be something in it," he said.  "If England is going to war,
-Belgium has been invaded."  He jumped into the car and they drove up to
-the house.
-
-His mother and the two girls he found in the Countess' sitting-room.
-Zosia, the housekeeper, was standing there, sobbing bitterly and cursing
-the Prussians through her tears.  In the large French window, which
-stood open, was a ragged, dusty, fear-stricken Jew, of the poorest
-description, one of the dark masses who live by running errands for
-their wealthier brethren; the hewers of wood and drawers of water of
-their own race; happy to lend a stray rouble in usury to some
-agricultural laborer who has fallen on evil days.
-
-From this miserable man's trembling lips he heard much the same story as
-Bartek had learned at the station.  But in addition the Jew brought news
-that Zosia's sister, who lived in Kalisz, married to a prosperous
-cartwright, had been murdered by the Prussians.
-
-Ian never forgot the impression this made upon him.  Later on, he grew
-more callous, saw and heard so many horrors, proved the Kaiser's army
-capable of anything.  But the thought that Zosia's sister, a girl who
-had grown up at Ruvno and served his mother as maid before her marriage,
-had been assassinated in cold blood made his own boil.  He was not a man
-to use many words.  He made no effort to express the thoughts and
-feelings that rose in him.  He did not speak for some time.  Then he
-turned to his mother.
-
-"You women must go to Moscow at once," he said. "God knows, they may
-soon be here at the rate they are coming on."
-
-He spoke in a tone of authority he rarely used with her.  She went to
-the window and looked into her beloved rose garden, soon to be cut into
-trenches and trampled by soldiers' feet.  But on that morning it was a
-beautiful spot, fair with the work and art of many generations of
-skilled gardeners and gentle mistresses.  A peacock spread his tail in
-the sun; Ian's two favorite dogs whined to him to go out to them; the
-air was very sweet with the odor of roses and pine needles.  A big red
-butterfly floated past her into the room.  She could scarcely believe
-that only a few miles away war raged; and yet, here was Zosia sobbing
-her heart out, here stood the Jewish messenger, who had come to say that
-the dead woman's husband and children were on their way to Ruvno as
-refugees, leaving all they possessed behind them, traveling on foot,
-with unspeakable bitterness and grief in their hearts.
-
-She turned to her son, smiling a little.  They lived very near to one
-another and she loved him better than anything in the world, better than
-she had loved his father, for whom she suffered such pain.
-
-"And you?" she asked.
-
-"I shall volunteer," he answered simply.
-
-He had not consciously thought about it before.  The words came without
-his knowing exactly why.  He knew that Russia had plenty of men without
-him; he bore that country no love, having had to suffer many
-humiliations from her since his babyhood.  Every day he had to fight
-Russian malevolence in some shape or form.  But he knew that the troops
-now speeding to stop the Prussian advance were on the right side.  He
-remembered Roman's words: "The only deuced thing that matters is to stop
-Prussianism from spreading."
-
-His mother gave him a frightened look, bit her lip, and said nothing.
-
-"You're right, my child," said Father Constantine, who, dust-cloak and
-all, was sitting in a chair several times too big for him.  In his hand
-he held one of the many packets Zosia had prepared for his journey. He
-had forgotten about them.  His old heart was filled with a terrible,
-helpless anger against the human beasts who had brought such death into
-the country.
-
-The Countess put her hands on Ian's shoulder and kissed him, standing on
-tip-toe to reach his honest, sunburnt face.
-
-"And I," she said, "will stop here with our people."
-
-He tried to dissuade her, reminding her of what was happening a few
-miles away.  But she was firm.  I don't believe he thought she would
-give in.  He did his duty in trying to make her move; but his own
-instinct was to stick to Ruvno till it was burned over their heads.
-
-"If we leave the place goodness knows what would happen," she went on.
-"If we are shelled we can live in the cellars.  That's what they were
-built for.  If Ruvno goes, I may as well go with it."
-
-"It is the simplest way, and the simplest is generally the best way,"
-said Vanda.  She had not spoken since Zosia burst into the room with her
-terrible story.  Ian looked at her face, which had grown pale.  He had
-forgotten her for the moment.  Now he remembered that the man she was to
-marry had gone home and must fight on the other side, or be shot for a
-deserter. Their eyes met: they understood each other; both had the same
-thought.  And it flew round the room to the others, for they all looked
-at her, wondering what she felt about it.  She covered her face with her
-hands. Anxious to draw attention away from her, he turned to Minnie
-Burton.
-
-"And you," he said, "must come with me to Warsaw, at once.  I will see
-your Consul and send you home the quickest way."
-
-Minnie gave a little laugh.  She was a fair, fresh-colored girl, with
-steady brown eyes and a frank manner.  She expected them to talk of
-sending her home and had already made up her mind not to leave Ruvno
-whilst they remained.  Three years ago, her soldier brother brought Ian
-home for a week-end.  They were renting a little place in Leicestershire
-for the winter, and he hunted with them.  She liked him at once.  He was
-the first foreigner she had met who did not overwhelm her with silly
-compliments.  He was more interesting than most of her brother's
-friends, who developed their muscles, but neglected their minds.  And he
-liked the things she liked, the country, violent exercise, horses;
-appeared much pleased with English country life and arranged for her to
-meet his mother and Vanda.  So the two families became very friendly.
-Then old General Burton died, the home was broken up and Minnie left
-more or less alone in the world, for both brothers were abroad, one, a
-sailor, and the other with his regiment in India.  She had been
-foolishly happy at Ruvno, she reflected, and allowed friendship with Ian
-to ripen into one-sided love.  She was not one of those women who will
-renounce a husband rather than marry a foreigner, and prefer to bear no
-children rather than see them grow up to citizens of another state than
-England.  She longed to "settle down," though she never admitted it and
-gave acquaintances to understand that she thoroughly enjoyed her present
-way of living.  Ian was free; he liked her.  She saw no reason why he
-should not one day love her as she loved him.  Though the Countess had
-not dropped a word about her own thoughts in the matter, Minnie felt
-sure she would not object to her son's marrying a comely young
-Englishwoman with a tidy fortune and good connections.  There was one
-great barrier--the difference in their faith; but Minnie had not thought
-about that seriously.  Her mind dwelt more on Ian the possible spouse
-than on Ian the Roman Catholic.  In his company she had enjoyed many a
-canter across country, many a chat and not a few friendly discussions.
-And her heart had succumbed. True, there were times when she suspected
-him of being a little cold by nature; a little prosaic, even for her,
-who would have been annoyed with a lover of Roman Skarbek's type.  She
-did not guess he felt so comfortable as a bachelor that he thought of
-matrimony as an unpleasant plunge, to be taken as late as could be.  All
-this seems calculating and unmaidenlike put on paper; but it was not
-nearly so clear in her brain; till this fateful morning of bad news from
-Kalisz her plans had been vague; her heart alone busy. She would have
-been well content to live in Ruvno forever.  And here was sudden danger
-of her leaving. Ian might marry another girl before they could meet
-again.  Though no husband-angler and too proud to set her cap at any man
-she felt that she must stop under his roof, or her romance would be
-ruined.  Rapidly, she reviewed heart and conscience.  The first spoke
-all too plainly; as to the second, she had no near family beyond her two
-brothers, one on the high seas, the other, presumably, to fight in
-Belgium.  Her only duties, if she went home all the way through Russia
-or Roumania or Greece, would be to help refugees and do her unskilled
-best with wounded.  But here were both to succor.  She was nearer that
-kind of suffering than she could be at home.  And even though Ian joined
-the army--she glanced at his sturdy figure and reflected on his
-thirty-four summers with the comforting doubt as to whether Russia
-wanted him--she would be in touch with him at Ruvno, and of use to his
-mother, whom she liked sincerely.
-
-She did not answer him, but turned to the Countess.
-
-"I'll stop here with you," she said with flaming cheeks.
-
-"But, my dear child, think of the risks," said her hostess, by no means
-unwilling, but anxious to give her a fair chance of escaping from such a
-dangerous place.
-
-Here Father Constantine chimed in.  His bird-like eyes saw a great deal
-and he shuddered at the thought of Ian's marrying a heretic.  He had
-often wondered of late when those two brothers of hers were coming to
-take her away.  And here was a good opportunity to get rid of her at
-once.
-
-"You cannot stay here, Mademoiselle."  He spoke French, not trusting his
-halting English in so important a matter.  "The Germans will be
-exceedingly cruel to the English.  I know how they hate you.  I have
-been in Germany many times, for my rheumatism.  If they find you here in
-Ruvno they will be capable of doing unspeakable things to you and bad
-things to us, for having you here."  He turned to the Countess, nursing
-his bundle of sausages, a shriveled, eager figure in his linen
-dust-cloak and his air of the family confidant and confessor.  "Madame,
-think of the responsibility.  Imagine your terrible remorse if anything
-happened to Mademoiselle."
-
-"The same things might just as well happen to me if I left this minute,"
-protested Minnie, determined to fight for her cause.  "The steamer might
-be captured by the Germans, England might be invaded.  Of course, I hope
-it won't, but my brothers say the government have never bothered to
-prepare for this.  I may not even be able to reach home.  Father
-Constantine could not get to his cure at that place with the
-unpronounceable name.  And it's lots nearer than England."
-
-"That's true," agreed the Countess, who knew all about her chaplain's
-dread of heretics.  Besides, she was loth to lose Minnie.  Apart from
-her affection for the girl and her reluctance to send her off on a long
-journey, dark with unknown perils, she thought of Ian.  Supposing they
-were burned out of house and home, as seemed more than likely, it would
-be a comfort to her to know that he could settle in England with Minnie
-to look after him till, one vague day, the Germans were beaten.  She
-told herself that she would never survive the ruin of her home.  It was
-almost as great a part of her existence as Ian himself.  No: she did not
-want to part with Minnie; Minnie would look after him when she was no
-more.  She smiled across at Father Constantine.
-
-"You see," she said, "we can always send her away when danger is really
-near.  In the meantime, let us wait till the trains are running again."
-
-Here Ian intervened.  He had been questioning the Jew about Kalisz,
-without getting any clear statements from his poor, muddled brain.
-
-"We can't let Minnie run such risks.  It's bad enough for us Poles, who
-live in a country which is always a charnel house when war comes.  But
-why should she get mixed up in it?"
-
-Minnie's heart sank.  He was so very matter of fact. But she would not
-give in.
-
-"Why?  For lots of reasons.  I'd be all alone if I did reach home.  You
-know the boys will be fighting."
-
-"England hasn't declared war yet," said Father Constantine, handing his
-sausages over to Zosia.  He had just remembered they were in his lap.
-"She may remain neutral."
-
-"She won't!" cried Minnie hotly.  "If that were possible I'd change my
-nationality!"
-
-Father Constantine made a hopeless little gesture and let Zosia help him
-off with his execrable dust-cloak, watching the Countess furtively the
-while.  He felt very much ashamed of having neglected to remove it in
-the hall.  It was not only a breach of good manners, but a sign of his
-extreme agitation.
-
-"Take it away at once!" he whispered to poor Zosia. She went off with it
-and the sausages, to weep on the ample bosom of old Barysia, Ian's
-long-since-pensioned nurse.
-
-Thinking she had settled the priest, Minnie turned to her host.
-
-"If you go away to fight with the Russians I mean to look after the
-Countess--and don't imagine I'm going to leave Poland and my Polish
-friends just because you're all in trouble!"
-
-This touched them all, even the priest.  The Countess was won over
-before, but Ian still meant to get her away that evening.  Vanda would
-stop with his mother.  The only feeling he had for Minnie just then was
-fear her brothers would blame him for keeping her.
-
-The matter was partially settled by a couple of young Russians, whom a
-servant announced as waiting for Ian in the library.  He hurried out to
-see them and did not return for some time.  The others eagerly asked his
-news.
-
-"It's true about Kalisz," he said.  "But the Russians are sending troops
-up there as fast as they can. Incidentally, they are requisitioning all
-the cars and most of my horses."
-
-"Cars!  Then no Warsaw for me to-night," said Minnie.
-
-Ian gave her an odd look.  She rather annoyed him that morning, he knew
-not why.
-
-"No," he retorted.  "And you don't seem to wonder how I'm going to get
-in the crops if all my men are called to the colors and my cattle are
-taken off."
-
-"Oh, I didn't think of that," she said, repentant.
-
-"Well, I must get back.  Mother, we'll have to have these two young
-Russians to lunch.  They're not very presentable ... but it's war-time."
-
-He hurried put, leaving Minnie in contrition.  She had ruffled him when
-she wanted to please him above all things.  Father Constantine could not
-believe his ears.  Social intercourse between Russians and Poles was
-exceedingly restricted.  A few tufthunters and the descendants of those
-men who had winked at Russia's share in Poland's three partitions kept
-up a certain amount of relationship with the Russian Government; went to
-the official receptions given by the Governor General of Warsaw, who was
-also Commander of the troops stationed in Poland.  Whilst in office he
-was lodged at the Royal Palace in Warsaw, once the winter home of
-Poland's kings.  But these were the very few, as few were the members of
-old Polish families who had charges at the Imperial Court of Russia.
-The vast majority of Poles, rich and poor, aristocratic and humble,
-lived their lives apart from the Russian Bureaucrats in their midst, who
-fattened on the country, reaping a harvest in peculation, drawing extra
-pay whilst there, on the lying legend that they carried their lives in
-their hands and slept with revolvers under their pillows for fear Polish
-insurgents should murder them in the night.  They knew perfectly well
-that the Poles had long since ceased to dream of independence won by
-rebellion; that they had learned the lessons of eighteen sixty-three and
-four.  But they made alarming reports to St. Petersburg to enhance the
-value of their own services.  The Poles knew that, at least for the time
-being, their one way of resisting Russification was to develop the
-agricultural and commercial resources of their country as much as
-possible, despite their conqueror's efforts; to preserve their native
-customs in spite of persecution; to teach their native language despite
-restriction and to cling to their national faith despite persecution
-from the Holy Synod and the indifference of Rome, who looked with dread
-upon Russia and dared not protest.  But since the Russians in their
-midst were there to suppress all signs of their national life, the Poles
-shunned intercourse with them as much as possible; those who did not
-were marked men.  Ruvno had never shown the least inclination to mix
-with Russians.  Both Ian and his father before him declined a charge at
-the Imperial Court; it was an unwritten law in the family, as in so many
-others, that whilst the men had to learn a little Russian in order to
-transact necessary business, the women must not know a word.  This rule
-has done more to preserve the Polish language in humble homes and in
-great than anything else.
-
-So you can understand Father Constantine's surprise when he heard Ian
-say that two Muscovites, as they are generally called in Poland, were to
-sit at his patron's table.  Nobody had fought harder, in his modest way,
-against the Russification of his country than the old priest.  He was
-apt to see but Russian faults, just as the Russians had eyes only for
-Polish shortcomings.  Had such a thing happened a week ago he would have
-expressed his displeasure at the sudden crumbling up of Ruvno traditions
-and excused himself from the meal.  But he thought things over for a
-minute and remarked to the silent room:
-
-"Well, the Russians are fighting on the right side _this_ time."
-
-In his tone and the gesture of his thin hands were much eloquence, and a
-hint that he had wiped his account against Russia off the slate; that
-the sufferings of Siberian exile were to rankle no more.  From that day
-forth they never heard him say a hard word against Russians, never
-caught him speaking of them as Muscovites, a term of hatred and
-contempt, but as Russians, children of the big land of Rus, fighting in
-a big struggle for the good cause of humanity.
-
-The Countess said nothing for a moment.  She had always avoided
-Russians, knew nothing of their language, treated those whom evil chance
-threw in her way with dignified civility, which was meant to make them
-feel that they were barbarians and she of an old civilization.  But she
-was ready to call Russia an acquaintance, a possible friend in the near
-future, if they only kept their word to fight the Prussians who were
-killing defenseless women and children in Kalisz and Belgium.  Ian had
-described the two visitors as "not very presentable."  She knew what he
-meant.  She had seen dozens of Russian officers who were not
-presentable, in the streets of Warsaw and Plock; at the races, at
-restaurants, in trains.  They were noisy and none too clean; they spoke
-nothing but Russian and probably put their knives in their mouths.  They
-would smell of pitch.  She never quite understood why Russians of this
-type smelt of pitch, but the fact remained.  Ian said it was something
-to do with the tanning of their shoe-leather.  Perhaps it was.  Anyway,
-it was not quite the kind of smell she cared to have at her table or in
-her sitting-room.  And yes, they would expect some of the strong, raw
-vodka which peasants drink. However, she had always been ready to take a
-sporting chance on the sudden events of life, and said cheerfully:
-
-"I expect we shall have more of them before the war is over.  So the
-sooner you and I pick up a few Russian words, Vanda, the better for us."
-
-Vanda did not answer.  She was thinking of Joseph, who had gone to fight
-with the race that had violated Belgium and slaughtered the children of
-Kalisz.
-
-Minnie only nodded.  Her thoughts were for Ian. She felt she had said
-too much that morning and was regretting it.
-
-
-
-
-                                   IV
-
-
-No need to dwell upon Ian's efforts to enlist as a volunteer in the
-Tsar's army.  Thousands and thousands of loyal Britons were being
-snubbed by their own government in the same way just then. Briton's
-rulers had even less excuse for their behavior than Russia, who at least
-had a large standing army to draw upon.
-
-Russia needed no men, he was told.  Perhaps, after many years, she would
-call on men over thirty to help her.  But then, the war would be over in
-a few months. After being refused by the officer in charge of the
-military depot at Kutno, he went to Warsaw, hoping to find Roman, who
-knew a few Russians and might help him.  But he learned at the Hotel
-Europe that the impetuous young man had left for St. Petersburg several
-days ago and omitted to say when he was coming back.  Ian soon found out
-that his only chance of fighting would be with the Cossacks, to whom
-they were sending volunteers for the cavalry.  To those whom he begged
-for admission he pointed out that he could ride straight and shoot
-straight, was sound as a nut and willing to do anything.  One grizzled
-old Cossack colonel, reared on mare's milk, bred in the saddle, with not
-a spare ounce of flesh on his bones, gave his ample figure a keen and
-contemptuous glance.
-
-"To the devil with riding gentlemen squires!" were his words, spoken in
-that strange Russian of the Don; but his tone said: "To the devil with
-all Poles!"  He repeated his glance and asked:
-
-"Can you ride without your saddle now?"
-
-"I can."
-
-"And without your bridle?"
-
-"Yes."
-
-The gruff warrior sought his eyes, which firmly met the gaze and with
-hostility, too; none have hated one another more bitterly for centuries
-than Pole and Cossack.
-
-"And spring on the mare's back when she's galloping?"
-
-"I've not done that lately," admitted the squire.
-
-"H'm.  I thought not from your belly.  You can shoot, you say.  Bears,
-perhaps?"
-
-"Bears, yes.  And quail on the wing.  And wild fowl at dawn.  And men,
-too, when they insult me," retorted Ian, his temper fast slipping out of
-control.
-
-The Cossack grinned.  This sort of talk he liked. He had wondered
-whether the Pole would give as good as he got.  His manner thawed
-slightly, as he said:
-
-"Well, you've the pigeon-colored eyes of men who shoot straight.  But
-you're too fat for a Cossack, and too old."
-
-"You're fifty if you're a day," said Ian.
-
-"Wrong for you.  I'm only forty-five.  But I've had a hard life, which
-I'm used to.  You, my gentleman, have always had a soft bed to sleep on
-and rich food to feed on.  That's why your stomach is too big for your
-years."
-
-Ian suddenly felt very much ashamed of his spare flesh.  Over and over
-again he had promised himself he would go to Marienbad and get rid of
-it.  But that was out of the question now.  So he said eagerly:
-
-"I'll get thin soon enough campaigning.  Look here, Colonel, you and I
-bear no love to one another.  We've a good many old scores to pay off."
-
-"You're right about that," admitted the other with a grin.  "And the
-fault's not always been on the Cossack side, either."
-
-"But just now we've got to beat the Prussians," argued Ian.  "And you'll
-want all the men you can get to do it.  I've been in their country and
-know it."
-
-The Cossack gave a hoarse guffaw.
-
-"Russia has enough sons to beat the world," he cried. "We'll be in
-Berlin before the New Year and I'll promise you my men won't leave much
-of their fine shops and their light beer.  And on my way I'll call in on
-your house and give you some loot to prove it. Meanwhile, do you go home
-and look after your lady mother and your peasants."
-
-This, delivered in the various accents of the Holy Russian Empire, and
-in varying tones, according to the state of culture of the particular
-officer who gave it, was the answer which greeted Ian everywhere he
-went. He was too old and too heavy.  Bitter thought, when he felt young,
-strong, enthusiastic and capable as any Cossack of holding his own with
-horse and gun.  There were, he was told, plenty of younger, fitter men
-than he.  The Prussians would be utterly destroyed without his help.
-His grain, his horses and his peasants were worth more than his blood.
-
-This was the result of two days' begging, waiting in ante-rooms,
-listening to more or less personal remarks, rubbing shoulders with men
-who were his enemies of centuries and who were, he thought, childishly
-optimistic about the war.  As he told the Cossack of the Don, he knew
-Prussia.  And he dreaded to think of how many towns would be captured,
-how many women and children butchered, before Berlin loot found its way
-to Ruvno....
-
-There was nothing to be done but go home and follow the old colonel's
-advice.  No need to add that everybody in Ruvno, and the women
-especially, welcomed him with fervor and relief.  He made preparations
-for the war, laying in a large stock of grain, potatoes and other
-provisions which would keep.  He feared a food shortage before long.
-Ruvno had good cellars, vaulted and spacious.  They had been built in a
-time when people quarreled with their neighbors even more violently than
-they do nowadays, and laid siege to one another's houses.  They were
-swept and aired under Zosia's and Martin's supervision.  Then Ian had
-most of his stores bricked up in them, as his forbears did with their
-good wines, entering the list in their cellar-book and only opening the
-best vintage for weddings, christenings, funerals or the celebration of
-some great victory, according to the period of history.  The Ruvno
-cellar-book went back to 1539, and he was very proud of it.
-
-He worked hard during these days of preparation, seeking to relieve the
-smart of refusal.  Too old and too fat; what a thing to have on his
-mind!  He confided his feelings to nobody, not even to the Countess, who
-was busy housing refugees and improvising a hospital.  Minnie he had
-forgotten; Vanda he avoided. Between them rose the figure of Joseph, in
-his Prussian helmet and gray service coat.  _He_ was with their enemies.
-Both felt the moment must come when they would open their passionate
-thoughts to each other about him; and both tacitly postponed it.
-Meanwhile, Vanda helped her aunt and Minnie to prepare wards and
-nurseries for the wounded and homeless.
-
-He kept several people busy for the next few days, getting in his
-supplies from his various farms and entering them, not in the old
-cellar-book, but on a piece of strong paper, showing exactly how the
-household could reach various stores bricked up in different parts of
-the cellars, which covered as much ground as the big rambling house
-itself.
-
-This done, he had to decide where to hide the list, so that, supposing
-Muscovites or Prussians made search for food, they would not find it.
-For he had little confidence in Russian troops either.  A hungry warrior
-has no scruples as to whom he robs. Experience had taught him that, of
-the two kinds of oppression against his race, the Prussian was worse
-than the Russian; it had more method, persistency and callousness,
-beating anything the Russian could do, because the Russian is not
-orderly, nor has he a long memory.  Ian knew, too, what rumors were
-afloat; that petty Russian bureaucrats were saying that the Poles would
-side with the invaders and Polish recruits refuse to fight.  Such talk,
-though a tissue of lies, might put Russian troops against Polish houses.
-So he made up his mind to hide the food list and ... his family jewels.
-He wanted to send the latter to Moscow with the plate and pictures; but
-his mother refused to let them go.
-
-"We may want them," she argued.  "I hope we sha'n't; but you never know.
-They will enable us to live and to help others live for the rest of our
-lives if we have to bolt."
-
-Ian had never thought of the possibility of leaving Ruvno.  Privately,
-he meant to stop there even if the Germans came.  Only thus would he be
-able to save his property.  He had already heard enough tales of the
-neighborhood to know that an empty house is soon a smoking ruin and an
-abandoned farm appropriated by somebody else.  He would send his mother
-and Vanda away and see things through alone.  Minnie he would get rid of
-beforehand.  But there was no reason why he should not humor his mother
-in this matter of the jewels.  Time enough to tell the truth when real
-danger came.  So he said nothing.  Father Constantine suggested putting
-them in the chapel, under a stone which they would take out of the floor
-and replace so that nobody would be any the wiser.
-
-"Prussians don't respect churches," said the Countess.
-
-"And suppose the chapel should get burnt," remarked Vanda.
-
-Father Constantine shuddered at the thought.  He loved the little chapel
-better than any part of Poland, and this is saying a great deal.
-
-"The only place is where everybody goes," said Vanda.
-
-"The horse pond," suggested Ian jokingly.
-
-"Yes," she rejoined seriously, "I vote for the horse pond."
-
-"And ruin the jewels," protested her aunt.
-
-"Vanda is right," said Ian.  "All the soldiers who come use the horse
-pond.  They won't think of looking for loot there.  We should have to
-dig on the side furthest from the paddock wall, as that may be
-destroyed."
-
-"Yes," said Vanda, "something like that."
-
-"A brilliant idea," said Ian, "but it has a great drawback."
-
-"Which is?"
-
-"How are you going to dig it up if we want to bolt?  All the soldiers in
-the place would see and there's an end to the jewels."
-
-Nobody said anything for a moment; they were floored.  Father
-Constantine spoke first.
-
-"There is the high-road," he said in a detached way he had.
-
-"Well?" said Ian.
-
-"The troops won't make trenches in that, because it forms one of the
-lines of communication between Warsaw and Prussia.  If we make a hole,
-lined with cement and moss, put some sausages over the jewels, with hard
-earth between, they ought to be safe.  For anybody who found the
-sausages wouldn't go further down.  We mustn't choose a spot near trees,
-for they will get felled and the ground torn up around them."
-
-"There are two versts without trees, after you pass the windmills," said
-Vanda.
-
-"And no peasants about to pry on you," added Ian.
-
-So the Ruvno jewels were taken out of their caskets and sewn into
-waterproof bags.  The girls helped the Countess to make them, for none
-of the servants, not even Martin, the old butler, knew anything of the
-plan. He was to be trusted, but Ian and his mother agreed it was better
-not to let him know; he could then quite truthfully spread the report
-that the jewels had gone with the plate.  For so he and the upper
-servants were told.  In the washleather bags they put very fine sawdust,
-too.
-
-Ian and the old priest dug the hole and lined it with cement, taking
-advantage of the bright moon to do it.  Then the jewels were put in.
-They had a discussion about putting pearls there, but could not ask an
-expert, being cut off from Warsaw again.  Ian said the damp might spoil
-them; his mother that she would rather the damp had them than think they
-were round the fat neck of some German _frau_; so they made the bag as
-thick as possible and put the most valuable pearls into a small thermos
-flask which Ian found among his hunting tackle.  You must remember that
-the nearest jeweler's shop was twenty versts from Ruvno and might have
-been a thousand for all the good it was, since the Germans were there
-and the Russian troops between it and them.  So they had to manage with
-the primitive things they found at home. Besides, as Father Constantine
-said, their object was to have the stones packed in as small a compass
-as possible, because if they wanted them at all during the war it would
-be to escape with.
-
-Whilst preparing one hole they decided it would be better to divide the
-treasure into two parts, so that if for some reason or other they could
-not safely get to one they would have some chance with the other.  So
-Ian and Father Constantine set to work on another hole, on the road to
-the east of the house, whereas the first was on the west, for so goes
-the road from Warsaw to Plovk, and thence follows the river Vistula into
-Prussia.  They had to work quickly, for the moon was on the wane, and
-they could not be seen digging by the wayside at night.  Even as it was,
-they were often interrupted by troops and supplies passing.  One night,
-just as they were about to cement the second hole, a _sotnia_ of
-Cossacks took it into their heads to bivouac near the secret spot, so
-they hastily covered it up and slunk home again, carrying the little
-sack of cement on their backs. They looked back and saw two Cossacks
-searching on the very spot where they had been working.  This showed how
-careful they must be.  At last, however, the two holes were filled with
-straw and moss, then the bags with the jewels, with earth beaten down,
-potatoes, sausages and more loose rubbish.  The jewels were well at the
-bottom and several layers away from the food.  This done, the women were
-taken--after dark--to the spots until they knew exactly where to find
-the treasure; and each learned by heart how many paces one hole was from
-the ditch and the other from the bend in the road that came a few
-hundred yards after you passed the windmill. _That_ has been shot down
-long ago; but they had all passed the place and visited the spot so
-often that they could find the treasure blindfolded.  The two men
-covered up the tops so well that none could tell the ground had been
-disturbed twenty-four hours after they had finished.
-
-So much for the jewels.  They now had to find a place for the little
-plan that would enable them to get food supplies.  There was not so much
-secrecy about this, there could not be, for both the butler and
-housekeeper had to know where to get things. By this time they had heard
-quite enough about the soldiers to be sure that if they were hungry and
-thought there was food about they would try to get it.  But the Grand
-Duke Nicolai Nicolawitch had his troops well in hand; only the Prussians
-ordered their men to loot as much as they pleased; and who could tell
-how soon they might come?
-
-Ian had ordered a good stock of foodstuffs to be left in the huge
-storeroom, to satisfy any looters that that was all they had.  If that
-went, they could fall back on bricked-up supplies; if it were let alone,
-so much the better.  But the stores in the cellar had been bricked up in
-six different parts; the place underneath the house was a labyrinth of
-passages and small cellars.  Ian was for destroying the written list
-when they had learnt the geography of the food, and knew the Prussians
-were upon them.  Till then, it might be kept in the chapel; for they
-knew that the Russians, even the most savage of the Cossacks, would
-respect holy ground.  Vanda said nothing, but learnt the contents off by
-heart, going down into the cellars with Zosia and Martin, plan in hand,
-till they all three soon knew where everything was bricked up.  This set
-Minnie to work, for Vanda, who seemed to her childish in far-off days of
-peace, had developed nowadays.  Little by little she, too, learned the
-mystery of the cellars; so another detail, and a most important one, as
-things turned out, was mastered.  In the storeroom were lists of the
-food put there, nailed inside the huge cupboards and headed: "Complete
-List of Foodstuffs in Hand."  This little trick was an idea of Ian's.
-Later on, when it seemed certain they could not escape a visit from
-William's troops, he had the old Tokay unbricked and put in one of the
-open cellars.  Minnie asked him why he was going to give them such good
-wine.
-
-"Because they know it is here," he answered.  "I don't want them to set
-about looking for it.  Some old German professor called once with
-introductions and asked if he might see the cellar-book.  Like an ass, I
-let him.  His essay came out in some German review with extracts from my
-cellar-book."
-
-Meanwhile, all the able-bodied men, except only sons and supporters of
-widows, had been called to the colors.  Before going off, the men
-trooped into the hall, kissed the Countess' hand and had her blessing
-and her promise that neither wife nor child should want so long as Ruvno
-could help them.  And Father Constantine, who had taught them all their
-catechism and their prayers, said a prayer.  And then they marched away,
-singing hymns which have been heard on every battlefield in which Poles
-took part since Christianity came into Poland, and swinging their sturdy
-arms; for so the Russians teach their soldiers to march....
-
-They went down the shady avenue and along the hot, dusty road to the
-depot, five miles off.  And at their head rode Ian and Father
-Constantine, to give them a send-off.  Long after they were out of sight
-the three women could hear their voices, the men singing in unison, and
-the wives or sweethearts, who could keep up with them by running
-alongside, chiming in with their shrill tones; and Minnie thanked God
-that Ian, if he was to die, would die with her in his beloved Ruvno....
-
-And as she watched them disappear into the fields of death and glory a
-great sadness came over her; for she knew that between yesterday and all
-the days to come in her life lay a deep abyss; that life itself would
-never be the same again; that a scale of pleasant illusions had fallen
-from her eyes and she must now face hard, unwelcome facts and live a
-fuller, sterner life than she had ever dreamed of; and the thought that
-the old order had left them all, on this great battlefield, forever,
-made her feel that she had lost somebody very very dear to her; and so
-the tears came into her eyes, though she tried very hard to swallow
-them.
-
-As the voices died in the distance, they heard a long, dull roar.  She
-looked at the Countess, who was fighting her tears, too.
-
-"Heavy guns," she remarked.  "In the Kalisz direction."
-
-Their new life had begun.
-
-
-
-
-                                   V
-
-
-Father Constantine had never much of an opinion about the Kaiser and his
-eldest son.  A couple of years before the war he was obliged to take a
-cure for his old bones in a little town on the Baltic, where the humble
-folk are still Poles and Catholics.  He looked upon the Crown Prince's
-face many times, for the Kaiser had banished him to the little town,
-where he swaggered in his blue and silver uniform, leering at the pretty
-women and sneering at the old ones.  And he noted that those eyes were
-full of evil, though he little dreamed it was God's will to give his
-wicked passions play in Belgium and France.  All the Prussians in that
-town used to cringe to him; but Father Constantine took no notice, so
-that at last a Prussian subaltern, in a gorgeous uniform like his
-master's stopped him in the street and said he would be punished if he
-continued to ignore the Crown Prince when he passed him.  But the old
-man never did salute the Crown Prince, because he knew how he and his
-father persecuted little Polish children, having them flogged for not
-saying their prayers in German, and dragging them from the steps of the
-altar at their first communion, to prison.  He told this to the gaudy
-officer, whose Teutonic blue eyes blazed with rage.  He quite expected
-to be arrested or at least taken back to the Russian frontier by a
-couple of German policemen.  But nothing happened: they left him alone.
-But Father Constantine thought they might meet again, for war brings
-people together in a curious way; and if the Crown Prince should come to
-Ruvno he was ready to tell him what he thought of his evil actions, even
-if he were hanged for it.  Once in his life, at least, said Father
-Constantine, he should hear the truth about himself, for he was always
-surrounded by parasites and sycophants, who praised everything he did.
-
-Father Constantine not only talked about these things but set them in
-his diary; his old head could not keep its thoughts on one thing, even
-on paper, and he found how hard it was to pick out the most important
-things he had seen in two months' war, having learned the habit of
-wandering on in his diary about all kinds of matters.  But he felt
-lonely without it; and hoped, too, that one day he might be the humble
-means of telling the world what happened in a country house in Poland
-during the Great War.  Besides, he argued, when some foreigner realizes
-what Poland bears, he, whether he were French, English or American,
-would understand that Poland, having endured so much, must be saved,
-because it is against the laws of God and man to tear a country into
-three parts and put each under foreign domination, making father fight
-against son, brother against brother.
-
-Ever since Ian and he had left the Ruvno men at the Kutno depot, he had
-heard the ceaseless roar of heavy guns day and night.  By night he saw
-them flash around when walking out by the windmill for a little fresh
-air after leaving the wards.  He saw the come and go of large armies and
-small detachments, of baggage trains, artillery, field hospitals, of war
-accessories whose very names he ignored but which he declared Beelzebub
-alone could have conceived.  The Countess had given rest, shelter and
-food to Cossacks of the Urals, who think horse flesh better than capon,
-and to wild Siberians, who look as shaggy as their little horses and who
-are infidels, but whom no hardships can dishearten.  They slept outside,
-or in the farm stables.  And a pretty mess they made.  Poor Ian used
-strong words when he saw what the first batch had done; but he grew used
-to it.  In the house they had fops of the Imperial Bodyguard, who threw
-away the soft life of Petrograd, a very wicked city, so the priest said,
-to sleep in ditches and eat tinned meat. And they were quite cheerful
-about it, for some came back wounded, and the old priest talked to them.
-It shocked him to rub shoulders with all these Russians at first.  But
-they were friendly and would vow with strange oaths that Poland must
-regain her liberty after the war.  Sometimes he wondered if he would be
-there to see that glorious day, or if Ruvno would be standing by then.
-Even now, poor Ian was half ruined, after only two months of war.  His
-forests, once the pride of Ruvno, had either been cut down for military
-purposes or burned by shell fire.  So far, those near the house were
-spared; but they were not of great value; it broke his heart to see the
-stumps and scorched trunks for versts around, and the priest's, too.  He
-had watched some of these forests being planted, years before Ian was
-born or thought of.  They had been tended with great care and grew into
-the best timber in that part of Poland.  Even the Tsar's forests, which
-began near Ruvno's boundary, were no better.  One morning, an old Jewish
-factor who used to do errands for the house when there was a town they
-could send to, came up--God knows how these Jews got about--and told
-them that the Prussians had cut down two hundred square versts of the
-Tsar's forest land north of Plock and sent the lumber down the Vistula
-into Prussia.  Ian expected they would do the same with his property
-when they had the chance.
-
-The autumn crops, especially potatoes, suffered terribly from the
-movements of so many troops, though Ian had to own that the Grand Duke
-saw that they were spared as much as possible.  But even he could not be
-everywhere at once, nor think of an acre of sugar beet when he wanted to
-drive back the Prussians. Father Constantine dreaded the Cossacks.  He
-saw them at work in 1863, though he had no record of it in his diary,
-because they burned down his home and all it contained in the spring of
-1864. However, these were old doings, and many Russians who passed
-through Ruvno told him they regretted what happened then as deeply as he
-did.  Ian managed to gather in a good deal of the Ruvno grain, but the
-peasants in most of the villages round had not enough potatoes to keep
-body and soul together during the winter.
-
-One afternoon late in September, the priest was in the home-forest
-burying a Polish sapper who had died of wounds the night before.  He had
-just planted the wooden Cross in the sapper's grave when he saw a big,
-dirty Cossack coming towards him.  This man had a reddish beard, his
-shaggy cap and high boots smelt of earth, pitch and a rough life.  He
-had seen many like him and knew the look of a man who has been fighting
-from that of one who is only going to fight. He could not define the
-difference, but it was there, stamped in their faces.  Mud stuck to him,
-though it was not the mud which said this Cossack had come from the
-battle line.  What with dirt and sunburn he was as black as the pieces
-of oak Ian had pulled from the river, where it lay for centuries, to
-make house wainscot of.
-
-"Good-day, priest," he began.  Father Constantine noted that he had the
-good manners to speak Polish.
-
-"Good-day, my son."  His merry eyes belied his savage-looking red beard.
-There was something familiar about him, too.  "I've seen you before; but
-where?"
-
-"Ah--where?" he guffawed, and sat on the grave, thereby smoothing the
-parts that lazy Vitold had left all knobbed.  Father Constantine felt
-for his glasses, remembered that he had left them on the window-sill in
-the sacristy, and peered at the new-comer helplessly. If any man had
-told him three months earlier, that he would be quietly watching a
-Cossack seated on a Catholic's grave and splitting his sides, Father
-Constantine would have called that man a liar.  But war, as he admitted,
-changes even an old man's point of view, especially if he happen to be
-in the thick of it.
-
-"If you have something to laugh at, tell it me," he said, tired of
-seeing the stranger enjoy a joke he knew nothing of.
-
-"Laugh!" he cried.  "Why, I could laugh for a week, just to see Ruvno
-again.  And you not knowing me, after all the wallopings you've given
-me, too."
-
-This made Father Constantine think.  He did thrash a Cossack once, but
-it was in 1863, and this man was young.
-
-"Not in 1863?" he asked doubtfully.
-
-"No--more like '93," and the Cossack laughed again.
-
-"I've only walloped village boys lately.  And we'd no Cossacks in these
-parts before the war."
-
-"How about Ian?" he asked.
-
-"Count Ian, you mean," said the Father with dignity.  He hated these
-democratic ways the Russian soldiers had of saying "thee" and "thou" to
-everybody.
-
-"And Roman Skarbek," he went on, unabashed.
-
-"Skarbek?"
-
-"Don't you remember how you walloped us when we ate up all the cherries
-Aunt Natalie's housekeeper had thrown out of the vodka bottle?  Lord,
-how drunk we were!" and he grinned, being tired of laughing, I suppose.
-
-Then the priest remembered the story and recognized him.  It was Roman
-Skarbek himself, the young man who won a fortune at Monte Carlo but
-could not win Vanda.
-
-"What do you mean, coming here dressed like a savage?" he asked angrily,
-for it annoyed him that the trick had succeeded, all through his having
-left his glasses in the sacristy.  "Don't you know what's due to a Pole
-and a Christian?"
-
-"Aren't Cossacks Christians?" retorted Roman in that pleasant way which
-always made the Father forgive his boyish deviltries sooner that he
-ought.  "Come, Father, be just."
-
-"Well," he admitted, "some of them are.  But why be a Cossack when you
-can help it?"
-
-"Can't help it.  Being a volunteer, they made me a Cossack."
-
-"Before this war I detested the very sight of their tall caps and with
-good reason," said the Father.  "But such is the power of Prussian
-brutality that Poles now fight side by side with wild children of the
-steppes to drive the soldier of the anti-Christ out of our country.
-Where have you been?"
-
-"In Masuria," and Roman told him some of his experiences, adding that he
-had come to Ruvno with Rennenkampf, for a few hours.
-
-"Well, I'm glad you've killed a few Germans.  But you had better cut off
-that red beard before you go to the Countess."
-
-As he got on his feet the priest was glad to see he had finished
-Vitold's work with the sods.  He liked the graves to look neat.
-
-"Aunt won't mind the beard.  Let's go to her."
-
-He whistled to his horse, which was browsing near by, and walked towards
-the house.  He asked about Vanda, whether she was anxious for Joseph,
-how she looked, what she was doing.  The priest answered truthfully,
-though it made him sorry to see the shadow come into Roman's face when
-he realized that she thought still of Joseph with great love.
-
-"And yet, she hates the Prussians, and he is fighting with them, I
-suppose," he remarked, hotly.
-
-The Father, almost as hotly, explained that, as he knew, several
-thousands more Poles were with the Prussian armies, through no fault of
-their own but because they had the bad fortune to be German and Austrian
-subjects.  Roman agreed that many could not cut away from Germany, but
-Joseph had gone back when ordered.
-
-"Like one of the herd all Germans are," he added.
-
-As they passed the windmill, that stood just before you turn into the
-high road on the way to Ruvno from the forest, Szmul, a Jewish factor,
-stopped them.  His cunning eyes shone with excitement.
-
-"Oh, have you heard that great things are happening in Ruvno?" he cried,
-spreading out his hands in the way Jews have and twisting his mouth
-about.
-
-"What things?" asked the priest.  "Have they driven the Prussians out of
-Kalisz?"
-
-"No, the Prussians are still at Kalisz.  But the great General
-Rennenkampf has deigned to come to Ruvno."
-
-"We know that."
-
-He looked disappointed, because he took pride in carrying gossip from
-one village to another.  And the Jews always knew the latest news and
-spread it like wildfire.
-
-"Anything more?" asked Roman.
-
-Szmul made him a deep reverence.  You would have thought this
-dirty-looking man in Cossack uniform was the Grand Duke at least; but
-that was Szmul's way.
-
-"Oh--yes, General," Szmul knew he was only a lieutenant.  "And I'm sure
-neither of you know it."  He threw his arms about, so Father Constantine
-told him they were in a hurry.
-
-"Well, look over there."  He pointed westwards, where the blackened
-stumps of a forest bordered one of Ian's fish-ponds.
-
-"Well, there's nothing new there.  Be quick and tell your news if you
-have any, for we're off to the house."
-
-"Out there, by the fish-pond, they've caught a spy," he said
-importantly.  "He refuses to say who he is. He was caught cutting wires,
-and burning the toes of Jewish children."
-
-"He may have been cutting wires but he wasn't burning Jewish children's
-toes," said Father Constantine sternly.  "The Prussians have sins enough
-on their heads without you inventing more.  You know as well as I do
-that there are no children, Jew or Catholic, within two versts of those
-fish-ponds."
-
-"But," he protested, "they have caught a spy, and if he wasn't roasting
-the toes of Jewish children it's only because he hadn't the chance.  I
-saw him being taken into the big house, and they say His Excellency
-General Rennenkampf is going to shoot him with his own hands to-morrow
-morning.  He'd be shot now, only they hope to find out more about the
-enemy if they keep him a bit."
-
-"Rennenkampf won't shoot him, but I hope to," said Roman as they passed
-on.
-
-He and the priest parted outside the gates, one to vespers, the other to
-seek the Countess and Ian.  Father Constantine excused himself from the
-Countess' table that evening; he preferred to eat in his room when Great
-Russians were in the house.  Besides, he had much to do and knew the
-General liked to sit over his meals.  On his way to the Countess'
-boudoir, which was used as an office in connection with the little
-hospital, he met Roman again.
-
-"That Jew was right, Father," he threw over his shoulder.  "The spy is
-here, and my men are to have the shooting of him to-morrow at daybreak."
-
-Father Constantine had a busy hour with Ian's agent, a surgeon and some
-refugees who came in from a village ten versts off.  All these people
-now walked in and out of the Countess' boudoir, once a sacred spot, as
-if it were a mill.  He and the agent had disposed of the last fugitive
-and he was going up to the wards when a Russian corporal blundered in.
-
-"What do you want in here?" he asked sharply.  It annoyed him to see
-these louts use his patroness' room as a passage.
-
-He said something in Russian; Father Constantine had made a point, all
-his life, not to speak that language, but he understood that an officer
-upstairs had asked for a priest.
-
-"Tell him I'll see him to-morrow."
-
-The man saluted, grinned and said:
-
-"He will be dead to-morrow."
-
-Then the priest remembered the spy they had caught: it was he.  The
-wards would have to wait.  He sent a message up to Vanda and told the
-soldier to take him to the condemned man.
-
-They made their way through the broad passages and landings which were
-blocked with wounded waiting for treatment, and up a winding stair which
-led to the turret.  It was silent as the tomb till they disturbed an owl
-and some rats, and almost as dark. Father Constantine had not been up
-there since Ian was a boy and kept pets which could not stop outside in
-the winter.  He remembered one winter when Roman and Joseph kept a young
-dog fox up there in the hopes of taming it.  But it was never even
-friendly and when the first signs of spring came through the chinks of
-its prison, it gnawed the staple from its chain and made off into the
-fields.  He felt glad that this Prussian prisoner would not get away so
-easily.
-
-Two sentries stood at the top.  They unlocked the door at a sign from
-the corporal and let him into the turret chamber.
-
-It was small and dirty.  A straw mattress lay upon the unswept floor;
-and some broken food.  An old packing-case served as table.  A candle,
-thrust into the neck of an empty champagne bottle, gave a feeble light
-and aft air of sordid debauchery, out of keeping with the place and
-circumstances.  The prisoner sat on one end of the packing-case, his
-back to the door. He was writing the last letter of his life, and so
-intent that he took no notice of their entrance.
-
-The priest dismissed his guide with a nod.  He saluted, went out, and
-shut the door noisily after him: and still the man did not turn round.
-This was all very well, but Father Constantine was wanted below, in the
-wards, where others were under sentence of death, though not at the
-hands of Rennenkampf.
-
-"You asked for a priest," he began in his mother tongue, though he knew
-German, too.
-
-The prisoner rose and faced him.  As the old man looked upon him his
-heart stood still in fear and his knees shook.
-
-"Mother of God!  Joseph Skarbek!" he gasped.
-
-And he must die as a spy!
-
-And his own brother was to shoot him!
-
-These thoughts rushed across his brain.  They stood looking at each
-other, both speechless.  Joseph Skarbek, whom he had taught and scolded
-and loved with Ian and Roman, who was to marry Vanda, had come to Ruvno,
-not to claim his bride, but to spy.  When he found tongue it was for
-reproach.
-
-"How dare you come here like this?" he cried angrily, because great fear
-always made him furious, and he was aghast at the tragedy which had thus
-fallen upon his dear ones.  His next thought was that none of them,
-neither Roman, the Countess, Ian nor Vanda must know this hideous
-secret, up in the turret chamber.  He must find Rennenkampf, tell him
-the tale, plead with him that this prisoner be shot, if die he must, by
-another man's orders, and not Roman's. There was no time to be lost.
-
-"Wait," he said.  "I'll be back soon."
-
-Joseph grasped his arm as he made for the door, and he saw how haggard
-his face was and how wild his eyes.  Calm, self-contained Joseph had
-vanished; he was the incarnation of tragedy.
-
-"For the love of God don't tell them," he muttered huskily.
-
-"I'm not mad."
-
-"Then where are you going?"
-
-"To the chapel--for the Sacred Vessels."
-
-He hastily prayed God to forgive him for using His Vessels to hide the
-truth; but could not tell the boy the real reason for his sudden
-departure.  Outside, he had to explain to the sentries, who said they
-supposed it would be all right, only he must bring a permit if he wanted
-to go into the room again.
-
-It took him some time to find an officer, who said that Rennenkampf had
-left Ruvno half an hour ago.
-
-"But somebody must be in charge," he said, for the place swarmed with
-troops.
-
-"I am," he snapped.  He was a hard-faced, battered-looking man, hated
-the Poles and believed every Catholic priest a Jesuit, bent on his
-neighbor's destruction for the benefit of his Order.  Father Constantine
-stated his case, after he had promised to respect the confidence.  He
-yawned through most of the story; but when he heard that Roman Skarbek
-had been ordered to shoot his own brother, his narrow eyes flashed with
-rage.
-
-"A Pole has no business to fight against us!" he cried.
-
-"Colonel, there are several million Poles in Germany and Austria not
-through any fault of..."
-
-He stamped his feet.
-
-"Don't argue, priest!  I won't have it.  This Polish Count could have
-blown his brains out when they told him to fight us--and spy on us.
-I'll make an example of him.  Eh, God, I will!"
-
-"You gave me your word of honor to respect my secret," said the other,
-looking into the depths of his narrow eyes till he had to drop them.  He
-thought for a moment.
-
-"True," he growled.  "I did give you my honorable word.  But I will not
-cancel General Rennenkampf's order.  This young volunteer will take his
-men out to shoot his traitor brother.  It will be a lesson to him, and
-to all Poles."
-
-And all eloquence was without avail, though Father Constantine pleaded
-earnestly with him.  But war had turned this already hard man into
-adamant.
-
-"No and no, and yet once more no!" he said with a calm that was worse
-than his rage.  He even grumbled at a request for a pass to show the two
-guards; but gave it at last.
-
-As the priest left he met the Countess and she kept him some time.  Then
-he had to go to the chapel.  As he felt his way up the turret stairs,
-determined to stop with Joseph till the end, he heard steps behind.
-Somebody was coming up with an electric torch; he waited, rather than
-bruise his shins in the dark.
-
-"Who's there?"  His heart sank; it was Roman's voice.
-
-"Go back!" he ordered.  "I forbid you to come up here."
-
-But he came up, put his arm around the old man and helped him up the
-stairs.  "I know all," he said.
-
-"All about what?"--this hoping against hope that Roman meant something
-else.
-
-"About Joe, up in there."
-
-"That narrow-eyed Muscovite told you.  I suppose he scrupled not to
-break word to a priest."
-
-The only thing left was to try and comfort these poor brothers.  Whilst
-in the chapel, he had nursed hopes of saving Roman from the agony of
-seeing Joseph die.  Now, all was lost; his brain was in a whirl and he
-felt, for the hundredth time since August, that old age is a terrible
-thing when you want to help the young and strong.
-
-Roman went into the turret chamber first.  He did not rush to his
-brother and weep; what he said was:
-
-"You're writing to Her."
-
-Joseph looked up at the familiar voice.
-
-"Roman!" was all he said; but his haggard face flushed from ear to ear.
-
-"Yes."  He touched his Cossack's clothes.  "I am on the other side."
-And it seemed to the priest that this impulsive and turbulent young man
-had put Poland's greatest sorrow into those few simple words--brother
-fighting against brother, flesh against flesh, not of free will, but
-because a wicked old cynic called Frederick and an ambitious German
-wanton who usurped the Russian throne divided Poland between them more
-than a century ago.
-
-"On the other side," repeated Joseph bitterly.  He, too, was suffering.
-
-"Do you know what this is?" he asked, showing them a square of dirty
-white doth sewn on to the front of his tunic.
-
-"No."
-
-"The Prussian way of branding Polish conscripts. Easier to shoot us if
-we try to desert."
-
-"Such is the way of Prussians," said Father Constantine.  They stood
-there looking at one another as though they were three strangers at a
-loss for something to say.  Father Constantine put the Sacred Vessels on
-the floor and waited.  Joseph, he reflected, had all night in which to
-make his peace with God, Who understands these tribulations, and why
-they are laid upon us.  As for himself, he felt very old and of small
-account by the side of these stalwart boys, each worth ten of a worn-out
-priest too infirm to fight, and fit only to watch the young and the
-stalwart die before their time.  Joseph spoke first; his thoughts still
-ran upon Vanda.
-
-"You'll be able to marry her now," he remarked hoarsely.  "Make her
-happy."
-
-"I'll do my best," said Roman.
-
-At the time Father Constantine knew not what he meant, for years dull
-the mind as well as the eye.  He looked so peaceful despite the
-overhanging sorrow, that he began to wonder if the boy thought the prize
-of winning Vanda was worth all this.
-
-Joseph took up his sheet of paper and tried to dry the ink at the candle
-flame.  The priest noticed there was a fresh wound on his wrist.
-
-"Let me see your hand," he said.
-
-"It doesn't matter--now."  He smiled nervously. Then: "Do _they_ know
-I'm here?"
-
-"No," answered Roman.  "They must never know."
-
-"Never."  Another pause: the candle scorched his raw wound, and he
-muttered something.
-
-"How did you know?" he asked Roman.
-
-"Never mind how."  He went near his brother, much reproach in his voice.
-"Oh, why did you do it, Joe?  What in the world induced you to put on
-this?"  He tugged angrily at the Prussian uniform.
-
-"Because there, in Germany, we were a herd ... and I little thought what
-this war was going to be."  Then he turned to the priest, lowering his
-voice.  "And I know, too, in the bottom of my heart, that I went with
-the herd because it seemed better to die fighting than to be shot for
-not going on.  Oh, the misery of it all!"
-
-"My child, God is merciful."
-
-"I have explained what I could, as clearly as I can, here," he went on,
-more quietly.  "To Vanda."
-
-"But explain it now, to me," his brother insisted.
-
-Joseph sighed.  "It is too long and too late.  See that she gets this
-without knowing I have been here."  He swallowed a lump in his throat
-and went on: "I did what I thought best."  He looked round the little
-room, and his voice broke.  "To spend my last night here, a prisoner, in
-Ian's house, so near her and yet so..."  His voice refused to come.
-
-Roman was pacing the floor in that impatient way he had.  Suddenly he
-stopped, and said with decision:
-
-"There's not a moment to lose!"
-
-"I have the night before me," remarked Joseph, looking first at the
-Sacred Vessels, then at the priest "We must wait till midnight, in any
-case."
-
-"I don't mean that," said Roman.  "You must escape."  He had lowered his
-voice: they talked in whispers now.  Joseph's eyes were alight with
-sudden hope.
-
-"Yes, but how?" asked Father Constantine.
-
-"We change clothes," answered Roman, and he began to undress.  "You and
-the Father leave the room together, Joe dressed in my things.  In the
-dark the men won't know it isn't me.  Go down to the chapel together."
-He handed his high Russian boots to Joseph, who was taking off his own,
-somewhat reluctantly.
-
-"Well, but how about you?" he objected.
-
-"Never mind me.  Father Constantine will hide you in the chapel."
-
-"I know of a place where nobody will think to look for him," said the
-priest.
-
-"But what are you going to do?" asked Joseph, still at his first boot.
-
-"Wait till the men outside have fallen asleep.  Then I take off that
-Prussian uniform you've got on and sneak past them.  I know every corner
-of this place, which they don't."
-
-Joseph was not satisfied.  "You'll be locked in," he objected.  Roman
-pulled out some nippers.
-
-"I've got these.  The lock is old.  So hurry up, or we'll have the men
-in, wondering why Father Constantine is still here.  I wouldn't plan
-this if it wasn't safe."
-
-Joseph obeyed.
-
-"How long am I to keep him in the chapel?" asked the priest.
-
-"Till the rest of the Russians leave.  We're off at dawn to-morrow.  Ian
-can keep him quiet in one of the cellars for a day or two till the spy
-affair blows over, then you must go and fight for us.  Promise?"
-
-"I promise," answered Joseph.  Roman did not seem satisfied.
-
-"Swear it," he insisted, holding up his fingers.
-
-Joseph swore; then they embraced, in the Polish way.
-
-"That's right," said Roman, smiling and happy again.  "I thought we'd
-find some way out of this muddle."  He glanced at Father Constantine.
-It took some time to persuade Joseph that Roman would get out all right.
-Indeed, the priest, too, had fears about it; guards, he said, sleep with
-their eyes open.  But Roman was so enthusiastic and hopeful, so
-thoroughly master of the situation that he inspired the others with his
-optimism.  Besides, the priest knew he was thinking of to-morrow
-morning; and the power of the secret they shared overcame his
-objections.
-
-They changed clothes at last, Joseph putting the Cossack's cap well over
-his eyes.  Then they embraced again.  Joseph began to talk of gratitude;
-but Roman cut him short.
-
-"I'll see you soon, I hope.  Meanwhile, marry Vanda and fight for us."
-
-"I will.  Oh, Roman, you're heaping coals of fire on my head."
-
-"Fiddlesticks!  Now, be off, and show a brazen face."
-
-Roman had put on the Prussian clothes far quicker than Joseph had taken
-them off, and before the others left, threw himself on the straw
-mattress, his back to the door.  The brothers were much the same height
-and build, and Roman had shaved his red beard before sitting down to
-supper with the Countess and Rennenkampf that night.  His face was
-darker than Joseph's, though he had washed; but the light was so bad and
-the guards so indifferent and unsuspecting that Father Constantine felt
-almost easy in his mind when a sentry looked in as he let them out.
-
-"He's got his passport," he remarked, nodding towards the mattress.
-"German swine."
-
-He saluted Joseph, who strode downstairs, clanking his spurs and
-carrying himself as straight as you please. In one of the corridors they
-passed a cornet, who called out to him; but he strode on, muttering
-something between his teeth.  Father Constantine noticed that the
-subaltern was going up to the turret.  After his visit the sentries
-would probably doze.  Roman knew what he was doing, anyway.
-
-It was nearly three when, at last, the priest threw himself into a chair
-in the sacristy.  He could not leave the chapel precincts while Joseph
-lay hiding there.  Not that he hoped to be any good, supposing that the
-Russians took it into their heads to look there for their quarry; but he
-felt he would be in a fever of apprehension if he went to his rooms.
-With some trouble and many precautions he had managed to hide Joseph
-under the altar of a side chapel, dedicated to the Mother of God of
-Czenstochova.  The altar was there temporarily, the Countess having
-ordered a marble one last time she was in Rome; the war had stopped its
-arrival, and only the other day she had said how sorry she was not to
-get it sooner.  And now, it looked as if the wooden altar was to save
-Joseph's life.  Its back was hollow, and there he hid.
-
-The priest could not sleep, tired though he felt. His mind was full of
-trouble.  Suddenly, he remembered that the narrow-eyed Muscovite knew
-the story of Joseph's arrest and would suspect him when he heard of the
-escape, would search the chapel.  But then he comforted himself with the
-thought that even _he_ would not order his men to pull out an altar.  He
-was not a Prussian.  After that, he began to worry about Roman.  How
-could he get past those guards? The more he thought about it the clearer
-it seemed that he had run his head into certain danger.  Not only would
-he be caught, but all his dear ones would be dragged into the trouble;
-that Muscovite would punish every inmate of Ruvno in his rage.  Such
-were his thoughts as night gradually left the sacristy.
-
-At last he fell into a troubled doze.  He was awakened by the sound of
-musket shots coming through the open window.  With vague fears he
-hurried into the garden.  A young subaltern was enjoying the last of the
-Countess' roses; all was quiet.
-
-"Reminds me of Monte Carlo," he remarked.
-
-"What were those shots?"
-
-He turned his head towards a tall pine, where smoke, blue in the air,
-still lingered.
-
-"Only a German."  He plucked a large red rose, heavy with dew, saluted
-and walked off, whistling.
-
-With shaking knees the old man staggered to the stretch of sward upon
-which Prince Mniszek killed Ian's father, years ago.  Under the pine lay
-a huddled form.  Somebody had thrown a blanket over it.  He drew it
-aside and knelt before the body.  The film of death had covered his
-eyes.  His wounds were horrible.  But it was Roman, dressed in the
-Prussian uniform, the one white patch of cloth stained with blood....
-
-Had he been caught?  Did he, when he sent Joseph down, know that this
-was the only way to save him? Or did the thought of Vanda's happiness
-urge his sacrifice?  The priest remembered his anxiety that Joseph
-should promise to fight against Prussia, his insistence for a solemn
-oath.  Did he think that, since one of them must die, better he, rather
-than the man Vanda loved?  Who shall look into his heart, one of the
-bravest and truest that ever beat?  Father Constantine puzzled his
-brains many times, but found no answer. And he could not ask anybody to
-help, because he alone knew that Roman Skarbek, and no Prussian spy, lay
-under the pine tree in the rose garden.
-
-He never even found that subaltern, who must have gone off while he was
-weeping over Roman's remains. A couple of soldiers came up to take them
-away.  He could not bear the thought of their burying him in a ditch,
-wanted him to lie amongst the trees and the other soldiers, where he had
-been the day before, laughing and joyous because he found Ruvno safe in
-the midst of the storm.
-
-"Leave him to me.  He was a Catholic," he pleaded. They looked at each
-other.
-
-"We've orders to bury him."
-
-"Then take him over there," he pointed to the home forest.
-
-"Too far," said one.  "We're off this minute."
-
-As they dug a hasty grave for him he went for Holy Water, and gave him
-Christian burial.  And much later, when he could control his face, he
-told the Countess that the German who had been shot in the Garden was a
-Catholic; so they put up one of the wooden Crosses such as you can see
-by the thousand in Poland to-day.  And when there was nobody about he
-used to pray for his soul.  And sometimes, in the very early morning, he
-would take the portable altar out there, and say a Mass for Roman
-Skarbek.
-
-And because the burden of his secret was worse than his heart could
-bear, he sat up all night when the household thought him asleep and set
-it down in his diary.
-
-
-
-
-                                   VI
-
-
-Ian, on waking that morning, found that all the Cossacks had left.  He
-went in to breakfast, feeling a little hurt with his cousin, Roman.  He
-might at least have shouted a farewell through the window.
-
-"Has anybody seen Roman this morning?" he asked the rest of the family
-as they met for the morning meal.
-
-"He came in last night for a moment, after supper," said the Countess.
-"But I was going to the wards and we did not talk.  He said some officer
-had sent for him."
-
-"He was going to shoot a spy at daybreak," said Minnie.  Vanda was
-silent.  She had not seen him at all, had kept away from the
-supper-table, on purpose to avoid him.
-
-At that moment Father Constantine came in.  His face was ashen gray and
-distorted with emotion.
-
-"What's the matter?" they all asked.
-
-"Nothing.  That is..."  He could not speak.  Ian made him sit down and
-went to a sideboard for brandy, which he waved aside.
-
-"Joseph Skarbek is here," he stammered.
-
-"Roman, you mean?" suggested Ian.
-
-He shook his head and said with sudden vigor:
-
-"No--not Roman.  He..."  Then, with another effort, painful to see, he
-added: "Roman went away this morning."
-
-They thought he was going to faint.  Ian loosened his neckband, the
-Countess dipped her napkin in water and dabbed his wrinkled face; Vanda
-made him drink something.  Minnie stood near, watching and listening.
-He had enough people taking care of him; besides, it took all her time
-to follow what was said. They talked Polish; a habit of theirs whenever
-they got excited or related thrilling experiences, so that she had to
-concentrate all her energies upon listening to them.  They were pained
-and puzzled over Father Constantine, speculating as to what had happened
-to upset him like this.
-
-"He is overworked," was Vanda's verdict, "I'm sure he's not been to bed
-last night.  Look how rumpled he is."
-
-He lay back in the chair, his eyes closed, his thin hands, puckered with
-age and none too clean, closing and unclosing on the chair arms.
-
-"Worn out," said Ian, whilst his mother watched her faithful chaplain
-with deep concern.  "I'll take him into my room.  It's quiet there."  He
-proceeded to do this; but the patient suddenly sat upright and said
-peremptorily:
-
-"Leave me alone!"
-
-"But you must rest," explained the Countess, soothingly.
-
-"Nonsense....  I was never better in my life."  They exchanged glances;
-the poor old man was out of his mind; never, in all the years he had
-been at Ruvno, had he spoken to her like that.  Before they had
-recovered from their astonishment he got up and walked across the room,
-tottering a little, but more sure of his step every minute.  They
-watched him in silence and Ian, at least, stood spellbound.  This little
-old man, with his creased alpaca soutane, muddy shoes and unshaven chin,
-dominated the room.
-
-He reached the door, which was a long way off, just as one of the
-servants came in with coffee.
-
-"Give me that!  And go away!" he ordered, taking the tray from its
-astounded bearer.
-
-"Do as the Father says," said Ian, hurrying to take the heavy tray.
-
-"Be off with you, quick!" repeated Father Constantine. The man obeyed,
-filled with curiosity.  He locked the door, and turned to Vanda,
-whispering angrily:
-
-"I tell you, Joseph Skarbek is in the chapel."
-
-"Yes, yes," she agreed soothingly.  Her tone only irritated him the
-more.  He stamped his foot.
-
-"Not yes, yes--but give me something to eat for him.  He's starving."
-
-"But where is he?"
-
-"In the chapel.  Behind the altar of the Mother of God of Czestochova."
-
-"Hiding?"  She was white as a sheet
-
-"Of course."  He drew them in a circle, and went on, very low: "Listen.
-Yesterday, the Russians took him prisoner."
-
-"And he escaped?" asked Vanda.
-
-"Rennenkampf said he must be shot...."
-
-"What for?" she faltered.
-
-"Mother of God, how should I know?  Don't keep on interrupting."  He
-looked apprehensively at the door, motioned to them to move further away
-from it and the windows, and went on: now, he spoke French, not for
-Minnie's benefit, but for secrecy.
-
-"They were to shoot him this morning----"
-
-Minnie, still watchful, saw Ian put his arm round Vanda, who looked
-ready to faint; she felt a pang of resentment.  How dare he, seeing
-Vanda was betrothed to Joseph!  He said something encouraging to her,
-but Minnie could not make out what it was.
-
-"Last night," continued the priest, "a soldier came for me to see a
-prisoner.  He takes me up to the turret.  Imagine my horror, Countess,
-when I saw it was Joseph."
-
-"Oh--but he's safe?" sobbed Vanda.
-
-"Yes.  He's safe."
-
-"But how?" asked Minnie.
-
-"Whilst I was talking to him in the turret, in comes Roman."
-
-"Roman?" they echoed.
-
-"Yes."  He eyed Vanda.  "Roman is the best man who ever lived.  He--he
-helped Joseph escape."  He stopped, brushed away some tears with the
-back of his hand, and sighed.
-
-"But where is Roman now?" asked the Countess anxiously.
-
-"With his Master."
-
-"With the General?" Ian asked.
-
-Father Constantine nodded, blew his nose with vigor, put his
-handkerchief away and went on more calmly:
-
-"Roman planned it all.  He changed clothes with Joseph, who passed the
-door with me.  We reached the chapel without seeing anybody but a young
-subaltern who ... who saluted him.  I put him behind the altar in the
-chapel of the Mother of God of Czestochova.  Roman said he must stop
-there till the General and all his soldiers leave Ruvno.  Then, Joseph
-must volunteer for our side.  That is what Roman said."
-
-"They've all left!" said Vanda, breaking from Ian and going over to the
-sideboard, where she hastily piled food upon a plate, smiling and crying
-in turns and taking no further interest in what the priest said. The
-others were more interested in Roman.
-
-"But how did Roman get out of the turret?" Ian asked.  "Where is he?"
-
-"I told you.  With the General."
-
-"You're sure?" insisted the Countess, anxiously.
-
-"Quite.  He picked the lock when the guards went to sleep."  He turned
-to Ian.  "You remember that lock, how weak it was?"
-
-"But how did he get past the guards?" asked Ian, to whom Roman's
-non-arrival of the evening before was explained.
-
-"I don't know.  But he managed it.  He is not a child."  Father
-Constantine spoke peevishly.
-
-"You've seen him since?" asked the Countess.
-
-"Yes, Countess, I've seen him since."
-
-"After he was free?"
-
-"As free as air."  He leaned against the paneled wall and put his hand
-to his head.  "I am very tired ... had no sleep ... and no food....  I
-am getting old."
-
-"You must come and rest now."  Ian put his arm round the stooping
-shoulders.  The old man made no further resistance.  He was dead-beat.
-
-"But you must help me give him this," said Vanda, holding up her plate
-of food.  Her face was radiant. Joseph was safe, above all he would
-never fight with Prussia again.
-
-"Let Father take a mouthful first," said her aunt reprovingly.  "Can't
-you see his condition?"
-
-Vanda's heart smote her; she blushed and took some food to the priest,
-who, however, could eat but little.  All he needed was rest.
-
-"The shock," he explained, seeing their anxious faces.  "Joseph Skarbek
-... up there..."
-
-They would not let him go back to the chapel, but Ian and Vanda, with
-infinite precaution, took the food to Joseph.  Meanwhile, Minnie went to
-see the turret chamber, which she knew only from the outside.  The dark
-stairway was littered with rubbish left by the soldiers.  The chamber
-door stood open, as if the guards had rushed out of it in vain pursuit
-of their prisoner.  She went in.
-
-There were some dirty plates, and a straw pallet. Her eyes searched the
-door and the blood rushed to her face.  The lock was intact!  She
-examined it. Far from being old and weak, it was quite strong; indeed,
-it had been put on when Rennenkampf sent Joseph up to await his death.
-Roman had not escaped that way: she was certain of it, the old priest
-had hidden the truth.  She turned to the window, which was only a slit
-in the wall, protected by a grating of iron bars.  They, too, were firm
-and strong in the stone work.  She looked out and saw a sheer drop of
-eighty feet, into the moat below.  There was nothing Roman could have
-held, even supposing he had accomplished the impossible and squeezed
-himself between those bars.
-
-She thought it out rapidly.  The others, including Ian, would be curious
-to see Joseph Skarbek's prison; he would probably come up here himself.
-As she failed to see how Roman had escaped, since there was no other
-exit, not even a chimney, she supposed that they, too, would be as
-puzzled.  The priest, she felt sure, knew exactly what had happened; but
-he was not going to tell.  Why should she betray his secret?
-
-She went down to Martin, the old butler, and borrowed some tools he kept
-in his pantry, then sneaked up again and took off the lock and bolt.
-The bolt was rusty enough and looked as old as the room itself; but it
-gave some trouble and she chipped her hands. No prisoner could have
-taken them off the door without waking the guards, because the bolt was
-on the outside.  She only realized this when she had half finished, for
-her nerves were upset.  Then she put the bolt on again and threw the
-lock on to the pallet.
-
-On her way back she saw the Countess, Vanda and Ian on the large
-staircase.  They said they were off to see how Roman had escaped, and
-would she go, too.  The tools were under her white nursing apron, and
-she was in no mood to discuss Joseph's adventure, so she muttered an
-excuse and went to her room.
-
-Why had she connived at keeping Father Constantine's secret? she asked
-herself.  Did she want to spare all the family the pain of knowing that
-the door had been opened from the outside, or only Ian? What had Vanda
-to do with her impulsive action? During that morning, whilst working in
-the wards, she searched her heart and found the answer.  She had been
-jealous of Vanda for some time past.  She felt, without knowing why,
-that Ian's coldness to herself was connected in some way with Vanda's
-presence in the house.  He had never been the same since that day when
-the Jew brought news of the Kalisz atrocities and she had refused to go
-home. Where was Vanda to blame?  Ian apparently had no more to say to
-his cousin than to his visitor; and yet, she did blame the girl.  The
-sooner she married her precious Joseph and went away, the better.
-Perhaps she would stop on at Ruvno, since Joseph, it appeared, was to
-fight; but she would be married, and that would make a difference.
-
-Thus she explained to herself the lock-picking of the morning; told
-herself _she_ would have refused to have anything more to do with Joseph
-under the circumstances.  First, he fights for Prussia: then he risks
-his brother's life, gives his brother's life, to save his own skin.  And
-now as Vanda did not know that Roman had given his life in exchange,
-offered it for her happiness, she would marry Joseph.  And that is what
-Minnie wanted her to do, with as little delay as possible.
-
-Ian, too, examined the door, and the lock that Roman, so he thought, had
-picked and put on the dirty pallet.  His mother asked what he made of
-the business.
-
-"Roman is worth a thousand Josephs," he answered hotly.  "Think of the
-risk!  If the soldiers had shot the bolt, he would have been lost."
-
-"But he saved Joseph so that he might fight for the right side," put in
-Vanda.
-
-Their eyes met.  He had his own thoughts on the matter, and his face was
-stern.  Instead of speaking, he went out of the room.
-
-He felt irritable.  Though work waited him below he made for the old
-priest's room; he wanted to hear how Roman had persuaded his brother to
-accept the exchange.  His contempt for Joseph grew at every step.  How
-was he to know the trick would succeed? Yes: Joseph had left his brother
-in a trap, from which he escaped by the skin of his teeth, because the
-guards were too lazy to shoot the bolt.  And Roman had done it for
-Vanda's sake.  He believed love meant sacrifice and lived up to his
-belief.  How _could_ Vanda care for Joseph?  Ian was disappointed in
-her, thought she had a juster sense of values.  How blind love made
-women!
-
-Father Constantine was asleep, and he had no opportunity that day of
-talking about the adventure with him.  And later on, even, Father
-Constantine was very reticent about the scene in the turret chamber.
-When questioned about it, he would shut his bright, bird-like eyes, fold
-his thin hands together and say, in a voice shaking with emotion:
-
-"It was the most terrible evening of my life.  Let us not talk of it."
-
-"Roman will tell me," said Ian, loth to disturb the old chaplain any
-more.  "He may be here any day."
-
-But it was some time before any Cossacks stopped at Ruvno, and when the
-first contingent rested there for a few hours, they told Ian they knew
-nothing of Roman's regiment, but thought it was fighting in Galicia.
-
-But Joseph's escape caused changes in the family, all the same.
-
-
-
-
-                                  VII
-
-
-The Ruvno family had finished supper.  There were no servants in the
-room.  Father Constantine was in bed, worn out with the excitement of
-the night before; and Joseph was still lying low.  Martin, the old
-butler, waited on him; none of the other servants knew he was in the
-house.  All they heard was that a Cossack officer who wished to be quiet
-had been given the blue guest-room.  He had a nasty wound in his hand;
-but Father Constantine, who was something of a surgeon, said he could
-treat it without calling in the Russian Red Cross doctor who looked
-after the wounded.  So the four, the Countess, Ian, Vanda and Minnie,
-were all alone in the room.
-
-Ian had been unusually taciturn during the simple evening meal which
-replaced the elaborate dinners of peaceful days, and after several
-attempts to make him talk the others let him alone.  Somebody had
-brought a batch of papers from Warsaw and he seemed to be absorbed in
-them.  Minnie, whose intentions were good, though unfortunate, began the
-trouble by saying she supposed there would be a wedding soon.
-
-Ian looked up at once.  He had been listening all the time.  Minnie
-scented trouble, because of a gleam in his eyes, and was sorry she had
-spoken.  But it was too late now.
-
-"Whose wedding?" he asked.
-
-"Why, mine, of course," put in Vanda.
-
-He thrust aside the paper and took a cigarette from a large box at his
-mother's elbow, set it alight and began to walk up and down the large
-room.  He remained in shadow for several seconds; there was no electric
-light in Ruvno and they were obliged to economize in oil in these
-difficult times.  He passed and repassed under the one lamp and they
-noticed that each time he emerged out of the shadows he looked graver,
-more determined to perform some unpleasant task.  Vanda had grown as
-pale as when the priest told her Joseph was sentenced to death. Minnie,
-ever watchful, thought she had changed greatly of late; she used to
-think her commonplace and dull; but not now.  She, too, followed Ian
-with her eyes.
-
-At last he spoke.  And there was all the authority of the head of the
-house in look, tone and manner.
-
-"Vanda, you cannot marry him, now."
-
-"Why?"
-
-He stopped before her, the table between them, the light shining on his
-large, well-shaped head.  He was calm, his voice low; yet great emotion
-lay beneath.
-
-"Why did Rennenkampf sentence him to death?"
-
-You could have heard a pin drop in that vast room. All knew the answer,
-but none had the courage to give it, least of all Vanda, white to the
-lips, shaking with nervous excitement.
-
-"Think of it," said Ian, almost in a whisper.  "And on Ruvno soil."
-
-Quivering in every nerve, she sprang to her feet, her face transformed
-by passion, indignation, a desire to defend her absent lover.
-
-"It is false!" she whispered hoarsely.  "I swear it is false!  He never
-came to spy!  He came because they were near; he wanted to see me.  His
-regiment was ordered to France.  He could not bear to leave without
-seeing me, without explaining.  He meant to wait by the lake till
-nightfall, then creep nearer.  But some Jews saw him and told a company
-of sappers, who caught him.  How could he tell why he was there, how
-could he get us in ill report with Rennenkampf?  Oh! it is so plain I
-wonder you haven't all guessed it long ago.  And if you don't believe me
-go and ask him."
-
-"I believe you believe that," he admitted.  "But others won't."
-
-She turned to her aunt, asking for championship. The Countess caressed
-her, but her hazel eyes were firm as Ian's.
-
-"Joseph must clear himself," she said.
-
-"But he has!"
-
-"To you ... but not to those who know he went back to fight for
-Germany."
-
-Vanda urged no more, but sat down again, her elbows on the white cloth,
-the picture of dejection.  In England, grown-up sons and daughters do
-much as they please.  But here, things were different.  Even Minnie knew
-that Vanda would not marry against Ian's will, because he was the head
-of her family and the family has an overwhelming moral power in Poland.
-Each family, whether that of a prince or a peasant, is a little
-community in itself, with laws and traditions which no member can break
-without incurring the opposition and anger of the whole.  This spirit of
-family discipline, which has largely disappeared in politically free
-countries, is, if anything, stronger amongst the Poles since they lost
-their political freedom, more than a century ago.  The reason is simple.
-Each family is a little unit of social and political resistance, which
-for generations has been fighting for religion, language and national
-customs ... and in unity is strength.
-
-Minnie sat quiet as a mouse.  They had forgotten her.  A servant came to
-clear the table, handed tea, and disappeared.
-
-Ian sat down again, between Vanda and his mother. Minnie had moved to a
-shadowy end of the long table.  None of them gave her a thought from the
-moment she mooted Vanda's marriage till the end of their discussion.
-She had started it; but there her part ended.  They were all three under
-the big lamp, and every line, every change of expression showed clearly.
-She kept eyes and ears open.
-
-Ian lighted another cigarette.  He was nervous; drank some tea and began
-playing with his spoon, squeezing the slice of lemon left at the bottom
-of the cup.
-
-As he glanced up at the clock there was a pained look in his face.
-Honor told Minnie she ought to leave the room.  But curiosity held her.
-This love affair of another woman was partly hers as well.
-
-"I want to see him before he goes to sleep," Vanda said.  "Have you
-anything to say?"
-
-He pulled himself together and began:
-
-"When Joseph obeyed that call to go home I approved.  I even warned
-Roman against the possible consequences of disobedience."
-
-"Well?"
-
-"That was before I knew what this war meant, before Kalisz, Liege,
-Louvain."
-
-"Joseph loathes all those atrocities as much as any of us..." she broke
-in.
-
-"Yes.  That is a double reason why he ought never to have gone on
-wearing a Prussian uniform."
-
-"The German soldiers don't know what really happens----" she began, then
-stopped, knowing the argument would not hold.  Joseph was no ignorant
-peasant.
-
-"I understand his confusion of mind in the beginning," pursued Ian.  "We
-all had it.  But afterwards----"
-
-"He would have been shot," she cried.  "It's all very well to talk like
-that when we're in Ruvno.  But when your superior officer gives an
-order, and you disobey, what happens?  We're not all heroes, ready to
-die for an idea in cold blood.  Battle is different."
-
-"But we must all try to be honest--with ourselves," he said, and with
-sincerity; for he found honesty hard that night.
-
-Her bright eyes challenged him and she opened her lips to speak; but he
-silenced her with a gesture.
-
-"He disapproved the Prussians.  Yet he stopped with them."
-
-"He has left them," she retorted.
-
-"Yes.  But before he can be honest with himself, or with the family, he
-must work out the promise he made when Roman helped him to escape."
-
-"The Russians have not been any too good to us in the past," she
-objected.
-
-"You know it is not a question of Russian, but of right.  He can go to
-France.  But I'll have nobody in my family who ends his fighting record
-in a Prussian uniform."
-
-Vanda sprang up and faced him.
-
-"You talk a lot about honesty to-night," she cried scornfully.  "And now
-I'll begin.  I would not say one word against this decision if I thought
-you were honest, too.  I hated to think of Joseph with the Prussians as
-much as anybody.  But that is not the honest reason why you won't let
-Father Constantine marry us to-morrow, here in Ruvno.  _That_ is only a
-pretext."
-
-"Vanda!" protested the Countess.
-
-"A pretext," she repeated firmly.  "Look at him! Look how nervous and
-insincere he has been all the evening!  Do you know why, Aunt Natalie?
-I will tell you.  Because he is the dog in the manger."
-
-"Vanda!" repeated her horrified aunt.
-
-None of them had thought the girl capable of such words.  For a moment
-she looked the incarnation of passion.
-
-"Let him deny it!" she retorted.
-
-He looked up, his face flushed; but he was less nervous than a few
-minutes earlier.
-
-She turned to her aunt.
-
-"You see," she said.  "He says nothing.  He can't deny it."
-
-"I don't wish to," he said quietly.
-
-Minnie knew she ought to have tiptoed from the room.  But the scene held
-her.  It was not the novelty of seeing Vanda in a rage, nor the novelty
-of hearing Ian's avowal of love.  It was because she felt her own
-sentence lay in their hot words.
-
-"I don't understand," said the Countess, much troubled.  "Surely you can
-deny your lack of honesty?"
-
-"Yes, I can deny that."
-
-There was a pause.  Then he went on: "Just now I asked myself if I was
-being entirely honest"--he looked at Vanda--"with you.  All day I have
-been asking myself, I was afraid I could not be.  But after searching
-myself I think that, whatever my feelings about you--you personally----"
-
-He stopped.  There was no mistaking the nature of his feelings towards
-her.  They were written on his face, shone from his eyes.
-
-"I--I have been honest in this," he concluded.
-
-"We are seldom honest with ourselves," she put in.
-
-"I have tried to be.  I believe I have succeeded. And Vanda, on my
-honor, I believe that, even if I--even had I never given you more than a
-cousinly thought since--since it was too late, I'd be against your
-marrying Joseph till he has redeemed his promise to fight on the right
-side."
-
-She leaned towards him, forgetful even of her aunt now, full of thoughts
-for Joseph, of him alone.
-
-"Do you know," she said in low, passionate tones, "that there were
-years, yes, long years, when I loved you, would have died for you; would
-have followed you barefooted to Siberia rather than be parted from you?
-And you took no more account of me than of this table.  What was I?  The
-little orphan cousin. A bit of furniture in your house.  Nothing more."
-
-"Vanda!  How unjust!" cried his mother.
-
-She took no notice; I don't think she heard.
-
-"You talk about honesty," she went on.  "Take it; bare, ugly truth that
-few people can tell one another with impunity.  Whilst I was giving you
-every thought, you guessed my devotion, accepted it, put it on a mental
-shelf to leave or to take down and use, according to how life worked out
-for you...."
-
-"Oh--what injustice!" said his mother again.  This time she heard the
-reproach; all she said was:
-
-"Let me speak, Auntie."  Then, to him: "Yes, as things suited you ...
-you looked on my devotion, my foolish, dumb devotion, as something to
-fall back upon, if, when the time came for you to marry, you found
-nobody you liked better.  Oh--I knew you so well....  And through you, I
-know men.  I have not watched your face all these years, day by day,
-meal by meal across this table, in vain.  Here, in Ruvno, buried in the
-country, I have studied life, in your face, through your words, through
-the change which has come over you when you knew that both Joseph and
-Roman wanted me."
-
-"But why bring----" began his mother.  Vanda silenced her.
-
-"Because we are out for honesty."  Then to him: "Why do you come to me
-now, when I have learned to forget you, to look at you with
-indifference, killed the love I had for you after many silent struggles?
-Why do you try to make Joseph so honest to himself when I want him more
-than anything else in the world?  Why do you step in now?"
-
-Her voice broke; she stopped.  As for Ian, the scales had at length
-fallen from his eyes; he saw his past folly clearly enough; and it was
-too late.  In her "now" lay much meaning.
-
-"You're unjust.  I'm not so mean as you think ... or so selfish," he
-said gently.
-
-She wiped her eyes, damp with unshed tears, but said no more.  It seemed
-that her passion had worn itself out in those burning words she flung at
-him a moment before.  Once again she was the quiet, unobtrusive Vanda,
-who did many things for other people's comfort and did not always get
-appreciation.
-
-He took up an illustrated paper, turned over its pages without seeing
-them, furtively glanced at his mother, who gave him a look of deep
-sympathy, then left the room.
-
-He did not blame her for this outburst; bore her no bitterness.  The
-indictment belonged to him and he admitted it.  But in a way it soothed
-him to think that she had cared for him once.  And it had taken him all
-this time, all the events of the past few weeks, to teach him what love
-meant, that passion he had almost dreaded, never cultivated, because he
-liked a quiet even life, free from emotion.  When her hot words fell on
-his ears they opened up visions to which he had been blind so long.
-Yes; he cared no longer to deceive himself.  He did love her; not as
-Roman loved women, but in his own way, shyly, hesitatingly, with
-affection of slow growth that had taken deep root.  At last he was
-honest with himself, admitted the fullness of his folly.  It maddened
-him to think that all the time, whilst he let things drift because he
-was too comfortable to plunge into the depths of emotion yet untasted;
-whilst he, in his blindness, let chances drift by, enjoying to the full
-that pleasant, uneventful life which had been swept away in war's
-hurricane forever, whilst he could have given her all the comforts and
-joys of his wealth; whilst he, ignorant of his own heart, not heartless
-as she said, but selfish, procrastinating, basked in the sunshine of
-peace and security--all that time her proud bruised heart had fought
-against the love he held of no account but longed for now with an
-intensity which left him sore, wondering, almost indignant at his new
-capacity for passion.
-
-Pacing his office, he remembered that he could not even give her the
-generous dowry he had planned a few weeks ago.  For the moment he had
-forgotten his financial troubles.  Hastily he opened the big safe which
-stood in the room, took out account books and deed boxes, made rough
-calculations.  He could give her the paltry sum of twenty thousand
-roubles, unless the Prussians advanced more rapidly than he expected and
-seized the remainder of his invested wealth.  It was a fifth of what he
-had planned for her when he took that rapid ride to Warsaw, with Roman
-at the wheel.
-
-He put back his papers, locked the safe and sought the blue guest-room.
-
-He found Joseph sitting by a round table on which a lamp burned.  Martin
-had put away the Cossack uniform and given him one of Ian's
-dressing-gowns. His hand was bandaged; but except for that he bore no
-trace of having passed through the experience of war since he last used
-that room.  Yet Ian's feelings towards him had greatly changed.  Before,
-he deemed him rather a prig, but a successful man, a distant relative
-who would never give him any trouble but in whom he felt no particular
-interest; not one he would have chosen for friend; but a man he
-tolerated as a cousin, with whom he had played, quarreled, learnt, and
-taken punishment in the long years of childhood.
-
-But now, he hated him; hated him for Vanda's sake, for Roman's, for his
-coming to Ruvno in Prussian uniform, for his letting Roman risk life to
-save him from a death which, after all, was the consequence of his own
-conduct.  But he determined to master his feelings and get over the
-meeting without an open quarrel.
-
-Joseph welcomed him with unusual warmth, and this, too, he resented, as
-he resented his handsome nose and white, even teeth.
-
-"I was hoping you would come," he said.  "Tell me all that's happened
-since this awful war started."
-
-"I won't sit.  I've work downstairs."
-
-Joseph gave him a keen look; the tone was ominous.
-
-"You want to know what I was doing on Ruvno soil yesterday."
-
-"Vanda told me your explanation."
-
-"Explanation!  It was the truth."
-
-Ian's gray eyes were bright with hostility as he said:
-
-"She has just told me you want to get married at once.  I don't
-approve."
-
-"Indeed!" this sarcastically.  "Why?"
-
-Ian paused for a moment.  It was getting harder and harder for him to
-say what he wanted without saying too much, without betraying himself.
-He took up the open book that lay on the table, glanced at its title,
-laid it down again.  Joseph made no attempt to help him out.  The air
-was full of tension.  The least unguarded word would start a quarrel.
-And neither of them wanted that.
-
-"For one reason," he began at length, "I don't like her to leave home
-without a rag to her back."  He remembered the sables and fine linen he
-had seen at Warsaw for her, and Joseph wondered why he frowned.
-
-"The date was fixed for the end of this month," the bridegroom reminded
-him.
-
-"I know.  If not for the war, mother would have had the things ready for
-her.  But you know what sort of life we've been leading since you were
-here last."
-
-Joseph nodded.  He noticed for the first time that his cousin had aged
-in those few weeks; there were lines on his face and gray hairs round
-the temples that ought not to have been there.
-
-"And then there's her dowry," he went on.  "Mother talked it over with
-you, before."
-
-"She said something about it.  I said I wanted nothing.  She gave me to
-understand that you insisted."
-
-"I did.  I had planned for sixty thousand roubles ... _then_.  I haven't
-got it, now."
-
-He took up a paper-knife, inspected it, balanced it on the palm of his
-hand, put it down again, and sought his words.  It had been so easy and
-so comforting to talk to Roman last night, to tell details of his
-losses, discuss possibilities, hopes and fears for the future. And to
-Roman's brother he could scarcely open his lips for bare business.  Not
-only did his animosity grow with every thought; but all the while he was
-cursing his folly, and Vanda's words of an hour ago, her: "Why do you
-step in _now_?" rang in his ears. He was burning to mar this marriage,
-had one pretext, at least, on his side.  Yet, he must be fair, honest
-with himself and with them.  Joseph noticed his embarrassment and
-misinterpreted it.  He thought: "He was always a bit close-fisted, now
-he's mad with the grief of losing his forest and crops."  Joseph, too,
-had his troubles.  Last night, when death had been near, he promised to
-fight against Prussia with a light heart.  He did not regret it.  He was
-prepared to do his duty, to atone for blind obedience to the Kaiser's
-call of two months back.  He had been miserable ever since the scales
-fell from his eyes, showing him the real issues of the war.  But this
-step meant beggary. Everything he possessed was invested within the
-limits of the German Empire.  Prussia would very soon hear of him, would
-set a price upon his head, seize his estates and his money.  After the
-war, he would perhaps get them back.  That depended on how things went,
-on which side won.  During the evening, thinking over his position, he
-remembered his aunt's talk of Vanda's dowry with relief.  At the time,
-he had pooh-poohed the idea of taking anything from Ruvno.  It had
-pleased his vanity to marry a portionless maid and give her all.  But
-things were different now.  He had counted on Vanda having enough to
-live upon until the war ended.  He knew broadly what Ruvno was worth in
-peace time, and Ian's news shocked him.
-
-"My dear Ian, I'd no idea you'd suffered so heavily. From the little I
-saw of Ruvno yesterday things looked pretty bad, especially the forests.
-But I comforted myself that you could fall back on your investments," he
-said warmly.
-
-"The Vulcan Sugar Refinery, where I was heavily involved, went the first
-week of the war," Ian explained stiffly.  He wanted none of this man's
-sympathy.  "It was in the Kalisz Province, and you know what happened
-there.  I've a certain amount in a hardware factory in Warsaw, now
-making field kitchens for the Russian Government.  It's paying fifteen
-per cent.  I can't sell out or make over all that stock, much as I'd
-like to for Vanda's sake.  There's Mother to think of, if we have to
-bolt, and food to buy if we don't.  I've a lot of starving peasants on
-my hands."
-
-"Of course, of course," Joseph rejoined, "I shouldn't think of letting
-you do any such thing."
-
-"I can manage fifteen thousand roubles.  It would have seemed nothing,
-for Vanda, two months back.  It means two thousand, seven hundred and
-fifty roubles a year.  But it would keep the wolf from the door if--if
-anything happened to either of us.  But if the Prussians get to Warsaw,
-that goes, too."
-
-"Sell out in time."
-
-"I'd lose half the capital--and where to invest the remainder?  The
-rouble is dropping, foreign investments are out of the question."
-
-Joseph was silent.  Ian went on:
-
-"But nowadays we've got to take chances.  And Vanda will never want for
-what I--I mean Mother and I can share with her.  But there's the other
-reason against your marriage, now."
-
-"What's that?"  His handsome face grew cold again.  Ian did not answer
-at once; the old struggle between honesty and hatred was going on within
-his heart.  He decided to let his foe decide.
-
-"Put yourself in my place," he began huskily.  "You come here, a
-prisoner, in a German uniform.  You're all but shot as a spy.  Let's not
-go into the whys and wherefores.  But would you, in my place, let Vanda
-marry Roman, if the things happened that have happened to you, till he
-had redeemed his promise to fight on the right side?"
-
-Joseph got up and faced his cousin.
-
-"You're the head of the family, I'll not go against your decision," he
-said quietly.
-
-"I don't want to decide."
-
-"But why?"
-
-"I'd rather not say."
-
-Joseph gave a little laugh.  "We may as well be frank with each other
-and have it out."
-
-Ian made a gesture of dissent.
-
-"Frankness is brutal," he said hastily.  "It leaves rancor ... and I
-want to be fair."
-
-"I suppose you despise me for letting Roman take my place, last night,"
-said Joseph bitterly.
-
-Ian was silent.  The other watched his face, but could read little
-there; his own had flushed.
-
-"It's easy to talk here."  He glanced round the comfortable room.  "But
-it was infernally hard to die, like that, and so easy for Roman to get
-past.  He had brought tools with him."
-
-"Yes," said Ian.  "He unpicked the lock....  But there was..."
-
-"There was what?"
-
-"Oh, nothing."  A sudden wave of passion was coming over him.  He could
-trust himself no longer.  He felt that, unless he escaped from the room
-he would hurl all the bitterness of his soul against Joseph, expose his
-deep wound to that cold gaze.  He made for the door.
-
-"Stop!" said the other peremptorily.  He looked back, his hand on the
-door.
-
-"Sleep on it," he muttered and would have passed out, but Joseph was
-beside him, his sound hand grasping his shoulder.
-
-"I have made up my mind."
-
-"Ah--and what----?"
-
-"You're right.  After the war--if I'm alive."
-
-"No need for that.  In six months."
-
-"Then in six months we'll get married.  I'll tell Vanda."  He put out
-his hand.  Ian wrung it and left the room without another word.
-
-
-
-
-                                  VIII
-
-
-Ian had no morbid intention of brooding over his troubles, sentimental
-or material.  He was going to fight the one as he was already fighting
-the other, as he struggled against the starvation and disease which
-threatened the neighborhood, or against the difficulties of plowing and
-sowing within range of German guns.
-
-He went into his mother's dressing-room that night with the firm
-intention of forgetting the evening's events as soon as possible, and
-her greeting helped him.
-
-"What do you think?" she said.  "Vanda wants to go to Warsaw and nurse,
-instead of stopping with us."
-
-He looked at her with tired eyes.
-
-"If she wants to, let her.  I expect she's right."
-
-Then he told her the gist of his talk with Joseph. She listened with
-disapproval.  She would never forgive Joseph's successful wooing.
-
-"I think he ought to wait till after the war," was her verdict.  "What
-is the use of their marrying when he has nowhere to live and nothing to
-live on?  Let us hope they will both think better of it once they settle
-down again."
-
-And there the matter ended, so far as talk went. She had great hopes
-that her boy would "take to" Minnie.  England would be a very good port
-in the ever growing storm for him.  Of herself she did not think at all.
-What was left for her if Ruvno went? She busied herself about getting
-Vanda off, wrote to friends in Warsaw who found a vacancy for her in one
-of the hospitals which Polish women had started for the Russian wounded.
-She would be at least as safe there as in Ruvno and Ian would be all the
-better when she was away.  Her own dreams had once been bent on a match
-between them.  But things had changed since then and she wanted Ian to
-forget that which he could not win.
-
-So she hastened on the day when the girl was to leave the house for work
-in Warsaw.  Ian must drive her to the station because he had nobody left
-whom he could trust with one of the young, half-broken-in horses that
-alone remained of his famous stables.  One afternoon in November the
-_bryczka_ stood ready before the front door.  It was one he used to use
-for going round the estate, simple and light, the body of basket-work
-plaited close and flat, and varnished over.  The shafts were longer than
-one sees in western Europe where roads are better than east of the
-Vistula; but it went safely over ruts and holes which a closer-harnessed
-cart would not have taken at all.  It was the only vehicle he had left
-except a heavy closed carriage which needed at least four horses to
-pull; stables and coach-house had been emptied of their best by several
-relays of requisitioning commissions.
-
-Vanda, a little pale, slim even in her fur coat, said good-bye to the
-rest of the family at the front door. The Countess hugged her in
-silence, not trusting her voice.  Who knew what might happen before they
-met again!  Father Constantine gave her his blessing, after much advice
-about the evils and pitfalls of Warsaw, though his patroness reminded
-him that she was going to live with an old friend and would be quite
-safe.  Minnie kissed her and wished her good luck, half sorry, half
-relieved to see her rival leave the field.  Joseph was upstairs.  They
-all agreed he had better not be seen by the servants.  When his hand was
-well enough to hold a rein he would ride to Sohaczev at night and take
-steps to join the Russian army.
-
-Ian helped her to the high seat in front.  Martin put her baggage into
-the space at the back.  Off they went, down the avenue and out into the
-road, hardened with a sharp frost which had broken up the warm autumn
-weather.
-
-It would have been hard for them to talk had they felt in the mood for
-it.  The young horse shied a good deal and demanded all Ian's attention.
-He was glad of it.  He Had no wish for commonplaces and could not say
-what was in his heart; so they went on in silence, bumping a good deal
-over the road, never too good, now cut up with war traffic, Vanda
-clinging to her seat to save herself from being pitched out when the
-horse grew more restive than usual, or rattled over a particularly bad
-stretch of road.
-
-Their way lay through the country which war had so far spared.  The
-heaviest losses lay to the north-west, where the Prussians were trying
-to break through on their way to Warsaw.  A good many trenches had been
-made here, too, ready for the Russian troops to fall back upon; but
-there was not that stamp of utter desolation which already lay on the
-land nearer Plock. They passed very few troops or supplies; the day had
-been fine and transport correspondingly risky. Business on the road
-began at night.  He had an odd fancy that they were going for one of
-those jaunts he and she had taken many a time before in the same little
-cart, when he wanted to try a young horse; that the space behind their
-seat carried no baggage but a sporting gun and game bag, and she wore no
-nurse's apron under her coat.  It seemed, as she sat by him, sometimes
-to touch him as the cart jolted her, that recent barriers had never
-been, that there was neither Joseph, nor war nor ruin, that only the old
-free comradeship was there, mellowed into love.  And he felt that they
-were boy and girl again, he home from school, she proud and glad to be
-with him, that they were driving on forever, into eternity, into the
-steel-blue horizon which stretched ahead of him on the straight, open
-road, without care or strife, always to be together, forgetful of the
-world, sufficient to each other, wanting nothing, asking nothing,
-blended into one mind and one heart, clear and limpid as the afternoon
-air of the northern autumn.
-
-Never had those versts to the bare wooden station seemed so short.  As
-they passed the slatternly town, then the long, poplar-lined avenue, he
-wondered of what she was thinking, if she regretted the past, would be
-content to put back the years and live without Joseph, only with him.
-But he was far to shy to share his fancy.  What was the good?  He did
-not even trust himself to search her face, lest he find there tears for
-his hated rival, whom she might never see again.
-
-As he pulled up and helped her out, giving the reins to a ragged Jew who
-replaced the sturdy ostler of other days, he was relieved to see the
-Canon, who lived in the town.  The good man was full of complaints, and
-looked to the two young people for sympathy, if not redress.
-Rennenkampf's men had looted his poultry yard, he said, stealing half a
-dozen very fine capons as well.
-
-"They stole them for _him_, Count," he whispered, as they made their way
-through a crowd of soldiers to the waiting-room, two Jews following with
-the luggage.  "They denied it till I threatened to excommunicate them
-all, including my housekeeper, who ought to have looked after the fowls
-better but is no good when she sees a soldier around.  I excommunicated
-the General, too."
-
-"What did he say?" asked Vanda.
-
-"Well, Countess, I'm ashamed to say he roared with laughter," returned
-the indignant ecclesiastic.  "But my housekeeper was so frightened that
-she spoilt the dinner, which was one good thing, for Rennenkampf had to
-eat it.  I'm going up to Warsaw and I'll complain about it.  I sha'n't
-have a thing left if the men go on like this.  But you, Count, can help
-me up there. You know your way about."
-
-"I'm sorry, but I'm not going," he said.  "My cousin is.  I've come to
-see her off."
-
-The Canon then asked Vanda a dozen questions about her plans and kept
-them both busy answering him till the tickets were bought and Ian had
-found places in the crowded train for them, glad to give her into the
-priest's care, for he noticed many admiring glances shot at her by a
-varied collection of Russian officers in the waiting-room.
-
-For one moment they were alone.  The Canon found a friend and began to
-tell him about the capons; the little platform, shadowy even in peace
-time, with its scanty lamps, was quite dark now except for feeble spots
-of light that came from the railway carriages, from those candles stuck
-into lanterns which the railway people thought good enough to travel by.
-Ian took courage, and said as he kissed her hand:
-
-"Ruvno is your home.  If you don't like Warsaw come back at once."
-
-"Oh, Ianek," she faltered.  "Forgive me, for the other night.  I was
-mad....  I didn't know what I was saying."
-
-"There's nothing to forgive," he stammered.  Then, impulse flung
-restraint to the winds; he caught her in his arms, kissed her face,
-hair, lips, clasped her to him with all his strength, in a delirium of
-love, longing and remorse.  He knew not what words poured forth from the
-bottom of his soul, nor how long he held her thus: never remembered how
-she got into the train, how he said good-bye to the Canon and got back
-to his _bryczka_.  He only knew that it was dark as his horse sped
-homewards, without a glance at things that had made him restive on the
-way out; that he found calm and strength in the familiar ebon sky,
-glimmering with silver stars, put this new-born madness from him,
-checked each recurrent thought of her, fixed his mind savagely on
-refugees, potatoes, corn and fuel, till the white heat of his passion
-had cooled.
-
-Joseph went away a few days later; thus the last link was snapped, he
-thought.  And they heard no more of him for a long time, except that he
-finally managed to get a commission in a Cossack regiment, which went to
-the Carpathians.  Vanda wrote to the Countess and the priest, content
-with messages for Ian; and he did the same in return.  She was nursing
-in the Cadets' College, turned into a military hospital, and said she
-liked the work.  But her aunt detected homesickness in her letters.
-
-When he let a thought dwell on her at all, Ian felt thankful she was not
-in Ruvno.  For in the middle of November they began to live in the
-cellars.  They were in the danger zone for a fortnight.  The Prussians
-took Kosczielna, a few versts off, so that their shells as well as the
-Russians' sometimes burst near the house.  Ruvno became an inferno of
-din and the inmates often wondered that it did not crumble about their
-heads.  In their underground retreat they had a certain amount of coal
-and coke, so that their quarters though dampish, were not so bad as they
-might have been.  A neighboring village fared worse than they did; not a
-cottage remained.  The villagers dug themselves into the earth and lived
-like rabbits, elected an elder, whom they obeyed, and who ruled the
-little community as some of his ancestors must have ruled over as
-primitive a settlement many hundreds of years before.  No sooner had
-petty officials, in the pay of the Russian government, fled before the
-roar of German guns than they organized their village life underground
-in a thoroughly sensible way.  Having eaten up the little food which was
-left after the Prussians looted them in passing, they subsisted chiefly
-on roots and the scanty game yet to be had, and the sparrows and crows.
-Ian sent them rations every week, but could not be too liberal because
-he had his own villages to think of.  Their worst plight was that they
-could hope for neither summer wheat nor potatoes of their own; they had
-no sooner finished the winter sowings than the Russian soldiers came and
-dug trenches through their land.  They had no seed left, and when Ian
-gave them some, the rain washed most of it away. So those at Ruvno felt
-they were not so desperately unlucky after all.
-
-Yet they had their troubles.  One night the two armies who have made
-Poland their battlefield, seemed to have gone mad.  For twelve hours
-there was a ceaseless uproar of heavy artillery, and the earth beneath
-them shook as if troubled by an endless earthquake.  They gathered in
-one end of the cellars, where Father Constantine had fitted up a rough
-chapel, and prayed together for their own salvation and the Russians'
-victory.  Towards morning, when they were chanting a hymn, such a
-thunderous noise broke over their heads that what had gone before seemed
-like some childish pastime.  The earth rocked as if to swallow them in
-her entrails.  They stopped singing, and waited for death.  A woman
-shrieked, but none could hear her; only the lines of her open mouth and
-the horror on her face told them what she was doing. Szmul, the Jewish
-factor, his lank hair disheveled, his arms spread out with distended
-hands and fingers, rushed in and threw himself on to the ground, rolling
-in terror and shrieking continually.  They had but one lamp for
-economy's sake, so that their little chapel, like those the early
-Christians used in Rome, was full of shadows.  The Countess and Ian,
-after one horrified, questioning gaze at the Cross on the little altar,
-returned to their prayers, like the stout hearts and good Christians
-they were.  She told her beads.  Minnie, who had been standing at the
-back, ran towards Father Constantine with moving lips, but who could
-hear words when pandemonium was let loose?  The peasants hugged their
-weeping children the closer and prayed for mercy.  The priest, for one,
-felt sure his last hour was come, that God had summoned them as He had
-summoned so many thousands during the past few months.  And so he said
-the prayers for the passing of souls, holding up the Cross, that all
-might see this symbol of eternal life.
-
-They did not know how long they stood thus because people lose count of
-time when on the brink of eternity.  But gradually the earth ceased to
-quiver, the tempest of bursting shells died down to an occasional boom.
-And they knew that the Almighty had seen fit to spare them through
-another night.  Ian was the first to speak.
-
-"They have brought down the house," he said to his mother.  She nodded,
-but said nothing.
-
-"Oh, woe unto Israel!  Woe is me," wailed Szmul, squatting on his hams
-and moaning as the hired mourners at a Jewish funeral.  Father
-Constantine told him to control himself or leave the chapel; and the
-calmer ones managed to comfort the others.  Many peasants who had not
-cellars large enough for shelter were living down there with them.
-Szmul, whose hovel had no cellar at all, brought his numerous family. On
-the whole, they behaved splendidly during this night of anxiety and
-fear, when it seemed as if every stone in Ruvno had been brought about
-their ears.
-
-The bombardment went on for hours; there was nothing to do but wait till
-it died down; only then could they go up and see what had happened.  In
-days of ordinary activity the shells fell heaviest between seven at
-night and eight in the morning; then came a quiet hour when they managed
-to get some air, clean the cellars and examine damage done to house and
-village during the night.  Between nine and ten, the "orchestra," as
-they called it, began again and went on till noon, when both Prussians
-and Russians paused for a meal.  If the household was careful to dodge
-chance shells they had another two hours of liberty; if the Russians
-meant to begin before their regular time they let them know by a signal,
-to which Ian held the secret.  The Russians' dinner-hour was Ruvno's
-busy time.  Those peasants who had nothing left to eat came for rations;
-Ian had every detail of the daily round in clock-work order.  The
-management of a large property like Ruvno, with its twenty farms and
-sixty square versts of forest land, was good training for him.  Each man
-and woman living in the cellars had an appointed task, and Ian, the
-Countess, Minnie and Father Constantine saw that it was done.  Their
-great trouble was to keep the cellar refuge in a moderately sanitary
-condition, because the peasants, none too clean in their houses, had no
-idea of the danger they ran from infectious diseases.  Here, Minnie was
-invaluable.  They escaped fevers; one child died of bronchitis, which
-was very bad when they took her to the cellar, her parents' cottage and
-shop having been razed to the ground by a shell.  Things were in a worse
-state down in the village, where Father Constantine and the two ladies
-had daily fights with filth and ignorance whilst the heavy guns were
-resting.  They could not make the peasants see that they were packed so
-much closer together, and subject to greater privations, they had to be
-far more careful than in better days.  By one o'clock the rooms and park
-became dangerous, though they could dodge the shells between the house
-and the village till dusk, if they remembered the dead angles.  But
-night fell early, and the rule was for all to answer roll-call in the
-passage between the two main cellars at half-past two.  Ian called the
-names unless busy outside, or in the house; and then the old priest
-replaced him.
-
-After that the weariness began.  Though the family did what they could
-to keep the fifty refugees--peasants, children and Jews--amused, time
-hung heavy on their hands.  They took down all the furniture they could,
-and kept their feet warm with carpets.  But they used straw for the
-peasants and Jews because they could burn it when dirty.  Father
-Constantine always said Szmul and his family were the filthiest people
-he ever saw; it was a trial to have them; but they put up with it, and
-had to own that the Jew, with his wretched Polish and his funny stories,
-kept the others amused.
-
-Ian could not give them work that needed a good light, because he had to
-be careful with oil and sit in semi-darkness most of the evening.  But
-he and the Countess read to them and told them stories; they also sang
-hymns and Polish patriotic songs, of which they never tired.  One or
-two, who escaped from the massacres at Kalisz, told their experiences,
-and the villagers never tired of listening to that, either.  Like
-children, they loved to hear a story repeated over and over again.
-
-Father Constantine managed to write up his diary, though candles were so
-precious.  As they always kept one small lamp in the chapel he wrote
-there.  It was colder than near the stove, but he had both his fur coats
-on, besides a pair of felt boots in which he used to hunt when younger.
-When his fingers got numbed he blew on them and rubbed them till the
-blood circulated.  Many of the people went there to say their prayers
-and he would do what he could for them before they left again.
-
-When the Russians and Prussians stopped for breakfast after that
-dreadful night they all spent in the chapel, Ian called up as many men
-as there were picks and shovels, took a pick himself and led the way up
-to the house.  He demurred about Father Constantine's going; but he soon
-settled that.  During the night they had decided that they must dig a
-way into the air through the ruins of the house.
-
-They left the Countess in great anxiety about Ruvno, which had grown
-gray and mellow in sheltering brave men and beautiful women; and Father
-Constantine, who was not born there, loved it so dearly that to lose it
-meant to lose heart and courage.  He felt that, going up the steps.  And
-the peasants who followed Ian up were heavy-hearted, too; he and his
-forebears had always been good masters, generous in the days of serfdom,
-fair and square with the soccage, and living on their land ten months a
-year, unless they went to fight for their country.
-
-They reached the stone entry which led from pantry to cellar and looked
-round.  A wintry sun came through a hole in one wall, but the others
-were unhurt.  With a shout of joy Ian threw down his pick and bolted
-over the debris, through the hole, which had swallowed up the door as
-well.  Father Constantine followed as fast as his joints allowed, helped
-by Baranski, the village carpenter.  They were both beyond the climbing
-age; so, by the time they reached the courtyard, the others had
-disappeared.  So far, Ruvno looked as though it stood; but they noticed
-several new holes.
-
-"Where's the tower gone?" cried Ian, pointing westwards.  True enough,
-the tower had vanished; from where they stood it looked clean cut off,
-but on going nearer they saw that the front floor and part of the
-stairway remained, a dejected ruin.  The falling masonry had struck the
-west wing.  The cellar chapel was right underneath, which accounted for
-the fearful noise they heard in the night.
-
-"The tower can be rebuilt--but the west wing is done for," he said
-ruefully.
-
-When Father Constantine saw the tears gather in those clear eyes his own
-grew dim.  The bombardment had destroyed the oldest part of the house,
-built when the first lord of Ruvno came home from the Crusades; it, and
-the moat, were all that the centuries had left of the original building.
-The rest was added on at various times.  But the west wing was Ruvno's
-pride.  Weakened by age, it could not stand the weight of the falling
-tower, and now lay in hopeless ruins. It housed many relics, too heavy
-to remove to Warsaw; and they had perished with it.
-
-Everybody had come up from below, some vainly trying to rescue a few of
-the relics from the ruins, when Szmul rushed up in great excitement.  He
-had quite recovered from last night's experience, and boasted to all who
-would listen that he had not turned a hair, but slept all night.
-
-"The Grand Duke is coming--make way for the Grand Duke," and he took off
-his cap, so as to be all ready for the important visitor.
-
-The others looked up.  A motor car was coming up the drive.  It was easy
-to recognize the tall, spare figure, which towered over the other
-officers.  The Countess dried her eyes and walked towards the entry. Ian
-left the pile of rubbish; Minnie followed him. Father Constantine stood
-a little apart; it did not amuse him to talk to important people; he
-preferred to watch, and listen.
-
-"Bon jour, Comtesse," the Grand Duke said, and kissed her hand.  Then he
-shook hands with Ian, saluted Minnie, and smiled at the priest.  "I have
-good news for you at last.  We have retaken Kosczielna after a heavy
-bombardment and a bayonet attack.  The Germans have fallen back on
-Kutno."
-
-Kosczielna practically belonged to the Countess, the little town being
-part of her dowry and, though her husband did his best to give it away
-to the Jews, she managed to save it.  She looked at her ruined west wing
-and sighed.
-
-"I would rather have lost the town," she remarked.
-
-"I can believe you," he agreed.  "The town is full of Jews--and that was
-the most beautiful part of your house.  Never mind, Countess, we will
-drive them over the frontier one of these days and you can build up
-again."
-
-"Is the fight over?" asked Minnie.
-
-"Yes.  In any case it has gone over there."  He pointed westwards.
-"Ruvno is safe now."
-
-"There," she said triumphantly, looking at the Countess.  "What did I
-tell you?"
-
-"I must be off," said the Grand Duke.  "I thought you would like to know
-you can come above ground once more."  He turned to the little group of
-peasants who had come up.  "And you, my children, can go back to the
-village again."  Then, to Ian, in French: "I will let you know when
-there is fresh danger."  And he went off as suddenly as he came.
-
-The news cheered them all greatly.  For Father Constantine, there was a
-little cloud on the horizon; he meant to talk it over with the Countess
-and hear what she could advise.  So, when they had settled in the rooms
-that were still without holes, he sought her out.  He knew they would be
-able to talk undisturbed.  Ian was looking after some men he had told
-off to fill up the gaps in an outer wall; and Minnie was looking after
-Ian.
-
-"Countess," he began, "don't you think it would be safer if that English
-Miss went away?"
-
-Though this was his first reference to the pursuit of Ian, she knew what
-he meant.
-
-"Yes; but she won't go."
-
-"There is an American Relief man about," he said. "He is sure to hear
-about the distress in the Vola, and he can't reach that without passing
-here.  Naturally, seeing the damage done to the house, he would call."
-
-Her hazel eyes, still beautiful in shade and expression, twinkled
-merrily.
-
-"But we don't want relief yet," she said.
-
-"True, but when he sees the damage done and hears that there is an
-English girl living here he will be willing to take her to Warsaw ... or
-to England.  I think I would not mention Warsaw to him.  He probably has
-never heard of it.  So he can take her further off."
-
-"Minnie won't listen ... she is brave."
-
-"Brave!  She stops here for Ian."
-
-She was silent for a moment.  Father Constantine knew she had fallen
-under the girl's charm.  He admitted the charm; but did not want a
-foreigner to rule in Ruvno.
-
-"She is a good girl ... and her people are of an old family.  Her
-mother..."
-
-"She is a heretic," he said firmly.  "Ruvno has never had such a thing."
-
-"She might consent to enter the True Church."  The Countess was an
-incurable optimist.
-
-"And a foreigner."
-
-She laughed.  "Why, Father, Minnie would love the sort of life we live
-in times of peace ... she would not always be wanting to gad about to
-Paris and Monte Carlo, like so many young women."
-
-"Do you mean to say that you will encourage her?" he asked in horror.
-"How about the little Princess whose father would be only too----"
-
-"I don't mean to say anything, or encourage anybody," she replied.  "But
-I can't turn Minnie out of doors now that the Grand Duke says Ruvno is
-safe."
-
-"The ruined tower looked such a good pretext," he said ruefully.
-
-"And it failed."
-
-"I would not consent to Ian's marrying a heretic," she went on.
-"Besides, he would not want to."
-
-"He would not.  I know him better than that..."  The Poles have suffered
-so much for their faith that they put it side by side with their
-country.  With them to say a man is Catholic means that he is neither
-Russian nor Jew, but a Pole.
-
-"I don't see that Ian is very keen about her anyway," she said after a
-pause.
-
-"In the cellar----"
-
-"We have done with the cellar for the moment.  It is no good meeting
-trouble half way.  Cellar or no cellar, I should only be drawing his
-attention to her if I warned him.  Men are blind till you open their
-eyes.  And then they are mules."
-
-Father Constantine knew her tone; it was final.  So he took his leave,
-and ordered all the Jews in the village to keep their ears open for news
-of the American Relief man and report when he came to the neighborhood.
-
-
-
-
-                                   IX
-
-
-It was early in December.  For several days Ruvno had seen neither
-soldiers nor officers and received news of no kind.  This had happened
-before. Szmul and other Jews in the village circulated the little gossip
-there was.  After the Russians retook Kosczielna Szmul went back to his
-hovel, whence he had fled when the shells were whistling around, to find
-food and shelter for himself and his brood under Ian's roof.  Then,
-being frightened to death, he was loud in expression of gratitude,
-vowing by all the vows Jews make, swearing by his progeny to the fifth
-and sixth generation that he would never forget how the Count had given
-hospitality to a poor Jewish factor.  If you know much about Hebraic
-flowers of speech you can imagine what he said; if not, you miss
-nothing.  Having settled himself in the village again, he picked up the
-gossip of both armies encamped in the neighborhood, for a Jew will get
-anywhere and talk to everybody, whether Teuton or Slav, man or maid.  He
-knew that the Prussians were within a few versts of Ruvno before Ian or
-the Countess suspected they had crossed the river in one place, thereby
-cutting Ruvno off from the Russian lines and putting it at the mercy of
-the barbarians.
-
-On this particular afternoon, after the _Ave Maria_, Father Constantine
-was locking up the chapel when Szmul hurried up.  The priest knew he had
-tidings by the way he flapped his skinny arms.  As usual he smelt
-horribly of herrings and garlic, and poked his dark thin face against
-the old man's.
-
-"What is it?" asked Father Constantine, backing away.
-
-"The Prussians," he answered, grinning from ear to ear, showing four
-yellow teeth which were all that the village barber had saved, for he
-suffered much from toothache.
-
-"Coming here?"
-
-"Yes--on this side of the river.  They have crossed and fought their way
-through.  Oh, such fine horses and such wonderful shining helmets!  Each
-of their chargers cost a thousand roubles at least, some even..."
-
-"Nonsense.  The army pays----"
-
-"The Russian army pays miserably," retorted Szmul with scorn.  "The
-Kaiser's with their wonderful----"
-
-"Hold your tongue!  Now you think they are coming you pander to them and
-lick the dust off their boots," cried the priest, angry, not only
-because he knew that the Russian cavalry had then the best horses in the
-world, but because this news of the Prussians being over the river made
-him fear for the immediate future.  Szmul giggled.
-
-"Think!  I _know_ they're coming.  Listen!"
-
-Father Constantine heard the tramp of horses and a squadron of cavalry
-swept round the bend in the avenue.  They were Prussians right enough.
-Night was coming on apace, but the day had been fine and frosty; he
-could see the spikes of their helmets and the hard, red faces of the
-foremost men.
-
-His heart sank; there were more than twenty of them.  For weeks Ruvno
-had heard false alarms. Once they were so near that Ian could see their
-helmets through his field-glasses.  But the Grand Duke beat them back
-every time and the household had grown to trust that tall, gray-haired
-Romanov to spare them a visit from their enemies.
-
-"Who's the owner of this place?" shouted their young officer, pulling up
-in front of the priest.  His face was arrogant and coarse, with choleric
-eyes.
-
-"I don't know."
-
-He turned to Szmul, who was sweeping the ground with his greasy fur cap,
-anxious to make a good impression.
-
-"Jew!  Find the owner and bring him here!"
-
-"At once, _Herr General_!  At once!"  He ran off to the house as fast as
-his spindle legs would carry him.  Whilst he was gone the subaltern
-hurled questions at the priest, in German.  How big was Ruvno? How many
-inmates?  Their sex?  Ages?  He was answered laconically and in Polish.
-Once or twice the Prussian looked ready to lay his whip about the bent
-shoulders, but refrained.  Szmul was a long time gone.  When he came
-back, he had invented a new title for the German cub.
-
-"Excellency.  The Count is in the palace.  He begs your Excellency to do
-him the honor and step inside."
-
-It took him a long time to say this for he was out of breath with haste
-and excitement.  Afterwards, Father Constantine asked Ian what message
-he had sent; and it was: "If a _boche_ wants me he can come and find
-me."  As you see, there was a difference; but Szmul did not stick at
-exaggerations when he wanted to please a powerful man.
-
-The Prussian grumbled something about wasting time and all Poles being
-servants created to wait upon Teuton pleasure.  But he gave a curt order
-to his troopers and made for the house, Szmul running by his stirrup.
-Judging by the way he cringed, Father Constantine sadly assessed the
-Prussian force around Ruvno at thirty thousand men.
-
-The old man followed them, not that he could help Ian, but because he
-had a fond notion that when his dear ones were in danger they would
-suffer less if he kept near them.  He tried to check this idea, but in
-vain.
-
-Arrived at the large entry, the subaltern dismounted, clanked into the
-hall and looked round with the air of expecting to see Ruvno's master.
-But there was only Martin, the faithful butler who had nursed Ian on his
-knee.  He led the way to his master's office.  Half way there, he
-noticed Szmul.
-
-"You're not wanted," he said.
-
-"I--your old friend----"
-
-The Teuton understood Polish right enough, for he wheeled round with:
-
-"This man comes with me."
-
-Szmul giggled in triumph, and Father Constantine grew suspicious.  These
-two had met before.
-
-They trooped into the office which stood at the end of a passage,
-connecting it with the back of the house in such a way that people could
-go in and out without passing the hall or the living-rooms.  Never in
-his life had Szmul entered from the large hall; but his elation was not
-due to that.  Four troopers escorted their officer and mounted guard
-behind him, stiff and pompous as at a review.
-
-Ian stood in the middle of the room, a large place, lined with shelves
-and cupboards where accounts and reports were kept.  He looked very like
-his mother, the priest thought, well bred, dignified, king of himself.
-The four troopers clinked their heels and went through the contortions
-common to saluting Prussians; even the surly subaltern put hand to
-helmet. Szmul hugged the shadow of the door.  Father Constantine went
-beside his old pupil, that fond notion of his uppermost.
-
-Ian returned the visitor's greeting with a bow; then he saw Szmul.
-"I'll send for you if I want you," he said in the dry tones he used when
-giving orders.
-
-"That Jew is with me," blurted the Prussian.
-
-Ian's gray eyes met his with such cool determination that the other
-shifted uneasily.
-
-"He is my servant."  This in frozen tones; then, to Szmul: "You heard
-me?"
-
-Szmul looked appealingly at the officer, won no support by word or
-glance and slunk out.  Ian's gaze returned to the Prussian.
-
-"Your business?"
-
-"You have food supplies stored here."  This angrily, in accusation.
-
-"I have.  To feed my household and the starving peasants."
-
-"I hear you have enough to gorge them till the end of the war.  Is that
-so?"
-
-"I don't know how long the war will last."
-
-The Prussian, angry before, became infuriated at this.  He stamped his
-foot and bellowed as if he were drilling recruits.
-
-"You're bandying words, _Herr Graf_," he shouted. "I know you're
-concealing supplies.  I'll have them of you, _mein Gott_, I will!"
-
-"Your authority?"
-
-Ian's eyes were ablaze with suppressed passion; but he controlled
-himself.  His outward calm maddened the subaltern, who danced in his
-rage.  Indeed, if not for the circumstances behind his visit, he would
-have been quite funny.
-
-"Authority!" he bawled.  "I _am_ Authority.  I am the representative of
-victorious Prussia!  My word is law in this house!  Surrender your
-supplies or I'll burn it down!"
-
-Ian went over to the safe, unlocked it with the key which hung by a
-leather strap he kept in his pocket, and swung back the heavy door.
-
-The subaltern whipped out his revolver, strode after him and peered in.
-The safe was almost empty except for keys.
-
-"Your plate?" he asked, putting his revolver close to Ian's head.  And
-anxious though he was, Father Constantine could not help thinking the
-man must be a fool to imagine the safe big enough to hold Ruvno plate.
-
-"In Warsaw."  Ian lied; it was in Moscow.  But Father Constantine would
-gladly have absolved him from murder, were his victim this subaltern.
-
-"Whereabouts in Warsaw?"
-
-"The Commercial Bank."
-
-The looter turned to one of his men:
-
-"Make a note of that," he commanded.  The man obeyed, producing paper
-and pencil from a pocket.
-
-"Where are your family jewels?" proceeded the subaltern.
-
-"At the Commercial Bank."  Their eyes met again. Ian's mirrored a soul
-too proud to lie.  And yet they say that eyes cannot hide the truth.
-
-"What are they worth?"
-
-Ian did not answer and murder shone from the Prussian's evil face.  The
-old priest's heart stood still. What, oh, what could he do to help?  The
-sergeant scribbled hard, finished, licked his pencil and awaited further
-orders.  The subaltern put his revolver a shade nearer Ian's head.
-Father Constantine knew he was playing to put the looters off the scent.
-For if he lost the jewels there would be nothing left to live upon. Ian
-thought of the moonlight labor on the Plock road, of Szmul's prying
-eyes, and feared greatly.
-
-"What are they worth?" repeated the Prussian.
-
-"I don't know.  They have not been valued for fifty years."
-
-"But those emeralds ... you must know what they are worth."
-
-"They are priceless," said Father Constantine.
-
-The man turned to him.
-
-"Hold your tongue," he said rudely.  "You weren't so ready to talk
-outside."  Then to Ian:
-
-"Give me the banker's receipt for the jewels and plate."
-
-"My lawyers have them."
-
-"Who are they?  But no matter..."  He laughed roughly.  "Next week we
-shall be in Warsaw, and if I find you've been lying, you'll be shot."
-He withdrew his revolver.  Ian gave a slight breath of relief. "Now for
-the food," said the Teuton.
-
-Ian took a bunch of keys from the safe, locked it and rang the bell.
-Martin appeared, white as a sheet.  He had heard what was going on.
-
-"Take this officer to the store-room; open the cupboards," said his
-master.
-
-"You must come," put in the looter.  Ian gave him a cold look.
-
-"My servant will show you where to find the things."
-
-The Prussians stalked out and Martin with them. Szmul was still in the
-passage.
-
-Ian did not speak till the sound of their footsteps died away.  Then he
-made sure there were no eaves-droppers, and shut the door, his soul
-filled with rage, worry and mortification.  For a few minutes he gave
-way and called the looters by names it did the old priest good to hear,
-for the soutane put a limit on his own language.
-
-"If not for the women I'd have strangled him at the safe," Ian cried.
-"But the day may come when I'll have to shoot them, to save them from
-dishonor."
-
-"Mother of God!" Father Constantine gasped. "Are they going to make
-Poland another Belgium?"
-
-The thought of what his Countess and the other women in the house would
-have to suffer filled him with horror.  To shoot her!  He could not bear
-it. Ian tried to comfort him.
-
-"Cheer up, Father.  It hasn't come to that yet." Then angry again: "That
-swine Szmul has betrayed us."
-
-"What are you going to say about the cellars?"
-
-"Swear I've nothing more.  We've no list."
-
-"But they'll tear down the walls?"
-
-"It'll take time.  Oh, if only I could get in touch with some Russians!
-We should have these devils entrapped."
-
-"There must be thousands of Germans about.  Szmul knows it, or he would
-not have risked telling about the emeralds and stores," said the priest.
-
-"I'll punish him when this is over," cried Ian. "After I've sheltered
-him, too."
-
-Here the Countess came in.  She had heard all.
-
-"Give them everything, rather than they should shoot you," she pleaded.
-
-"They won't shoot me, Mother, not till they've tried the Commercial
-Bank.  Where is Minnie?"
-
-"Up in the secret room."
-
-"Thank God!"  He looked relieved.  "And now, you go there, too."
-
-Martin came in.  He was shaking with rage and fear.
-
-"That Jewish pig has betrayed us," he cried. "They're in the cellar
-now."
-
-They looked at each other in consternation.  Martin turned to his
-mistress.
-
-"My Lady Countess, it will be well for you to go upstairs ... they are
-very coarse."
-
-"Yes, Mother, I insist."
-
-"But perhaps I can do something----"
-
-The question was settled by the subaltern, who stalked into the room,
-followed by two of his henchmen.  He was afraid to go about alone.  He
-had already found some of Ian's wine, his face was flushed, and both
-troopers smelt of it.  He did not even salute the Countess, who glared
-at him in silent rage.
-
-"Nobody to leave this room!" he bellowed.  Then to Ian: "Where are your
-supplies?"
-
-"It appears you have them," was the cool answer. "I hear you have
-already emptied my stores."
-
-"But the cellar, dolt!" roared the Prussian.  "The Jew says you have
-bricked up corn and potatoes to feed an army."
-
-"My cellar holds wine," put in the Countess.  "Judging from your
-behavior, you have found it without our help."
-
-She devoured him with her scornful, angry eyes, and he had the grace to
-look a little confused.  He saluted and lowered his tone.
-
-"I give you three minutes"--he looked at his watch--"to come down and
-show me where to find your supplies.  If you refuse, I'll not leave one
-stone upon another in your cellar, but destroy it as soon as my men have
-removed the stores and wine.  You'll be without food, for, if you
-persist in your obstinate refusal, I will not leave you a week's
-rations; and you will no longer have a refuge in case of bombardment.
-You will have no choice then but to leave this place."
-
-"Never!"  This from the Countess.
-
-"As you please.  We will begin the three minutes."
-
-There was silence.  He eyed his watch, the Countess looked straight
-before her; Ian's face was like granite, the priest's eye on the clock
-in the corner.  He almost wished Ian would come to terms with the
-looter, because perhaps then they would leave enough till Ian could buy
-more.  Then he remembered they were probably cut off from Warsaw, and
-therefore from grain, and changed his mind.
-
-"Time is up."  He looked at Ian.
-
-"I repeat," he said very distinctly, though the sweat stood on his upper
-lip, "I repeat, once and for all, that I have no stores in my cellars."
-
-"Then you choose to have your cellars destroyed?" growled his tormentor.
-
-"You will find nothing but wine.  If the loan of my cellar-book can
-shorten your visit..."
-
-The Prussian swung out of the room without waiting for more.  Ian rushed
-to the door, shut it, hurriedly took two acetylene carriage lamps from a
-cupboard and demanded matches.
-
-Knowing what he used those lamps for, Father Constantine tried to
-dissuade him from signaling to the Russians, for, should the Prussians
-catch him, his life would not be worth a handful of corn, and there were
-surely more foes than friends abroad that night. But he only gave a
-short laugh.  He did not believe there were many Prussians about or they
-would not have sent a subaltern to seize emeralds.  Such a prize as
-Szmul must have promised would have attracted a field-marshal at least.
-This, he thought, was a chance visit.  Any way, better to die of a
-bullet than see his people die of starvation.
-
-"If there were guns to arm a dozen men from the village, I could entrap
-them and hold them down in the cellar," he explained, preparing the
-lamps.  "I thought it out when he gave me his precious three minutes.  I
-could never manage.  It's ten minutes to the village, ten to muster
-them, ten to bring them back. I've only six sporting rifles.  They are
-thirty strong."
-
-"But the tower is down," objected the priest
-
-"There's the village church.  Mother, do you go and tell Martin to
-follow me.  Father Constantine, get me a sheepskin."
-
-He was off in a trice.  The priest told his mother it was a wild-goose
-chase.
-
-"But six armed men against thirty, and only Ian a good shot," she
-objected.  "They would be butchered. After all, they may not find the
-stores.  I hope they will all get drunk first."
-
-They tried to get into the cellar, to see how things went.  Two
-Prussians guarded the head of the stairs, two stood lower down, and two
-at the bottom of the first flight.  Ian was right.  It would be madness
-to send six men with sporting rifles against those hardened warriors.
-They would not let the Countess pass. She took whispered counsel with
-her chaplain in the kitchen, where some frightened maids were huddled
-together.
-
-"Try the other way," he suggested.  "I don't suppose they know about
-it."
-
-They made for the library.  It was deserted.  Szmul had forgotten to
-tell them of its small door, leading to a passage, at the bottom of
-which steps led down to the cellars.  For generations this entrance was
-unused, being narrow, steep and dark as the grave.  But during their
-sojourn underground it served as a private access for the family, whilst
-the refugees and household used the larger staircase.
-
-There were two main cellars, connected by a labyrinth of narrow, vaulted
-passages with smaller ones. Many of these passages, however, were blind
-alleys, terminating in stout brick walls.  Some were solid and five feet
-thick; others hollow, with a good brick crust on either side.  In these
-recesses, old Hungarian wine was bricked up till some great family event
-justified its being drunk.  In the recesses which were empty at the
-beginning of the war, Ian bricked up his food, taking out the wine from
-others and storing it in the large cellars.
-
-Once at the bottom of the narrow steps the two had but a few yards to
-the part Father Constantine had fitted up as an underground chapel.  To
-screen it off he had put a curtain across the narrow passage. The wall
-of a recess still supported the little altar. They hid behind the
-curtain.  They could hear voices.
-
-"They are in the big cellar," whispered the Countess.
-
-"Now Jew, where is this grain?  Be quick."  It was the subaltern's
-voice.
-
-"Oh, Excellency," began Szmul, and his voice was of honey.  The Prussian
-cut him short.
-
-"No nonsense--speak out."
-
-"I was down here one day, when they all thought I had gone out for air,
-and I heard the Count talking to the silly old priest who----"
-
-"Go _on_!"
-
-"And they were in the chapel, which they have fitted up because they
-stood in deadly fear of the Prussian shells.  And they wondered between
-themselves if it would not be better to break into the cellar stores in
-the lower part on account of the damp and use that store as rations for
-the peasants in the other village, not the village belonging to the
-Count but the peasants' village, for there are----"
-
-There was a thud, as of hard matter against soft, and then a shrill
-Hebrew squeal.
-
-"Go on!" roared the subaltern.  "If you waste time I'll have you
-flogged."
-
-"It's near the second big cellar," he said promptly. "I heard that."
-
-The Countess clutched her chaplain's arm.  "They'll find it," she
-whispered.  "Oh, that traitor.  And to think we put up with him and his
-dirty family."
-
-"Show the way."
-
-It did not take them long to find out which of the two blind alleys off
-the big cellar was hollow.  The listeners heard the officer order his
-men to begin.  Ian's bricklayers were good workmen, though, and gave
-them plenty to do.  The subaltern swore at the thickness of the wall.
-At last they gave a whoop of delight.
-
-"Potatoes," cried a voice in German.  "Trust them to know a good potato
-when they see it.
-
-"Take them all out, every sack.  Let the Polish swine starve.  I'll make
-that lying Count smart for this."
-
-"Will you?" said the Countess, and so loud that the priest feared they
-would hear her.
-
-There was much running to and fro as they took up their booty.
-
-"Oh, for ten armed men," whispered the Countess. "I'd teach them to loot
-us."
-
-Father Constantine begged her to keep quiet, but she went on muttering
-against them.  After some minutes a soldier's voice reported all the
-potatoes upstairs, on a cart.  They had taken one of Ian's.
-
-"And the wine?"
-
-"Three dozen bottles."  Father Constantine squirmed to think of that
-good wine going down German throats.
-
-"Get up the rest," ordered the subaltern.  "And send me that Jew."
-
-Szmul had been wall-tapping on his own account. He appeared breathless.
-
-"Oh, Excellency ... there is a hollow wall just over there.  And it's
-wider than the others."
-
-"Lead the way."  Their steps died in the distance.
-
-"Did you hear what he said about Ian?" she asked.
-
-"Yes.  I'll run over and warn him not to come till they go."
-
-"We have plenty of time," she said bitterly.  "They have a dozen places
-yet.  Oh, if I were a man!"
-
-"What would you do?"
-
-"I'd shoot him," and her voice was deadly calm.
-
-Suddenly they heard picks behind the little altar, and sprang up in
-consternation.  Szmul had found Ian's largest grain store.
-
-"Let us go," she said.  There was something in her voice the priest had
-never heard before.
-
-They returned to the library.  She shut and locked the door and without
-another word went to Ian's bedroom.  Father Constantine followed, afraid
-of the look on her face.  She took her boy's revolver from a table by
-the bed.
-
-"What are you going to do?"
-
-She looked him full in the face, white to the lips but her eyes blazing
-with the passion of protecting motherhood.
-
-"Shoot him--before he gets Ian."
-
-"But you're mad," cried the priest, vainly trying to wrest the weapon
-from her.  "The troopers will avenge themselves on you and on Miss."
-
-But she was in no mood to listen.  She made sure the revolver was loaded
-and went to the door.  Her chaplain managed to reach it first.
-
-"You'll shoot me before you leave this room," he cried.
-
-They stood glaring at one another and saying many bitter things--they
-who had been friends for half a century.  Then they felt ashamed and
-were silent, though each was bent on victory.  This lull in the quarrel
-was broken by the sound of horses' hoofs upon the frozen ground.
-
-"They're off," she cried, and running to the window had opened and
-cleared it before the priest could get there.  And in peace time she
-walked with a stick!
-
-He followed her as best he could, but alas! when he reached the ground
-she had disappeared.  The place was deserted, the night dark.  He ran
-hither and thither looking for her, his one thought to snatch away the
-revolver.  He remembered all the terrible things they had done to women
-in France and Belgium for less than killing a Prussian officer.  And she
-was a good shot.  He had seen her hit the bull'seye over and over again,
-in the little shooting-range behind the shrubbery.
-
-A shot rang through the air--it came from the kitchen side.  He was too
-late!  He could no longer save her from herself!  Ah, they were already
-on her, for he could hear hoarse German oaths and a woman's screams.
-Yes, that was her voice.  Oh, my God, that he should come to this!  They
-were torturing her, subjecting her to unspeakable martyrdom, wreaking
-vengeance for the death of their chief.
-
-In the kitchen entry he stumbled over a Prussian helmet.  Its owner lay
-near by, on his face ... he hurried on...
-
-The huge room resounded with the clash of steel, women's screams, men's
-oaths.  There was a struggling mass of humanity in the gloom.  Ian, his
-face bleeding, was fighting for his life with a trooper. Father
-Constantine butted at them, to catch the German in his big paunch.  But
-something sharp and cold hit his head and he knew no more.
-
-When he recovered his senses he was lying in a cold, dark place.  His
-head ached greatly.  Somebody was bathing it with water.
-
-"The Countess?  The Countess?"  He tried to rise, but could not.
-
-"She is safe.  Please lie still, Father Constantine."  This in English.
-It was Minnie.
-
-"Are you sure?"
-
-"Quite."
-
-"And Ian?"
-
-"A flesh wound.  He'll be well in a week; but you----"
-
-"And that Prussian?"
-
-"Dead."
-
-"She killed him?"
-
-"No.  The Russians came up just in time.  Cavalry. Caught them with
-their booty at the top of the cellar steps.  Ian killed two.  They
-fought like devils, but were entrapped.  Two others got killed, then the
-officer.  When the rest saw him down, they surrendered.  We've one
-wounded prisoner here.  He says Szmul offered to bring them here if they
-would spare him and some money he had buried."
-
-"And Szmul?"
-
-She laughed bitterly.
-
-"Got clean off.  Trust him.  Now, you must rest. I'm going to be very
-strict."
-
-"But one thing more ... the signals saved us?"
-
-"Yes."
-
-"How many Prussians crossed the river that Szmul----"
-
-"You must not talk."
-
-"Please, just that."
-
-"The Russians say only a few.  The rest were cut off as they landed on
-this side.  But the prisoner, when I went to him just now--he is wounded
-in the leg--says several hundred got over and his lot believed they were
-in touch with the rest.  Then they met Szmul who told them what booty
-there was to be had in Ruvno--emeralds, and grain and wine.  He says the
-Germans will think Szmul got them here to entrap them, and will hang him
-to the nearest tree."
-
-"Serve him right!" cried the priest.  "That skunk! Why, when he came up
-to me last night----"
-
-"Be quiet, Father Constantine," she said severely, "or I sha'n't let you
-see anybody for a week."
-
-And he obeyed.
-
-
-
-
-                                   X
-
-
-Ian became vaguely aware of Minnie's feelings towards him on the night
-of that fight with the Prussians in the kitchen.  She saw the end of
-that adventure despite his precautions.  From the "secret room," which
-was the name the household gave to a small paneled chamber that had only
-a bull's-eye window and access from a bedroom by means of a small door
-cut in the paneled wall, she espied his signaling on the church tower.
-He had used this way of communicating before.  She ran down there to
-help.  On the tower she found Martin, whose ancient arms were pretty
-well exhausted.  Ian, busy on the other side, did not know she was there
-till she shouted that she saw a red light.  It was thrown up by some
-Russian cavalry and not far off.  They arrived just in time.  The
-Countess showed them the way to the cellars through the library, so that
-most of the Prussians were caught like rats in a trap.  Some broke
-through the other way into the kitchen and fought hard, but were
-defeated and surrendered to the Cossacks, who marched off with all the
-survivors except one, who was wounded in the leg.
-
-He was not ungrateful for her help on the tower, though he agreed with
-Martin that it had not been necessary.  He told her that she had no
-business to leave the secret room whilst Germans were about; then seeing
-her disappointment at this cool recognition of her services, he told the
-Grand Duke, in her presence, that she deserved a decoration.  But he
-determined to send her home at the first opportunity. The events of the
-preceding evening proved how women hampered him when the enemy came.  He
-would have sent his mother, too, to join Vanda in Warsaw, but she was so
-firm in her refusal to leave Ruvno that he gave up trying to persuade
-her.
-
-For several days after the kitchen fight nothing happened.  Ian was busy
-bricking up his rescued stores, which the Prussians had almost got away
-with. Father Constantine was still in bed, his head wrapped in bandages;
-the wounded Prussian had been moved to a hospital at Kosczielna, because
-his leg was getting better so fast that they feared he would run away.
-
-Then Major Healy arrived.  He was a great big good-natured American,
-doing his best to relieve the suffering in Poland with the means at his
-disposal. He was, too, intensely interested in learning all he could
-about the country, its customs and people. Ruvno was a revelation to
-him.  So far, the work had taken him and his interpreter amongst the
-peasants, burrowing like rats below ground, and the Jews, for whom he
-felt more pity than admiration.  He was delighted to find that Ian spoke
-English.  They got on very well together.  It was a long time since Ian
-had talked to a man of his own age who was not a soldier.  The Russians
-he saw were infinitely more interested in turning his ground into
-trenches and battlefields than in suggesting the best means of keeping
-those dependent on him from starvation till the next harvest.  Major
-Healy had worked in Belgium and France and was able to give him a good
-many hints for economy.  Poland had always enjoyed such liberal food
-supplies that Ian had overestimated his war rations and was astounded to
-hear how people lived in Belgium.  He cut down his ration system
-slightly, and results proved that the change did no immediate harm,
-whilst making a good deal of difference in the output of supplies.
-
-Father Constantine, too, was interested in the visitor, though not on
-account of rations.  Minnie, suspecting nothing and anxious to give him
-some news, told him about Healy's arrival with an interpreter and three
-other men who helped to distribute relief.
-
-"American!" he cried.  "I must see him at once. I wouldn't miss him for
-worlds."
-
-Minnie explained that Major Healy would probably stop a few days, then
-come back on his way home.
-
-"Home?  Do you say he is going home?"  His eyes shone like a bird's
-under the white bandages. "If so, the sooner I see him the better."
-
-"Can't I give him your message?"
-
-"Certainly not."  Father Constantine could be very peremptory when he
-liked.  "The idea!  I am quite fit to see visitors ... and anxious to
-meet this American boy."
-
-"He's forty if he's an hour."
-
-"Well--forty or fourteen.  See him I will."
-
-Minnie put on the professional nurse's manner.
-
-"Father," she said, "you're getting excited and you know how bad it is
-for you.  I won't bring up anybody till your temperature goes down."
-
-He said no more; next time she took his temperature it had gone up two
-points.  He actually winked at her.
-
-"There, my child," he said in triumph.  "I told you that the sooner I
-see this relief man the better. I shall not sleep a wink to-night unless
-I do ... and to-morrow morning you'll find me in a raging fever."
-
-"He is busy ... Ian is with him.  I heard them say they would not finish
-till supper time."
-
-"What are they doing?"
-
-"Checking stores for some village.  The Americans have got a wonderful
-system.  Ian is learning it."
-
-"You and Ian can do that whilst he is up here.  I feel my temperature
-has gone up another point.  Give me the thermometer."
-
-She refused that, but went for Major Healy.  After all, she reflected,
-he was an obstinate old man and capable of getting a high temperature
-just to prove himself in the right.
-
-The introduction over, he turned to her with one of his benignant
-smiles.
-
-"My child ... you have spent so much time with a poor old man to-day, I
-am sure Major Healy will excuse you ... you might help Ian check those
-potatoes."
-
-She took the hint and went out; but not to the potatoes.  I am afraid
-she did a very mean thing. She burned with curiosity to hear what Father
-Constantine wanted with the American major, and that instinct which
-often enables a woman to steal a march on man whispered that she was
-concerned in the priest's mysterious anxiety.  It may be true that an
-eavesdropper hears no good of herself; it is equally true that she
-sometimes hears things good for herself. Therefore, argued Minnie, it
-was quite a normal occupation under the circumstances.
-
-The Father's room opened to his dressing-room, approachable from the
-corridor as well.  Thither she tiptoed, to find the door ajar.  Slipping
-in, she stood behind a curtain which hung in the doorway between
-dressing and bedrooms.  There was no door, so she heard very clearly.
-Father Constantine was talking; she caught the sound of her own name.
-
-"It is not safe for Miss Burton to remain here," he said in his slow,
-correct English, for the Major had no other tongue.  "I have told her so
-more than once.  So has the Countess; and also the Count.  But she
-refuses to listen.  She knows how much we value her excellent work with
-wounded and refugees.  But perhaps you can persuade her.  Neither the
-Countess nor her son can insist; it would look as though they wanted to
-get rid of her."
-
-Major Healy was loath to interfere.  He sat, like a giant in repose, by
-the little chaplain's bed, listening politely, but secretly wishing
-himself downstairs with the Count, whom he found more interesting every
-time they talked together.  Father Constantine's message had interrupted
-a long argument not entirely disconnected with big-game shooting.  Healy
-was a keen sportsman himself, and found it very interesting to swap
-stories with Ian, who did not know the Rockies, but did know the
-Caucasus and even Cashmere, where he had spent a long-remembered holiday
-with young Ralph Burton two years ago.
-
-"Well," he said, in slow sonorous tones, his blue eyes watching the
-snowstorm that raged outside the sealed double window.  "Miss Burton
-looks as if she could take care of herself.  I hear that the Grand Duke
-promised to give warning if the place gets unsafe."
-
-This was not at all what Father Constantine wanted.
-
-"Do you see my bandages?" he asked.
-
-Major Healy said he did.
-
-"I received the wounds they cover in a fight which took place in the
-kitchen between the Grand Duke's soldiers and Prussian Hussars.  Neither
-the Duke nor the Kaiser sent to warn me that a fight would be in the
-kitchen, which I entered by chance without any idea the Russians had
-come to the rescue.  It was a very good thing they did come because, as
-you know, grain and potatoes are worth a dozen old men's skulls
-nowadays."
-
-"Oh--don't say that," protested the major politely.
-
-The priest went on:
-
-"Let us put it in this way.  What would have happened if Miss Burton and
-not myself had gone into the kitchen?"
-
-"I suppose her head would have been smashed, too," murmured the
-American.
-
-"Exactly," agreed the priest.  "Her pretty young head would have been
-broken.  And as a woman's head is softer than a priest's, it would
-probably have been broken past repairing."
-
-Major Healy waited for more.  It came.
-
-"And what would the American government say if an American woman had her
-skull broken in a Polish kitchen?" he pursued.
-
-"It would have written one of its darned notes."
-
-"Oh!" said Father Constantine, disappointed at this unexpected reply.
-"It would have written one of those notes?  They must be very
-interesting to compose, but will not mend broken heads.  And England
-won't even write a note.  But her brothers would probably blame us for
-letting her stop here.  And Ruvno is one of the most dangerous houses in
-Poland. You can see for yourself what the Prussians have done to the
-tower and the west wing."
-
-"That I have," agreed the major, more interested in the west wing than
-the prospect of Minnie's broken skull.  "I'd like to wring the Kaiser's
-neck for bringing down that old bit."  He was an admirer of antiquities,
-you see, and Minnie was still far from being one. "No, Father, Poland
-isn't safe for young girls and I'll speak to her about it."
-
-He rose from the depths of the armchair.
-
-"Thank you so much.  It will be a great weight off our minds when we
-know that this charming young lady is out of danger.  When did you say
-you were returning to France?"
-
-"Not yet.  I'll have to go to Moscow, and can take her to Petrograd and
-find an escort for her to England."
-
-The Countess came in then and Healy went off. Minnie was half-way across
-the room on her way out when a laugh from the patient stopped her.
-There was something wicked about it, out of keeping with a broken skull
-and high temperature.
-
-"What is it?" asked the Countess.
-
-He laughed again.  The visit had cheered him immensely.
-
-"I think I've managed it."
-
-"Managed what?"
-
-"To persuade the American that Miss can't stop here any longer."  And he
-laughed again.
-
-"But you know what the Grand Duke said."
-
-"How about my broken head?"
-
-"Oh--that was my fault, Father----"
-
-"No--no."  His voice was deprecating now. "This American man will
-persuade her.  He is the picture of American determination.  Look at his
-chin."
-
-"I haven't noticed his chin.  But I have noticed your lack of gratitude.
-I'm ashamed of you after the way Minnie nurses you."
-
-"I'm not ungrateful; but I've been watching her and Ian rather closely
-the last few days."
-
-"You've been in bed!"
-
-Father Constantine coughed.
-
-"That is why.  You have no idea, Countess, how supremely indifferent a
-young woman is towards a dozing patient.  And I doze a good deal
-nowadays. Ian, dear boy, comes to see me.  And so does the Miss."
-
-Minnie had to restrain an impulse to go in and shake her patient.  She
-heard footsteps outside, then Ian's voice at the old man's door.
-
-"Is Major Healy here?" he asked.
-
-"He is checking those American potatoes with the Miss," the priest
-answered.
-
-"Oh!  I'll come for a chat later on."  And off he went.
-
-Minnie could hear the Countess and the priest giggle. They were still
-enjoying their joke when came another rap.  The surgeon this time.
-Minnie went up to the ward, bursting with indignation at the priest's
-duplicity.  The idea of his "foxing" when she supposed him sound asleep!
-She thought it very deceitful of him.
-
-Healy was a conscientious man.  Though very busy that evening, he found
-time to redeem his promise to Father Constantine, and talk to Minnie.
-She cut him short with:
-
-"Yes.  The old tower has spoilt one of the best specimens of
-architecture left in Poland, and the old priest's head has been smashed
-without either the Kaiser or the Grand Duke warning him.  And I shall
-get my head broken unless I go home at once."
-
-He fairly gasped.
-
-"How on earth----" he began.
-
-"I've heard it before.  I expect that Father Constantine has asked you
-to help him.  I shouldn't wonder if he asked you what the American
-government would say if my head gets broken.  Looking at you and knowing
-your personal sympathies with the Allies, I suppose you think I am able
-to take care of myself."
-
-"Well, as you mention it----"
-
-He gave her an appreciative glance.  She was good-looking and he admired
-her "spunk," to say nothing about her bright eyes and rosy cheeks.
-
-Taking courage, she went on gaily:
-
-"And the priest probably used his old joke about his head being harder
-than a woman's."
-
-"He did say----"
-
-"Major Healy, I appreciate your kindness, but I'm not going home for any
-of these arguments, which I've heard before.  You may have some of your
-own up your sleeve, if so----"
-
-"I hadn't thought of any, but----"
-
-"No, you've been so busy that you trusted to the old ones.  It would
-take something better to send me back to London."
-
-"There's Moscow," he mentioned.  "It's nearer and quite safe."  He
-rather liked the idea of having her as traveling companion.  She would
-be entertaining and was good to look upon.
-
-"Nor Moscow either."
-
-"Warsaw?"
-
-"Not even Warsaw.  I'm going to stop here, where I'm wanted."
-
-He laughed.  "I don't know but what you're right. You can always get
-away when things look bad."
-
-He returned to his blankets and potatoes, so Minnie heard no more of the
-matter from him.  But Father Constantine was quite nasty about it.  Next
-afternoon, at the hour of his siesta, he summoned his old servant and
-made him read the newspaper.  Then he insisted on learning how to knit.
-In future, when he wanted a nap, he saw that the door was locked, saying
-that visitors at that time disturbed him.  He gave a pretty shrewd guess
-that his room was about the only place where Minnie could talk quietly
-to Ian these busy days, and meant to put a stop to the meetings.  He was
-by no means so simple as he looked.
-
-Major Healy sought her to say good-bye, on the afternoon of his
-departure.  He waited till she had gone up to one of the large bedrooms
-she called her ward.  He thought he could talk more freely there than
-before his host or hostess.  His ideas about Minnie had changed in these
-few days, since he sat, bored and eager to get away, by the old
-chaplain's bed, and listened to his talk of broken heads.
-
-"You're doing splendid work here," he said, when she had shown him a
-couple of her convalescent patients.  "But I think you're too near the
-firing line."
-
-"So is the Countess," she returned gaily.  He did not speak for a
-moment.  He had a habit of pondering beforehand that suited his big
-stature and heavy build.  He was interested in her.  She happened to be
-the first young woman he had met for weeks who spoke his own language.
-Relief work in a devastated country did not allow for social intercourse
-and he realized what a pleasant little break Ruvno had made for him.
-
-"The Countess?" he echoed, looking at his cigar. "I guess the Countess
-is hanging on to a piece of herself.  The Count tells me her family has
-been here for eight centuries.  I hadn't realized what that meant till I
-talked to them.  It means that the family was looking at this landscape,
-tilling this land and fighting for it when the Indians camped where my
-home is and the Norman king reigned over _yours_.  So I expect she'd as
-soon die as leave it any other way."
-
-"Yes--that's true," agreed Minnie.
-
-"But you've only been here a few months," he went on.  "It's not part of
-your bones."
-
-"I've these," she said, looking round the room, which was peopled with
-peasant women and children, injured by Prussian shells or gases, whilst
-working in their fields.  "I can't leave them."
-
-He lowered his voice and bent over her, though not one of those
-suffering, frightened souls could understand what he said.  "I've talked
-things over with the Count.  It's plain enough that they're not going to
-leave this old house of theirs even if the Germans come for good.
-That's their look-out.  If I were in their shoes I'd probably do the
-same thing. The Germans will have to burn them out.  But you're not a
-Pole--Miss Burton.  If they catch you here, they'll give you a pretty
-bad time of it."
-
-Her eyes flashed.
-
-"I'm going to stay all the same," she said firmly. "The Russians aren't
-beaten yet."
-
-He gave a slow gesture of despair.
-
-"It's going to be a long party and the Germans 'll make another push for
-Warsaw soon.  You're right in their road here."
-
-He looked at her, a little pleadingly.  He hated the thought of leaving
-her in the midst of this desolation, possibly a prey to German "Kultur."
-He had not noticed anything to make him suspect that Ian, rather than
-wounded refugees, was in her mind when she refused to leave.  He had not
-seen the two together. Ian was busy all day long outside the house, she
-in the wards.  His admiration for her grew.
-
-"Haven't you any family?" he asked.
-
-"One brother with the Fleet and another in Flanders."
-
-"That's a family to be proud of," he said warmly. "D'you hear from
-them?"
-
-"Not since the Dardanelles were closed.  Will you take a couple of
-letters for me?"
-
-"That I will.  And I'll see you get the answers. I'm going to Petrograd
-next week--then to France. I'll be back here next spring.  Meanwhile,
-there are other men doing the work.  Tell your brothers to send through
-our office in Moscow.  Here's the address."  He produced a card, then a
-pencil.  "On the back I'll write mine, in Paris, where you'll always get
-me."  He scribbled a couple of lines and handed her the card.  "Now you
-keep that and don't forget to let me know, either there, or through our
-Moscow office, when you want anything."
-
-"Thanks awfully.  I'll take great care of the card and will fetch the
-letters for my brothers.  They are ready."
-
-He followed her and waited in the corridor.  When she came back he said,
-hesitatingly:
-
-"Excuse a personal question; but have you got any cash?"
-
-"A certain amount."
-
-"How much?"
-
-"Oh, about five hundred roubles--and my cheque-book."
-
-"The cheque-book won't do you much good."  His comely, rather heavy face
-flushed.  "Look here I'm a banker at home----"
-
-"Why, you're a major," she retorted.
-
-"So I am.  But peace soldiering didn't suit me and I went into my
-father's business.  I'm going to join up again when America fights--and
-she must."
-
-"I'm glad to hear that," she said.
-
-"Thanks.  It'll take time--but it's coming.  Why, if I thought we
-weren't going to help put an end to this desolation over here...."
-
-He grew suddenly shy, and broke off.  Then:
-
-"Let me be your banker now."  He put a roll of notes into her hand.
-"You'll be glad of it before you're through with Poland, believe me."
-
-She thanked him, prettily, so he thought.  Her first impulse was to
-refuse the money.  Then she reflected that they all might be glad of it
-one day.  The American's kindness touched her, and she showed it; this
-flattered him.  He had a susceptible heart and innate chivalry,
-inherited from Irish forebears.
-
-"Oh--how am I to thank you?" she murmured, blushing redder than he had
-been a moment before.
-
-"By using it to get out of this desert as soon as you can," he returned
-quickly.  "I hate to leave you here--in danger."
-
-"But there is none--yet.  Look here, Major Healy, do let me give you a
-cheque on my London bank for it."
-
-He laughed.
-
-"I told you cheques are no good in this country. We'll settle later on.
-Remember to let me know if I can help.  Good-bye and good luck."
-
-He strode down the long gallery, turned at the end, regretfully, waved
-his hand and was gone. Minnie went back to her patients, whom she tended
-with the help of two village women, and Zosia, the housekeeper.
-
-The Countess had wounded soldiers in another part of the house.
-
-
-
-
-                                   XI
-
-
-One spring morning the Countess came into the office where Ian was
-working, an open letter in her hand.  He saw by her eyes that she had
-unpleasant news.
-
-"A letter from Joseph," she announced, sitting down by his desk, where
-he was busy with accounts.  He looked up, his clear eyes hardened.
-
-"What does he want?"
-
-"He has a week's leave.  He says that the six months are over, and
-wants----"
-
-"Wants his wedding," said Ian.  "Then he must have it."
-
-She laid her slim hand on his.  He raised it to his lips; but did not
-meet her fond gaze.
-
-"He says he has written to Vanda, to come here, to meet him."
-
-Ian gave a grunt.  He thought it just like Joe's impudence to order
-people in and out of his house. But he said nothing.  His mother went
-on:
-
-"Vanda, it appears, wants the wedding to take place in Warsaw."
-
-"She's right," he returned promptly.  "A wedding in this muddle!"  He
-looked out of the window, to the garden cut in trenches, and the barbed
-wire, rusty with spring rains, blotting what was once a peaceful vista
-of sedate comfort.  "I'd write to the Europe about rooms, and to the
-Archbishop."
-
-"But, Ianek, think of the expense, nowadays," she protested gently.
-
-"It wouldn't be much.  You need only invite the family.  No lunch or
-anything, just a glass of champagne when you get back from church.  A
-war wedding."
-
-"Then you won't come, dear?"
-
-"No.  The work here ... you know how pressed I am for men."  He lowered
-his voice: "It's easier that way."
-
-She gave him one of her long, adoring looks, her hand on his shoulder.
-
-"Courage," she whispered, "these things pass."
-
-He nodded.  "There have been so many other things, and yet, when you
-came in with your news, I wished him dead."
-
-"Ianek!" she cried, shocked by the pain in his voice as much as his
-words.  "I'd been hoping you had forgotten.  You were more cheerful
-these last few weeks, and so busy."
-
-He gave a little laugh.  "So did I.  Then this letter brought it ...
-showed it's still there."  He got up and paced the long room.  "Oh, I
-don't want it here.  Manage that for me; find out from somebody where
-Joe is, send a messenger that we can't have it in this ruin, that I
-insist, as head of the family, on its being in Warsaw.  Telegraph to
-Vanda--I can't spare a messenger or I'd send a note to her by hand. But
-telegraph her that she's to stop where she is, that you're coming for
-the wedding.  Tell her to let him know; he may be in Warsaw."
-
-She glanced at the letter.
-
-"No address, of course, just the military censor's stamp."
-
-"But she may know where he is," he rejoined eagerly.  "Take Minnie with
-you.  The change'll do her good.  Women love a wedding.  Stop a few days
-yourself.  I'll write the telegrams myself, they must be in Russian, I'd
-forgotten that."  Then, seeing the alarm in her face, he added: "Don't
-worry, Mother, it's only ... it'll pass.  But start for Warsaw the
-minute you can, before either of them gets here."
-
-"At once," she said, rising.
-
-He wrote a telegram to Joseph, another to Vanda and a third to the
-Archbishop of Warsaw.  He wanted that man of high courage and well-tried
-patriotism to bless her union.  These he sent to the station, the
-nearest telegraph office; at some inconvenience, because there was a
-great deal of work to be done in the fields and he was short of labor.
-So he took the place of the boy he sent plowing for him till all hands
-struck work at midday.  Things had changed since last spring; when the
-squire rode over his well-cultivated property and merely gave orders to
-his manager.  Now he was his own manager and his own bailiff, and
-sometimes his own hind as well.  Plowing, he congratulated himself that
-he had at least saved the situation, as far as witnessing Joseph's
-happiness went; and the hard exercise relieved his feelings.
-
-Here Destiny stepped in.  He was crossing the hall to wash his hands for
-their frugal lunch when he heard the clatter of a quick-stepping horse
-through the open door.  A tall figure, slim and smart in its brown
-Cossack uniform, swung from the saddle and stood in the sunlit entry.
-It was Joseph.  They stood looking at one another in silence for a
-moment.
-
-"Hullo!" cried the new-comer, "It is you ... couldn't see after having
-the sun in my eyes."  And he strode over, spurs clanking, to hug the
-squire in an old-fashioned Polish embrace with a warmth that belonged,
-in the old days, to Roman, never to his brother.
-
-Ian was forced to admit that war had changed his cousin.  He was
-handsome as ever; but less a prig, more a man.  Rubbing shoulders with
-the primitive aspects of life and death had done him good, widened his
-sympathies, rubbed off the crust of self-complacency which Ian has
-always hated in him, even before love came between them.
-
-"I just wired to you," he said, releasing himself. "No idea you were so
-near."
-
-"Near!  The general's headquarters are in a railway truck at Kosczielna.
-I've got a week's leave. Has Vanda come?"
-
-"No.  Mother is packing to go to Warsaw."
-
-"Anything wrong?" he asked in alarm.  "Out with it, tell me the worst."
-
-"Nothing wrong.  Only...."  He pointed towards the devastated garden,
-the gap where the tower had once been, and the rusty entanglements.  "We
-can't have a wedding here."
-
-Joseph laughed, not from lack of sympathy, but for relief that Vanda was
-not ill?
-
-"My God!  There are weddings on rubbish heaps nowadays.  I call Ruvno a
-quiet spot for a honeymoon. I've no time to go to Warsaw.  Vanda wanted
-it there, too, but it'll take too long.  We're going to make an advance
-soon, and goodness knows when I'll get another chance like this.  A
-week's leave!  Not to be despised, I can tell you.  I've got all the
-papers and things.  We can get married the moment Vanda comes.  Hard
-work getting them, but they've made things easier in war-time.  I saw
-that old Canon of yours.  Dragged him out of bed at six o'clock this
-morning.  I say, anything to drink?  I've the thirst of the devil on
-me!"
-
-"Of course."  He led the way to the dining-room, noted Joseph's long
-pull at the beer set before him--he was in too much of a hurry to wait
-for a bottle of wine to be fetched and opened--watched, listened and
-wondered.  And this was Joseph, the fastidious, pomaded, manicured,
-supercilious fop of six months ago.  His face reddened by snow, sun and
-wind; his chin unshaven, his right hand disfigured by the scar of the
-wound he got in the Carpathians, his nails broken and begrimed with dirt
-that no washing would remove, his fair hair, once so sleek and trim,
-tousled from his high fur cap, which he pulled off and flung on to a
-chair.  He looked the picture of robust health, happiness and sincerity,
-but never like Joseph Skarbek. Soldiering with men whose education and
-upbringing was ruder than his had rubbed the artificiality off him,
-leaving the old type of virile, keen, sincere Skarbeks who had fought
-their way through the country's history.  Ian began almost to like him.
-
-But he was not a second Roman, had none of his brother's fatalism,
-devil-may-care philosophy, odd glimpses into the truth of life's
-foundations.  His was more the ingenuity of a big schoolboy, but such a
-schoolboy as he had never been when in his 'teens. One of his first
-questions was for Roman.  He grew grave when they told him there was no
-news.
-
-"I counted on your hearing from him.  He wouldn't be likely to write to
-me, because of Vanda.  But he must have got over that.  It wasn't his
-first love-affair --nor his second.  He can't be a prisoner.  He'd never
-let the Prussians take him.  He told me that. Besides, I know it
-myself."  He gave a short laugh. "Crucifixion would be too good for us
-both if they catch us.  And he's not on the list of dead or wounded
-either, for I got a man at Petersburg--I mean Petrograd--to bring me
-them."
-
-"Up to date?" asked Ian anxiously.
-
-"Yes.  The latest.  They came this morning, just before I started.  Of
-course, it's just like Roman never to send a line, and then hell turn up
-all of a sudden and be surprised that we were anxious."
-
-As he sat and listened to the story of the Carpathian campaign, told
-with simple directness, with that ignorance of main facts which
-characterises all such stories, where a man knows only what goes on
-around him, yet with that charm of the intelligent eye-witness, Ian felt
-suddenly very middle-aged and out of things.  Here he was, doing daily
-drudgery on a ruined estate, always in the same place, always seeing the
-same people, in the dull monotony of a long winter, without any
-shooting, without visits to Warsaw and the opera, whilst this cousin of
-his, whom he had always despised for a coxcomb and an armchair
-agriculturist, had been running half over Europe, chasing the Austrians
-over snow-bound mountains, learning the sensation of fighting hand to
-hand, of being wounded, of getting a decoration, of thinking himself
-dead once, of being near death many times; not the death of
-rats-in-a-hole that Ruvno knew, but death with glory; when he heard
-tales of these things, told by a now unfamiliar Joseph, and compared his
-own humdrum life, he reflected bitterly that if Vanda had loved this man
-before she would worship him now.  He opened the demijohn that his mind
-had reserved for Roman's coming, and they drank the health of everybody
-they liked who was alive and to the other Skarbek's speedy return.
-During the evening they discussed business.
-
-"Aunt Natalie," began the bridegroom, "I expect you think I'm mad to get
-married just now, with nothing to live upon and not even knowing if I'll
-be alive this time next week."
-
-"Vanda will never want while we are able to give her a crust," she said
-warmly.  This new Joseph pleased her, too; if not for her boy she would
-have taken him to her heart as she had taken Roman long ago.
-
-"Thank you, Aunt.  I used to think, there on the Carpathians, what a
-selfish beast I was to keep her to our engagement after I'd joined the
-right side and lost my property.  But when I was in Kieff old Uncle
-Stephen came to see me."
-
-"Old Uncle Stephen," was of the branch of Skarbeks who had estates in
-Russian territory and were Russian subjects.
-
-"They say he's made a lot of money over the war," remarked Ian.
-
-"At any rate he's not lost any.  He was so pleased to hear that I'd
-joined against the Prussians that he made over a hundred thousand
-roubles to me.  He's a wise old bird; had it invested in several things,
-I'll tell you the details afterwards.  I've got the figures on paper.
-Anyway, Vanda will have enough to live upon.  And on the strength of it
-I thought we'd better get married.  Everybody doesn't get killed in the
-war. I don't see why I should be worse off than other men."
-
-Later on he reverted again to his marriage; this time to Ian.
-
-"Vanda has been working too hard in Warsaw," he said.  "I can see that
-from her letters.  She's not her old self.  I want you to let her stop
-here till I can take care of her myself."
-
-Ian did not answer for a moment; when he spoke it was with an effort.
-
-"This is her home as long as she likes," he said.  "But you mustn't
-forget that the Russians have been here twice and may come again.  You
-wouldn't want her here then."
-
-"I've thought of that.  But they won't come so fast.  And I'll let you
-know in time to get her out before they do.  She wants a rest from that
-nursing business.  It's wearing her out."
-
-Ian's quick ears had detected the sound of wheels coming up the drive.
-He went to the window and looked out.  A hired trap was making its way
-up to the house with that gallop for the avenue characteristic of
-hackney drivers in Eastern Europe.  The garden was flooded with
-moonlight, which lighted up those on the trap.  As it swung round by the
-front door, he saw two women sitting behind the driver.  One was
-evidently a peasant, and beside her sat a slim, upright figure dressed
-in dark clothes.  He shut the window and turned to his cousin:
-
-"She has come," he said.
-
-
-
-
-                                  XII
-
-
-Next morning, Ian was up at daybreak, hurrying to his morning tasks, to
-get them over a little earlier than usual and have time for a chat with
-Vanda before breakfast. The Canon was coming at twelve, and would marry
-them immediately. Between breakfast and midday he had a great deal to do
-and could not expect to get five minutes alone with her.
-
-Crossing to the farm, he met Joseph.
-
-"You're up early," he remarked.
-
-"Can't sleep.  I'm so excited!"  He laughed gaily.
-
-"I hope Vanda is asleep.  She looked awfully tired last night."
-
-"Oh, she'll be all right in a little while.  She's had too much hard
-work.  The Princess ought not to have allowed it.  She promised to get
-up in good time, too; I want every minute with her."
-
-Ian glanced at him.  So the old Joseph had not gone altogether.  Ian
-would not have disturbed her so early if they were to part that day.
-She needed rest more than anything.
-
-"Don't you think she has changed?" he asked.  "It seemed to me last
-night she was different."
-
-"Oh, nonsense!  You know how devoted she is to me.  And I to her, of
-course.  Why, I love her a thousand times more than I did before I went
-to the Carpathians.  You're getting a crusty old bachelor, full of odd
-ideas.  _Au revoir_, I'm off to get a shave."
-
-And he turned towards the house.  Ian went into one of the fields which
-were being plowed.  How sure Joseph was of his luck!  Even if he heard
-from Vanda's own lips that she did not care for him he would refuse to
-believe it, put it down to fatigue, insist on their marriage all the
-same.
-
-Ian was late for breakfast.  The Countess alone lingered at the table,
-so that he should not have a solitary meal.  They did not mention
-Vanda's name, but he asked if she had ordered the best luncheon
-possible, considered the menu, suggested one or two alterations.  The
-best champagne in the cellars must be brought up--and some of the old
-Hungarian wine for dessert, as is the Polish custom.  She fondly thought
-that it was just like her boy to remember such details for other
-people's pleasure in the midst of his own pain.  He spoke about a dowry,
-too, but here she was firm in her disapproval.
-
-"It's absurd," she said.  "Stephen is looking after Joseph.  He is far
-better off now than we are or ever shall be again.  And you know he
-always meant to leave everything to Joe and Roman.  Keep your money.  We
-shall want it badly enough before the war is over."
-
-He said no more about it, but returned to the lunch.
-
-"It would have been a better one if I'd known sooner," he remarked as
-they left the table. "However, the wine is all right.  And they'll be
-too happy to notice what they are eating."
-
-"Oh, Ianek, I do wish you hadn't promised him to keep her here," she
-exclaimed.
-
-He took her face in his hands and kissed her white hair, laughing a
-little at her concern.
-
-"Never mind, Mother.  You've no idea how good plowing is for the
-sentiments."
-
-This was another grievance.  She exclaimed indignantly:
-
-"To think you have to work like a peasant!"
-
-"I want my crops.  And when I've no manager, overseer or bailiff, and
-very few laborers, what can I do?  It's good for me, I'm fit as a
-fiddle."  And he made her feel the muscles on his arms, which were like
-iron.
-
-"We seem to have become yeoman farmers," she said.  "Oh, I'm not
-complaining for myself."
-
-"Then don't worry about me," he rejoined cheerfully. "After all, we're a
-lot better off than most of our neighbors."
-
-The wedding was over very quickly.  Ian gave Vanda away because there
-was nobody else to do it. She wore a white frock which, oddly enough, he
-remembered quite well.  Less than a year ago he had taken her and the
-Countess up to Warsaw for some racing, before she went to stay in the
-Grand Duchy. They had their usual rooms at the Europe, on the quiet
-side, away from the main street.  There was a large sitting-room, with a
-balcony.  The dress had come home at the last moment, whilst the car
-waited downstairs to take them to the course at Mokotov. She had put it
-on hastily and called him in from the balcony to look at it.  He
-supposed that was why he remembered it so well.  He would have given her
-a new one for the wedding, had he known she was coming so quickly.  She
-looked very sweet in the old one, though.  But his thoughts flew back to
-the sumptuous outfit he had planned for her, sables he had priced in
-Warsaw, whither he never returned, except to volunteer for the army; the
-guests he was to invite, entertaining them as Ruvno could
-entertain--once. And it had all turned out so differently.  There were
-no guests, no presents, no sables; not even an entire house.  Nothing
-but ruined acres and dead hopes, and a pain in his heart such as he had
-never felt before.
-
-He could not see her face as the ring was slipped on to her finger.  He
-did not want to.  He longed for the whole thing to be over and done
-with, the blessing bestowed, the healths drunk, the meal at an end, that
-he could go out into the sun and fresh air, working until bodily fatigue
-had numbed every other feeling.
-
-Almost immediately after the marriage they sat down to table.  He played
-his part decorously, without betraying himself, with a secret anger at
-the pain in his soul and determination to kill it.  Even Minnie, who
-watched him closely, could find no fault.  He was the lively host of
-peace days, but the champagne helped him there.
-
-The Canon was in great form.  He told all sorts of stories about the
-time when Rennankampf was lodged in his house and did his duty by food
-and drink as well.  Then he rose to propose a toast.  It was in verse.
-He had used it at every marriage feast he went to for the past twenty
-years.  Even Vanda, youngest of the party, knew it off by heart; for all
-the author ever did was to change the names of bride and bridegroom; the
-body of the verses remained the same.  No sooner was he on his feet,
-however, than they applauded him.  Even Father Constantine, rather
-sleepy after his early rising and the old Tokay, woke up and said:
-"Bravo!"
-
-"Ladies and gentlemen!" began the Canon, folding his hands over his
-well-filled soutane and beaming on them all: "Let us now drink to the
-health of the beautiful bride and gallant bridegroom, who----"
-
-He never got any further.  At that moment, Martin approached Joseph and
-whispered in his ear.  The Canon stopped, for he saw a new expression on
-the bridegroom's face.
-
-"Anything wrong, Count?" he asked anxiously.
-
-Joseph turned to Martin.
-
-"Are you sure?"
-
-"Quite.  He is waiting at the door."
-
-"I'm sorry..."  He rose.  "I'll be back in a moment."
-
-But they all followed him to the door.  A Cossack orderly stood there,
-his horse covered with sweat and he with dust.  He saluted Joseph and
-said in Russian:
-
-"I was to give you this personally----"
-
-And he produced a sealed envelope from one of his high boots.
-
-Joseph tore it open, read the few words typed on a slip of paper inside,
-and turned white.
-
-"To Hell with the war!" he cried savagely.
-
-"What is it?" they all cried.
-
-"I must go--at once."
-
-"Oh--not a German advance?" asked Vanda apprehensively.
-
-He crushed the paper in his hand and returned huskily, despair on his
-face:
-
-"God knows.  The orders are to report at Headquarters immediately.  Oh,
-Vanda, it's Destiny.  First the Germans, now the Russians take me from
-you."
-
-"But you had a week's leave," said the Countess, whilst Vanda and her
-lover stood side by side, looking at each other in sorrow.  "He can't go
-back on his word."
-
-"It's imperative," said Joseph.  Then to the soldier: "What's the news
-at Headquarters?"
-
-"We're off at once.  Galicia, they say."  He swung into his saddle.
-"I'll get your horse, sir.  Time presses."  And with a salute which took
-in them all he went off to the stables.
-
-In less than ten minutes Joseph was off, trotting down the avenue on his
-fleet horse, the soldier behind him.  Farewells, admonitions, promises
-and good wishes were crowded into that short space of time. Ian could
-not forgive himself for his silence in the morning.  They were not
-married an hour before Joseph left.  He could have put it off for
-months, forever perhaps, had he only followed his better sense, instead
-of letting things slide, with true Slavonic fatalism, he told himself
-angrily.
-
-But there was no use repining.  He left the three women with the priests
-and returned to his work. He did not attempt to console Vanda, who stood
-on the steps where her husband had left her, watching him hurry away,
-waving her hands as he swung out into the road and was lost in the dust
-and the distance. He noticed that she was very pale, bewildered by the
-morning's rapid events and emotions, with tears in her eyes.  He tried
-to read her thoughts, but could not.
-
-So life once more returned to its old monotony. Vanda wore her wedding
-ring.  But that was the only outward sign that she was no longer under
-Ian's guardianship.  Letters came to her from Joseph, who wrote of
-getting leave in the summer.  She helped Minnie with the few wounded
-civilians still left in the house and slipped into her old place again.
-Ian seldom spoke to her, avoided her eyes at table where he kept up a
-general conversation in English, for Minnie's benefit.  As spring
-advanced he found more work to keep mind and body occupied.  By dint of
-getting the most out of himself and the labor still left at his disposal
-he managed to put enough land under crops to feed Ruvno and its
-population for two years, and perhaps sell some grain as well.  And this
-gave him as much satisfaction as it would have given any small farmer.
-And it made him feel young again to see the land regain some measure of
-its old prosperous aspect, though many a broad acre was cut up into
-trenches.  Peasants who had escaped to Warsaw during the December
-campaign now returned, vowing that nothing would induce them to leave
-home again. True, most of them were obliged to live in trenches or in
-the open, for their villages existed only in name; but as the warm
-weather came on this was no great hardship and they felt so glad to get
-back to the soil that they forgot past troubles and set out to cultivate
-their fields with the indomitable courage of their race.
-
-
-
-
-                                  XIII
-
-
-The inmates of Ruvno thought they had witnessed all the wrack and
-vicissitudes of war; of advancing armies, entrenched armies, foraging
-armies, looting armies; of wounds, pollution and death.  They had yet to
-see a retreating army.
-
-By July the Russians were in full retreat.
-
-Day and night they went by.  Cursing, sweating, bleeding, limping;
-hungry, thirsty, weary, their eyes aglow with the smouldering fires of
-rage, disappointment and all the bitterness of recession; without haste,
-without hope they tramped past, to fall back upon the Nieman, the Pripet
-and the Dnieper, leaving Poland to the Prussian Antichrist.
-
-At times, some of them stood to give fight, covering the retreat of the
-armies' bulk.  Then, though these battles of despair were far from
-Ruvno, the ground shook under them, a very earthquake; the few trees
-left were stript of their leaves till it looked as though winter and not
-August, were upon them.  The Russians had no ammunition; the rumbling
-and shaking came from their enemies.  And this is why there were
-smouldering fires in the tired soldiers' eyes; it was a nightmare to try
-and beat off a modern army with lances, rifle-butts and sticks.  One
-morning a lot of soldiers halted in the village.  Having exhausted what
-water there was, for a drought had been added to the peasants' troubles,
-some sought the house.  Ian went out to them.  One, a giant with blue
-eyes, fever-bright and dry, was holding forth to the servants in a
-frenzy of impotent rage.  His uniform was in tatters, his boots a mass
-of torn leather, held together God knows how.  His dirty blouse was open
-to the chest, where the blood had clotted on a stale wound.  In his hand
-was a stout oaken club, which he waved about as he shouted and swore.
-
-"What could I do with this?  Tell me, what could I do?  A stick to beat
-off the German swine.  Son of a dog, what could I do?  Never a rifle
-since we left the Lakes.  My knife gone, too."  He meant his bayonet.
-"Mother of God, to think of it!  Not a hundred rounds to the whole
-regiment!  But I killed three dog's sons with it!"  He wildly struck the
-air; all fell back in terror of their lives.  "See! like this. One!
-Two!  Three!  Smashing in their skulls like I hammer the horseshoes on
-the anvil at home.  Look at their dog's blood on it--look ye, and
-tremble!"
-
-Father Constantine, who had come out, insisted on dressing his wound,
-and found two others, only half healed.  But he was built like Hercules,
-this blacksmith from a village of Tula; they could tell he was in a high
-fever; some men march a couple of days and more in such a state, the kit
-on their backs, and none the worse for it in the end.  For these sons of
-Rus are hardened from their birth and as strong as the beasts they tend
-at home.  He was indignant with the old priest for bringing out some
-simple remedies.
-
-"What are you doing, _Pop_?" he shouted.  "The surgeon dressed it last
-night, or last week, I forget when.  I tore it off me.  How can I bear
-the feel of rags in this nightmare?  I'll go naked to the day of
-Judgment, by God I will."
-
-And he proceeded to strip, flinging his ragged garments to right and
-left, as the wild Cossacks do when they have had too much _vodka_ and
-dancing.  The maids rushed off in horror; but another giant, his
-comrade, managed to calm him and cover his huge, brawny body, where the
-muscles stood out as hard as iron under skin white as a woman's; for the
-Russians of his part are fair.  Father Constantine gave him a cooling
-draught and did what he could for his wounds, which must have smarted
-terribly under the iodine; but he never groaned.  He was lying on his
-back now, breathing heavily, eyes closed, hands clasping the club with
-all the strength of fever.
-
-"He'll kill us if he keeps it," observed his comrade, whose head was
-encased in dirty bandages.  "He has been mad with fever since last
-sunset ... but we can't find room in an ambulance for him and he lays
-out whenever we try to take it away."
-
-"I'll lay out at all the ministers when I get to Petrograd!" bawled the
-patient, springing up and upsetting the Father.  Worse than that, he
-sent over the bottle of iodine, too, and they were very short of it.
-"Son of a dog, I'll have them all, crush their skulls like walnuts.  The
-war minister first, for sending us sticks instead of guns ... and then
-the intendant, for these boots."  Here he flung one across the yard,
-where it stuck on to the well-handle.  "I'll murder every dog's son of
-them--by God, I will, till we clean Russia of thieves and swine."
-
-And so he went on, raving at everybody and everything, till he had
-shouted himself tired.  Then he lay down in the shade of the stables and
-slept uneasily. Ian wanted to send him to bed, which was the only fit
-place for him.  The officer in charge demurred, said he did not think
-the man was ill enough to risk being found here by the enemy, who could
-not be kept off more than a few days.  He had orders to retreat with as
-few losses as possible.  When Ian finally gained his point, promising to
-send him on by the first ambulance that passed, the man himself refused
-to stop behind.  He wasn't going to leave his comrades; he didn't trust
-priests ... this one had burned him with poison and tried to take away
-his only weapon, so that he would not even be able to crack German
-skulls when they came up.
-
-They watched them march off; the giant, quieter now, staggered between
-two limping comrades who helped him along, though they had all their
-work cut out to put one sore foot before the other.  When they reached
-the bend in the road they began to sing, in unison, as Russians do.  And
-Father Constantine's heart went out to those brave, simple souls, and he
-prayed that they might reach the Nieman in safety.
-
-At first this was the only army Ruvno saw--a host of men, way-worn but
-strong.  But soon came the vanguard of another legion, a ghastly,
-straggling horde of old men, women and children, fleeing before the
-invaders.  Some of them carried a kettle--all that remained of their
-worldly goods; others had harnessed skinny, starving nags to their long,
-narrow carts, piled with bedding, a quilt or two, a table or a stool.
-Here and there could be seen a sack of potatoes or buckwheat between the
-wooden bars; but this was rare indeed, because these unhappy people had
-nothing left in barn or cellar.  And the women.  They trailed on with
-their little ones; with children who could walk or toddle, with infants
-in arms, with babes at the breast, with babes yet unborn, destined to
-see the first light of a tempestuous world from the roadside, whilst
-jostling humanity passed indifferently by, benumbed with a surfeit of
-ordeal and pain.  The household could do little for these poor wretches.
-
-In one group of misery they saw a priest--a young man he was.  Father
-Constantine chided him.
-
-"Why did you let them leave their homes?" he asked.  "Can't you see half
-of them are doomed to die in the ditch?"
-
-He shrugged his shoulders and looked at his questioner with the dull
-eyes of a man steeped in despair.
-
-"What could I do?" was his wail.  "The Russians drove us out of house
-and home."
-
-"The Prussians, you mean," corrected Ian.
-
-"I mean what I say.  The Cossacks burnt the grain in the fields.  Then
-they set fire to the village."  He cursed them with unpriestly words,
-but even Father Constantine had not the will to stop him.
-
-"If there had been one cottage left, one sack of buckwheat, I could have
-persuaded them to stop," he concluded.  "But the sight of the burning
-fields and the charred walls of their homes filled them with panic.  All
-our younger men are in the army, and we had only the scorched earth
-left.  If we ever reach Warsaw we shall get somewhere to lay our heads
-and a sup to put in our mouths."
-
-Ian gave them some food for their journey, for that other retreating
-army paid these unfortunates no attention.  They had two young mothers
-in the house. One Vanda found in the ditch outside the paddock. Ian cut
-down the household rations for these fugitives, because his stock had
-run low, and the horde came on unceasingly.  He had ordered fresh
-supplies from Warsaw nearly a month back; but there was no hope of
-getting them now.  His new grain was ready to cut, and he set about it
-in haste, lest bad luck befall it.
-
-Two days later, the stream of humanity still passed by.  Many halted to
-beg for food, water.  Ian gave both, though he could only afford the
-water, for his generosity of the last few days diminished the stores in
-an alarming way.  So he had to harden his heart and give far less.  The
-country for versts round was being laid waste.  Every group of refugees
-told the same tale of destruction and ruin.  On this particular morning
-passed some peasants of Stara Viesz.  They told a ghastly story.  They
-were cutting the crops when the Cossacks came up and began firing the
-grain as it stood in the fields.  The reapers turned upon them with
-their scythes; a fierce fight followed.  The Cossacks, having spent all
-their ammunition on the Germans, had but their spears left--and the
-peasants got the best of it, beating off the destroying _sotnia_, who
-left dead and wounded amongst the corn.  But much of the grain was burnt
-and some of the cottages caught fire, for a strong east wind was
-blowing.  The villagers who now passed had nothing left.  Those lucky
-enough to save field or hut remained behind.
-
-"If we can only reach Warsaw we shall be saved," said their spokesman.
-They had one cart left, for four families.  Three had been abandoned
-because the horses dropped dead upon the road.
-
-They all looked to Warsaw as a haven of rest and plenty.  And an officer
-told Ian the Grand Duke had decided not to defend that city, but to
-evacuate it and leave it to the Prussians.  This news was so bad that he
-had not the courage to tell it them.  After all, they would not go back
-to their ruined homes.  Ian and the priest used all their eloquence in
-trying to persuade them to it.  But they refused.  Terror was upon them.
-Perhaps they were right; why go back to starvation?
-
-"Why don't the Russians give us food?  They made us leave our homes,"
-was the cry on everybody's lips. Ian could not answer them.  So helpless
-did he feel that the temptation came to shut himself up in the top story
-rather than see suffering which he could not relieve.  And he, too,
-asked himself why the Russians drove these peasants from their homes.
-What was the good of it?  Those who did not die on the road would only
-swell the beggar population of Moscow and Petrograd; for they were
-destitute, though war found them prosperous men, with land and savings,
-too.  These sad, ragged, homeless crowds would only stir up discontent
-in Russia.  And the farms and holdings they had been forced to leave
-would give the Prussians room to put their own colonists.  He was
-relieved to see that very few priests were among the refugees.  When he
-or Father Constantine asked a panic-stricken group where their priest
-was the answer always came:
-
-"He would not leave those who stopped behind."
-
-Again anxiety haunted the House.  There was Joseph.  He had given no
-sign for a month.  He had been so emphatic in his last letters about
-sending word when Vanda ought to leave that they almost gave him up as
-dead.  But though there was no longer any doubt that the Germans would
-be in Ruvno before long she refused to leave.  Neither Ian nor the
-Countess insisted.  The retreat had come so unexpectedly that they found
-themselves cut off from Warsaw, the only road to Russia left open,
-without a day's notice. There were no trains but for the army, and few
-enough for that.  Ian had not a pair of horses left capable of taking
-her twelve versts, let alone to Warsaw; and he doubted if she could get
-away from there.  Minnie was kept by the same reasons, that is, devotion
-to Ruvno and fear of sharing the fate of those fugitives they saw pass
-night and day.  Then there was Roman.  So many Cossacks went by but Ian
-vainly sought his face amongst them.  Some remembered Roman well; but
-they had not seen him for months, they said.  One thought he had been
-taken prisoner in Masuria; another, who seemed to have known him better
-than the rest, said he was reported missing as far back as last October.
-Ian questioned Father Constantine when he heard this, asking exactly
-what happened that night when Joseph escaped to the chapel.  The old man
-repeated his story and said:
-
-"Ian, I can tell you no more.  Our little family is broken up.  God
-knows when it will be reunited. Perhaps not till death binds us
-together."
-
-Then, perhaps more pressing than all, was anxiety about the crops.  It
-was quite possible the Cossacks would fire them before they left.  Some
-were cut; but most of them still stood, not ready for harvest. And Ian,
-watching the Cossacks' lack of fodder for their horses, trembled for the
-fate of his haystacks and barns, where there was hay.  The retreating
-army grew fiercer, more and more antagonistic towards the civil
-population of the country it had to abandon. The officers could keep in
-their men when they liked; but the officers themselves were often at
-little pains to hide their hostility, though the majority treated Ian
-and his property with consideration.  But a retreating army is rougher
-and more turbulent than an advancing, or entrenched army.  God forgive
-them!  They knew all the wretchedness of failure.  Rage and
-disappointment had hold of them.  Some Cossacks stopped in Ruvno; they
-were those who remembered Roman Skarbek.  They kept mostly to the
-village, but Ian wished they would go.  One night their commander told
-him that the Prussians would be there very soon, and it was time to make
-up his mind as to what he was going to do.  Ian told him he had long ago
-made up his mind to stay.  But he called up the chief men from the
-village, a deputation chosen by the rest.  The message he sent was for
-service in the chapel; though he did have the service, the real purpose
-was to discuss the situation; but the Cossacks looked askance at him
-when they heard he had decided to stay in Ruvno, so he had to be
-careful.  They kept watch day and night from the church tower in the
-village, either to direct the Russian fire on the Prussians or else to
-watch for their coming.  Several times they warned the villagers to
-leave before their homes were razed to the ground.  Some peasants were
-for taking their advice and going to Warsaw.  Hence the meeting.
-
-"The time has come for you to make up your minds," he said when he had
-them all in the little sacristy.  "Are you going to leave your land and
-follow the retreating army, or to stop here and stick to your fields?"
-
-"What is the House going to do?" asked the _soltys_, or head of the
-village community.
-
-"We stop here so long as there is a roof over us."
-
-A murmur of approval greeted this.  Ian went on:
-
-"But I don't want you to be guided by what I and the Lady Countess are
-doing.  You know what is going on as well as I do."
-
-"Ay.  All the devils have taken the Muscovites," said a voice.
-
-"Thousands of peasants, once rich, like yourselves, pass on their way to
-Warsaw," said Ian.
-
-"Please, my lord Count," put in the _soltys_, "it's Siberia and not
-Warsaw they are going to.  The Cossacks down in the village are talking
-a lot about it.  The Russian government is offering the fugitives land
-in Siberia and work in the mines.  It's not fair. This has been our land
-for centuries, long before the Russians came here at all.  And I, for
-one, and my three young sons, are for stopping here.  They can but burn
-our crops and cottages.  Haven't the Cossacks done that?"
-
-A low growl of anger filled the room.  The old man went on:
-
-"But when they've burnt the crops and our huts and stacks they've done
-their worst.  They can't take away the land, even if they bring all the
-carts they've got.  The land remains.  And I remain.  For I'd rather
-starve through another winter on my own soil than have the biggest farm
-they can give me in Siberia."
-
-They talked a lot, arguing and disputing, as peasants do.  But you
-cannot hurry them, so Ian and the priest waited for them in the chapel.
-After an hour, when each had had his say, Baranski came out.
-
-"Well, what have you decided?" Ian asked with secret anxiety.  It is no
-joke to be left in a big place like Ruvno without any peasants.
-
-"Sir," answered the _soltys_, who had followed Baranski, "we have
-decided that each man may take his choice, and that the man who takes
-his family from Ruvno, to join that poor starving mob on the road
-outside, is stupid and a fool.  If God wills that we shall die, we can
-die here.  We have two months yet of warm weather, and the crops, thank
-God, are not so bad, considering the trenches we've had put upon us.  We
-can mend up our cottages and prepare for the winter.  The Muscovites are
-retreating as hard as they can.  So I don't see that there'll be any
-more battles in this part for some time.  We can plow and sow in the
-autumn as usual.  That's how most of us think.  The others can go, if
-they like."
-
-Next day Ian heard that the majority had decided to stop.  The sight of
-those refugees haunted them.
-
-
-
-
-                                  XIV
-
-
-On the day when the peasants decided to stop in Ruvno Ian had a visitor.
-It was none other than the narrow-eyed Colonel who was in the same house
-at the beginning of the war, when Rennenkampf came and Roman with him;
-when Father Constantine had vainly interceded that Roman might not be
-obliged to shoot his own brother.
-
-The family, even to the Countess, was busy in field and barn.  For the
-first time in her life she had taken to manual labor.  But the peasant
-proprietors were hurrying to get in their own crops; Ian's men had been
-sadly thinned and he was therefore short-handed. One idea possessed them
-all: to gather in what they could before some enraged soldiers passed
-and took next year's food from them.
-
-Well, the Colonel drove up to the house, made a great noise with his
-motor and was finally answered by Father Constantine, who appeared on
-the scene, rake in hand.
-
-"I want to see the Count," said the Russian, saluting.
-
-"He is with the others, at the home-farm.  If you will go there."  He
-recognized the man, but saw that his memory was better than the
-visitor's.
-
-"I must see him alone.  Please tell him so."
-
-In due course Ian arrived.  He was in his shirtsleeves and had on an old
-pair of white flannel trousers, formerly worn for tennis.  He had been
-stacking hay.  Father Constantine very much afraid that Roman's name
-would come up, had followed. The Colonel came to the point without
-delay.
-
-"The sooner you and your peasants leave this the better," he said
-gruffly.  "We can't hold it any longer. The enemy may be here at any
-moment."
-
-"The peasants have made up their minds to stay," said Ian.
-
-"And you?"
-
-"I never thought of leaving."
-
-The soldier's narrow eyes hardened.  He was of those who thought it
-every civilian's duty to follow in his retreat.  He drew himself up and
-spoke rather sharply.  But he was still civil, knowing well that the
-master of Ruvno was no squireen, to be treated with contempt.  Ian, for
-his part, was slightly hostile.  He knew the man for his anti-Polish
-feelings, kept in check when things were going well, but ready to leap
-out into action now that misfortune was upon them all.  Besides, Ian had
-seen those fugitives, and no man could look upon them without thinking
-that the army, even in retreat, might have done something to alleviate
-their sufferings, even if it were but to leave them their corn.
-
-"Count, you don't understand.  I repeat: the Prussians are coming.
-Surely you are not going to wait to welcome the Czar's enemies."
-
-"Nobody hates the Prussians more than I," he rejoined.  "If I leave
-Ruvno I shall be a beggar. Besides, it's my home."
-
-"Russia is wide."
-
-"And the road long.  No, Colonel.  We have lived here, peasant and
-master, father and son, through many wars, many invasions.  For me and
-my mother there can be no choice, so long as a roof remains for us here.
-As to my peasants, I left them free to choose, said not a word for or
-against.  But they have seen those crowds--" he pointed towards the
-road, where the weary stream of homeless humanity struggled on towards
-the unknown.  "The old and sick left to die alone, children hungry,
-mothers exhausted.  They made up their minds that it is better to die
-here than in ditches between this and Moscow."
-
-"You accuse us of neglecting the refugees," cried the Colonel, red to
-his hair-roots.
-
-"No.  This is war.  The weak and poor and aged suffer most.  But I claim
-the right to choose between two kinds of suffering."
-
-"Do as you please.  But you'll all starve.  I'm giving orders to burn
-the crops."
-
-Ian turned white at this.  For months he had been fighting against
-starvation.  Every waking thought had been connected with the problem of
-how to feed those dependent on him for the ensuing year.  Even his
-dreams had been of crops and storms and war agriculture.  He had risen
-with the dawn to plow and till and sow.  No landless peasant, hiring
-himself by the day, had worked harder than the lord of Ruvno. And now,
-when the fruit of his labors was ripening in these fields so thinned by
-rapine, trenches and mines; when, by dint of untold effort and
-determination he had overcome difficulties none dreamed of a year ago,
-this soldier threatened to fire the little that remained to fill his
-garners.  Controlling himself with an effort, he said:
-
-"And how will you feed us all?"
-
-"In Warsaw."
-
-"You're leaving Warsaw to its fate," retorted Ian. "And you know it."
-
-The man looked perfectly furious at this, and would have burst out, but
-Ian went on, that tone of authority that Father Constantine knew well in
-his voice.  He said:
-
-"Listen.  I had the Grand Duke's promise, last week, that Ruvno will be
-left intact so long as it or its village is inhabited.  You know as well
-as I do that, where Nicolai Nicolaievitch has been, no villages or crops
-are ruined wantonly by his retreating army, and no peasants driven to
-the road against their will. If you tamper with my house or my people,
-who are half-starved even now, I swear to you that not only the Grand
-Duke, but the Czar himself shall hear of it."
-
-The Colonel bit his lip and stalked off, fuming with suppressed passion.
-He knew that the Grand Duke was friendly here.  He must have known, too,
-that Poland's old foes, the Russian bureaucrats, were responsible for
-driving people off their land by sheer force and doing nothing to help
-them on their exile into the most distant parts of the Russian Empire.
-In silence Ian and his chaplain watched him motor up to the nearest
-fields and inspect them.  They were meager enough, God knows, cut as
-they were by trenches.  As to the potatoes, they would not be ready for
-a couple of months, and last year's had gone long ago.  They watched him
-anxiously.  Was he going to fire the corn or not?  He wanted to, it was
-plain, if only to show a ruined Polish nobleman that his word was law.
-He prowled round and then went back to the high-road, stopping some of
-the refugees and talking to them.  Even after they heard his hooter from
-the village their eyes still clung to the yellow fields, fearing to see
-smoke.  He went off at sundown without so much as a salute.  But he
-evidently thought it risky to quarrel with Ian, and did not fire the
-crops. With a sigh of relief Ian glanced across at Father Constantine.
-They had finished the stack and were going in to supper.
-
-"Thank God!" he muttered.  "But don't say anything to the others."
-
-"Of course not.  But look, what is that?"
-
-On the horizon they saw columns of smoke and a dull red glare; others
-had not been so fortunate.
-
-The old priest had been trembling with fear all the time lest the
-Colonel should remember Joseph, and make him an excuse for burning the
-place.  But he had evidently forgotten all about the incident last
-autumn.  So much the better.
-
-Next morning Ian, Vanda and Minnie, with a couple of maids, started out
-with the reaping machine. Ian, of course, was in charge, and the girls,
-willing but inexperienced, were to work under him.  Since the Colonel's
-visit he had been in a perfect fever of haste to cut whatever corn was
-ripe.  He left his mother and Father Constantine at the home farm, with
-admonitions that neither of them must overwork. These two old friends
-were in the farmyard when some of the Cossacks who had been so busy
-about the village and amidst the remains of the home forest, came
-clattering up on their little horses.  A young officer was with them.
-He saluted the Countess, and said civily, in broken Polish:
-
-"Lady--I must ask you for that reaping machine I saw here yesterday."
-
-"Oh--are you going to reap our fields for us?" she returned gaily.
-"That would be very nice of you."
-
-The youth looked sheepishly at her, but said nothing.
-
-"Well--what do you want it for?" she insisted.
-
-"Lady--I'm sorry.  But your reaping machine contains steel and other
-metals; and we have orders to take every ounce of steel and iron and
-copper away."
-
-The Countess looked at her chaplain in silent consternation.  The old
-man, ever ready to help her, sharply told the officer to be off.  The
-Cossack was not so civil to him.
-
-"No nonsense," he said.  "Where is it?"
-
-"But I protest against having my place looted," cried the Countess.
-
-"Lady, I'm sorry.  I would not take a nail from Ruvno.  But orders are
-orders.  See here," and he pulled a slip of paper from his boot,
-dismounted and took it to her.
-
-She waved it aside.
-
-"It's Greek to me--I don't understand this taking everything."
-
-"No.  I--Lady Countess, I say again, I'm very sorry.  But I'm only a
-poor Cossack, to obey orders. Where is the machine?  We have to be
-off--or the Germans will take us--and the metals."
-
-"My son has gone out with it," she said shortly. "You'd take the shoes
-from our feet if you'd the time."
-
-"No--I would take nothing.  Whereabouts is your son with his machine?"
-
-She pointed angrily southwards.  The direction was vague.  The man
-looked at the sun, which was getting high.
-
-"He'll be back at midday?"
-
-"I doubt it.  He has much to do."
-
-He turned to his men.
-
-"Children!  Hasten.  Do you go and fetch the bells."
-
-"What bells?" cried the priest in alarm.  But nobody answered.  The
-Cossacks left the yard and trotted towards the chapel.  Father
-Constantine hastened after them, the Countess after him.  But as the way
-was rather long and their feet older than they thought, they arrived
-before the chapel just in time to see the Cossack's take down the three
-bells and put them on as many horses.  One had been cast four hundred
-years before by an Italian who did much work in the neighborhood.  The
-other two were modern, but of good workmanship.
-
-"And they've taken the bell that used to hang up in the home farmyard,"
-said the Countess ruefully, as a Cossack they had not noticed before
-came up with it.
-
-Father Constantine had not recovered from the shock of seeing his
-beloved bells slung across the Cossack saddles, when she gave another
-cry of anger. Several more Cossacks had come up.  Their horses were
-laden with the copper pots and pans from the kitchen.
-
-"It's as bad as if the Prussians were here," she exclaimed.  "What do
-they imagine we're to cook with?"
-
-The young officer, who had been to the kitchen, now went up to her.  His
-face was crimson.
-
-"Lady Countess, I regret this as much as you do--" he began.
-
-"I doubt it," she retorted.
-
-"... And church bells," put in Father Constantine.
-
-"I wanted," said the youth earnestly, "God knows I wanted to leave
-Ruvno, where we have had so much kindness, as we found it.  But the
-orders are explicit.  We are not to leave any metal at all--which may
-serve the Prussians."
-
-"It seems to me that between our friends and foes we shall have nothing
-left but the bare ground," she said.
-
-But she protested no more.  What was the good? She and the Father
-watched them pack up all the rest of the pots and pans in rueful
-silence.  Before starting the young officer approached her again, his
-cap in hand, his long, shaggy locks all loose and dangling in his eyes.
-
-"My Lady Countess," he said earnestly, "won't you please come with us?
-I have a spare horse or two and will see you don't put foot to soil till
-we reach Sohaczer.  The Germans will not treat you well.  We can pick up
-your son and the young ladies on our way."
-
-"It seems to me that you have left nothing for the Germans to take," she
-remarked, but not angrily this time.  There comes a point where
-civilians, in the war zone, cease to protest.  It is not so much dumb
-despair, as a knowledge that their words are vain when the "military"
-come along.  They are but spectators of their own ruin.
-
-"Russia is wide," he said simply.  "I am a wealthy Cossack at home.  If
-you will come with us I'll see that you reach my farm in safety.  My old
-mother will look after you, and you'll lack nothing, till the war is
-over."
-
-This touched her.  She answered warmly:
-
-"Ah--that is good of you--but I cannot leave my land.  Thank you all the
-same."
-
-He waited a moment after this, saw she meant what she said, and pressed
-her no more, but wished them both good-bye and good luck, kissing her
-hand and saluting the priest.
-
-"I am sorry you won't come," he said, mounting his horse.  "The Germans
-won't be good to you."
-
-And he left them reluctantly, followed by his men. The Countess laughed
-at the odd figures they cut, with her bells and saucepans tied to their
-saddles; but there were tears in her eyes all the same.  When they were
-out of sight she and the Father returned to their work in the farmyard.
-They were still there, two hours later, when Martin came running into
-the barn.
-
-"My lady," he panted, more from emotion than fatigue; "the Prussian
-brutes are here.  One of their officers, who gives his name as Graf von
-Senborn, wants to speak to my Lord the Count."
-
-"The Count is in the fields.  Tell this officer I will see him.  Bring
-him here," said the Countess.
-
-She had on a cotton apron and a kerchief such as peasant women wear.
-She and the priest looked at one another with uneasiness; they had hoped
-against hope that the Prussians would keep off till their crops were in
-a safe place; they had hoped that the invaders would not care to put up
-at Ruvno, almost denuded of wine and as desolate as could be after
-nearly a year's war, comforting themselves with the thought that there
-were places, nearer Warsaw, likely to attract them better.  The clank of
-spurs sounded on the stones; a moment later an officer, whose face was
-vaguely familiar to the priest, swaggered into the huge barn.  Some
-girls were working at the far end, and stopped to look at him.  He
-saluted and said:
-
-"Where are the Cossacks?"
-
-"They left an hour ago," said Father Constantine, racking his brains to
-remember where they had met before.
-
-"Is that so?" he asked the Countess.
-
-"Yes.  They took the chapel bells and the copper things out of my
-kitchen.  For the rest, you can search the place."
-
-He eyed her with a certain interest.  I suppose he had never seen a
-grand lady stacking before, except, perhaps, for the fun of it.  And she
-was not very quick at the work, for even stacking is hard to learn when
-you are no longer young.  He looked lean, hard, well-bred; a very
-different type from the man who so nearly carried off their stores last
-winter. He spoke French fluently, though with true German gutturalness.
-The others went on with their work.
-
-"That is hard work, _Madame_," he said after a bit.
-
-"These are hard times, _Monsieur_," she returned gravely.  "The war has
-left us little but our health and our determination to make the best of
-things."
-
-"I always heard that Polish ladies have high courage," he went on, with
-a stiff Teutonic bow.  "And now I see it for myself."
-
-"Courage is one of the few things war does not destroy," put in the
-priest.
-
-The Prussian gave him a glance, as if he were trying to think where they
-had met before.  His face was a worry to the Father.  Where, oh where
-had he seen the man?
-
-"_Madame_," he resumed, when he had stared at Father Constantine a
-second time.  "Allow me to put some of my men to this stacking.  They
-are rough peasants and will get it done in no time."
-
-She hesitated, then accepted his offer, which the priest was glad of.
-She had been working hard since the early morning, and looked very
-tired.  He called some troopers and set them to work with short, dry
-words of command, which they obeyed with alacrity. Then he went with the
-Countess and her chaplain into the house, asking all sorts of questions
-about it.  Of course he had heard of Ruvno and its now ruined glories.
-And when the Countess left them to rest, he questioned Father
-Constantine about the plate, jewels, and especially the emeralds.  The
-priest answered him as best he could, and they gradually lapsed into
-silence.  He sat in one of Ian's easy chairs smoking a cigar.  Suddenly
-he got up and said:
-
-"Take me to the Countess' wardrobe."
-
-Father Constantine stared at him in amazement. Hitherto his manners had
-been such an improvement on those of preceding Prussians that he could
-scarce believe his ears.
-
-"Do you hear?  To her wardrobe," he repeated, with a shade of sternness.
-
-"What for?"
-
-He laughed.
-
-"She has no need for old laces and sables, now she works on the farm,"
-he answered.
-
-"I shall do nothing of the sort," said Father Constantine angrily.
-
-The Graf's face flushed; he broke into German.
-
-"I'm master here.  And I command you to take me up to the Countess'
-wardrobe.  You'll find, if you persist in your refusal, that my men can
-do other things besides stacking."
-
-And now that he was in a rage and had fallen back to his native tongue,
-the priest recognized him.  And his own wrath grew.
-
-"So, Graf von Senborn," he cried, "you're a true follower of the Crown
-Prince, your master.  He loots in Belgium; you in Poland.  How many
-Polish children have you tormented since I met you at Zoppot?"
-
-"Ah--you're the little priest who refused to salute His Imperial
-Highness," he retorted, forgetting furs and laces for the moment.  "It's
-a pity I didn't chuck you into the Baltic, I should have saved myself
-the trouble of having your miserable body hanged up on a tree now."
-
-He made towards the old man, who stood firm, because he did not care if
-he were hanged.  But he did want to speak his mind first.
-
-"I wish your evil-faced Crown Prince were here, too," he said, as fast
-as he could, lest the Prussian strike him down before he spoke his mind.
-"I'll tell that son of the Anti-Christ what none of his sycophants dare
-speak of----"
-
-"Some of your Polish plots again?"
-
-"No plots, but the vengeance of the Almighty. Hell-fires await him and
-his friends for all the deviltries you----"
-
-Strong hands were round the thin throat; Father Constantine felt his
-last moment had come.  But there arose a great noise and shouting
-outside.  Von Senborn threw down his victim, as you would cast off a cat
-whose claws have been cut, and rushed into the garden.  He suspected
-treachery.  Father Constantine picked himself up and followed.  There
-were things he wanted to tell him yet, things which had lain heavy on
-his soul for many a long day.
-
-He was in the garden, surrounded by bawling troopers, who were very
-excited.  Four of them held two Cossacks.  Two of them held Ian.  Vanda
-was there, too; she rushed up to the priest; she was in tears.
-
-"Oh, Father, they've arrested him ... and he knows nothing about it."
-
-"About what?"
-
-"These Cossacks.  They were hiding in one of the lofts.  They had
-matches.  He says"--she indicated von Senborn--"they were going to burn
-the troopers as they slept."
-
-"Found any more?" von Senborn asked some men who came up now.
-
-"Not one."
-
-The officer turned to Ian.
-
-"You're to blame for this."
-
-"I know nothing about it."
-
-"Do you know what we do to people who hide the enemy?" von Senborn
-pursued.  "We shoot them."
-
-"He knows nothing about it," put in one of the Cossacks, and got a kick
-for his pains.
-
-"Nothing," said Ian.  Was this the last moment of his life?  He spoke
-up; but his words were of no avail.
-
-"Oh, please listen to me," cried Vanda, in agony. "He knows nothing
-about it.  We have been harvesting since six in the morning ... away
-over there."  She pointed towards the south.  "Everybody says the
-Cossacks left at eleven."
-
-"Nobody knew of our hiding but our ataman," said another Cossack.
-"Shoot us you can.  But the Count is innocent."
-
-They did not even trouble to kick this one, who protested and defended
-Ian in vain.  Ian defended himself, too, but he felt all along how
-useless his words were.  What was about to happen to him had happened
-thousands of times since last July.  He remembered Zosia's sister in
-Kalisz.  Father Constantine felt his poor old head swimming with the
-agony of the thought.  Nothing more terrible than this could have
-occurred.  He, too, saw that von Senborn had made up his mind.
-
-"You were found near the Cossacks," the latter argued.  "You're guilty."
-Then he turned to Vanda: "Go into the house.  Keep the Countess there
-and away from the windows.  When I've shot him I'll tell her myself."
-
-"I hid them!  Shoot me!" cried Vanda, throwing herself at his feet "For
-the love of God, spare him. He went out at six.  The Cossacks left at
-eleven.  How could he know?  Take me instead!  He is wanted more than
-I!"
-
-"Vanda!  Vanda!" cried Ian, struggling to get away from those who held
-him.  "Don't believe her!" he cried to von Senborn.  "She's as innocent
-as I am. If you must shoot somebody, shoot me."
-
-Von Senborn looked from one to the other; but his face did not soften.
-
-"You're wasting time," he said to her.  "Go into the house."
-
-She went up to Ian.  They gazed at each other, reading the secret each
-had guarded too long.  Her eyes were full of love as well as misery; his
-face, under its sunburn, was white as hers.
-
-"Can nothing be done?" she wailed.
-
-"Go to Mother.  Don't let her see."
-
-As her eyes lingered on his face his heart ached; many bitter thoughts
-and feelings rose within his soul. He wrenched an arm from one of his
-captors.
-
-"Leave me!" he ordered.  "I'll not run away."
-
-At a sign from their officer the two troopers loosened their hold and
-stepped back a couple of paces, leaving the cousins together.  They said
-little; for at such moments human lips have not much to say. Hearts are
-too full of words; words too poor to be heart's mouthpiece.  He knew
-now, when it was too late, that she loved him, that she had always loved
-him, that Joseph was but an incident, mostly of his making; that he
-loved her, that the happiest hours of their joint lives had been spent
-together in his old home, in his large, cool forests, by the frozen
-river, under the broad grayness of a northern sky; over the crisp snow
-and flower-decked meadows; on his sleek, fleet horses, in his
-swift-running sleighs, whose bells made jangled music in the frosted
-air; in every season of God's good year, in every phase of his pleasant,
-long-dead life, he and she had been all in all, she the key to his
-happiness, the gate to that earthly paradise which he had shunned till
-Joseph closed it to him. And he, in his blindness and procrastination,
-learnt about it too late.
-
-"Oh--what we have lost!" he murmured, locking her in a long embrace.
-
-"Ian--Ian--my darling!" she sobbed.
-
-This was all; and in broken words, choked with sobs.
-
-The faithful old priest gently separated them at last, for he saw von
-Senborn was going to do it. He took her to the long window which led
-into the Countess' favorite room.  She was crying bitterly, but without
-sobs, forcing them down lest she make it yet harder for Ian.
-
-They bandaged his eyes.  He refused at first; but the sight of that
-landscape, familiar in its desolation, dear to him yet, was more than he
-could bear.  Oh, to leave life thus, when others were dying like men!
-And how dear was life, despite ruin and war and uncertainty!  How many
-things he had meant to do; how much more happiness he might have had
-before this cataclysm fell upon them!  Then thought turned to his
-mother.
-
-"I must speak to my chaplain," he said in the firm voice of a man
-accustomed to obedience.
-
-"You dare not murder him without shrift," he heard the priest say.  He
-had left Vanda in the house and was returning hurriedly.  A moment later
-his thin, shaking hand was on Ian's arm.
-
-"Three minutes," said von Senborn's voice, impatient now.  "Make the
-most of your time."
-
-Hastily, the priest gave his quondam pupil what comfort he could.  Then
-Ian whispered:
-
-"Take the women away at once.  You may yet reach Warsaw.  Then with
-Mother to Rome.  The Cardinal is all she'll have left but Vanda.  Don't
-forget the jewels."
-
-"Yes, yes.  Courage, my boy.  Don't worry for us."
-
-"I have that, thank God.  Good-bye, Father.  Get away at once.  All of
-you."
-
-Von Senborn came up, saying:
-
-"You must leave him now, Father."
-
-Catching a shade of regret in his voice, Father Constantine pleaded for
-his dear patron's life, using all the eloquence and arguments he had.
-Not unkindly, the Prussian pushed him aside.
-
-"Can't you see you're making it harder for him?" he cried.  Then he
-called up his men, who ranged in front of their victim.  Father
-Constantine said prayers for the passing of that beloved soul across the
-gulf that leads into eternity.  Ian listened for his death-order, his
-back to the wall, determined to show these Prussians he could meet a
-dog's death like a man.
-
-"Ready!" von Senborn's voice rang out.
-
-"Oh, Mother!" shouted Ian.  And this is not strange, because when life
-is going, a man's thoughts and heart turn to her who gave it him.
-
-The men pointed their muskets.  Von Senborn's mouth was open to give the
-word of command that was to send Ian to the unseen world when his name
-was called loudly, a few yards away.
-
-"Von Senborn!  Quick!  Quick!"
-
-With a gesture of annoyance he turned round.  The men still pointed
-their arms; but they did not shoot. Ian, expecting that every
-leaden-footed second would bring the fatal word, whose nerves were
-strained almost beyond endurance, thanked God for Prussian discipline.
-He heard footsteps, and hope arose in his heart.  Perhaps the Russians
-were back again. Father Constantine, through his tears, saw another
-Prussian officer hurrying towards them.
-
-"I've captured a _sotnia_ of Cossacks ... and a ton of copper," he
-cried, his voice full of life and triumph. Then he saw Ian.
-
-"What are you doing?"
-
-Von Senborn told him.
-
-"I know your voice," cried Ian.  "You talked to me in the fields this
-morning ... for God's sake tell him I'm innocent."
-
-The two Prussians looked at one another.  Ian felt sick with emotion.
-Those minutes were the longest he ever lived, whilst the new-comer had
-his eyes uncovered and looked at him earnestly.
-
-"Yes," he said at last.  "I talked to you in the field.  You told me
-your name.  It was seven o'clock. The Cossacks did not leave this till
-eleven.  They own it themselves.  Let's have their captain up."
-
-They did.  The officer who had offered the shelter of his Cossack farm
-to the Countess came up.  He said, in an undertone, to the priest:
-
-"I told you to leave.  I knew the men were here, hiding."  Then to the
-Prussians, in very bad German:
-
-"I'm your prisoner.  I've nothing to lose or gain by seeing this Polish
-Count shot.  He knew naught about my men hiding.  He was in the fields
-with a reaping machine I happened to want.  He left here hours before I
-hid the men."
-
-"That's it," said the other Prussian officer.  "Don't be an ass, von
-Senborn."
-
-Von Senborn turned to Ian.
-
-"You can go."
-
-Ian burst into a shout of joy.  Father Constantine fell upon his knees
-and thanked God for this miraculous escape.
-
-
-
-
-                                   XV
-
-
-Towards dawn a shell fell near the house.  It was followed by another,
-and yet another, but these were nearer the village.  Ian went out, to
-try and see if he ought to send his household into the cellars.  At the
-front door he found von Senborn, struggling with complicated locks and
-bolts.  He said he was going out to reconnoiter.  Ian let him go alone,
-having no wish for his company.  He knew that the Russians were in
-telephone communication with Lipniki at any rate, if not with the more
-distant centers they had occupied during the last few days.
-
-As the sun rose and the household began to stir, Martin, the faithful
-old butler, being first on the scene, a couple of maids following, von
-Senborn came back. He took no notice of Ian except to ask where the
-baron's window was.  It happened to be over the spot where they stood.
-Von Senborn aroused his friend with a shout.  In the fullness of time a
-shock-head appeared at the window.
-
-"Come down," von Senborn cried in his native tongue.  "The Russians have
-made a stand."
-
-"Where?" asked the baron sleepily.
-
-"God knows.  They are shelling Lipniki like the devil.  Our losses are
-already heavy.  I'm going back to the telephone."
-
-He strode off.  The shock-head disappeared.  Ian went to his bath; and
-the whole village soon knew that the Germans in Lipniki were having a
-very bad time of it, whilst their friends in Ruvno were breaking their
-heads to know what to make out of the Russian awakening.  Where had
-those fools found ammunition? Where were they firing from?  Who was
-spying for them?  There were no Russian aeroplanes about, yet the news
-from Lipniki grew worse and worse.
-
-This development made the Prussians very sullen, but the household could
-barely hide their joy.  Later on, news came in that the Russians,
-retreating beyond Kosczielna, had found more ammunition and were using
-it with good effect.  Firing seemed pretty near all that day.  Ian and
-the others hoped it would send these men off to help their friends; but
-not a bit of it.  More Prussians came up and settled themselves just
-outside the village.  The house was full of officers, and it was worth
-something to see their disappointment when they found out that all the
-wine had been drunk, all the lace looted and all the plate sent to
-Moscow.
-
-As a matter of fact, this new phase was Ruvno's undoing.  If the
-Russians had not been firing on Lipniki it would probably have escaped
-the worst of its troubles.  As it was, von Senborn worked his vengeance
-upon the innocent household.
-
-On the second day von Senborn sent for Ian just as he was going out to
-the fields.  The squire found him and a couple more standing on that
-hillock where the pine copse used to be and where Ian had spent many
-nights at the beginning of the war, watching the shells hit his
-property.  The trees went months ago, opening up a very good view of the
-neighborhood country, denuded of timber.  Indeed, the war had now taken
-every good tree Ruvno ever possessed. They were using their
-field-glasses as he joined them; he could see they were upset.
-
-"Count," von Senborn began, "there must be a Russian observatory in the
-neighborhood, between this and Kosczielna, or even here, within reach of
-the Russian retreating army.  It is either a tower or other elevated
-building, or else an underground one.  It might be hidden in such a
-place as this."  He stamped his foot on the ground.  "Where is it?"
-
-"There are no towers left in the neighborhood, except that belonging to
-the village church.  As to an underground observatory, I never heard of
-one in the neighborhood, which is fiat as a pancake," he returned.
-
-Von Senborn gave him one of his arrogant looks, which Ian returned with
-interest.
-
-"Your escape from shooting is so recent that I need hardly remind you it
-would be better to tell the truth at once," said the Prussian.
-
-"Life, bad as it is, is too dear to me for me to run needless risks,"
-retorted the other.  "If you don't believe me, I can't help it."
-
-He only seemed half convinced, but walked off.  Ian did not go to the
-fields, but hung about to watch them.  They evidently suspected that he,
-or somebody on his land was signaling to the Russians.  They searched
-every inch of the hillock for a possible inlet to a hidden observatory
-and then inspected the house and outbuildings from top to bottom,
-turning over hay and straw till Ian heartily wished them all at the
-devil.  After that they tried the village.  He saw some of them on the
-church tower from, where he had signaled for help last winter with
-Minnie and Martin to help, on the night his stores were looted....
-
-A feeling of intense anxiety came over him, as if instinct was
-foretelling fresh disaster more terrible than anything which had yet
-fallen.  The firing from the Russians went on and he could see von
-Senborn and his fellow officers were not only disturbed but very
-suspicious.  By the way Kosczielna lay it was clear that the Russians,
-retreating on Warsaw, could easily shell it if their fire was directed
-by anybody on a high spot in Ruvno, since on the level it was above all
-the other villages by a hundred feet.  They questioned every man, woman
-and child in the village, trying to find out if there was some vantage
-ground from which the Russians could have their attack directed. Ian
-kept as far away from von Senborn and his friends as he could, not
-wanting him to think he spied on their movements.  The experience of the
-day before had taught him a lesson.  All the same, he was determined to
-follow their movements as far as possible, if only to be on his guard;
-and he managed it fairly well, for some of them were always coming and
-going between the house and the village, where they had put up a
-telephone with their friends at Kosczielna.  These were having a bad
-time of it and had lost heavily. Before long he heard one trooper say to
-another who was watering horses:
-
-"We'll have work again soon.  All ours in that place near by have been
-put out of action."
-
-"Liar," said the man's comrade, with that courtesy so characteristic of
-the race.
-
-"True as gospel.  I was by the major when the news came.  He's mad,
-too."
-
-"What's going to happen?" said the man at the trough.
-
-"We're falling back from that place."
-
-"What place, idiot?"
-
-"That begins with a kay and ends in a curse."
-
-The man was evidently right, for a lull came now as though the
-retreating force had completed its tasks in Kosczielna.  The day wore
-on.  The women, though obsessed with the same sense of coming disaster,
-bore up splendidly.  But at about four in the afternoon, when the firing
-began again and two shells burst, one on the site of the windmill, the
-other at the end of the village, where Szmul used to live, Ian sent them
-and the women and children from the village into the cellars.
-
-The Russians stopped firing at six o'clock and the women came up from
-the cellars.  The little family had supper in the dining-room as quietly
-as in times of peace.  None of the Prussians came to table.  They had
-just received a supply of fresh provisions by motor-lorry and sent the
-Countess some, with a message that there was beer too, if she liked.
-They refused the beer, but ate the food.  They could not afford to be
-proud, for supplies, except for cereals, had quite given out.  Being cut
-off from Russia, the land of plenty, and the refugees they had fed, put
-them in this unenviable position.  There was no chance of buying things
-in the neighborhood, as bare of supplies as if it had seen ten years'
-war.  Vanda, noticing that her aunt had no appetite, laughingly remarked
-that she had better eat a good meal, for who knew where the next would
-come from.  Little did they think how true her jest would prove to be.
-
-They had finished and were sitting out in the ruins of the rose garden
-when the firing suddenly began again and so violently that Ian insisted
-upon the women taking to the cellar.  Then he ran to the sacristy,
-calling to Father Constantine to keep under the broad archway leading
-from the chapel.  He heard an answering voice, no more.  He wanted to
-see what was happening with the Germans, so ran to the hillock, which
-seemed safe so far.  Indeed, all the firing was on the other side,
-towards the village.
-
-This new attack made fearful havoc amongst the Prussians who had taken
-up their quarters beyond the church.  They had been making merry over
-the beer when it began, and though not a shell dropped within five
-hundred yards of the house the human target was hit so well that even to
-Ian's civilian eyes it was clear that the Russians knew exactly where to
-aim. The earth didn't shake; it rocked; beasts and men were belched up
-in an eruption of earth and smoke, to come down again in pieces.  Those
-who could got away and began running towards the house; but they must
-have left three-fourths of their force behind, literally blown to bits.
-
-Von Senborn, who happened to be near the house when the attack began,
-was saved.  But Ian could not help admiring the way the surviving
-officers rallied their handful of men and brought them up from the
-village.  Even as they made for the cover of trenches in the garden the
-shells had them.  Then, either because their ammunition had run out or
-else because their mysterious signaler could not work in the dusk--for
-night was falling--there was sudden calm.  Ian sighed to think what
-destruction the Russians could work if only they had enough guns and
-gun-fodder. Oh, the pity of it.
-
-When things had quieted down, von Senborn turned to his men.
-
-"We are going to blow up that church tower," he said, wiping the sweat
-from his face.
-
-A haggard subaltern explained that they had already searched every nook
-and corner of tower and church several times.
-
-"We'll blow it up," he repeated.  Then he turned to Ian, every muscle of
-his face drawn with nervous tension, his voice hoarse as a crow's.
-
-"Hark ye, Count.  If I find that signaler I'll hold you responsible."
-
-"As for those two Cossacks," he retorted.  The Prussian muttered
-something inaudible and turned on his heel.
-
-Ian followed them down to the church.  It stood a little aloof from the
-village, nearest the house, yet almost half-way between the two.  It had
-not suffered from the day's bombardment any more than the house. The
-scene of horror where the Russian shells had done their work was beyond
-description.  Though by now fairly hardened to the abominations of war,
-the things Ian saw and heard through the twilight of that summer evening
-made him very sick.  The surviving Germans were too busy looking for the
-signaler to worry about the wounded who howled, groaned and shouted with
-pain.  It was a pandemonium of anguish.  One man, mutilated beyond all
-semblance of God's image, implored him to end his misery ... as Ian
-stood there hesitating a trooper shot him.
-
-"He was my good friend," he explained, and burst into tears.  But he
-soon controlled himself and a few minutes later Ian saw him carrying out
-von Senborn's orders, apparently unmoved by his ordeal.  Indeed, again
-he could not help admiring these brutes when it came to the pure
-fighting part of their work.  It was in the intervals and with the
-unarmed that they were so cowardly, such bullies.  Once it was a
-question of fight they bungled nothing and left nothing to chance.
-Perhaps their passion for perfection in detail made them doubly furious
-at the trick a handful of Russians who had found some ammunition played
-on them that evening.  Von Senborn was determined to solve the mystery.
-
-"We must not blow the tower to bits," Ian heard him say to the haggard
-subaltern.  "We must do the work in such a way that we make a rift in
-the tower and can explore it ourselves."  Then, aloud to his men: "Now,
-you are going to avenge your dead comrades."
-
-They were willing enough, but found they must go to fetch some
-explosives which they had stored near the house.  It took them some few
-minutes to get there.  The time seemed very long to Ian, listening to
-and watching that human charnel house near by. He wanted to get home,
-away from it all.  Yet some mysterious force kept him there.  Later, he
-thanked God for it....
-
-Once more, Russian wit was to forestall Teutonic thoroughness.  Before
-the men told off to the stores got back a shell whizzed past, struck the
-tower at a tangent.  Ian was thrown to the ground and half buried.  It
-took him some time to get clear.  Sore, dazed, yet alive and with,
-apparently, no bones broken, he managed to regain his feet.  Then he sat
-down, for his legs were like cotton wool.
-
-The moon was rising now and lit up a hundred details of the desolation
-around.  He could see von Senborn, sitting down, holding his head and
-swearing. Several dead bodies were near that had not been there before.
-Other men were perched on what seemed a hillock, born out of nothing
-since that shell burst. They were very excited, and he languidly
-wondered what they found to be excited about, when he felt so
-indifferent.  He heard them quite plainly, without wanting to.
-
-"It's a captain," said one.
-
-"And an engineer," put in another.
-
-"No--a sapper.  Look at his collar."
-
-"Look at this," cried somebody else, and the tone of his voice made Ian
-look, too.  He was holding up a Russian drinking bottle.
-
-"And food--look--a loaf of black bread.  _Gott in Himmel_, he was a
-tough one."
-
-Von Senborn stopped swearing and asked Ian if he was alive.
-
-"Yes," he answered.
-
-"Then go and see what they've got there.  I can't move till I've had
-something," he groaned loudly.
-
-"Can't I help you?"
-
-"Only that."  And he lay back, yelling for the surgeon.
-
-Ian went up to what he had supposed was a hillock and found it to be a
-heap of stones and debris--the remains of the church tower.  Only the
-top part had fallen; the rest loomed up, jagged and broken.
-
-Several of the Germans squatted round a body, so limp that every bone of
-it must have been smashed.
-
-"A Russian, sir," said the man who held the water-bottle.  "He fell with
-the tower."
-
-They rifled the dead man's pockets, turning over his broken body with as
-scant care as if it had been a lump of beef.  They contained little; an
-old man's photograph; one of a girl with a broad face and small eyes,
-and a slip of paper.  Nothing more.
-
-Von Senborn joined them, staggering but alert.  He took the slip of
-paper and glanced at it by the light of an electric torch.  Then he
-handed it to the haggard subaltern.
-
-"Russian.  Read it."
-
-The boy took the slip and pored over it for some minutes, either because
-the torch burnt dull or because he had not much knowledge of the
-language. They had left the body, which lay in shadow.  Ian looked at
-that young, tired face without recognizing in it any of the sappers who
-were in Ruvno during the Russian retreat.  Later on, he heard from a
-peasant that the Russians, when last in Ruvno, kept everybody away from
-the church and that at night they made noises, as with picks and spades.
-
-"Go on," urged von Senborn impatiently.  "I thought you spoke Russian
-like a native."
-
-"It is hastily written," explained the other.  "And therefore
-indistinct.  But I think I have the meaning now."
-
-"Well, for Hell's sake let me have it, too."
-
-"You cannot take me alive," he read in his hard North German.  "I have
-chosen how I shall die. When I have written this I mean to signal to my
-friends to shell the tower, before your men come back to mine it.  And
-we, too, shall return, driving you to the very streets of Berlin.  And
-Europe's wrongs shall be avenged.  We Russians are slow; but neither
-stupid nor discouraged, as you pretend."  He stopped and looked up.
-
-"That all?" asked von Senborn.
-
-"All."  He returned the paper to his superior.
-
-"_Ja, ja,_" said a voice.  "I see it now.  He had himself bricked up in
-that tower, to signal and cover the retreat.  He was no coward."
-
-Nobody spoke.  The incident had impressed them all.  The man who gets
-himself bricked up with enough food to last till he is found out, is a
-hero.  Von Senborn, having his head seen to by a surgeon, talked it
-over.  Ian kept in the shadow, not wanting to be seen.  Dazed though he
-felt from the last shell, he knew that this discovery would spring back
-upon him and his dear ones.
-
-"How did he signal?" the surgeon asked.
-
-"God knows."
-
-"That Polish Count knew of this," murmured the haggard lieutenant,
-little thinking Ian was within earshot.
-
-"Yes," said von Senborn savagely.  "I'll swear to that.  But I'll be
-even with him.  Be quick, Surgeon, there's work to do yet."
-
-"Serve him right to shoot him after all," put in the surgeon.  Von
-Senborn laughed angrily.
-
-"Shooting's too good."  He lowered his voice.  Strain his ears as he
-might, Ian only caught two words.  But they were enough.  He waited to
-hear no more.
-
-He ran as fast as sore legs would carry him up to the house.  Outside,
-not a soul.  All the women and children, besides several men, were in
-the cellars.
-
-"Get out at once," he shouted.  "Run as hard as you can, along the
-Warsaw road."
-
-"What is the matter?" asked the Countess.
-
-"A Russian bricked up in the church tower.  They are coming to blow us
-up, shutting you in first.  Run as far from the house as possible."
-
-When he saw them on their way he left them, then ran for an ax and made
-for the sacristy.  There was no guard now, all the Germans being down by
-the church and village.  He soon had the door in, to find Father
-Constantine walking up and down, saying his prayers.  Ian hastily said
-what had happened and urged him to join the others on the Warsaw road.
-But the old man was in no hurry.
-
-"They may not do it," he said.  "I expect they'll go to sleep and wake
-up in a better mood."
-
-"If you don't go I'll carry you," cried the squire angrily.  "And that
-will prevent me warning the people hanging about."
-
-Then he dragged his chaplain from the room.  But the priest insisted on
-taking a little malachite crucifix which hung over the cupboard.  It was
-the only thing they saved out of all Ruvno's beautiful things.
-
-Then Ian warned as many of the peasants as he could find, though the
-shelling had already frightened most of them out of the village and on
-to the road. Baranski, whom he met, helped him.
-
-Terrible was the confusion and alarm that followed, the calling of
-mothers to children, the cries of frightened babies, the curses of old
-men.  Every second of that awful night was burnt in Ian's brain; he did
-not forget it whilst he lived.  In quite a short time the Warsaw road
-was filled with panic-stricken peasants. Some of them had snatched up a
-table, a chair, a kettle or a pillow.  Those who had any left panted
-along with a sack of potatoes or buckwheat.  A few were fortunate enough
-to possess a horse.  He tried to get a couple of his--farm horses were
-all he had left--but the Germans were around the yard before he could
-get back.  So quick were they that he had not time to take a thing for
-the women.  The peasants, being nearer the road, were more fortunate in
-this way.  Even as Ian left the village he could see soldiers hovering
-round the house, evidently shutting the doors, lest their victims
-escape!  A wounded Prussian cursed him and Baranski as they hustled some
-children on to the highway.
-
-"You'll starve and die on the way," he shouted. "Decent Germans, not
-Polish swine, will have this place."
-
-His words ended in a yell.  Ian did not look round, but Baranski
-silenced him with a stick.
-
-"He won't people Ruvno, thank God," he cried.
-
-They took the road, destitute as any of those hordes they had pitied and
-tried to succor during the terrible days of the Russian retreat.
-
-Near where the windmill used to be Ian found his mother, Vanda, Minnie,
-the Father and all those who had been in the cellar.  Here he rallied
-his people, giving the backward ones time to get up.  But many laggards
-were yet to come when the earth rocked under them; there was a dull
-rumbling in its bowels.
-
-"Mother of God!" shrieked somebody.  They all looked towards the
-house....
-
-Ruvno, their home for centuries, where every stone was a friend, rose
-towards the moonlit sky in a volcano of smoke, flame and rubbish.
-
-Courage failed Ian.  He fell down in the road and sobbed like a child.
-
-
-
-
-                                  XVI
-
-
-When Ian broke down--there by the road--the Countess was thankful to God
-for it.  Only the need of helping him recover courage took her through
-that night and the days which followed.  For next to him she loved
-Ruvno.
-
-The peasants were rushing past wildly; the sight of the old House, so
-stable for centuries and the pivot round which their lives had always
-worked, dismayed them more than the memory of those helpless fugitives
-they had seen pass lately.  So they made a stampede up the road, towards
-distant Warsaw.
-
-"Father Constantine!" cried the Countess.  "He's being carried with
-them."
-
-Ian was up in an instant, and off with the crowd. He knew enough of war
-by now to fear that if once the old man got away from them they would
-never see him again, dead or alive.  When fugitives block the road, and
-especially at night, progress is slow, confusion great; thousands of
-children had been separated from their parents during that hasty retreat
-at the beginning of the war, in December and, presumably, now.  Ian did
-his best to rally his peasants, shouting that they were safe in the road
-and would probably be able to return to the village in the morning. But
-they, poor things, were heedless of him as of the wind.  Panic filled
-their hearts and made them deaf, blind, fiercely obstinate.  Their one
-thought was to put as many versts as possible between themselves and
-Ruvno's downfall.  But he found the priest, very tired with the
-hustling; indeed, only his indomitable spirit kept him from sinking to
-the ground.  Together they returned to where he had left the women.
-
-"We must talk things over," he said.  He was master of himself again,
-but harder, more bitter than he ever felt before; and some of the
-acrimony that sank into his soul that night remained with him always.
-
-"We can't go back," said the Countess.  "Not even to find shelter
-amongst the wreckage.  Von Senborn would kill you.  Where shall we go?"
-She looked around at the desolation lighted by the moon and choked a
-sob.  She must bear up for her boy's sake.
-
-"We must find the jewels," said Vanda.
-
-"We're destitute without them," returned Ian.
-
-"Think of it!" cried his mother.  "And a year ago people envied us."
-
-Ian hated to leave what had been his home.  Only his fears for the
-others prevented him from proposing to them to creep back and live in
-the open rather than desert it.  He knew they would need no persuasion;
-but dared not risk it for them.
-
-For the moment, he vainly tried to calm the peasants.  At least, when he
-had shouted himself hoarse without avail, the stream passed onwards.
-Even old Martin disappeared, and they were left alone, whilst the cries
-and shouts of the fugitives died away in the darkness.  They were near
-the bend of the road, where stood the old windmill before a shell set it
-on fire.  Just beyond it they could, in happier days, catch a glimpse of
-the House.  He always looked forward to seeing it when he came home
-after being in Warsaw or abroad.  He and Vanda, as children, shouted for
-joy when they came to it.  And now, when there was no home to go back
-to, they turned their steps towards that bend....
-
-I can't tell you what it looked like.  The moon was still high enough to
-light up its devastation.  A dark mass showed where home had been.  The
-House was absolutely leveled to the ground; here and there, higher
-mounds of wreckage stood above the general ruin. The Countess lost her
-self-control when she realized that all had gone; for loud as was the
-noise when von Senborn's men blew it up, she still harbored a faint hope
-that a wing or story might be saved.  But there was nothing, nothing,
-nothing.  Ian bit his lips and the tears ran down his cheeks; but he was
-silent.  They still wept for this ruin when they heard another
-explosion, or rather series of explosions, not so terrific as the first
-but powerful enough to be appalling.  This time the Germans had
-destroyed the home-farm and outbuildings, then the stud.  The little
-group stood rooted to the spot, though Ian, at least, would fain have
-hidden his eyes from this horrid sight.  The thought that those
-barbarians, in less than an hour, wrecked all which it took his race
-centuries to build and improve maddened him.  He thought of all the care
-and time and money he and his mother alone had spent on the place, to
-say nothing of those who went before and loved Ruvno even as he loved
-it.  It was his life, the care of that which lay in wreckage.  How would
-he shake down into a new existence, amongst strangers, an exile, a
-ruined man at thirty-five through no fault of his own?  In a modest way
-he knew what a good administrator he was; how he had improved the
-estate, and how he took its welfare to heart he realized fully but now.
-And his mother?  What could she do with the rest of her days?  Oh, it is
-hard to be uprooted in after years; the old tree cannot bear
-transplanting, even if you put care to it; the trunk is too stiff, the
-branches wither, the tree dies in new soil. And she had been torn up
-roughly, by the strongest and deepest root, cast into a ditch, to die of
-a broken heart, in a foreign land.  He had yet to learn that the thought
-of him would give her courage to live; but she knew he still wanted her
-and she could help him to endure.
-
-And so they watched and wept and shook impotent fists at those
-barbarians, whose dark figures still moved amongst the ruins of home,
-their teeth chattering with the chill, huddled together like the waifs
-they were for a little warmth and comfort, with not a blanket nor a
-crust between them.  Fires had broken out in the ruins and Ian thought
-of the library, of those old books and parchments which could not be
-replaced. They never knew how long they sat thus; but the Prussians
-ceased to move about.  Ian felt as if nothing could make him close his
-eyes again.  When the flames had given place to columns of smoke Father
-Constantine struggled to his feet.  They had ceased to weep, even to
-curse their foes; the silence of despair was upon them.
-
-"Children," he said quietly, "let us say a prayer together."
-
-He held up the old malachite Crucifix he had taken from the sacristy.
-
-Afterwards the Countess was wont to say that the prayers saved her
-reason, though they did bring back the tears, and in floods.  But
-supplication drew the poison of despair from all their hearts; they let
-God, Whom they had reproached aloud just before, back into their souls;
-and he gave them strength to endure. Ian, too, was all the better for
-it; his first outburst over, he had had another and another, not of
-grief but of rage, whenever he heard a fresh explosion and saw flames
-consume yet one more building of Ruvno. Vanda and Minnie, too, were the
-quieter afterwards. The Father reminded them, in his simple intimate
-way, in the tones they had heard over the supper-table, as well as in
-the little chapel, that this was not the first time that their dear
-Poland had been laid waste by fierce enemies; that the Lord Jesus
-watches over the weak and heavily stricken; that the Prussians, though
-they destroy homes and even bodies, cannot kill souls!  He used such
-simple words of consolation, of faith and Christian courage, that they
-all felt new strength in them to drink the bitter cup--to the dregs, if
-need be.
-
-They were still on their knees by the roadside and Father Constantine
-was giving the Benediction when they heard the clatter of horses' hoofs
-coming down from the direction of Kutno.  The Countess' first thought
-was to crouch in the ditch, for she had grown suspicious of all
-travelers; but the horseman, riding low and fast on his horse's neck,
-had a drawn revolver and with it covered Ian, who appeared to be
-nearest.
-
-"A step and I shoot you!"
-
-He spoke the German of the Russians who learn a few words on the
-battlefield and in the trenches.
-
-Probably they would have heard and seen nothing more of him, but his
-horse, with a neigh of pain and yet of affection, dropped.
-
-"Dead," he muttered, this time in Russian.  Slipping off the poor
-beast's back, he began to caress it, using those endearing words even
-the wildest Cossacks have for their horses, whom they love, calling him
-his beloved Sietch, his little dove, his only friend, his brother. And
-there were tears in his voice which moved the spectators, now so well
-acquainted with grief.
-
-He took no notice of them; said they two must part, but he would not
-leave his good friend by the road, like a dog, but would put him into a
-ditch or trench, and cover him with earth, lest the vultures picked his
-tired, faithful body.  He looked about, evidently for a grave, and saw
-the desolate little group.
-
-"Russian?" he asked.
-
-"Polish," answered Ian.
-
-"Running away, too?"
-
-Ian told him, shortly, what they had run away from.
-
-"Am I near Kosczielna?"
-
-"Ten versts."
-
-"Ah--do we hold it?"
-
-"You do not.  But you've killed nearly all the Prussians who held it
-last night."
-
-"Warsaw is still ours?"
-
-"So far.  But Prussians hold this road as far as the river--perhaps
-farther."
-
-He was thoughtful for a moment.  He looked the wildest figure, capless,
-bootless, his long dark hair blowing in the night breeze.
-
-"To get to Warsaw is useless," he muttered at last.
-
-"Then how can we escape ... where can we go?" put in the Countess.
-
-He pulled his long Cossack forelock and gave an awkward bow.
-
-"Madam, we must strike the Vistula and make for Grodno, or Vilno."
-
-"What?  Tramp four hundred versts?"  She was horrified.  "We haven't as
-much as a horse, let alone a cart."
-
-"Four hundred versts," he repeated.  "I did not know.  I don't see how
-we are to reach Warsaw before it is German."  He turned to Ian.  "Do
-you, sir, help me lay my little horse in its grave.  Then we can
-decide."
-
-Hastily they put it into a trench, and the Cossack kicked earth over it,
-telling his story, meanwhile, in odd, broken Polish, of which he was
-very proud.  He had been captured by the Prussians not far from Ruvno,
-and taken to the Vistula, he was not clear where, to be sent by water
-into Germany.  But their boat was shelled by the Russians and wrecked.
-Like all Cossacks he was an expert swimmer and he swam up against the
-tide, got ashore near a wood and struck the high road from Thorn to
-Warsaw.  He had been riding since early morning and Sietch was already
-much tried when they were captured.
-
-But for all his advocating the Grodno route, he seemed loathe to leave
-his new friends and strike out done when he saw that they were bent upon
-trying to get to Sohaczev.  I think the knowledge, gathered from their
-talk amongst themselves, that Ian knew every by-way and short-cut to
-that town--for much of the way lay on his own land--impressed him.
-
-"I am strange to this country," he explained.  "I might not find the
-river, to strike across country into Lithuania, and four hundred versts
-is a long way."
-
-"You will come up with your friends once you cross the river," said Ian.
-"The Russians still held the right bank of the Vistula, this evening."
-
-"Have you no horses?" he asked.
-
-Vanda told him that Ruvno and its contents lay under a wreckage of brick
-and stone.  Ian turned to his mother.
-
-"I am for pushing on to Warsaw," he said.  "Neither of us can tramp four
-hundred versts within three weeks.  We must trust to our luck to find
-the Grand Duke in Sohaczev.  Von Senborn said this morning that he was
-there, waiting for the rest of his army to come up."
-
-"Very well," she said, putting her arm in his.  "If only I could see the
-Grand Duke, he'd send us to Warsaw by hook or by crook.  War changes
-many things, but it doesn't kill the convenience of having powerful
-friends."
-
-"Will he go with us?" asked Vanda, meaning the Cossack.
-
-"I hope not," whispered her aunt.
-
-"They are wild people at the best," said the Father, speaking English.
-"If he joins us he'll see your jewels taken from the earth."
-
-"Besides," said Ian, "if the Prussians catch us alone they may give us a
-pass to Warsaw--God knows, we're harmless beggars, even to them.  But to
-have an escaped prisoner--only--how to tell him?"
-
-"Well--are we going to start?" asked the Cossack. Nobody answered.
-
-He was no fool, for he guessed the reasons why they greeted his proposal
-in stony silence.  I suppose he thought a woman would be soft-hearted,
-so addressed himself to the Countess, giving one of his awkward bows.
-
-"Madam," he said, "I know you think me a savage Cossack, given to
-pilfering and all sorts of wildness. But I am a good Cossack, of the Don
-Troop, coming of many atamans.  My name is Ostap Hovodsky; my mother is
-an Efremov.  We serve the Tsar with our own horses, uniforms and arms;
-we are warriors and farmers, but neither Huns nor Prussians.  You need
-not fear for any treasure you may have about you for your journey.  As
-to this"--he threw down his pistol--"it has been in the water and I have
-had no ammunition for a week.  And this," he tore off his ragged coat
-and threw it into the ditch.  "I spit upon it.  I always meant to change
-it the moment I could find a dead man to pilfer.  This is no place for
-Cossack uniforms.  I'll walk in my shirt, or without it, rather than
-make you anxious.  If you want my company you will not regret it.  From
-your looks I see you are not used to make your way through deserted
-battlefields. You will find me useful, and I shall be glad to know the
-nearest way to report myself to Nicolai Nicolaievitch."
-
-"I will take you with pleasure," said Ian, who felt confidence in him
-after this little speech.  "But there are others."
-
-"I, too," agreed Minnie, who naturally did not share the Polish aversion
-to Cossacks.
-
-"I believe you'll be our friend," said Vanda.
-
-"I have known good Cossacks," said Father Constantine, "and I think you
-are one of them."
-
-The Countess said no more, so it was settled that Ostap, as he insisted
-on their calling him, should go with them.  He thanked them, and then,
-of a sudden, took the initiative, and became their leader.
-
-"You have no pick?" he asked.
-
-They looked at each other in consternation.  It was true.  In his haste
-to leave the house Ian had forgotten to bring a spade, to dig up the
-jewels.
-
-"Where do the Prussians lie now?" he asked again. Ian took him up the
-bank by the windmill site and showed him, so far as he knew, where they
-had occupied Ruvno soil.
-
-"Very well.  I'll go for a pick, or a shovel."
-
-"You'll be captured if you do," said Father Constantine.  "They have
-sentries."
-
-"Never mind.  We must have a few things.  Do you all wait here and I'll
-be back very soon.  If you hear a very long whistle you'll know I am
-taken and then you must fend for yourselves.  Otherwise, wait."
-
-"I'll come, too--" said Ian.
-
-"Can you walk on your belly?"
-
-"I can try."
-
-"That's no good.  You learn it early or not at all. And you cannot take
-a pannikin or water-bottle from a sleeping man's side without waking
-him.  Even the Prussians can't do that.  I'm safer alone."
-
-And he disappeared, after taking up the bridle which had been on
-Sietch--the only harness he had.
-
-The moon had waned and darkness was upon them. To save time they moved
-to the spot where Ian and the Father had buried half of the jewels last
-summer.  They put the rest in the lane which ran to the east of the
-house.  During the momentary lulls when safe from prying eyes, Ian had
-been in the habit of going to see if they were safe and none the worse
-for lying underground.  When the windmill was destroyed they were
-anxious about them.  But on clearing away the debris he found them safe
-and sound in kind Mother Earth, who never deserts men, if only they know
-how to tend and love her as she requires.  He and his mother thought
-more and more about them as their forests were ruined and fields ceased
-to bear; for with them they could not only live, had they to bolt, till
-the war would be over; but later on they hoped to come back and repair
-some at least of the damage done to Ruvno.
-
-But in all their talks of the dim future they had never dreamed of such
-utter ruin as now faced them. For the Russians appeared to do well after
-driving foes from the very gates of Warsaw, and everybody was full of
-hope till a couple of weeks back.
-
-They had all learnt by heart how many paces north and west of the
-windmill was the hole, so did not foresee much trouble in finding it.
-It seemed hours before Ostap came back, and they began to fear he had
-been captured and could not even whistle to warn them.  At last,
-however, a faint whistle came from the road below.  Ian went to meet
-him.
-
-He always knew the Cossacks for pilferers, but never thought the night
-would come when he and his family would be glad to share a Cossack's
-booty. Ostap had lived up to the traditions of his people, which
-includes a genius for finding the thing they want and making the most of
-an awkward situation. He struggled under the weight of many things,
-slung on his back by means of Sietch's bridle.  He had a pick, which he
-handed to Ian.
-
-"Do you dig," he said.  "And I will divide these things among us."
-
-He had found what remained of the Prussians' feast, so rudely
-interrupted by shells from Kosczielna. He had three huge loaves of rye
-bread, brandy, which the Countess insisted on Father Constantine's
-having some of, three tins of preserved food (it was too dark to read
-the labels) and cheese.  He had boots for himself, taken, he said, from
-a dead trooper, and a jersey from the same source.  The women shuddered
-at the thought of wearing clothes stripped from a corpse, but he was
-quite pleased with them.  Then he had a water-bottle, three nose-bags
-and two horse-cloths.  These were a good deal torn, but Vanda and
-Minnie, in light frocks, were very glad of them.
-
-"Only three loaves," he said regretfully.  "But I ate the other on the
-spot.  I heard you say you had had supper and I had touched no food for
-twenty-four hours.  These nose-bags will do to carry the food in, one
-for the priest and one each for us men."
-
-Quickly he distributed his booty in the three nosebags.
-
-"There," he said when it was done.  "We shall not have a feast, but at
-least something to put in our stomachs.  Mine was empty before I went
-over to them.  They are all sleeping like the dead they lie by, except
-the wounded, who groan and yell."  He turned to the Countess.  "And
-where can I fill this water-bottle without getting poisoned, my Lady?"
-
-"We shall pass a spring soon after we start for Sohaczev."
-
-"My God, but I've a thirst.  Is there nothing nearer?"
-
-"Only the House supply," she answered sadly.  "And that must be under
-the ruins."
-
-Meanwhile, Ian and the two girls were working their hardest, Ian
-loosening the earth with the pick and helping to shovel it up.  This
-they did with their hands, having nothing else.  The Countess helped,
-too, but they all insisted on the Father resting before his long tramp.
-His seventy-odd years could ill withstand the experiences of the past
-twelve months.  His rheumatism had grown worse, and the wound he took in
-the winter, during the kitchen fight, never properly healed.  A surgeon
-Ian had called in said it would take years before the skin hardened over
-the bone. They did manage to get a kind of cap, of aluminum, to protect
-the skull.  But whereas a quiet life and comfort would have done him
-good, all they could give him that year was worry and hardship.
-
-Ostap looked on but did not offer to help dig up the "treasure" as he
-called it.  He did say how sorry he was not to have found a spade as
-well as a pick; but that was all.  He did not want them to suspect of a
-desire to pilfer their jewels.
-
-The three worked hard for some time, then Vanda got up to stretch her
-legs, cramped by the posture.
-
-"We haven't hit the right spot," she said.
-
-"I believe you're right," agreed Ian.  "We've not struck cement even."
-
-"If only we had another pick," sighed Minnie. "We'd get on quicker."
-
-"What are they saying?" Ostap asked the priest.
-
-"They are short of a pick."
-
-Despite protests he disappeared; whilst Ian was still measuring the
-paces, he came back, not with a pick but a spade.  Ian, seeing the girls
-were exhausted with work and anxiety, asked him to use it.
-
-"Ah--you trust me," said the Cossack.  "I'll help with pleasure."
-
-They set to work again; silence holding the little group.  Even the
-talkative Ostap did not speak.
-
-"Cement!" Ian said suddenly.
-
-He had said it so many times only to find stones that the others took no
-notice.  However, he and Ostap plodded on--and at last Ian held up a
-small object.
-
-"The thermos bottle," he said, giving it to his mother.
-
-In the dark she and the girls opened it, counting the black pearls.
-They were intact.
-
-"Work carefully now," Ian warned Ostap.  "The rest are in waterproof
-packets--we shall miss them."
-
-"It's so dark," complained the priest.  "Can't we use my electric
-torch?"
-
-"Not if you want to be alive to-morrow," said Ostap bluntly.  "Their
-sentries are watching."
-
-And they fumbled on.  The moon had set long ago, so they worked very
-slowly.  But at last, after feeling every clod of earth near where they
-found the thermos bottle, they came upon a waterproof packet.  It
-contained Minnie's pearls.
-
-"Only one more, Ostap," said Ian.  "It was put near this.  We sha'n't be
-long."
-
-In a few moments he found it; it held half of the famous Ruvno emeralds,
-worth many thousand roubles.  Ostap did not ask what was in the packet,
-but remarked:
-
-"Oh, God, it's wonderful how little room treasure takes up.  Now do you
-all, ladies, secure them well about your persons; and we must be off."
-
-"Thank God, we have them at last," said the Countess.  "We shall be able
-to keep the wolf from the door."  She spoke thus, afraid that he would
-have an idea of the treasure's real value.  For she did not trust him
-yet.  Hastily they put the pearls about their persons, while Ostap
-strolled a few paces away.
-
-"And now for the lane," said Ian.  "We'll find that easier."
-
-They had to make a big detour to reach it, for it was madness to go near
-the Prussians, as the Countess pointed out.  Even as it was they heard
-the groans as some wounded men very near at hand.  Once, Ian stumbled
-over a softish stiff body, in the darkness. He examined it as well as he
-could, fearing it might be one of his own household.  But the dead man's
-helmet told its tale.  They left it lying there, walking as silently as
-they could, Ian leading the way, because he knew every inch of the
-ground.  Every now and again some noise from the Prussian camp made them
-stand still, in terror that they were discovered.  But they were all
-false alarms.  Many of von Senborn's men were in their last long sleep,
-and the rest so tired that it would have taken more noise than these
-poor waifs made on the grass to awake them.  Their horror was great when
-they finally arrived at the top of the lane where Ian had buried the
-remainder of the emeralds and his mother's rings.  It was blocked with
-the wreckage of his once prosperous stud farm.
-
-"We're ruined," whispered the Countess.  "None of us can get through
-that."
-
-"I'll get over," said Ostap, when the situation was explained to him.
-"But you must tell me where the treasure lies."
-
-"I'll come with you," said Vanda.
-
-"Nonsense!"  This from Ian.  "I'll go."
-
-She put her hand on his arm.
-
-"You're too heavy.  You'll bring down a lot of the ruins, wake the
-sentries and we shall be done."
-
-"It's not safe," he said, squeezing her hand.
-
-"It is," she whispered.  "I can climb like a cat.  Do let me."
-
-He made no further objection.  In silence he watched her climb the
-ruins.  Ostap was wonderful. He made not the faintest noise, reached the
-top of the ruins, which were like those made by an earthquake, then took
-Vanda in his arms and stepped as noiselessly down the other side with
-her.  It seemed a long time elapsed after their dark figures
-disappeared. Then they arrived unexpectedly over the far end of the
-ruins.
-
-"Well?" asked Ian anxiously.
-
-"Hopeless," she answered.
-
-"The spot where your treasure lies is under twenty feet of brick and
-rubbish," said Ostap.
-
-"Can't we clear it?"
-
-"Not without waking some Prussians.  We heard their snores."
-
-"Oh, Ostap," said the poor Countess, forgetting her suspicion in her
-anxiety, "you are so clever--surely you can help us.  I'll come--and
-we'll all lift the debris away brick by brick, with our hands,
-silently."
-
-"I cannot, my lady.  Look!"  He pointed eastward. "Daylight would
-overtake us.  Besides, the ruins are very heavy.  It can't be done
-without risking your jewels and your lives."
-
-"Yes, he is right, Aunt," said Vanda sadly.
-
-They were all disappointed and loath to give up the search.  The
-Countess wept a little at the thought of leaving so much wealth behind.
-Ostap, who had been silent about the other jewels, did his best to
-comfort them now.
-
-"Your treasure is safer here than in a Moscow bank," he said.  "The
-Prussians will not touch it, for who would think to scrape under this
-horse farm? And when we have come back and cleared the earth of the
-enemy, you can dig for them in peace, and you will have money with which
-to build up your home. In Russia, neither bread nor meat is lacking and
-you can very well live on what you dug up near the high road.  Let us
-go.  The night passes, and darkness is now our best friend."
-
-He was right.  What good to linger weeping over their misfortunes?  With
-heavy hearts they turned away and set out across the trench-furrowed
-fields to Sohaczev.
-
-
-
-
-                                  XVII
-
-
-Although it was easy to see that the Countess and the chaplain were
-tired, Ian listened to his mother's entreaties to set out without any
-rest; for who could sleep within sight of their ruined home?  Besides,
-time was precious, unless they were prepared to remain under the
-Prussian rule; and they decided that exile, beggary, anything would be
-better than living in some town to see them every day and every hour of
-the day....  Their way lay through what had been the home forest, by
-paths and fields that run south of Kosczielna, thence south-west to
-Sohaczev.  It was already the last day of July and the Prussians at
-Ruvno had been boasting that they would be in Warsaw for the third of
-August; and the Kaiser's second son crowned King of Poland, in the old
-palace, within a month.  They were a couple of days late in getting into
-Warsaw, and Poland's crown is not yet on a Hohenzollern's head.
-
-The fear that the Grand Duke might no longer be in Sohaczev haunted them
-all.  Even as the crow flies, Ruvno was twenty versts from there.  By
-the road, which ran fairly straight, it was thirty.  By cutting across
-country, by the ways which Ian and Vanda knew well, he thought they
-could save five versts, thus leaving twenty-five to cover.  He and
-Ostap, walking a little ahead, to warn the others of barbed wire and
-trenches, soon saw what the short cut meant.
-
-"I'm for getting back to the road," said the Cossack.
-
-"But it is much further."  Ian explained the distances.
-
-"Eh, God, but we can't do more than a verst an hour if this kind of
-ground goes on, and I know this part.  It's cut up like Hell.  We shall
-be clambering in and out of trenches and dodging wire and dead bodies
-all the way.  We might do three versts an hour by the road.  None of you
-are walkers.  Nor I.  We Cossacks are more at home on horses' backs than
-our feet.  You walk as if every step hurt you."
-
-"There's something inside me that grates about as I move," admitted Ian.
-
-"Broken ribs.  I had them several times.  If you tie them up it's all
-right, but a bit nasty if you let them jog into your flesh."
-
-They stumbled on a bit and avoided some more wire, making a long detour
-to do it.  Ian noticed that, whereas his mother and the two girls kept
-up better than he thought they could, the Father showed signs of
-exhaustion, though he did his bravest to hide it.
-
-"The priest," whispered Ostap.  "We shall be carrying him soon.  Another
-reason for going to the road."
-
-Ian said nothing, knowing he was right.  In fact, he soon doubted if any
-of them could keep up this kind of exercise very long.  The ground was
-intersected with trenches, and full of pitfalls in the way of
-tree-stumps.  They had all been working since daybreak, even the Father,
-who was fit only for bed.  Ostap was a worse walker than Ian himself,
-bruised and shaken by the shell which buried him near the church and led
-to their worst troubles.  Ostap said he had no sleep for two nights,
-being afraid to doze on Sietch's back for fear of getting entrapped.
-Father Constantine almost fought to keep his knapsack; but they managed
-to get that from him.
-
-"Even if we do three versts an hour, it will take ten hours to
-Sohaczev," remarked Ostap, when they had struggled thus for some time
-without much progress.  "... Walking all the time.  That's an
-impossibility.  What hour is it now?"
-
-Ian took out his watch.  It had stopped.  The glass was smashed, too.
-Ostap studied the summer sky with some attention.
-
-"It is one o'clock," he said after a moment.  "In two hours or so it
-will be the dawn.  We can perhaps cover six versts by then, by the road.
-Then we must rest for an hour, or we shall be dead."
-
-"This will be hard on the Father," Ian whispered.
-
-"Yes.  And listen.  By three we may cover six versts on the road.  That
-leaves twenty-four.  We start again at four, a good hour to walk, for it
-is fresh.  We go on till six.  That leaves us twenty-two versts, for we
-shall be going slower than three an hour, say two ... where was I?
-
-"Twenty-two versts from Sohaczev."
-
-"We rest an hour, walk three versts more.  That makes eight o'clock ...
-we are yet nineteen versts from our goal."
-
-"There's a village nineteen versts from Sohaczev," Ian put in.  "Vulki,
-it's called."
-
-"We rest a bit.  Then we make a great effort, and if we are lucky, by
-noon we are ten versts from Sohaczev."
-
-"We'll never catch the Grand Duke," said Vanda, who was with the two
-men.
-
-"Who knows?  But at ten versts from Sohaczev there is a large camp.  Or
-there was.  If we are lucky we shall find some of the men there, or a
-place in a train, for there is the railway, unless we have already
-destroyed it.  But we shouldn't do that till the last minute, for we are
-retreating with as little loss to ourselves as can be.  Then we are safe
-for either headquarters at Sohaczev, or Warsaw.  And Warsaw leads to
-anywhere in Russia.  I shall join my troop, and you can rest till the
-war is over.  It must be over sometime, even the Prussians can't help
-that.  And then your mother, who is a brave woman, and a really great
-lady, can come back and rebuild your house.  And you can marry your
-sisters in the meantime."
-
-"They are not my sisters."
-
-"Then the young lady is your bespoken wife."
-
-"My husband is a volunteer in the Cossack army," said Vanda.
-
-Ostap gave a little shout of pleasure.  "Oh--good! Which troop?"
-
-"The Kuban troop."
-
-"And the other young lady by your mother?"
-
-"Is English.  She has been very good and kind in helping us through our
-troubles.  She has lost one brother in the war."
-
-"And I three.  I spit upon my life.  And upon money.  I want to fight
-the Prussians and burn down a few of their towns before I am killed by
-them, or the cholera.  For that is almost as sure as their shells."
-
-"Have you no family to keep?" asked the Countess.
-
-"I have.  But they have the farm and the wife can look after that when
-the time comes for my old father to die.  Then my two boys will do their
-service, too, but I want them to go to good schools first."
-
-"But you said you spat upon money."
-
-"I mean for its own sake.  There is enough on the farm to keep them at
-school.  We Cossacks are beginning to wake up and have our boys and
-girls taught things besides fighting and horses.  But Tsars have taken
-away all our autonomy, little by little, and have never given us the
-free use of all our land, like they promised.  Many men in the troop
-find it a great burden to supply their own horses, guns and uniforms."
-
-He was silent after that and then began again with:
-
-"You, on the other hand, must be a powerful man, for the peasants I used
-to talk to when we were at Kosczielna spoke about Ruvno and its lord."
-
-Ian told him they were mined, and had nothing but their jewels, half of
-which they had left behind.
-
-"But they must be worth many farms and horses," he argued.  "People like
-you don't bury treasure for a few roubles.  As to what you left under
-your horse-farm, it is quite safe.  The earth is your best friend in
-war; better than banks."
-
-Ian said nothing.  The others, too, listened in silence.  There was
-something attractive about his frank speech and simple outlook of life.
-But Ian had always noticed that about the Russians.  The Poles, with
-their old civilization, had become as complex as the French.
-
-"I am sorry those rascals have burned you down," he resumed.  "The
-castle was a fine thing.  I often saw it from the distance.  But I
-should have liked most of all to see the horses you bred...."
-
-Ian and he talked horses then, and got a little in front of the others,
-till a muffled cry from the back recalled them.  Father Constantine was
-on the ground.
-
-"He fell," said Vanda.  "I am afraid he has fainted."
-
-"No, I haven't," he retorted with a shadow of his old spirit.  "I'll
-be--well--in a moment."
-
-The Countess was for giving him brandy, but Ostap intervened.
-
-"Soak some into this," and he tore off a piece of his rye loaf, which
-they gave him.  It finished their stock of brandy, but revived the
-priest, who was on his feet in another moment.
-
-"I can walk now," he said bravely.
-
-"No.  I'm going to carry you," said Ian.  Father Constantine made a step
-forward, then fainted in earnest.
-
-"Let me look," said Vanda.  "I believe his wound has opened."
-
-She bent over him and said:
-
-"Yes.  It ought to be bandaged.  But how?
-
-"Your handkerchiefs," said Ostap.  But they remembered that they were
-filthy after the digging operations and feared to use one till they
-could rinse it out.  Ian made up his mind that they must go back to the
-road.
-
-"Yes," said his mother, willing enough now. "We'll never get along on
-these ghastly battle-fields."
-
-So they started for the road, Ian carrying Father Constantine on his
-shoulders, regaining the highway by a little shrine, with an image of
-the Madonna. Many years before the Countess had put it there as a
-thanksgiving offering, when Ian recovered from an attack of scarlet
-fever.  The peasants of the neighborhood used to say that it had
-miraculous powers to heal all sick children.  So it was very popular
-with mothers of families.
-
-"Who's there?" cried a familiar voice from the darkness.
-
-"Your own people," answered they.
-
-It was poor old Martin, who had been carried on in the general stampede;
-but he had grown very tired, and seeing the others were not amongst the
-mob, had the good sense to await them there, knowing they must pass the
-shrine on their way to safety.  He had fallen asleep to find, on waking,
-that the moon was set and the night at its darkest.
-
-"The others?" asked Ian.  "Where are they?"
-
-"Mother of God, they rushed on.  They are mad with fear," he answered
-sadly.  "Some fell and did not get up again.  Old Vatsek, and somebody's
-child. The road is hard, being strewn with rubbish, what the other
-fugitives and soldiers have left for lack of strength."
-
-"Seen any horses, or carts?" asked Ostap.
-
-"Dead ones, under the moon ... they lie as they dropped, in the shafts."
-
-"Far?"
-
-"A quarter of a verst."
-
-Ostap and Ian, leaving Martin with the others, went off to look for a
-cart.  They wanted to get the side of one for Father Constantine.  It
-would be better for him than carrying him on their backs.  They had to
-grope about for some time, because it was the moment before dawn when
-night is darkest, when neither moon nor the streaks of coming day help
-you, when the air strikes chill to the very marrow and the heart has
-least courage.  They finally found what they wanted by the smell of
-decomposing horseflesh, which guided them to a peasant's cart.  They
-broke off one side of it, and took, too, some straw they found at the
-bottom.  When they went back to the others the Father was talking.
-
-"Go on," he argued.  "Leave me....  I have God....  I shall not be
-alone."
-
-And he said this more than once before he reached the end of his
-journey.
-
-Ian managed to find a warm cover, too, and they made him as comfortable
-as they could.  Then they ate some bread and cheese, saving the tinned
-meat for the morning.  There was a spring near this spot, so they drank
-water and bathed their faces.  As well as they could in the dark they
-washed out Ian's handkerchief--the largest--and bound up the sick man's
-head.  The cold, damp linen revived him.
-
-"Where am I?" he asked.
-
-"Going to Warsaw."
-
-"Where is my diary?"
-
-They knew he used to keep one and did not like to tell him it was under
-Ruvno's ruins.  So they said nothing.
-
-"Please give it me.  I want it," he urged feebly.
-
-"What does he want?" asked Ostap.
-
-Ian told him.
-
-"I remember," said the Cossack, "he did take two books out of his skirt
-pocket, there under the moon when you were digging up the treasure.  He
-put them in his nose-bag."  He slung it off his back, drew out the two
-books and handed them to the sick man, who eagerly clutched at them.
-
-"Ian," he said, "come here."  When his patron obeyed he gave him the two
-little books, bound in black oilcloth, such as children write their
-copies in.
-
-"Keep them," he said with an effort.  "Have them published.  People must
-know what Poland endures."
-
-"I will," said Ian, putting them in his knapsack.
-
-"Have you them safe?" he asked.
-
-"Yes."
-
-"Now, give me the little Crucifix.  It is in the nose-bag that Cossack
-brought us."
-
-They did so.  He clasped it tight and pressed it to his lips.  It seemed
-to give him strength.  "I'll keep it to the end--of my journey," he
-said.  "Countess, forgive me, all forgive me, for adding to your burden
-with my infirmities."
-
-All tried to reassure him, and he spoke no more for a long time.  They
-knew he suffered much.  His head and hands burned with the fever that
-was consuming him.
-
-They started off again.
-
-Ostap was right about the road being easier.  But it was even more
-horrible than the fields.  In spite of debris, bits of soldiers'
-accoutrements and stiff, silent noisome forms scattered in their path,
-there was no comparison between it and barbed wire or trenches, so far
-as walking went.  They walked for another hour, Martin taking short
-turns with one end of the stretcher whilst either Ostap or Ian rested
-their arms. They trudged steadily on, knowing that every step took them
-nearer Warsaw, further from the Prussians. Ostap and Ian, with the
-litter, took the side of the road, for the middle, cut with a year's war
-traffic, was no better than a plowed field.  The three women walked
-near, to do the little that was possible for the patient.  Martin walked
-by Ian, to tell him what he saw and heard with the fleeing villagers.
-Ian told him how Ruvno ended.  They spoke low because of the Father;
-instinctively--but heavy guns would not have aroused him from his
-delirious torpor.
-
-As dawn came on, painting the sky with gray and purple and the breeze
-grew less chill, Ian could see more and more plainly the desolation that
-lay around. Not a living creature did they meet.  But the dead were
-many.  The few surviving trees were bare as in a January frost; the
-roadside and neighboring fields, strewn, not only with every kind of
-garment, every simple article of a peasant's cottage, but with costly
-things which must have been a soldier's loot, with the soldier's mortal
-remains; and with their knapsacks, caps, ragged boots and bits of kit.
-Dead horses were many, too; and dead peasants, of both sexes and every
-age, were not a few.  And he passed near by these things, flotsam and
-jetsam of war, passed dead hamlets, where only ruins remained, and one
-dead mother he saw, her new-born child near by, and dead, too.  He hoped
-the others had not noticed, for it was the most terrible sight of all.
-And as the dawn spread he could see the distant fields with the burnt
-corn, the trenches full of horrid sights and an army's rubbish, burnt
-trees, wire twisted as by gigantic hands; ruined crops, ruined homes,
-broken lives and perished hopes....  And this was all they had left of
-Poland.
-
-And when his weary eyes turned from the misery around and fell upon his
-dear ones, he saw how fitted they were to travel the road of death and
-despair.
-
-The three women, dainty all their lives, were ragged, dirty, disheveled,
-their thin frocks covered with horse-blankets which were stained with
-blood. What did the future hold for those brave souls?  He preferred not
-to think of that, and turned to look at Ostap, black with dirt and tan,
-coatless, his arms far too long for the Prussian's jersey, his feet bare
-and bleeding, for the boots proved too tight and he had cast them aside,
-his long hair wild and dusty, his nose swollen, a scar across his face;
-he looked as ferocious a member of an army as you could ever fear to
-meet. Martin had aged twenty years since he served supper the night
-before; he limped along painfully, his house-boots worn through with the
-rough tramp.  Happily, the women were sensibly shod, having put on their
-strongest boots for yesterday's field work.
-
-Looking on Father Constantine's ashen face, Ian knew his hours were
-numbered.  The seal of death was on it.  The thin hands which had
-clasped the crucifix so eagerly a little while back were clutching at
-the rags with which they had covered him....
-
-The forlorn party took stock of each other furtively for some time.
-Then their eyes met; and they smiled.
-
-"It is war," said Ostap.  And, noting their low spirits, he did the best
-to cheer them with the humorous side of his year's campaign.  It made
-them forget how dirty they looked, helped them to grow accustomed to
-their new selves, perhaps.  Now that the light was good, Ian noticed
-that the Cossack's dark eyes were intelligent and merry.  He had that
-contempt for death which enabled the retreating Russians to make
-ramparts of their bodies when ammunition failed.  He gave them
-unwittingly a grim story of crippled men, muddled orders, peculation and
-pilfering; with that childlike literalness which is wholly Russian and
-the dash of fatality which stiffens courage, and makes men patient under
-pain....
-
-They made a wide detour before reaching Kosczielna, fearing to run into
-the Prussians again, and none wished for that.  No sounds came from its
-ruins; but many gray forms showed how well that Russian sapper, in Ruvno
-church did his signaling. The fugitives had planned to rest awhile near
-the little town; but the place was so horrible that they hurried on,
-quickening their pace, to leave the orgy of death behind, though death
-went with them step by step.
-
-At Vulki they made a halt.  Here there were signs of life, the first
-since they left home, though the village had been destroyed.  But they
-found that a dozen or so of Ruvno peasants had halted there, and were
-cooking a few potatoes they dragged from its wreckage.  Baranski, whom
-they had chosen as leader, saw the little procession and hurried to meet
-it.
-
-"Oh--my Lady Countess," he cried, kissing her hand, "to think you have
-come to this plight, and the young ladies, too, and you, my lord Count,
-and the Father--oh, if I could only help you.  But there is nothing
-here.  Some of ours have started back to Ruvno over the fields.  They
-hope to creep back into the village unseen by the Prussians and pretend
-they never left.  The sight of all this misery is too much for them.
-They fear they will die like dogs if they go any further."
-
-"And those people?" asked Ian, indicating the group round the fire.
-
-"Most of them meant to stop here.  The native peasants have fled.  Those
-are too tired, they say, to go back or go on."
-
-"Have you a watch?"
-
-"Yes."  Baranski pulled out a silver timepiece.  "It is ten past five."
-
-Ian looked at his little group.
-
-"We can't reach that camp before one.  It's only ten versts from
-Sohaczev."
-
-"We had better rest," said his mother, and he saw she could not walk
-much further without sleep.
-
-"Baranski, do you wake us in two hours."
-
-"Yes.  And I'll look to the poor Father here," he said.  He was a loyal
-old peasant and heartbroken to think of the tribulation that had come
-upon them all. He found a mattress in a ruined cottage for Father
-Constantine, and searched vainly for some refreshment for them.  They
-all slept heavily, except the invalid, till he woke them, at seven
-o'clock.
-
-"And what are you going to do?" asked the Countess, when they told him
-and the other peasants their own plans.
-
-"Some of us go back.  We have buried our grain where the Prussians won't
-think to look for it," he explained to Ian in a confidential whisper, as
-though von Senborn himself were within earshot.  "I have no liking for
-the road, or a tramp through Russia. They can't take my good earth away
-and where shall I find soil to bear like Ruvno fields?"
-
-Six went with Ian.  They had sons fighting with the Russians and did not
-want to be cut off from all communication with them.  Ostap did not like
-this addition to the party till one of them returned from the far end of
-the village with a lean-looking but sound horse and found a cart for it.
-He had grown very tired of carrying the litter.  They placed Father
-Constantine in the cart and started off, taking a sad farewell of those
-who remained behind....
-
-Sore-footed, sore-hearted, faint for the lack of food, they went slowly
-on, through the same scenes of desolation and death, halting every
-half-hour for a few minutes, scarcely daring to do so, but sure of
-breaking down before reaching their goal unless they did.  The road was
-very bad now; Ian and the other men often had to clear the way of the
-human and other wreckage which stopped the cart's passage. They spoke
-little.  Each wrapped in his own thoughts, listened to Father
-Constantine's delirium.  He, who had helped so many souls through the
-Valley of Death, must pass it unshriven.
-
-At midday they halted again; they had not reached the camp of which
-Ostap spoke.  The Father's frail body was making a desperate effort to
-retain his fleeting soul.  Vanda, who had watched so many die of late,
-said the end was near.  The peasants came up to the cart and joined in
-their prayers.  They wept, for all loved the kind, simple old man who
-had taught them what they knew of God and letters.
-
-He opened his eyes, making a feeble sign that he wanted to speak.  Ian
-bent over to catch his words.
-
-"Go on--" he faltered.  "I'm not alone...."
-
-And thus he died.  With tears they folded his hands over the little
-malachite crucifix, the one relic of home.  The Countess covered his
-thin, withered face, so peaceful in its long sleep, with a peasant
-woman's kerchief.  Then they urged on the tired horse and their own
-weary limbs, the women praying for his soul as they staggered on,
-because retreating armies wait not and their one hope now lay in
-escaping the Prussians.  They had no food left; every scrap of the
-bread, stained with the blood of those who held it in the Ruvno canteen,
-had gone.  And strength was fast failing them.
-
-
-
-
-                                 XVIII
-
-
-At last, however, they saw signs of life.  A train whistle told them
-they were near a railroad and they passed a group of soldiers who were
-firing two large hay stacks.
-
-"The camp, thank God!" cried Ostap, and they all quickened their steps.
-
-The place had been made by the war and for the war.  There were no
-peasants' cottages, no farm buildings.  There were rows and rows of
-wooden huts where troops in repose had passed their time; there was a
-wooden church with the onion-shaped dome which pertains to Russian
-temples; there were gardens in which the men had grown cabbages for
-their soup and a few flowers, especially sunflowers, for they liked to
-eat the seeds.  There were tents and hospitals, magazines, guns and
-aeroplanes.  Above all, there was great confusion.  Most of the troops
-had left and ambulances, carts, trains, motor-lorries, anything upon
-wheels the Russians could find, were being packed with the sick and
-wounded.
-
-Leaving the others at the upper end of the camp, Ostap and Ian set forth
-to seek the commanding officer.  It took them some time because nobody
-knew anything about him, and nobody cared whether they were refugees in
-distress or what they were.  The whole mental force of the place was
-concentrated upon getting away as many sick and wounded as possible
-before the Prussians came in and seized them.  After half an hour's
-search, however, Ian found his man. He was standing by a large hospital
-tent, ticking off entries from a notebook.  Judging from his looks, he
-had neither slept nor washed for some days.  At any other time Ian would
-have refrained from interrupting a man with that stamp of haggard
-determination on his face.  But his own plight was desperate. He told
-his story as briefly as possible and asked for help to get his women to
-Warsaw before the Russians left there.
-
-When the man heard the word "help" he looked up in irate surprise.
-
-"Do you know how many wounded I've got on my hands here?" he asked.
-
-"I can't say----"
-
-"Three thousand of ours--a thousand Germans. I've had four thousand to
-get off since the night before last.  The Grand Duke with his staff
-leaves Warsaw this evening.  You know what that means?"
-
-Two men brought a stretcher from a tent.  Its occupant's face was black;
-he fought desperately for breath.  The officer asked the bearers curt
-questions, made notes, signed to them to pass on.  Then he turned to
-Ian.
-
-"Gas.  That man's regiment has lost three thousand by it, to my
-knowledge.  That gives you an idea of our work here.  Help!  How can I
-help?"
-
-"I'm sorry," said Ian quietly, but with that air of authority he had
-learned in ruling Ruvno.  "But I've a right to your help.  My home has
-been blown to bits because you left a signaler bricked up in my
-church-tower.  I know the Grand Duke will approve of anything you can do
-for me.  If you've German wounded you can surely let some of them wait
-here for their friends and send my womenfolk to Warsaw in their places."
-
-"I've no orders to help refugees," he returned sullenly.
-
-"I'm a personal friend of the Grand Duke's."
-
-"He has so many friends."
-
-He was ticking off names from his list and asking the bearers questions
-during this conversation, which took some time.
-
-"My time is precious, too," argued Ian.  "I'll bury my chaplain and come
-back to you then.  In the meantime you can perhaps think of some way to
-help me."
-
-The officer pointed to a motor-lorry which was passing them on its way
-out of the camp.  It was packed full of ghastly-looking men.
-
-"There's your answer.  How can I help with this Hell going on day and
-night?" he exclaimed irritably.
-
-"Give me two horses and a peasant's cart."
-
-"There are none."
-
-"Then a pass for a train ... room on the roof will do."
-
-His face softened now.  He thought he was to get rid of this importunate
-civilian.
-
-"A capital idea.  But I can't give you the pass. It's not my job.  The
-officer who can is over there."
-
-He pointed towards the station.  "Go to him.  Say I sent you.  Nicolai
-Petrovich Ketov is my name. Good luck!" and he hurried into the tent.
-
-On his way to the station Ian met Ostap.
-
-"The devil take this hole!" he cried by way of greeting.  "Not a horse
-to be found.  Nor a cart. Nothing but bad temper and confusion."  Then,
-when he heard the other's experience:
-
-"Ketov.  Don't know the name ... a Little Russian, I expect.  But you
-can see all these officers are too busy to bother with us.  I'll try
-humbler folk. Never mind.  Do you go bury your priest.  Meanwhile, give
-me your card, if you have one about you and write down the number of
-your followers and your quest upon it.  Have you any money?  That is
-always useful."
-
-"Yes."  Lately, he had been in the habit of carrying about all the ready
-money he possessed in case of an emergency like this.  But he did not
-tell the Cossack he had enough to keep his little family for a few
-weeks, till he could sell the family jewels.  In silence he pulled out a
-couple of hundred roubles, produced a card, and a note which he had had
-from the Grand Duke a week before.
-
-"I'll not take the money, because we don't pay for any conveyance we may
-get till we're all in it.  But I'll take that note.  It may help us to
-get the conveyance," said Ostap.
-
-He went off, whistling, and Ian sought the others. He found they had
-been more fortunate, for they had made friends with old Princess Orsov,
-better known in Petrograd and Moscow as Vera Petrovna.  And she had
-heard of the Countess, first from hearsay; then, more fully, from the
-Grand Duke, for she was a personal friend of the imperial family.
-
-She listened in silence to the Countess' story, her bright, Tatar eyes
-taking in every detail of that tired, well-bred face and the torn
-clothes, never made for tramping over battlefields.  She took a fancy to
-the Polish woman at once, admired her courage and her determination.
-When the tale was told she made the three women go into a little
-pinewood hut which stood by the roadside, and managed to get them some
-hot coffee in a remarkably short time, considering the confusion.
-
-"You shall have a dinner when it is ready," she said, speaking the
-purest French.  "I'll help you to get off by hook or crook.  But we are
-hard pressed here to find room for your wounded.  Wait a moment I'll go
-and talk to my head nurse."  And she hurried out, leaning on her stick.
-
-"How clean this is!" sighed Vanda, looking round the cell-like place.
-"I wonder if she'll give us some soap and water, as well as a dinner.  I
-seem to want it more than food."
-
-"She'll give us everything," said Minnie cheerfully. "She is the good
-fairy who always turns up, even in real life, when things look blackest.
-No, Countess?"
-
-The Countess did not hear.  She was thinking of the life they had left
-behind and wondered what the future held in store.  And she thought of
-her faithful old friend, the chaplain, now lying in peace after his long
-journey and envied him, till she remembered that her boy wanted her and
-this thought gave comfort.
-
-In a few minutes the Princess came back.
-
-"We're so packed that you couldn't put a bayonet between the men," she
-said in her brisk way.  "But I can take you three ladies on my hospital
-train if you don't mind wearing white aprons and veils."
-
-"I am most grateful to you," said the Countess.  "If you will take these
-two girls for me, it will be a great load off my mind."
-
-"But you?"
-
-"I'll do what my son does.  I've known so many cases of families being
-separated and not finding each other for months together.  And I don't
-think I could bear the anxiety of that."
-
-Vera Petrovna laughed.
-
-"That is when people have to tramp the roads by night," she argued.
-"Your son can get on a troop train, by hook or by crook.  On the roof,
-or with the stoker.  It's nothing for a man."
-
-"But the train he gets on might not go to Warsaw," objected the
-Countess.  "And where should I find him with all the telegraphic
-communication stopped?"
-
-"I sha'n't leave you," said Vanda.
-
-"Nor I," added Minnie.
-
-The old Russian was rather puzzled at this.  But Ian came to the rescue.
-He looked on the matter in a far more practical light.
-
-"It's the greatest piece of luck you could have," he said.  "I can't
-tell you, Princess, how grateful I am. I've not been able ever to get
-anybody to listen to my request for a seat on the roof of a train, even.
-But I can tramp it.  And I'll do it all the better when I know you're
-all safe."
-
-"You can't help going to Warsaw," said the Princess. "You can arrange
-that whoever gets there first waits for the rest of the party.
-
-"I wonder what the chances of getting from Warsaw to Petrograd or even
-Kiev are?" Ian asked her. This had been worrying him a good deal.  He
-did not want to be left in Warsaw, unable to realize his valuables.
-
-The Princess blinked her narrow eyes at him and tapped her stick on the
-floor.  It was the same ebony stick whose knob was an enormous emerald
-set in pearls which she used in peace days.  It was her one vanity.  But
-in order to preserve the stones from scratches and dirt she had a lot of
-little washleather caps made for the knob which were changed and washed
-as soon as they showed the need for it.  For many months now this
-wonderful old woman, remnant of a type which the revolution has probably
-swept away forever, whose friends of youth had passed away, who stood
-alone in her memories, had been living between her hospital-train and
-her Petrograd palace, turned into a hospital, too.  With that
-independence characteristic of her House she refused to have anything to
-do with the Russian Red Cross, supplied her own train, nurses, surgeons
-and requisities, her own engine-drivers, her own locomotives, and wood
-from her own forests to heat the train and make it go.  The food came
-from her own estates, the civilian aid from her own circle of friends
-and acquaintances.  In fact, she supplied everything but the patients
-and they never lacked, for Vera Petrovna's train and hospital soon won
-for themselves renown for comfort and good nursing that the wounded
-clamored to be taken there.  Ian watched her as she stood, near his
-mother's chair, evidently revolving some plan in her shrewd old head.
-He, too, had heard of her, of her wealth and imperiousness, her kind
-heart and open hand.  He reflected, little bitterly, that her fortune
-was safe, because her immense forests in Central Asia and her hunting
-grounds in Siberia, wherein you could have put Ruvno and lost it, where
-trappers caught sables and marten for the world's women, lay well beyond
-the invaders' grasp.  He could not foresee her terrible end, which she
-met with fortitude; little guessed that her palace in Petrograd would be
-broken into by Lenine's mob, looted and burnt; that her old body would
-be thrown into the nearest canal after the life had been strangled out
-of it.  All he saw now was a very energetic and prosperous member of the
-Russian aristocracy, a woman who could afford to laugh at the German
-advance because her native land was intact.
-
-"Count," she said, addressing him because she had all her life preferred
-to deal with men....  "I have a proposal."
-
-"Yes?"
-
-"Will you allow me to take these ladies in my train to Petrograd?  We go
-straight through."
-
-"Straight through?  But the difference in the gauge of the rails?"
-
-She gave him a wink.
-
-"That's a Russian bureaucratic legend," she returned.  "I have a
-contrivance they put on the wheels, and all gauges are alike.  The
-Germans have it, too, you may be sure, all ready to run their trains
-right up to Vilna.  But to business.  It's far better for you, Countess,
-and you, young ladies, to come straight up to safety with me than to
-risk being left in Warsaw. Who knows if you will get seats in a train or
-motor-car now?"
-
-"It's very kind of you," said Ian, glancing at his mother, "But----"
-
-"No buts," retorted Vera Petrovna.  "You're going to say we were
-complete strangers a few minutes ago. That's true.  But in times like
-these one makes friends or enemies very fast.  Oh, I've heard of all
-you've done for wounded Russians at Ruvno," she went on, giving the
-Countess one of her shrewd looks.  "And it would be a great honor for me
-to show you that we Russians are not like our government, that we wish
-to be Poland's friend and help her brave sons and daughters, who have
-borne the brunt of this awful war."
-
-"Oh, how nice to hear you say that," exclaimed Vanda.
-
-"I mean it.  But let us arrange this.  You, Count, can join your little
-family at my house in Petrograd. If you've never been there, all you
-have to do is to ask for the Orsov Palace.  Every street-urchin knows
-it.  Now, I must leave you for a moment.  So much to do!  Do you wait
-here till a bath and dinner are ready."
-
-Then the others held a family council and persuaded the Countess to
-accept Vera Petrovna's offer.  Later on, if they decided to stop in
-Petrograd they might find a furnished apartment, but it would be a great
-thing, Ian argued, for him to know they were in safe hands till he
-joined them.  He gave his mother half his store of money and many
-promises to use every means to join her as soon as he could.  He meant
-to stop in Warsaw and see what had become of the hardware factory which
-had been making field-kitchens for the army.  But he kept this to
-himself, knowing his womenfolk would only worry about him the more, lest
-he fell into the Germans' hands.  They all had lively recollections of
-that Prussian cavalryman who was so interested in the family emeralds,
-and whom he told a lie to.  The Countess still had scruples about
-letting him go off alone.
-
-"I shouldn't mind if I felt sure you wouldn't have to tramp all the way
-to Russia," she said, as she reluctantly took the money.
-
-"But I sha'n't tramp, even to Sohaczev," he said confidently.  "I'm sure
-to get on some kind of a train. And it will be like getting rid of a
-millstone round my neck to know you're all going in safety and
-comparative comfort."  He lowered his voice.  "Vera Petrovna's
-friendship will be a most valuable thing for us in Petrograd.  And she's
-just as charming an old woman as everybody said she was."
-
-There came a loud rap at the door.
-
-"Bath!" exclaimed Vanda.  "Come in!"
-
-To their surprise, it was Major Healy, as large as ever and now very
-sunburnt into the bargain.  He looked at them for a moment, took in the
-situation in his rather slow, very sympathetic way and said:
-
-"Well, I'm glad to see you safe.  I've been horribly worried about you
-these days.  I was going off to Ruvno."  He glanced at Minnie, who
-flushed, partly with pleasure at seeing him, partly with annoyance at
-her unkempt appearance.
-
-They told him their story.  He listened gravely, putting in a nod or a
-slow, heavy gesture now and again.
-
-"I feared it," he remarked, when they had done. "When the Princess told
-me Lipniki had been bombarded I knew what that must mean for Ruvno.  I
-was going to push on there this afternoon and get your news.  As you're
-here, I'm back to Warsaw.  I've distributed all my relief.  There's room
-in my side-car for one.  Which of you is coming?"
-
-"Oh!" said the Countess, and looked at her boy.
-
-"I've some peasant women," said he.
-
-Healy laughed and shook his head.
-
-"I can only take one, and a light one.  I'm a heavy-weight and the road
-is awful."
-
-"They can draw lots," said Ian.  "The others will have to shift with us
-men."
-
-He saw Healy was not over eager to take peasants, and determined he
-should.  They were still discussing it when Vera Petrovna sent word by a
-nurse that the bathroom in the train was ready for them and that there
-would be a hasty dinner in half an hour.
-
-The women hurried out.  Healy offered Ian a cigarette and lighted one
-for himself.  Then, in his pondering way, he began.
-
-"Count, we've not seen each other as much as I'd like, but I believe
-we're friends."
-
-"We are," agreed Ian heartily.  "And you've been a good friend to my
-country, too."
-
-"Well, I've only done my duty and not half as much as I'd like," said
-the American giant, sitting on the camp bed, which creaked plaintively
-under his weight. "But for the moment I want to talk to you about my
-private affairs."  He looked round the log hut and through the little
-window to the hospital beyond.  "It seems an unsuitable time and place
-for me to worry you, when you've been torn up, root and stock.  I
-appreciate your troubles, but I've no choice but to worry you a moment
-with my own affairs."
-
-"By all means.  We part soon, and you never know how long it'll be
-before----"
-
-"Exactly.  You've hit the spot, Count, I may as well say, without any
-more beating about the bush, that I'm interested in Miss Minnie Burton."
-
-"Ah!"
-
-"Deeply interested.  I suppose she told you that we saw quite a little
-of each other when she was in Warsaw during that December advance."
-
-"Oh, yes," said Ian, putting politeness before veracity.
-
-"My interest has grown, deepened, since then.  She's a real fine girl,
-is Miss Minnie Burton, and comes of a fine old stock.  I want to marry
-her."  Here his honest eyes met his friend's and his honest, broad face
-became redder than ever.  "And I want to shoot her out of this danger in
-my trailer."
-
-"As to marrying her, I'm not her guardian," said Ian.  "Her brother----"
-
-"On the high seas.  And can't give opinions, one way or the other right
-here."
-
-"I doubt if you'd find a parson to marry you just now," said Ian, who
-had exaggerated ideas of American impatience.
-
-"Good God!  I wasn't thinking of marrying her this minute.  Nor in this
-Hell of a place.  I guess there'll be time enough for the ceremony in
-Petrograd. I'd like the wedding to be from Princess Orsov's palace."
-
-"Oh, does she know of your--your----"
-
-"No.  But she will.  And she's just as cordial to yours truly as she can
-be.  What I want is your countenance to my taking Miss Burton on my
-side-car.  There are a few points I want to fix up with her.  I guess
-we'll have plenty of time to talk on the way to Warsaw."
-
-"But Warsaw isn't Petrograd," objected Ian.  "I think she'll be far
-safer in Vera Petrovna's train.  I'm responsible for her, you know, till
-you--till you get the family's consent to the match."
-
-Healy laughed.  The idea of family consent appeared to Ian to amuse him
-greatly.
-
-"She's of age.  And family consent be darned if she's willing, which I'm
-nearly sure she is.  As to responsibility, I'd not like to have her get
-into any unpleasantness with that brother of hers.  But she needn't
-worry.  I'll get her safe to Petrograd as soon as the Princess could.
-And sooner, maybe.  I know how they shunt those trains into sidings.
-We've got a fine touring car waiting in Warsaw and enough petrol to take
-us to Vladivostock.  In fact, I'd be glad to give you a seat in it if
-you can get there in time for us to start fair of the Germans."
-
-"Thanks very much."
-
-"And then you'd do the chaperon, and that brother couldn't say anything.
-Now, then, can I take her on my trailer?"
-
-"Yes.  If she likes to go.  But you'd better arrange with the Princess
-about taking a peasant woman in her place.  I'm getting so many favors
-from her as it is, I can't ask for any more."
-
-"That I will."
-
-Ian got up.
-
-"I'll leave you to do it.  I've some things to see about."  And he
-sought Ostap, to arrange with him about Father Constantine's funeral
-immediately after a hasty meal.
-
-He was glad that Healy and Minnie were going to marry.  It relieved him
-of any further responsibility and would certainly put an end to maternal
-hints about the advisability of settling down with her as wife.  He did
-not want to settle down.  He meant to go and fight as soon as he had put
-his mother in some secure corner and provided her with enough money to
-live upon.
-
-They buried Father Constantine just as he died, in his dusty alpaca
-soutane, his hands folded over die malachite Crucifix.  They laid him in
-the cemetery behind a group of tents which formed the camp hospital,
-amongst Russian soldiers, digging his grave with a spade Ostap managed
-to pick up somewhere.  Several other hasty funerals were going on and
-nobody paid the least attention to him.  They could find no wood to make
-a rough cross; but there was some ivy near and Vanda twisted that into
-one, putting it over the newly-turned sods.  They could not even write
-his name--so left him, unrecorded, and in peace.  They had not gone far
-towards the station when a messenger met them to say that the
-hospital-train was ready to start.  Ostap ran up, too.  He had good
-news.
-
-"It's nearly settled for you and your peasants," he said to Ian.  "The
-transport officer asks for you."
-
-Ian hurried off, leaving the Countess and Vanda to go to the train under
-Ostap's guidance and found the officer in question checking figures on a
-bit of paper. He was as weary and worried as the first one had been.
-But he seemed to want men.
-
-"Five hundred unwounded Germans leave at once," he said hurriedly.  "You
-and your peasants take charge of some trucks.  The first train to leave.
-We are short."
-
-"I accept with pleasure."
-
-"Good.  Go with your peasants; for you'll be wanted in a moment."
-
-"My peasants are here.  I'll just go and say good-bye to my womenfolk."
-
-He ran up to the Orsov train which stood at one end of the primitive
-station, ready to start.  Ropes had been tied over the roof and down the
-sides of the coaches; to these clung men with bandaged heads and feet.
-The Princess met him.
-
-"They are down here," she said.  Then, seeing him look at the crowded
-roof.  "You are wondering how all these men are going to hold on till we
-reach Petrograd.  But you know what happens.  We shall be shunted into
-sidings for hours and then they can rest. Some will be back in their
-regiments before a month. The bad cases are all inside."
-
-She led the way through a crowd of soldiers, prisoners and
-stretcher-bearers towards the head of her train. His mother and Vanda
-stood there, with Minnie and the American.  Ian noticed two of his
-peasant women on the steps of a coach as they passed.
-
-"Why, have you taken them, too?" he asked. "You're simply wonderful."
-
-"A nurse is ill--typhoid, I fear.  So a peasant goes to do her work.
-Your mother tells me she has had some experience.  The other goes in the
-English girl's place."  Her narrow eyes twinkled.  "She's off with
-Healy.  These Americans make me laugh.  They do things nobody in Russia
-would do and with impunity, too."
-
-"Yes.  But he's a good fellow."
-
-"Excellent.  But you'll see he'll make me have the wedding in my house,
-busy as I am."
-
-"I shouldn't wonder," returned Ian.
-
-He said his good-byes, with many injunctions to his dear ones not to
-leave the Orsov palace till he fetched them.  Vanda's soft eyes rested
-on his and their look was an embrace.
-
-"God bless you," he said, kissing her hand.
-
-"And you," she returned in low tones.  "Listen. There is a man here who
-is in Joseph's regiment."
-
-"Have you spoken to him?"
-
-"No.  But the Princess says he told her the name of his captain.  He has
-gone on to Warsaw.  The regiment, he says, must be there by now.  Will
-you?----"
-
-"Yes, I'll find out.  And tell him you are safe."
-
-Then he thanked the Princess who returned his hand-kiss in true Russian
-fashion, with a salute on his forehead.
-
-"God with you," she said in her native tongue. "It's more hearty in
-Russian than in French."  She knew the Polish dislike for the language
-of the bureaucrats and government who had oppressed them for
-generations.  "Your little family is safe with me." Then in French: "I'm
-your friend, Count, and sha'n't forget you."
-
-A moment later he had helped her into the train, which left.  He had to
-hurry back to his own.  Healy and Minnie had disappeared.
-
-The Germans were packed into cattle-trucks without roofs or benches.
-Over each truck were two sentry boxes, at either end, facing one
-another.  Each of the guards had a rifle, taken from the Germans.  But
-there was no ammunition.  A weary-looking subaltern came up as they were
-getting settled and told them to use bayonet and butt if their charges
-gave any trouble.
-
-Ian's peasants were distributed amongst the Russian sentries.  He was
-with Ostap opposite him, Germans packed like cattle in between.  Martin
-formed the subject of heated talk with the subaltern.
-
-"He has no more strength than a cat," grumbled the Russian.  "You can't
-take him on this train."
-
-"Very well," retorted Ian, furious.  "If you send him off the train we
-all go.  I'll tramp to Warsaw, but I won't leave him."
-
-"He's neither so old nor weak as he looks," put in Ostap.  "I'll answer
-for him to do his work here."
-
-"You won't answer for prisoners getting loose," retorted the subaltern.
-However, Martin was finally put with the engine-driver.  He sat on the
-floor by the wood-chest and slept for ten hours, without feeling or
-hearing anything, though people came and went and he found somebody's
-dog fast asleep on his chest when he awoke.
-
-It seemed as though they would never start. Several times the word was
-given, only to be rescinded. Many human odds and ends of a military camp
-arrived, apparently from nowhere, and demanded to be allowed
-standing-room amongst the prisoners.  The weary subaltern protested and
-swore but all applicants seemed to find places.  Before they left two
-empty trains came up from Warsaw to take wounded.  Ian noticed they were
-roped like the Orsov train.  In a remarkably short time they were
-packed, inside and out, with sick and wounded whom Nicolai Petrovitch
-Ketov was striving to get off before the Germans came. He was an amiable
-lawyer in private life, with a passion for music and a speculative mind.
-Ian had the satisfaction of hearing later on that he left neither man,
-woman nor child behind at the camp, that he saw everything was burnt
-that the troops could not carry away and that he even made the grain
-uneatable by pouring petrol over it.
-
-The delay fretted Ian, for he was in a good deal of pain from his broken
-ribs and feverish as well, suffering agonies of thirst.  He had a hasty
-visit from Minnie and Healy, who came up as near as they could to shout
-him good-bye.
-
-"We're off," said she.  "I wish you were looking more comfortable."
-
-"Oh, I'm all right.  I forgot to get some water, that's all."
-
-Healy went off and brought a bottle full.  And he insisted on Ian's
-taking a packet of cigarettes.
-
-"I'll reach Warsaw before you," he urged.  "So do take them all.  I'll
-keep the car there as long as I dare.  Look me up at the American
-Consulate.  You know where it is?"
-
-"No.  But I can find out."
-
-"Good.  Mind, your seat will be kept till we start."
-
-"When is that?"
-
-"When the Grand Duke leaves.  They say here he leaves to-night.  But I
-don't believe it.  And I'm not going to forget Poland.  When I've got
-more stores I'm coming back again."
-
-He watched them go off in a cloud of dust.  They had luck with love, he
-reflected.  They would get on very well together.  He knew Healy was
-well off, and Minnie had a little fortune of her own.  And they would
-spend it wisely, helping those poorer than themselves.  He had no hope
-of marrying Vanda.  Joseph was well and safe.  He ought to have been
-glad of it, he knew.  But he hated his cousin bitterly, all the more
-bitterly as ruin closed around him and years of exile filled his tired
-vision.  Very likely he would get killed before his rival.
-
-Ostap was very cheerful.  After telling the prisoners what they were to
-expect if they tried any nonsense he shared his last cigarette with one
-of them. Ian seemed to hear his voice all the time.  It broke into his
-sorrowful meditations and sometimes got mixed up with them, for the
-fever made him rather muddle-headed.
-
-"We haven't ammunition," Ostap said.  "But we use the knife instead.
-There were hundreds of you in that camp wounded with our bayonets.  All
-ours are wounded with shells and shrapnel because you are afraid to come
-too close."
-
-"We have enough ammunition to beat the world," put in a thick German
-voice; it belonged to one who had been a clerk in Moscow.
-
-"Perhaps," agreed Ostap.  "But we have more men and don't care if we die
-or not.  That will beat the people who beat the world, in the end."
-
-Thus the talk went on.  Ian dozed on his perch, wondering at last who
-was beating the world and where the ammunition came from.  And just
-before sunset they arrived at Sohaczev.
-
-
-
-
-                                  XIX
-
-
-Here, a rough surprise awaited them.  They were bundled off the train
-without ceremony by a transport officer, whose temper was so bad that
-the memory of Nicolai Petrovitch Ketov was pleasant in comparison.
-
-"Off with you!" he shouted.  "We're not going to a party.  This is war."
-
-"But we were put in charge of this train by the transport officer at the
-last camp," protested Ostap.
-
-"The devil take the train.  I've got wounded to send off."
-
-"Then what are we to do?" asked Ian.
-
-"Hang yourselves," was the polite reply and the officer turned on his
-heel.
-
-The fugitives, standing in an indignant little group on the platform,
-hustled by the many passers-by, turned to Ostap.  He was a soldier and
-ought to help them out of their new predicament.
-
-"What next?" asked Ian, voicing the thought of his followers.
-
-"God knows."  He looked round at the multitude of races who jostled and
-cursed and shouted and implored.  "If only I could see a Cossack I might
-get some information.  But all the tribes of the Empire seem to be here
-except ours."
-
-"Look!  They're marching off our German prisoners," cried Dulski, the
-Ruvno village blacksmith, a huge, good-natured man, whose three sons
-were fighting, and whose wife had gone on Vera Petrovna's train.  "They
-must be going to Warsaw.  If we follow them we can't go astray."
-
-"On foot!" exclaimed Ostap.  "Not if I know it. And you, Count!"
-
-"I'd rather tramp than be left here, but I think we ought to try and get
-a lift first.  I know this town and may find a Jew who will sell us
-something to go in."  He turned to the peasants: "Don't any of you move
-from the station till I tell you.  Here's money to buy food."  He handed
-Dulski a twenty-rouble note and was off in search of a horse and cart.
-
-First, however, they tried to get some information from the
-station-master about possible trains to Warsaw.  But they might as well
-have talked to the moon, for all the answer they could get.
-
-"Let us go outside," said Ian after wasting precious time in their vain
-quest for information.  "If there are any Jews with a horse and cart to
-sell we shall find them there."
-
-The precincts of the station were as crowded as the camp had been.  But
-they found, on talking to the loiterers, that most of the citizens had
-decided to stay where they were.  Ian noticed a prosperous horse-dealer
-of the race of Israel, in a new alpaca _halat_ and a pair of very shiny
-top-boots.
-
-"There's our man," he said in relief.  "If there's a bit of horseflesh
-left in the place Hermann has got it to sell."
-
-Hermann met their request with florid expressions of sympathy and
-devotion.  With tears in his eyes he swore he could not provide a lift.
-
-"There's not a beast on four legs left within twenty versts or more," he
-said regretfully.  "What with the army and the refugees we're as bare as
-that."  And thrusting out the palm of one fat hand he pointed to it with
-the other.
-
-Ian turned to his companion.
-
-"There's nothing for us but to tramp it," he said sadly.
-
-The horse-dealer shot out his arms in unaffected horror.  In eastern
-Europe only the poor go on foot. Bad roads and good horses have
-something to do with people's dislike for walking.
-
-"Tramp to Warsaw!" he cried.  "The Lord of Ruvno tramp those horrible
-roads!  Such a thing was never heard of.  Peasants and the poorest Jews
-do that ... but no gentleman!"
-
-"The times have changed," remarked Ostap.  "But if you are so shocked at
-the thought of it do you help us to ride."
-
-"Wait I will ask some of ours what is to be done."
-
-He disappeared into a dirty-looking general shop which stood close at
-hand.  In a very short time he emerged, beaming all over his broad,
-greasy face.
-
-"My Lord Count," he cried, bursting with importance, "I have arranged
-everything.  There will be a train."
-
-"The last is just leaving," said Ostap.  "We were turned off it to make
-room for the wounded."
-
-"One is to arrive from Warsaw," persisted the Jew. "It will take the
-rest of the wounded and such of the citizens as want to go."
-
-"Who said so?"
-
-"Our Rabbi."
-
-"What does he know about it?"
-
-"He had it from the transport officer."
-
-Ostap, listening, looked at the Jew with mingled scorn, wonder and
-admiration.
-
-"You Jews are strange people," was his verdict. "Here have we been
-trying to get information from the authorities for half an hour, one a
-great gentleman in these parts, the other a Cossack officer anxious to
-rejoin his troop, and nobody will give us a good word. Yet this Jew
-horse-dealer here knows everything."
-
-"He may be wrong," said Ian.  "They often are."
-
-"But I am right," said Hermann.  "You'll see for yourself I am right if
-you wait in the station. Meanwhile, I must go, for a messenger calls me
-home."  And off he went.
-
-Ostap looked down the forlorn road which led from the station to the
-town and pointed to a Red Cross flag flying from a distant building.
-
-"There are wounded left.  Our people will try to get them away.  We may
-not have to tramp after all. I'll go to that transport officer again."
-
-"Don't.  He'll only swear at you.  Let us get on the train, if it comes,
-without asking anybody's leave."
-
-Ostap gave him a quick look of alarm; he had spoken in a listless tone
-the Cossack heard from him for the first time since they met.
-
-"You're ill?"
-
-"Nothing.  A pain in my side and the devil's own thirst."
-
-"It's the broken ribs.  Go to one of the hospital tents and get a
-bandage put around you.  It helps a lot."
-
-"They've something else to do than see to a trifle like that.  I'll go
-and get a drink."  And he rose from a trunk, abandoned by some hasty
-traveler, which stood near the station steps.
-
-"Good.  Do you go get your drink at the station pump and await me.
-There must be food in this town and I mean to have it."
-
-Ian produced a banknote, but the other waved it aside.
-
-"No.  Let this be my meal.  Besides, I don't count to spend money."  And
-he hurried down the forlorn road.
-
-Ian went to the pump, slaked his thirst with its cool water, soused his
-head and began to feel better.  The long summer twilight still lingered
-and, as he sat down on the bank, he saw a vaguely familiar figure come
-towards him.  It was a Cossack, grizzled, thin as a rake, hard as nails.
-As the newcomer began to work the pump he recognized the bluff colonel
-who had refused to have him as a volunteer at the beginning of the war.
-
-He waited till the man had drunk and washed, baring himself to the
-waist, showing strong muscles that stood out from his fair skin and a
-large scar on his right arm.  Then he said:
-
-"Are you still refusing volunteers?"
-
-The Cossack turned sharply.
-
-"Who the devil are you?" was his greeting.
-
-"Do you remember a Polish squire who asked for a commission at the
-beginning of the war?"
-
-"No," he grunted, drying himself as best he might with a bandana
-handkerchief he pulled out of his wide trouser-leg.  But it was a
-hopeless business so he gave it up, walking about and waving his arms.
-
-"You said I was too fat."
-
-"You don't look it."
-
-"And too old."
-
-"Older, better men than you are strewing the fields to-night."
-
-"Do you want volunteers now?"
-
-At this the Cossack turned upon him, rage, mortification and sorrow
-choking his voice, so that it came harsh and thick.
-
-"Want!" he cried.  "I want guns, gun-fodder, batteries, honesty.  I want
-to sweep out all those German-spawned traitors at Petrograd.  I want to
-clean out the ministries, put honest soldiers there instead of the breed
-of thieves and liars.  Want, indeed!  Russia wants everything.
-Everything!  Where are my men? Where to God are the three thousand
-Cossacks I led from the Don?  There!  There!"  He thrust his bare,
-muscular arms towards the west.  "Carrion," he cried, with a
-half-stifled sob.  "Not killed in fair fight. Never a one of them.  But
-murdered; yes, murdered by a horde of thieves in Petrograd, who sent me
-promises for guns, empty words for muskets, champagne for shrapnel!  Oh,
-think of it!  The flower of the Don Troop, crying for the wherewithal to
-fight, beating off the Germans with sticks we tore from the trees, with
-never a musket, never a gas-mask, nothing but corruption and treachery,
-bought with German gold. Oh, my heart bursts with the burden of it!  All
-my good Cossacks flung into the cannon's mouth, belching forth fire,
-whilst we had nothing, nothing!"
-
-He broke off, tore up and down, muttering like a wounded lion.
-
-"And they died like dogs!  For this!" His arms swept the desolate
-landscape.  "For rapine and retreat! For burning corn and ruined
-farmsteads!  To leave the Lakes of Masuria; to leave the Vistula, the
-Dneiper, the Niemen and God knows what besides!"
-
-He stopped, overcome with his emotion, strode back to the pump, let a
-stream of water flow over his grizzled head, gave a gigantic sigh and
-relapsed into silence.  And thus they stayed together for some time. Ian
-did not even try to comfort him; what solace could he offer when he knew
-that those bitter words were all too true?  The Cossack spoke first.
-
-"A cigarette," he demanded.
-
-Ian handed him the packet which Healy had brought up to the train.  He
-took a couple, threw back the rest, and asked for matches.  It was now
-almost dark and in the light of the little flame he scanned Ian's face.
-
-"I remember you," he said when his cigarette was half smoked through.
-"You talked of shooting quail on the wing and wanted to shoot me."
-
-"Not quite.  But I was sore because you wouldn't have me."
-
-"It was all so different then.  Eh, God!  What a fool I was to believe
-in that lying, thieving horde at Petrograd!  Petrograd forsooth!  They
-might as well have kept it Petersburg, for all the Germans that are in
-it still.  Phew!  I spit on these politicians!"  And he did so.
-
-"Russia is wide," said Ian.
-
-"Wide and bungling!  With a little order, a little honesty we should
-have been in Berlin long ago.  God! How they ran from the Lakes of
-Masuria!  How they scuttled like geese before our Cossack spears!  And
-then our supplies gave out, and none were forthcoming, Oh, the Empire is
-a prey to a horde of thieves.  Many defeats await us yet.  By the way,
-you spoke of your country house and your lady mother and your forests,
-when in Warsaw.  What of them?"
-
-Briefly Ian told him.
-
-"Ay.  The same story everywhere.  And I thought I'd be coming to you
-with German booty," he remarked sadly.  "It made my heart bleed to see
-the fugitives.  But you may be glad your womenfolk got safely away.  And
-what will you do now?"
-
-"Fight.  Won't you take me in your regiment?"
-
-"Regiment!" the other echoed bitterly, beating his chest "I am the
-regiment."
-
-"Not all gone?"
-
-"Killed, wounded, gassed, a few prisoners, and you have the lot."
-
-"But you'll reconstruct?"
-
-"Ay.  That I will.  If there's a Cossack left I'm game."
-
-"Then let me be one of your new officers," pleaded Ian.
-
-He was beginning to like this gruff, grizzled soldier. He did not want
-to volunteer in France, for that would mean going a long way from Vanda,
-and separating his mother from her.  In his shy way he tried to convey
-his eagerness to join the Russian army, and the Colonel's manner
-softened.
-
-"Eh, God.  I think you'd make a good soldier.  I can't say ay or nay.
-The matter lies with my superiors."
-
-"But you can recommend me," he urged.
-
-"I can and will.  I haven't a card.  Have you a scrap of paper?"
-
-Ian searched and produced a card and pencil, also his electric torch.
-The Cossack wrote some lines and handed the card back.
-
-"Now, headquarters will be in Rostov.  It is a long journey.  But do you
-go there and say I sent you. It's written on the card.  We shall meet
-there within a fortnight, but I must go to that German cesspool first."
-
-"So must I."
-
-"Ah!  Where will you lodge?"
-
-"I don't know yet.  But they'll tell you at the Orsov Palace."
-
-"So you know Vera Petrovna?  She is a powerful friend to have.  You can
-get a softer bed to lie on than campaigning with me if you ask her."
-
-"I don't want to sit in some office.  I want to fight. I hope to meet a
-man named von Senborn face to face and give him back a little of what
-he's done to me and my property."
-
-"You're the right stuff.  But how war's changed you!  You were as plump
-as one of your own quails a year aback.  And sleek as a maid.  If we
-don't meet in Petrograd do you seek me out in Rostov.  I have to get a
-seat on this cattle-train.  Many of my children are there."
-
-He hurried into his clothes, rammed the cap well on to his head and went
-off.  They parted the best of friends.  Scarcely had his tall, lithe
-figure disappeared into the summer night when Ostap hurried on to the
-platform.  He had looted a deserted house and they ate heartily of ham,
-bread, butter and cold veal.  He brought a bottle of light Polish beer,
-too; but Ian would not touch it, saying his head ached. Ostap was much
-interested in hearing about his talk with the Cossack colonel and asked
-to see the card. He read it eagerly and looked up, saying with respect
-in his voice:
-
-"But it is my Colonel, Irmal Platov, of the family that produced the
-famous Cossack general.  They say he will be head of the Pan-Cossack
-League one day. Where did he go?  It will cheer him to know that one
-officer at least is alive and sound."
-
-Ian pointed to the train, which was now getting up steam, and he was off
-like a shot.  Ian put back his card, reflected that it was a lucky
-chance to have met this man, whom the Cossacks evidently respected
-highly.  He went back to the station building.  It was high time to find
-out definitely whether or no there would be another train before the
-Russians left the place.  Martin, he ascertained, was still fast asleep
-on the floor of the engine which had brought them from the camp and
-nobody disturbed him.
-
-In the ticket-office he met the horse-dealer who was running hither and
-thither in a great state of excitement, calling Ian's name at the top of
-his voice.
-
-"What are you yelling about?" he asked.  "Has the train come?"
-
-"Oh, thank God, you're here!  I feared you had started."
-
-"What is it?"
-
-"One of your friends wants you.  He is sick to death.  Not a moment have
-we to lose."
-
-"Who?"
-
-"I know not.  But hurry!"
-
-They made their way out of the disorderly, miserable town, which knew
-all the vicissitudes of warfare, and into squalid suburbs, where only
-Jews, and the poorest at that, could live.  With many puzzling thoughts
-Ian asked his guide whither they were going and who of his friends lived
-in this unsavory quarter.
-
-"I know nothing," answered he.  "It is a friend. He wanted to send one
-of our people to Ruvno.  But the messenger knew you had left Ruvno.  But
-at the hospital none had the heart to tell him the truth.  Just now I
-happened to see this messenger and tell him my Lord Count was here.  So
-I sought you for a long while."
-
-"Haven't you any idea who is this friend?"
-
-"A gentleman.  He sent out a hundred roubles to the messenger, I know."
-
-He did not add that he was the messenger and the hundred roubles now lay
-in his pocket-book.  After a quarter of an hour's brisk walking he led
-the way to a field.  Ian could see the dim outline of a tent.
-
-"A military hospital?" he asked.
-
-"Yes."  Hermann stopped.  "Here I leave you.  I fear the cholera."  And
-he was gone.
-
-Cholera.  Ian hesitated.  Which of his friends was dying of that
-loathsome pest?  Roman?  The thought tore his heart.  Joseph?  Oh, he
-hoped not.  He hastily prayed it might not be a man at all dear to him.
-Yet he could think of nobody, friend or foe, whom he wished to watch
-dying of cholera.
-
-Troubled thus, he made his way up to the tent.  No sentry guarded the
-entry.  That was unnecessary; all shunned the place.  It was very quiet
-after the bustle and babel of the station.  He heard no voices.  The
-only sign of living man was a faint streak of light that came between
-the canvas and the ground.
-
-He held up the flap and went in.
-
-It was a large tent and there were many beds in it Some stood vacant,
-others held shrouded, still masses of contorted humanity.  Others again,
-most ghastly of all, were occupied by men of all ages and many races.
-Two bearers were carrying out a burden through another entrance, at the
-far end.  He looked around in an agony of disgust and suspense.  A nurse
-and doctor were bending over one couch.  He learned afterwards that the
-medical staff had drawn lots to decide which of them should go with the
-retreating army and which remain behind with those too ill to be moved
-and enter captivity with them.  It seemed to him that these two lingered
-a long time.  Then he heard the doctor say:
-
-"He'll live.  The worst is over."
-
-Instantly Ian lost his shyness and hastened to them,
-
-"Who is it?" he asked in French, true to the habit of a lifetime which
-bade him address a Russian in the international language.
-
-The nurse turned and made room for him at the bedside.
-
-"Do you know him?"
-
-A glance at the patient was enough.
-
-"No," he answered.
-
-The doctor hurried away.  The woman, attending to the sick man, asked
-Ian whom he sought.
-
-"I don't know.  A Jew brought me.  Said a man here wanted somebody from
-Ruvno.  I am from Ruvno."
-
-"Ah!  I remember now.  One moment."  Swiftly she completed her task and
-turned towards the north end of the tent.  He followed her to a far
-corner, till she stopped before a bed which held one of the shrouded
-forms.
-
-"Too late!" he cried.
-
-She gave him a look of sympathy.
-
-"He died a few minutes ago."
-
-Unable to utter a word, he signed to her.  Gently, she turned back the
-sheet.  He stepped forward; all hatred, all bitterness, slipped from him
-like a cloak. Joseph was no more.  He could marry Vanda.
-
-This was his uppermost thought; his next, as he gazed at that familiar,
-yet transformed face, a deep relief that Roman had not suffered that
-death.  Then came remorse for the speed of his thoughts towards marrying
-her this man had loved, and sharp pain that Destiny had taken him in
-such a way.  He wanted Joseph to die fighting, as young men should in
-war-time, in the open, falling to God's good earth, whence they come,
-mingling their life's blood with the fountain of all life.  That livid,
-emaciated face, with evil stains on the once healthy cheeks was a
-reproach to modernity, a seal upon the Cossack's cry of "murdered!"
-
-For a long time he gazed and many an emotion rose and swelled in his
-heart; scenes of boyhood sprang up again; memories of the chase, of the
-life they once trod together, as dead for him now as was Joseph himself.
-And whilst he breathed a prayer for the dead which Father Constantine
-had taught them all, he thanked God that he had resisted the call of
-passion a few nights ago, when he sat and watched the summer moon, so
-sure it lighted Joseph's body on the battlefield.  Now, at least, he
-could look on his remains without remorse for evil action.
-
-The nurse had gone; but two orderlies came up.
-
-"We must bury him," one of them said in the Russian of Moscow.
-
-As Ian looked up they noticed his eyes were dimmed with tears unshed.
-
-"Is there a Catholic priest about?"
-
-The men looked at one another.
-
-"In the town perhaps--not here."
-
-"I'll bring one."
-
-"We cannot wait till you go so far.  We have strict orders to bury each
-poor victim at once.  What will you?  The infection is deadly and we are
-working day and night."
-
-"I'll be back before you close the coffin."
-
-"Coffin!  There are none left."
-
-Ian passed the one nearest him a fifty-rouble note.
-
-"I know the town.  Wait for me."  And he hurried out.
-
-He was desperately anxious to give Joseph Christian burial.  He felt he
-must; it might atone for his fault of feeling that great load off his
-heart now he knew Vanda would be his.  Then he remembered the Cossack
-colonel's card.  He had promised to fight, had insisted on being drafted
-into a hard-fighting regiment.  But that was an hour ago.  That was when
-thoughts of Vanda were pain, and he did not so much mind if he got
-killed.  Now, he hated the idea of it. If he got killed soon he would be
-no more married to her than Joseph had been.  He rebelled.  Why should
-he go and get killed?  Russia had plenty of men.  He had lost enough in
-the war already without losing the last chance of happiness.  Russia had
-turned him away once and he was not in duty bound to apply again.
-Besides, he could do war-work without putting on a Cossack coat; could
-volunteer for a mission abroad; for instance say to the Pope, who only
-knew what the Germans and their friends told him...
-
-As he stumbled over the road, choked with the debris of a retreating
-army, he felt particularly fitted to tell the Pope what Poland was
-enduring.  He had an uncle in Rome, a younger brother of his father,
-created a cardinal during the pontificate of Pius the Tenth.  So he
-could gain the Pope's ear far more easily than many other people.  Rome,
-he argued, had no more faithful children than the Poles, who have
-suffered much persecution for their faith.  And it was high time the
-Holy Father knew the truth about the Germans.  He, Ian, would tell him.
-Yes; he could serve his country's cause, and the Allies' just as well in
-Rome as in Colonel Platov's regiment.  Rome would be a good place for
-his mother to live in.  If he joined the army she would have to stop in
-Russia, to be near him.  In Rome, they could all live quietly and
-comfortable together--he, Vanda, his mother. After all, it was fair to
-them to look after them; and his mother had only him now.  And the
-Allies had millions of men.  Russia wanted guns, which he could not
-make, and organization, which he could not give her.
-
-He reached the house of a priest he knew and very few words sufficed to
-tell him what had happened; then they hastened back together.
-
-They buried Joseph in a field set apart as a cemetery in connection with
-the cholera tent.  Ian gave the priest money and instructions for a
-Cross to be put over the grave.  Then he sought the nurse.  On hearing
-who he was she took him to a clerk, who gave him the things they had
-found in Joseph's pockets: a photograph of Vanda, a packet of her
-letters, and some money.  When it was all over and he had parted from
-the priest he made his way back to the station. It was nearly ten
-o'clock.  He found that the horse-dealer was right after all.  A train,
-the last one, stood ready to start for Warsaw.  The inside was packed
-with wounded men, the roof with refugees, some of whom were wounded,
-too.  He heard Ostap's voice calling for him and shouted back that he
-was coming.
-
-"Be quick!" he shouted.  "We're on the roof. Third coach from the
-engine.  It's all we can do to keep sitting room for you.  Climb up, for
-these Jews are great pushers."
-
-"Where are my peasants?"
-
-"Here, thank God!" said a voice.
-
-"All?"
-
-"All.  Safe and sound.  Get up, my Lord Count, for the train is starting
-already."
-
-Ian clambered up and squeezed himself in between the blacksmith and
-Ostap, who indignantly asked where he had been hiding.
-
-"We searched high and low.  If not for this blacksmith, who sat as broad
-as he could, we'd never have been able to keep your place."  He did not
-tell them where he had been.  Heart and head were filled with new
-emotions, and a new struggle.  The idea of going to Rome fascinated him.
-He found so much in its favor, so little to say against it.  Only that
-Cossack colonel would ever know he had drawn back.  None shared his
-plans.  And the soldier would forget him.
-
-He was no longer the man who urged Platov to take him at the beginning
-of the war; then, he could not realize the love that had grown with each
-month of strife and anxiety, till it now overwhelmed every other
-feeling.  Destiny led him to the tent wherein he found a promise of
-happiness.  And a loud voice within cried not to give it up.
-
-It was an endless journey and very uncomfortable. They were perpetually
-stopping to make way for other trains, filled with troops, whole and
-wounded.  From time to time some of the little party got down to stretch
-their legs, one keeping the place for another with that ready
-comradeship which war's vicissitudes breed between men of vastly
-different race and caste. Jew elbowed Gentile; patrician drank with
-outcast in their flight before the stupendous Hun.  It seemed to Ian
-that all the trains in Russia passed them; troops in open trucks, who
-made an infernal noise with their _balalaikas_ and their voices.  He
-wondered sadly that they could abandon Poland to her fate with such
-light hearts ... and then remembered that they were Russians, brave as
-lions, but mentally children yet; so the direction in which they
-traveled was no affair of theirs.
-
-He thought of his ruined home and the many other ruined homes they
-passed and wondered where their late owners were, that cool, starry
-night.  Some, he knew, lay quiet and still by the wayside, for he had
-seen such in his flight.  Some, like Father Constantine, had found rest
-in a soldier's graveyard before friends left them, to seek a new life in
-exile.  And, as his memory dwelt on the last year, as he passed farm
-after farm alight with the fires of destruction, the weakness born of
-the sudden knowledge that Vanda was free left him.  He knew he could not
-go to Rome; knew he would not have a quiet hour if he chose the easier
-road; that every devastated home, every orphan in his native land would
-ring a terrible chorus of reproach into his soul.  Roman's words of that
-evening at the "_Oaza_," came back:
-
-"There is no love without sacrifice."
-
-How little he had known of love then; how much now!  He wondered at the
-craven Ian who had planned a safe journey to Rome whilst his native land
-was bleeding.  There was nothing for him but to fight. Oh, he would
-marry Vanda, and perhaps live through the war.  Then they would return
-to a free Poland and a free Ruvno, to build and plant afresh for their
-children, freed from bondage and all persecution.  In the trenches, on
-the battlefield, he would have that lodestar.  Now, he knew not how he
-ever could have imagined the war without himself in it.
-
-These thoughts ran through his mind, accompanied by visions of burning
-houses, huddled, hungry refugees, suffering, struggling humanity.
-Through all was the joy of knowing Vanda would be his--and over all came
-Ostap's voice as he held forth to others on the roof.
-
-"Yes; we spit upon life.  So we shall win, in the end.  And our children
-will be freed."
-
-And the Cossack's words gave him comfort.
-
-
-
-
-                                THE END
-
-
-
-
-
-
-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAYGROUND OF SATAN ***
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