CHAPTER XXXII
On a misty autumn day, as Vera sat at work in her room, Yakob broughther a letter written on blue paper, which had been brought by a lad whohad instructions to wait for an answer. When she had recovered from thefirst shock at the sight of the letter, she took it, laid it on thetable, and dismissed Yakob. She tried to go on with her work but herhands fell helplessly on her lap.
"When will there be an end of this torture?" she whispered, nervously.Then she took from her bureau the earlier unopened blue letter, laid itby the side of the other, and covered her face with her hands. Whatanswer could he expect from her, she asked herself, when they had partedfor ever? Surely he dare not call her once more. If so, an answer mustbe given, for the messenger was waiting. She opened the letters and readthe earlier one:--
"Are we really not to meet again, Vera? That would be incredible. A fewdays ago there would have been reason in our separation, now it is auseless sacrifice, hard for both of us. We have striven obstinately withone another for a whole year for the prize of happiness; and now thatthe goal is attained you run away. Yet it is you who spoke of an eternallove. Is that logical?"
"Logical!" she repeated, but she collected her courage and read on.
"I am now permitted to choose another place of residence. But now Icannot leave you, for it would be dishonourable. You cannot think that Iam proud of my victory, and that it is easy for me to go away. I cannotallow you to harbour such an idea. I cannot leave you, because you loveme."
Once more she interrupted her reading, but resumed it with an effort--
"And because my whole being is in a fever. Let us be happy, Vera. Beconvinced that our conflict, our quarrelling was nothing but the mask ofpassion. The mask has fallen, and we have no other ground of dispute. Inreality we have long been one. You ask for a love which shall be eternal;many desire that, but it is an impossibility."
She stopped her reading to tell herself with a pitying smile that hisconception of love was of a perpetual fever.
"My mistake was in openly asserting this truth, which life itself wouldhave revealed in due course. From this time onwards, I will not assailyour convictions, for it is not they, but passion, which is theessential factor in our situation. Let us enjoy our happiness in silence.I hope that you will agree to this logical solution."
Vera smiled bitterly as she continued to read.
"They would hardly allow you to go away with me, and indeed that ishardly possible. Nothing but a wild passion could lead you to do such athing, and I do not expect it. Other convictions, indifferent to me,would be needed to impel you to this course; you would be faced with afuture which fulfils neither your own wishes nor the demands of yourrelations, for mine is an uncertain existence, without home, hearth orpossessions. But if you think you can persuade your Grandmother, we willbe betrothed, and I will remain here until--for an indefinite time. Aseparation now would be like a bad comedy, in which the unprofitablerole is yours, at which Raisky, when he hears of it, will be the firstto laugh. I warn you again now, as I did before. Send your reply to theaddress of my landlady, Sekletaia Burdalakov."
In spite of her exhaustion after reading this epistle Vera took up theone which Yakob had just brought. It was hastily written in pencil.
"Every day I have been wandering about by the precipice, hoping to seeyou in answer to my earlier letter. I have only just heard by chance ofyour indisposition. Come, Vera. If you are ill, write two words, and Iwill come myself to the old house. If I receive no answer to-day, I willexpect you to-morrow at five o'clock in the arbour. I must know quicklywhether I should go or stay. But I do not think we shall part. In anycase, I expect either you or an answer. If you are ill, I will make myway into your house."
Terrified by his threat of coming, she seized pen and paper, but herhands trembled too much to allow her to write.
"I cannot," she exclaimed. "I have no strength, I am stifled! How shallI begin, and what can I write? I have forgotten how I used to write tohim, to speak to him."
She sent for Yakob, and told him to dismiss the messenger and to saythat an answer would follow later. She wondered as she walked slowlyback to her room, when she would find strength that day to write to him;what she should say. She could only repeat that she could not, and wouldnot, and to-morrow she told herself, he would wait for her in the arbour,he would be wild with disappointment, and if he repeats his signals withthe rifle he will come into conflict with the servants, and eventuallywith grandmother herself. She tried to write, but threw the pen aside;then she thought she would go to him herself, tell him all she had tosay, and then leave him. As once before her hands sought in vain hermantilla, her scarf, and without knowing what she did, she sankhelplessly down on the divan.
If she told her grandmother the necessary steps would be taken, butotherwise the letters would begin again. Or should she send her cousin,who was after all her natural and nearest friend and protector, toconvince Mark that there was no hope for him? But she considered that healso was in the toils of passion, and that it would be hard for him toexecute the mission, that he might be involved in a heated dispute,which might develop into a dangerous situation. She turned to Tushin,whom she could trust to accomplish the errand effectively withoutblundering. But it seemed impossible to set Tushin face to face with therival who had robbed him of his desires. Yet she saw no alternative. Nodelay was possible; to-morrow would bring another letter, and then,failing an answer, Mark himself.
After brief consideration, she wrote a note to Tushin, and this time thesame pen covered easily and quickly the same paper that had been soimpracticable half an hour before. She asked him to come and see her thenext morning.
Until now Vera had been accustomed to guard her own secrets, and toexercise an undivided rule in the world of her thoughts. If she hadgiven her confidence to the priest's wife, it was out of charity. Shehad confided to her the calendar of her everyday life, its events, itsemotions and impressions; she had told her of her secret meetings withMark, but concealed from her the catastrophe, telling her simply thatall was over between them. As the priest's wife was ignorant of thedenouement of the story at the foot of the precipice, she put downVera's illness to grief at their parting.
Vera loved Marfinka as she loved Natalie Ivanovna, not as a comrade, butas a child. In more peaceful times she would again confide the detailsof her life to Natalie Ivanovna as before; but in a crisis she went toTatiana Markovna, sent for Tushin, or sought help from her cousin Boris.
Now she put the letters in her pocket, found her aunt, and sat downbeside her.
"What has happened, Vera? You are upset."
"Not upset, but worried. I have received letters, from _there_."
"From _there_!" repeated Tatiana Markovna, turning pale.
"The first was written some time ago, but I have only just opened it,and the second was brought to me to-day," she said, laying them both onthe table.
"You want me to know what is in them?"
"Read them, Grandmother."
Tatiana Markovna put on her glasses, and tried to read them, but shefound that she could not decipher them, and eventually Vera had to readthem. She read in a whisper, suppressing a phrase here and there; thenshe crumpled them up and put them back in her pocket.
"What do you think, Veroshka?" asked Tatiana Markovna, uncertainly. "Heis willing to be betrothed and to remain here. Perhaps if he is preparedto live like other people, if he loves you, and if you think you couldbe happy--"
"He calls betrothal a comedy, and yet suggests it. He thinks that onlythat is needed to make me happy. Grandmother, you know my frame of mind;so why do you ask me?"
"You came to me to ask me what you should decide," began TatianaMarkovna with some hesitation, as she did not yet understand why Verahad read her the letters. She was incensed at Mark's audacity, andfeared that Vera herself might be seized with a return of her passion.For these reasons she concealed her anxiety.
"It was not for that that I came to you, Grandmother. You kno
w that mymind has long been made up. I will have no more to do with him. And if Iam to breathe freely again, and to hope to be able to live once more, itis under the condition that I hear nothing of him, that I can forgeteverything. He reminds me of what has happened, calls me down there,seeks to allure me with talk of happiness, will marry me.... GraciousHeaven! Understand, Grandmother," she went on, as Tatiana Markovna'sanxiety could no longer be concealed, "that if by a miracle he nowbecame the man I hoped he would be, if he now were to believe all that Ibelieve, and loved me as I desired to love him, even if all thishappened I would not turn aside from my path at his call." No song couldhave been sweeter to the ears of Tatiana Markovna. "I should not behappy with him," Vera continued. "I could never forget what he had been,or believe in the new Mark. I have endured more than enough to kill anypassion. There is nothing left in my heart but a cold emptiness, and butfor you, Grandmother, I should despair."
She wept convulsively, her head pressed against her aunt's shoulder.
"Do not recall your sufferings, Veroshka, and do not distress yourselfunnecessarily. We agreed never to speak of it again."
"But for the letters I should not have spoken, for I need peace. Take meaway, Grandmother, hide me, or I shall die. He calls me--to that place."
Tatiana Markovna rose and drew Vera into the armchair, while she drewherself to her full height.
"If that is so," she said, "if he thinks he can continue to annoy you,he will have to reckon with me. I will shield and protect you. Consoleyourself, child, you will hear no more of him."
"What will you do?" she asked in amazement, springing from her chair.
"He summons you. Well, I will go to the rendezvous in your place, and wewill see if he calls you any more, or comes here, or writes to you." Shestrode up and down the room trembling with anger. "At what time does hego to the arbour to-morrow. At five, I think?" she asked sharply.
"Grandmother, you don't understand," said Vera gently, taking her hand."Calm yourself. I make no accusation against him. Never forget that Ialone am guilty. He does not know what has happened to me during thesedays, and therefore he writes. Now it is necessary to explain to him howill and spiritless I am, and you want to fight. I don't wish that. Iwould have written to him, but could not; and I have not the strength tosee him. I would have asked Ivan Ivanovich, but you know how he caresfor me and what hopes he cherishes. To bring him into contact with a manwho has destroyed those hopes is impossible."
"Impossible," agreed Tatiana Markovna. "God knows what might happenbetween them. You have a near relation, who knows all and loves you likea sister, Borushka."
"If that were how he loved me," thought Vera. She did not mean to revealRaisky's passion for her, which remained her secret.
"Perhaps I will ask my cousin," she said. "Or I will collect my strength,and answer the letter myself, so as to make him understand my positionand renounce all hope. But in the mean time, I must let him know so thathe does not come to the arbour to wait in vain for me."
"I will do that," struck in Tatiana Markovna.
"But you will not go yourself?" asked Vera, looking direct into her eyes."Remember that I make no complaint against him, and wish him no evil."
"Nor do I," returned her aunt, looking away. "You may be assured I willnot go myself, but I will arrange it so that he does not await you inthe arbour."
"Forgive me, Grandmother, for this fresh disturbance."
Tatiana Markovna sighed, and kissed her niece. Vera left the room in acalmer frame of mind, wondering what means her aunt proposed to take toprevent Mark from coming next day to the arbour.
Next day at noon Vera heard horse's hoofs at the gate. When she lookedout of the window her eyes shone with pleasure for a moment, as she sawTushin ride into the courtyard. She went to meet him.
"I saw you from the window," she said, adding, as she looked at him,"Are you well?"
"What else should I be?" he answered with embarrassment, turning hishead away so that she should not notice the signs of suffering on hisface. "And you?"
"I fell ill, and my illness might have taken an ill turn, but now it isover. Where is Grandmother?" she asked, turning to Vassilissa.
"The Mistress went out after tea, and took Savili with her."
Vera invited Tushin to her room, but for the moment both wereembarrassed.
"Have you forgiven me?" asked Vera after a pause, without looking at him.
"Forgiven you?"
"For all you have endured. Ivan Ivanovich, you have changed. I can seethat you carry a heavy heart. Your suffering and Grandmother's is a hardpenance for me. But for you three, Grandmother, you, and Cousin Boris,I could not survive."
"And yet you say that you give us pain. Look at me; I think I am betteralready. If you would only recover your own peace of mind it will all beover and forgotten."
"I had begun to recover, and to forget. Marfinka's marriage is close athand, there was a great deal to do and my attention was distracted, butyesterday I was violently excited, and am not quite calm now."
"What has happened? Can I serve you, Vera Vassilievna?"
"I cannot accept your service."
"Because you do not think me able...."
"Not that. You know all that has happened; read what I have received,"she said, taking the letters from a box, and handing them to him.
Tushin read, and turned as pale as he had been when he arrived.
"You are right. In this matter my assistance is superfluous. You alonecan...."
"I cannot, Ivan Ivanovich," she said, while he looked at herinterrogatively. "I can neither write a word to him, nor see him; yet Imust give him an answer. He will wait there in the arbour, or if I leavehim without an answer he will come here, and I can do nothing."
"What kind of answer?"
"You ask the same question as Grandmother. Yet you have read the letter!He promises me happiness, will submit to a betrothal. Yesterday I triedto write to him to tell him that I was not happy, and should not behappy after betrothal, and to bid him farewell. But I cannot put theselines on paper, and I cannot commission anyone to deliver my answer.Grandmother flared up when she read the letter, and I fear she would notbe able to restrain her feelings. So I...."
"You thought of me," said Tushin, standing up. "Tushin, you thought,would do you this service, and then you sent for me." Pride, joy, andaffection shone in his eyes.
"No, Ivan Ivanovich. I sent for you, so that you might be at my side inthese difficult hours. I am calmer when you are here. But I will notsend you--down there, I will not inflict on you this last insult, willnot set you face to face with a man, who cannot be an object ofindifference to you--no, no."
Tushin was about to speak, but instead he stretched out his hands insilence, and Vera looked at him with mixed feelings of gratitude andsorrow, as she realised with what small things he was made happy.
"Insult!" he said. "It would have been hard to bear if you were to sendme to him with an olive branch, to bring him up here from the depths ofthe precipice. But even though that dove-like errand would not suit me,I would still undertake it to give you peace, if I thought it would makeyou happy."
"Ivan Ivanovich," replied Vera, hardly restraining her tears, "I believeyou would have done it, but I would never send you."
"But now I am not asked to go outside my role of Bear; to tell him whatyou cannot write to him, Vera Vassilievna, would give me happiness."
She reflected that this was all the happiness with which she had toreward him, and dropped her eyes. His mood changed when he noticed herthoughtful, melancholy air; his proud bearing, the gleam in his eyes,and the colour in his face disappeared. He regretted his incautiousdisplay of pleasure. It seemed to him that his delight and his mentionof the word "happiness!" had been tantamount to a renewal of hisprofession of love and the offer of his hand, and had betrayed to herthe fact that he rejoiced selfishly at her breach with Mark.
Vera guessed that he was deceiving himself once more. Her heart, herfeminine instinct, her
friendship, these things prevented Tushin fromabandoning his hope; she gave what she could, an unconditional trust anda boundless esteem.
"Yes, Ivan Ivanovich, I see now that I have placed my hopes on you,though I did not confess it to myself, and no one would have persuadedme to ask this service of you. But since you make the generous offeryourself, I am delighted, and thank you with all my heart. No one canhelp me as you do, because no one else loves me as you do."
"You spoil me, Vera Vassilievna, when you talk like that. But it is true;you read my very soul."
"Will it not be hard for you to see him."
"No, I shan't faint," he smiled.
"Go at five o'clock to the arbour and tell him...." She considered amoment, then scribbled with a pencil what she had said she wished to saywithout adding a word. "Here is my answer," she said, handing him theopen envelope. "You may add anything you think necessary, for you knowall. And don't forget, Ivan Ivanovich, that I blame him for nothing, andconsequently," she added, looking away, "you may leave your whipbehind."
"Very well," he said between his teeth.
"Forgive me," said Vera, offering her hand. "I do not say it as areproach. I breathe more freely now that I have told you what I wish,and what I don't wish in your interview."
"And you thought I needed the hint?"
"Pardon a sick woman," she said, and he pressed her hand again.