CHAPTER XII
"To begin with, I must tell you that my name is not Petrovitch at all:it is Polowski; Petrovitch was my mother's maiden name. Why I adoptedit, instead of bearing my father's, you will understand directly. Iwas born in Warsaw, where my parents at the time had a temporary home.Though she died when I was only seven years old, I can distinctlyremember my mother as a tall, beautiful Hungarian woman, who used tosing me the sweetest songs I have ever heard in my life every eveningwhen I went to bed. Oh, how well I can recall those songs!" Her eyesfilled with tears at the recollection. "Then there came a time whenshe did not put me to bed, and when I was not allowed to see her.Night after night I cried for her, I remember, until one evening an oldwoman, in whose charge I had often been left, when my father and motherwere absent from the city, told me that I should never see her again,for she was dead. I did not know the meaning of death then; but I havelearnt since that there are things which are worse, infinitely worse,than merely ceasing to live. My recollections of that period are notvery distinct; but I can recall the fact that my poor mother lay in aroom at the back of the house, and that old Maritza wept for hercontinually. There was much mystery also; and once an old gray-hairedman said to some one in my presence, '_Do you think he will be foolenough to come when they are watching for him at every turn?_' Towhich the other replied, '_I am sure he will come, for he loved her._'Then came the funeral, a dark and dreary day, which, when I look backupon it all now, seems like the beginning of a new life to me. I wasonly a little child, and when they brought me home from the cemetery Ifell asleep almost before my head touched the pillow. In the middle ofthe night I was awakened by a loud cry, a trampling on the stairs, anda moment later the noise of men fighting in the corridor outside myroom. Terrified almost out of my senses, I crouched in my little bedand listened. Then an order was given by some one, followed by thesound of more trampling on the stairs, and after that all was silence.Though, of course, I did not know it then, my father had been arrestedby the police as a dangerous Nihilist, and, a month later, was on hisway to Siberia. It was not until I was old enough to understand, thatI heard that he had been concerned in an attempt upon the life of theCzar. From what was told me then, and from what I have since learnt,there seems to have been little or no doubt but that he was connectedwith a dangerous band of Nihilists, and that he was not only mixed upin the affair for which he was condemned to penal servitude for life,but that he was one of the originators of the plot itself. And yet theonly recollection I have of him is of a kind and loving father who,when he was at home, used to tell me fairy stories, and who declaredhis wife to be the sweetest woman in the world."
"Poor little girl," said Browne, pressing the hand he held, "you hadindeed an unhappy childhood; but you have not yet told me how you cameto be placed under the guardianship of Madame Bernstein."
"She was an old friend of my father's," Katherine replied; "and when mymother died, and he was sent to Siberia, she adopted me. I owe her adebt of gratitude that I can never repay; for, though she is perhaps alittle peculiar in some things, she has been a very good and kindfriend to me."
"And have you always been--well, shall we say--dependent on her?" askedBrowne, with a little diffidence, for it was a delicate matter for ayoung man to touch upon with a proud and high-spirited girl.
"Oh no," Katherine replied. "You see, soon after my mother's death itwas discovered by some one--I cannot remember who--that one of herbrothers was dead, and that by his will I, as his sole heiress,inherited his money. From your point of view it would be nothing, butto me it meant a great deal. It was carefully invested, and it bringsme in, in English money, just three hundred pounds a year. Of coursewe cannot do much with such a sum; but, as we have no expensive tastes,Madame Bernstein and I find that with it, and the sum I make by mypainting, we are just able to make both ends meet."
On hearing this Browne pricked up his ears. This was putting a newcomplexion on the affair.
"Do you mean to say that Madame Bernstein has no income of her own, andthat all these years she has been living upon you?"
"Yes. And why not? You cannot realise what a wonderful manager sheis. I should not be able to do half as much with it if I had the solecontrol of my money."
"This is a matter which will have to be attended to in the nearfuture," said Browne to himself. Then, aloud, he added, "Never mind,little woman; when you are my wife Madame shall retire in luxury. Sheshall not find us ungrateful, believe me. But continue your story.Or, I fancy, you had better let me finish it for you. You have told methat you have lived with Madame Bernstein, or rather, to be correct,that she has lived with you, for many years. You have travelled fromplace to place about Europe; for some reason or another you have had nofixed home; then you began to paint, and during the whole time you havedenied yourself all sorts of things in order that Madame should live inthe lap of luxury. Oh, don't dispute it, for I know what has happenedas well as if I had been there to see. In the course of yourperegrinations you went to Norway. There we met. Six months later youcame to London, during which time I had been wondering whether I shouldever see you again. Fate arranged that we should meet. I found youeven more adorable than before, followed you to Paris, proposed and wasaccepted, and, like all pretty stories, ours must, and shall end withthe music of wedding bells."
"Impossible," she answered. "From what I have already shown you, youmust see that it could not be. Had my life been differently situated Ishould have been proud--you do not know how proud--to be your wife;but, as it is, it is quite out of the question. Some day you will seethat yourself, and will thank me for having prevented you from spoilingyour life by a foolish marriage."
Browne saw that she was in deadly earnest. He was about to argue thequestion with her, but the look upon her face stopped him. For themoment he was frightened in spite of himself, and could only stammerout, "I shall never see it."
"You _must_ see it," she answered. "There is a task I have set formyself, which I must finish, come what may."
"Then, whatever it may be, I will share it with you," said Browne."You must doubt my love, Katherine, if you refuse to let me help you."
"I do not doubt your love," she answered, "but it is quite out of thequestion that I could avail myself of your assistance in this matter."
"I will not believe it," he continued. "You are only saying it becauseyou do not wish to inculpate me. But I _will_ be inculpated, come whatmay. Tell me what it is you have to do, and I will help you to carryit through to the best of my ability; helping you where help is needed,and counselling you where you stand in need of advice. In other words,I place myself and all I have in the world at your disposal, darling,to do with as you will."
"You are too noble," she answered; "too good and true. What other manwould do as much?"
"Any man," he answered, "who loves a woman as I love you."
"There can be but few who love so well," she replied softly, for herheart was touched more than she could say; "and yet, good as you are, Icannot accept your help. You do not know what I am about to attempt."
"I do not care what it is," he answered; "it makes no sort ofdifference to my promise."
"But it would afterwards," she said. "Why, do you not remember that Iam the daughter of a convict; that my father was sent to Siberia tolive in chains to the end of his days? He remained there for manyyears. Afterwards he was despatched to the island of Saghalien, wherehe now is. News has reached us within the last few days that he isill, and that unless he leaves the island he will not live anotheryear."
"How did you hear that?" Browne inquired.
"Through Madame Bernstein," Katherine replied. "Ever since my fatherwas first arrested she has managed somehow or other to obtain news ofhim."
"And what is it you intend to do?"
"To help him to escape," the girl replied.
"But it would be impossible," said Browne, horrified at herdeclaration. "You must not dream of such a thing."
/> "But I do more than dream of it," she replied. "Remember, he is myfather, my own flesh and blood, who is ill and suffering. You say youlove me?"
"I think you know by this time that I do," said Browne.
"Then what would you do if I were seized and carried away to a terribleisland, where my life would be one long torture? Would you not do yourbest to rescue me?"
"Of course I would," said Browne indignantly. "You need not ask that."
"Very well, then, you can see now how I feel. I do not say that he wasright in his beliefs or in what he did; on the contrary, I think thathe was distinctly wrong. The fact, however, remains that he is myfather; and, however great his faults may have been, he has at leastbeen punished for them. Can you picture what his existence must havebeen these many years? But of course you cannot. You do not knowanything of Russian prisons. They have been described to me, however,by one who has seen them, and the account has filled me with suchterror as I have never known in my life before."
"But it would be sheer madness for you to attempt to rescue him," saidBrowne. "You could not possibly succeed. Your effort would beforedoomed to failure."
"It is very probable," she answered; "but would you have me for thatreason draw back? It is my duty to make the attempt, even if I fail.You would have done the same for your own father, I know, had he beenin the same position. Why should I not therefore do it for mine?"
"Because--why, because it is too preposterous," said Browne, at lossfor a better reason. "I never heard of such a thing. You have not theleast idea of the magnitude of the danger of what you are attempting."
"Perhaps not," she said. "But if all those who make an attempt couldforesee the result, I fancy only a very small percentage would continueto strive. No; if you love me, you will not try to make a coward ofme, just at the time when I am trying to do what I consider right."
Browne took counsel with himself. The position was the mostextraordinary he had ever faced. In his life he had met with manypeculiar people, but never had he been brought in contact with a younggirl who was willing to give up love, wealth, comfort, every prospectof happiness, even life itself, in order to attempt what was neithermore nor less than a hopeless and impossible undertaking. And yet,short as his acquaintance with Katharine had been, he felt that he knewher well enough to be convinced that she would not abandon her purposewithout a struggle. "Loyalty before all" was his motto where she wasconcerned. He loved her, and if it was her desire to assist a by nomeans respectable father to escape from the prison in which he was veryrightly confined, he must help her to the best of his abilities,without considering the cost to himself. It would be a terriblebusiness; but, at any rate, he would then be able to assure himselfthat she did not come to any harm.
"And you are determined to carry out this foolish scheme?" he asked."Is there nothing I can say or do that will be at all likely todissuade you from your purpose?"
"Nothing at all," she answered slowly, looking him steadily in theface. "My mind is quite made up."
"Very good, then," he continued; "in that case I will not oppose youfurther. Tell me how you propose to set about it."
She shook her head. "I do not know yet," she answered. "But you maybe sure I will do it somehow. There must be a way, if I can only findit. At any rate, I am not afraid to look for it."
Browne glanced at the pale yet determined face before him, and notedthe strength of the mouth and chin. There was sufficient strength ofmind there to carry the matter through, provided the needfulopportunities were supplied. But would they be forthcoming? One thingwas quite certain, she could not possibly manage with the limited meansat her disposal. There at least she would be compelled to apply to him.
"Katherine," he said at last, "I have told you repeatedly that I loveyou, and now I am going to try to prove it to you. You say you aredesirous of rescuing your father. Very good; then I am going to helpyou to do so. It will at least demonstrate the sincerity of my lovefor you, and will show you that all the assertions I have made are notmerely so much idle chatter, but what I really feel."
"You would help me?" she gasped, staggered for the moment at themagnitude of his proposal. "Surely you do not know what you aresaying?"
"I mean what I say," he answered. "If you are bent on rescuing yourfather I will help you. But I only offer my services on one condition."
"And what is that?"
"That as soon as this business is finished you become my wife."
"But I cannot let you do it," she answered. "Why should I draw youinto it?"
"I do it because I love you, and because you love me," he answered."Surely that is sufficient reason."
"But----"
"We'll have no more _buts_, if you please," said Browne. "If it is abargain, say so. This is going to be a genuine business contract, ofwhich the terms are, that I am to do my best to assist your father toescape, and in return you are to be my wife as soon as the work iscompleted."
She looked at him almost tearfully. Though she felt it was her duty asa daughter to help her father, she nevertheless could not reconcile itto her conscience to draw the man she loved into danger. By this timethey had risen from the seat, and were standing facing each other.
"Is it to be a bargain, Katherine?"
She did not answer, but, drawing his face down to hers, she kissed himon the lips.
"I understand," he said; "then we'll count it settled. I'll commencework to-day, and let you know what arrangements I am able to make. Youtrust me, Katherine, do you not?"
"With my whole heart and soul," she answered. "Who has ever been sogood to me as you have been?"
"That has nothing at all to do with it," he said. "Now I'll take youdown to the street, put you in a cab, and send you home to Madame totell, or not to tell her, as you think best, the arrangement we havecome to."
"She will thank you as I have done," said Katherine.
"I hope not," said Browne, and, as he said it, he laughed.
She saw his playful meaning, and followed his example. Then Browneconducted her to the street, and, having placed her in a cab, sent herhome, promising to call later on in the day to report progress. Whenshe was safely on her way he glanced at his watch, and, finding it wasnot yet twelve o'clock, turned into the Amphitryon Club. He found Maasin the hall putting on his fur coat preparatory to leaving.
"My dear Browne," he said, "where on earth have you hidden yourselfsince your arrival in Paris? We have seen nothing of you here."
"I have been too busy," Browne replied, with an air of greatresponsibility. "If you only knew all that I have gone through thismorning you would be very much surprised."
"My dear fellow," said Maas, "I believe I should be nothing of thekind. Vellencourt was married yesterday, and since I heard that news Iam past being surprised at anything. I leave for London to-night.When do you return?"
"I scarcely know," Browne replied. "It may be to-day, and it may notbe for a week. I am sick of Europe, and am half-thinking of arranginga yachting trip to the Farther East."
"The deuce you are!" said Maas. "What on earth has put that notioninto your head?"
"What puts notions into anybody's head?" Browne inquired. "I haveoften wanted to have a look at the Japanese Sea and the islands to thenorth of it. How do you know that I don't aspire to the honour ofreading a paper on the subject before the Geographical Society--eh?"
"Geographical fiddlesticks!" replied the other; and, when he had shakenBrowne by the hand, he bade him "good-bye," and went down the steps,saying to himself as he did so, "Madame Bernstein, her adopteddaughter, and the islands to the north of Japan. It seems to me, mydear Browne, that when you start upon this wonderful cruise your oldfriend Maas will have to accompany you."