CHAPTER XXV
Three weeks had elapsed since that memorable afternoon, when the partyon board the yacht, had obtained their first glimpse of the island ofSaghalien. In pursuance of the plan MacAndrew had revealed to him inHong-kong, Browne had left his companions upon the vessel, and forupwards of forty-eight hours had domiciled himself in a small log-huton the northern side of the Bay of Kroptskoi, awaiting news of the manwhom they had come so far, and undertaken so much, to rescue. It wasthe night of full moon, and the scene which Browne had before him, ashe stood, wrapped up in his furs, outside the door of the hut, was asmiserable as a man could well desire to become acquainted with. Thesettlement, as I have said, was located at the northern end of a smallbay, and had once consisted of upwards of six huts, built upon a slighteminence, having at its foot a river still ice-bound. At the back rosea still more precipitous hill, densely clothed with _taiga_, or forest.So impenetrable, indeed, was it, that even the wolf and bear found adifficulty in making their way through it. To the right, and almostunobservable from the huts, was a track that once connected with thecoal-mines of Dui, but was now overgrown and scarcely to bedistinguished from the virgin forest on either side.
On this particular evening, Browne was the reverse of easy in his mind.He had left the yacht buoyed up by the knowledge that in so doing hewas best serving the woman he loved. It had been arranged withMacAndrew that they should meet at this hut, not later than thethirteenth day of that particular month. This, however, was theevening of the fifteenth, and still neither MacAndrew, nor the man theywere endeavouring to rescue, had put in an appearance. Apart fromevery consideration of danger, it was far from being the sort of placea man would choose in which to spend his leisure. The hut was draughtyand bitterly cold; the scenery was entirely uninviting; he had no oneto speak to; he had to do everything--even his cooking--for himself;while, away out in the bay, the ice chinked and rattled togethercontinually, as if to remind him of his miserable position. It wasnearly nine o'clock, and he could very well guess what they were doingon board the yacht. His guests would be in the drawing-room.Katharine would be playing one of those soft German folk-songs, ofwhich she was so fond, and most probably thinking of himself; MadameBernstein would be knitting in an easy-chair beside the stove; whilethe gentlemen would be listening to the music, and wondering how longit would be, before they would be at liberty to retire to thesmoking-room and their cigars. He could picture the soft electriclight falling on a certain plain gold ring on Katherine's finger, andupon the stones of a bracelet upon her slender wrist. Takenaltogether, he did not remember to have felt so home-sick in his lifebefore. As if to add to his sensation of melancholy, while he waspursuing this miserable train of thought, a wolf commenced to howldismally in the forest behind him. This was the climax. Unable tobear any more, he retired into the hut, bolted the door, and, wrappinghimself up in his blanket, laid himself down upon his bed and was soonasleep. When he looked out upon the world next morning he foundhimself confronted with a dense fog, which obscured everything--theforest behind him, the ice-girdled shore in front, and, indeed, all hisworld. It is, of course, possible that, in this world of ours, theremay be places with more unpleasant climates than Saghalien, but itwould be difficult to find them. On the west coast the foggy and rainydays average two hundred and fifty-three out of every three hundred andsixty-five, and even then the inhabitants are afraid to complain, lestit might be worse with them. As Browne reflected upon these things, heunderstood something of what the life of Katherine's father in thisdreadful place must be. Seeing that it was hopeless to venture out,and believing that it was impossible the men he expected could put inan appearance on such a day, Browne retired into his hut, and, havingclosed the door carefully, stirred up the fire, and, seating himselfbefore it, lit a cigar. He had another day's weary waiting before him.Fortunately, when his boat had brought him ashore from the yacht, ithad also brought him an ample supply of provisions and such otherthings, as would help to make life bearable in such a place. On therough table in the centre of the hut were arranged a collection ofbooks of travel and adventure, and, since he did not pretend to be ablue-stocking, a good half-dozen novels, yellow-back and otherwise.One of the latter, a story by Miss Braddon, he remembered purchasing atthe Dover bookstall the day he had returned from Paris with Maas. Ashe recalled the circumstances he could see again the eager, bustlingcrowd upon the platform, the porters in their dingy uniforms, thebright lamps around the bookstalls, and the cheery clerk who had handedthe novel to him, with a remark about the weather. How different washis position now! He opened the book and tried to interest himself init; the effort, however, was in vain. Do what he would, he could notrivet his attention upon the story. The perilous adventures of thehero in the forests of Upper Canada only served to remind him of hisown unenviable position. Little by little the sentences ran into eachother; at length his cigar dropped from his fingers, his head fellforward, and he was fast asleep. How long he slept it would beimpossible to tell, but when he rose again and went to the door the foghad drawn off, darkness had fallen, and the brilliant northern starswere shining in the firmament above. Once more his hopes had provedfutile. Another day had passed, and still he had received no news ofthe fugitives. How long was this to go on? Feeling hungry, he shutthe door and set about preparing his evening meal. Taking a largepiece of drift-wood from the heap in the corner, he placed it upon thefire, and soon the flame went roaring merrily up the chimney. He hadmade his tea, and was in the act of opening one of his cans ofpreserved meat, when a sound reached him from outside, and caused himto stop suddenly and glance round, as if in expectation of hearingsomething further. It certainly sounded like the step of some one whowas carefully approaching the hut. Who could it be? The nearestcivilization was the township of Dui, which was upwards of a hundredversts away. He had been warned, also, that the forest was in manyplaces tenanted by outlaws, whose presence would be far from desirableat any time. Before he went to the door to draw the bolts he wascareful to feel in the pocket of his coat for his revolver. Heexamined it and satisfied himself that it was fully loaded and readyfor use. Then, turning up the lamp, he approached the door, and calledout in English, "Who is there?"
"The powers be thanked, it's you!" said a voice, which he plainlyrecognised as that of MacAndrew. "Open the door and let us in, forwe're more dead than alive."
"Thank God you're come at last," exclaimed Browne, as he did as theother requested. A curious picture was revealed by the light whichissued from the open door.
Standing before the hut was a tall man with a long gray beard, clad ina heavy cloak of the same colour, who held in his arms what looked morelike a bundle of furs than a human being.
"Who are you?" cried Browne in astonishment, for this tall, gauntindividual of seventy was certainly not MacAndrew; "and what have yougot there?"
"I'll tell you everything in good time," replied the other in English."In the meantime just catch hold of this chap's feet, and help me tocarry him into the hut. I am not quite certain that he isn't done for."
Without asking any further questions, though he was dying to do so,Browne complied with the other's request, and between them the two mencarried the bundle into the hut and placed it in a chair before thefire.
"Brandy!" said MacAndrew laconically; and Browne immediately produced aflask from a bag and unscrewed the lid. He poured a quantity of thespirit into a cup, and then placed it to the sick man's lips, whileMacAndrew chafed his hands and removed his heavy boots.
"I have been expecting you for the last two days," Browne began, assoon as they had time to speak to each other.
"It couldn't be managed," returned MacAndrew. "As it was I got awaysooner than I expected. The pursuit was so hot that we were compelledto take to the woods, where, as ill-luck had it, we lost ourselves, andhave been wandering about for the last four days. It was quite bychance that we reached here at all. I believe another day would haveseen the end of this fellow. He kn
ocked up completely this morning."
As he spoke the individual in the chair opened his eyes and gazed abouthim in a dazed fashion. Browne looked at him more carefully than hehad yet done, and found a short man with a small bullet head, half ofwhich was shaven, the remainder being covered with a ferocious crop ofred hair. Though he would probably not have confessed so much, he wasconscious of a feeling of intense disappointment, for, from what he hadheard from Katherine and Madame Bernstein, he had expected to see atall, aristocratic individual, who had suffered for a cause he believedto be just, and whom sorrow had marked for her own. This man wasaltogether different.
"Monsieur Petrovitch," said Browne in a tone, that might very well havesuggested that he was anxious to assure himself as to the other'sidentity; "or rather, I should say, Monsieur----"
"Petrovitch will do very well for the present," the other replied in aquerulous voice, as if he were tired, and did not want to be botheredby such minor details. "You are Monsieur Browne, I presume--myKatherine's affianced husband?"
"Yes, that is my name," the young man answered. "I cannot tell you howthankful your daughter will be to have you back with her once more."
To this the man offered no reply, but sat staring into the fire withhalf-closed eyes. His behaviour struck Browne unpleasantly. Could theman have lost his former affection for his daughter? If not, why wasit he refrained from making further inquiries about the girl, who hadrisked so much to save him? MacAndrew, however, stepped into thebreach.
"You will have to be a bit easy with him at first, Mr. Browne," hesaid. "They are always like this when they first get free. You mustremember that, for a good many years, he has never been asked to act orthink for himself. I have seen many like this before. Once get him onboard your yacht, away from every thought and association of his oldlife, and you will find that he will soon pick up again."
"And Madame Bernstein?" asked the man in the chair, as if he werecontinuing a train of thoughts suggested by their previous conversation.
"She is very well," said Browne, "and is also anxiously awaiting yourcoming. She has taken the greatest possible interest in your escape."
"Ah!" said the man, and then fell to musing again.
By this time Browne had placed before him a large bowl of smokingbeef-extract, which had been prepared by a merchant in England, who hadlittle dreamt the use it would be put to in the Farthest East. As soonas the old man had satisfied his hunger, Browne led him to his ownsleeping-place, and placed him upon it, covering him with the fur rugs.Then he returned to the table, and, seating himself at it, questionedMacAndrew, while the other stowed away an enormous meal, as if to makeup for the privations he had lately endured. From him Browne learntall the incidents of their journey. Disguised as a Russian furmerchant, MacAndrew had made his way to the town of Dui, where he hadmade inquiries, and located the man he wanted. At first it wasdifficult to get communication with him; but once that was done therest was comparatively easy. They reached the forest and made for thecoast, with the result that has already been narrated.
"Between ourselves," said MacAndrew, "our friend yonder is scarcely thesort of man to travel with. He hasn't the heart of a louse, and is assuspicious as a rat."
Browne said nothing; he was thinking of Katherine, and what herfeelings would be, when he should present this man to her as the fathershe had so long revered. He began to think that it would have beenbetter, not only for the man himself, but for all parties concerned, ifthey had left him to meet his fate on the island.