"I will swear nothing," I interposed.

"You have taken the oath of fealty."

"I will swear nothing. Take my life if you like, but swear I will not.

If I had meant treachery, I should have had the police round us to-night like a swarm of bees. You have had a proof whether I'm true or not; and when I turn traitor, you can run a blade into my heart or lodge a bullet in my brain. But oaths are nothing to a man who means either to keep or break his word. What is the condition? I told you mine before."

"Yours is accepted. Your task is"--here he sunk his voice and whispered right into my ear--"the death of Christian Tueski."

"I accept," I answered readily. I would have accepted, had they told me to kill the Czar himself. "But it will take time. I will have no other hand in it than mine. It is a glorious commission. Mine alone the honour of success, and mine alone the danger, or mine alone the disgrace of failure." I looked on the whole thing now as more or less of a burlesque; but I played the part I had chosen as well as I could.

And when the little puny rebel put out his hand in the darkness and clasped mine, I gripped his with a force that made his bones crack, as if to convey to him the intensity of my resolve and my enthusiastic pleasure at the grim work they had allotted me.

Then I was told to leave; and in a few minutes I was once more in the open air, quite as undecided then as I have always remained, as to what had been the real intentions in regard to myself. One of my chief regrets was not to be able to see the burly giant who had twisted me about on his knee as easily as I should a fowl whose neck I meant to wring. He was a man indeed to admire; and I would have given much for a sight of him.

But my guide hurried me back through the labyrinth of streets into respectable Moscow once more, and I was soon busy with my thoughts as to how long a shrift I should have before my new "comrades" would grow impatient for me to act.

Certainly they would have plenty of time for their patience to grow very cold before I should turn murderer to further their schemes. But I could not foresee the strange chain of events which was fated to fasten on me this new character that I had a.s.sumed so lightly and dramatically--the character of a desperate, bloodthirsty, and absolutely reckless Nihilist.

CHAPTER IX.

DEVINSKY AGAIN.

It will be readily understood that I now found life exciting enough even to satisfy me. The complications multiplied so fast, without any act of mine, that I had no time to think of the old troubles and disappointments which had so soured Hamylton Tregethner, and emptied life for him. They had already faded into little more than memories, a.s.sociated with a life that I had once lived but had now done with altogether. I was getting rapidly absorbed by the dangers and incidents of the new life.

How completely I had changed the current of opinion about Alexis Petrovitch I had abundant evidence during the next few days, in the form of invitations to houses which had hitherto been closed to me.

People also began to remember Olga, and she shared in this way in the altered condition of things.

I did not tell her any particulars of my night with the Nihilists, nor of the mission with which I was charged. It would probably distress her, and could do no good; unless I might find it necessary to use it to compel her to leave Moscow. I questioned her as to her own connections with the Nihilists, and from what she told me I saw that though they were slight in themselves, they were enough to put her in the power of a woman such as Paula Tueski; and decidedly much more than sufficient to make her arrest a certainty if I were to be arrested, or if anything should happen to throw increased suspicion on me.

Our meeting after her letter to me was a very pleasant one. She met me with a smile and begged me again to forgive her. That was not difficult.

"I can speak frankly to my brother, now. I couldn't always, you know, Alexis"--she glanced with roguish severity into my face--"because a few days ago you used to get very bad tempered and even swear a little.

But I'll admit you are improving--in that respect; though I am afraid you are as dogged as ever. But I can be dogged, too: and if I speak frankly now, it is to tell you that nothing you can do will make me go out of Russia until you are safe. You may form what opinion you like of me--though I don't want that to be very bad--but a coward you shall never find me."

"I didn't think you a coward. You know that; you said it in your letter; and I shall not forgive that rudeness of yours, if you persist in this att.i.tude."

"What is the use of a brother if one can't be rude to him, pray? As for your forgiveness, you can't help that now. You've given it.

Besides, on reflection, I should not be frightened of you. Will you make me a promise?"

"Yes, if it has nothing to do with your going away."

"It has."

"Then I won't make it. But I'll make a truce. I will not press you to go away, unless I think it necessary for my own safety. Will that do?"

"Yes, I'll go then," she answered readily, holding out her hand to make a bargain of it, as she added:--"Mind, if it's necessary for your safety."

"You're as precise as a lawyer," said I, laughing, as I pressed her hand and saw a flush of colour tinge her face a moment.

"Now," she said, after a pause. "I have a surprise for you. I have a letter from an old friend of yours--a very old friend."

"An old friend of mine. Oh, I see. And old friend of your brother's, you mean. Well, who is it now? Is there another complication?"

"No, no. An old friend of my new brother's. From Mr. Hamylton Tregethner." She laughed merrily as she stumbled over the old Cornish syllables. "I don't like that Englishman," she said, gravely. "Do you know why?"

"Not for the life of me."

"Well, I do not; but I can't say why." Her manner was peculiar. "See, here is the pa.s.sport. Mr. Tregethner has sent it and he seems to have crossed the Russian frontier without the least difficulty. He has gone to Paris by way of Austria. When shall you go?" She did not look up as she asked this, but stood rummaging among the papers on the table.

I took the pa.s.sport, unfolded and read it mechanically; then without thinking, folded it up again and put it away in my pocket.

Evidently she meant it as my dismissal; and it was very awkward for me to explain that I could not be dismissed in this way because of the difficulties in the road of my leaving. I did not wish to appear to force myself upon her as a brother; but I could not go without first seeing her in safety. And there was the crux.

"I'll make my arrangements as soon as I can," I replied, after a longish pause; and I was conscious of being a little stiff in my manner. "But of course I can't manage things quite as I please. You see, I didn't come into this--I mean, I took up the part and--well, I'm hanged if I know what I do mean; except that of course I'm sorry to seem to force myself on you longer than you like, but I can't get away quite so easily as you seem to think. I know it puts you in an awkward position, but for the moment I don't for the life of me see how it's to be helped."

As I finished she lifted her head, and her expression was at first grave, until the light of a smile in her blue eyes began to spread over her face, and the corners of her mouth twitched.

"Then you won't be able to go yet? Of course, it's very awkward, as you say: but I must manage to put up with it as best I can. In the meantime as we have to continue the parts, we had better play them so as to mystify people. Don't you agree with this?

"Yes, I think that, certainly," I answered, catching her drift, and smiling in my turn.

"Then I am riding this afternoon at three o'clock; and as it might occasion remark if our afternoon rides were broken off quite suddenly, don't you think it would be very diplomatic if you were to come with me?"

"Yes, very diplomatic," I a.s.sented, readily. "But you never told me before," said I, rising to go and get ready, "that we were in the habit of riding out together every day."

"It hasn't been exactly every afternoon," answered Olga, laughing. "In fact, it's more than a year since the last ride, but the principle of the thing is the same. We ought not to break the continuity."

"No, we ought not to break the continuity," I a.s.sented, laughing.

"I'll soon be back." I was, and an exceedingly jolly ride we had.

Olga was a splendid horsewoman--a seat like a circus rider--and as soon as we were free of the city we had two or three rattling spins. As we rode back we discussed the question of the best course for us to take.

We were both too much exhilarated by the ride to take any but a sanguine view; and so far as I am concerned, I think I talked about it rather as a sort of link between us two than in any serious sense.

When I got to my rooms I was surprised to learn from my servant Borlas that my old opponent, Major Devinsky, had called to see me. I did not know he was back in Moscow, though I knew he had been away. I had been at drill that morning--I had quickly fallen into the routine of the work--and had heard nothing of his return. Certainly there was no reason why he should come to me; though there were many why he should keep away.

He may have watched me into my rooms; for almost before I had changed my riding things, he was announced. He came in smiling, impudent, self a.s.sertive, and disposed to be friendly.

"What can you want with me that can induce you to come here?" I asked coldly.

"I want an understanding, Petrovitch...."

"Lieutenant Petrovitch, if you please," I interposed.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Lieutenant Petrovitch, I'm sure," he answered lightly. "But there's really no need for this kind of reception. I want to be friends with you."

I bowed as he paused.

"You and I have not quite understood each other in the past."