He lifted her into the troika which was waiting outside. Stepan's face, as he stood holding the reins, was as stolid as though nothing unusual had occurred.

So they started.

"I told the messenger to tell Tantine that we were caught in the snow,"

he said, "and had to take shelter at the farm.--There is a farm a verst to the right after one pa.s.ses the forest. It contains a comfortable farmer's wife and large family, and though you found it too confoundedly warm in their kitchen you pa.s.sed a possible night.

"Very well," said Tamara with grim meekness.

Then there was silence.

Her thoughts became a little confused with the intense cold and the effect of the champagne, and once or twice she dozed off; and when he saw this he drew her close to him and let her sleep with her head against his arm, while he wrapped the furs round her so that she felt no cold. Then he kept watch over her tenderly, fondest love in his eyes. She would wake sometimes with a start and draw herself away, but soon fell off again, and in this fashion, neither speaking, the hours pa.s.sed and they gradually drew near Moscow.

Then she woke completely with a shudder and sat up straight, and so they came to the hotel and found the Princess and the others anxiously waiting for them.

"What an unfortunate contretemps, Tamara, dear child," her G.o.dmother said, "that wicked storm! We only just arrived safely, and poor Olga and your friend fared no better than you! Imagine! they, too, had to take shelter in that second village in a most horrible hovel, which they shared with the cows. It has been too miserable for you all four I am afraid."

But Gritzko was obliged to turn quickly away to hide the irrepressible smile in his eyes--really, sometimes, fate seemed very kind.

So there was no scandal, only commiseration, and both Countess Olga and Tamara were petted and spoilt--while, if there was a roguish note in Valonne's sympathetic condolences, none of them appeared to notice it.

However, no petting seemed to revive Tamara.

"You have caught a thorough chill, I fear, dearest," the Princess said; and as they had missed their sleeping berths engaged for the night before, and were unable to get accommodation on the train again for the night, they were forced to remain in Moscow until the next day, so the Princess insisted upon her G.o.dchild going immediately to bed, while the rest of the party settled down to bridge.

"It is a jolly thing, a snowstorm!" Lord Courtray said to Gritzko.

"Isn't it? 'Pon my soul I have never enjoyed the smell of cows and hay so much in my life!"

But upstairs in the stiff hotel bedroom Tamara sobbed herself to sleep.

CHAPTER XIX

The journey back to Petersburg pa.s.sed in a numb, hopeless dream for Tamara. She did her best to be natural and gay, but her white face, pinched and drawn, caused her G.o.dmother to feel anxious about her.

Gritzko had bidden them goodbye at the train--he was going back to Milaslav to arrange for his and Jack's bear-hunt--and would not be in the capital for two more days. That would be the Tuesday, and Tamara was to leave on Wednesday evening by the Nord Express.

He had kissed her hand with respectful reverence as he said farewell, and the last she saw of him was standing there in his gray overcoat and high fur collar, a light in his eyes as they peered from beneath his Astrakhan cap.

The Princess sent for the doctor next day--they arrived late at night at the Ardacheff house.

"Your friend has got a chill, and seems to have had a severe shock," he said when he came from Tamara's room. "Make her rest in bed today, and then distract her with cheerful society."

And the Princess pondered as she sat in the blue salon alone. A shock--what had happened? Could fear of the storm have caused a shock?

She felt very worried.

And poor Tamara lay limp in her bed; but every now and then she would clench her hands in anguish as some fresh aspect of things struck her.

The most ghastly moment of all came when she remembered the eventual fate of Mary Gibson.

What if she also should have--

"No! Oh, no!" she unconsciously screamed aloud; and her G.o.dmother, coming into the room, was really alarmed.

From this moment onward the horror of this thought took root in her brain, and she knew no peace. But her will and her breeding came to her rescue. She would not lie there like an invalid; she would get up and dress and go down to tea. She would chaff with the others who would all swarm to see her. No one should pity or speculate about her. And she made Johnson garb her in her loveliest teagown, and then she went to the blue salon.

And amidst the laughter and fun they had talking of their adventure, no one but Stephen Strong remarked the feverish unrest in her eyes, or the bright, hectic flush in her cheeks.

When night came and she was alone again, her thoughts made a h.e.l.l; she could not sleep; she paced her room. If Gritzko should not return on Tuesday. If she should never see him again. What--what would happen--if--she--too--like poor Mary Gibson--

Next day--the Tuesday--at about eleven o'clock, a servant in the Milaslavski livery arrived with a letter, a stiff-looking, large, sealed letter. She had never seen Gritzko's writing before and she looked at it critically as she tremblingly broke it open.

It was written from Milaslav the day they had left Moscow. It was short and to the point, and her eyes dilated as she read.

It began thus:

"To Madame Loraine,

"Madame,--I write to ask you graciously to accord me the honor of your hand. If you will grant me this favor I will endeavor to make you happy.

"I have the honor, Madame, to remain,

"Your humble and devoted serviteur,

"Gregoir [Footnote 1: "Gritzko" is the diminutive of "Gregoir."]

Milaslavski."

And as once before in her life Tamara's knees gave way under her, and she sat down hurriedly on the bed--all power of thought had left her.

"The messenger waits, ma'am," her maid said, stolidly, from the door.

Then she pulled herself together and went to the writing-table. Her hand trembled, but she steadied it, and wrote her answer.

"To Prince Milaslavski,--

"Monsieur,--I have no choice. I consent

"Yours truly,

"Tamara Loraine."

And she folded it, and placing it in the envelope, she sealed it with her own little monogram seal, in tender blue wax, and handed it to her maid, who left the room.

Then she stared in front of her--her arms crossed on the table--but she could not have a.n.a.lyzed the emotions which were flooding her being.

Her G.o.dmother found her there still as an image when presently she came to ask after her health.