Lida saw plainly that she would never have the same freedom which her brother possessed. That she had ever thought so was due to the influence of this calm, strong man whom she affectionately admired.

Strange thoughts came to her, thoughts of an illicit nature.

"If he were not my brother, but a stranger!..." she said to herself, as she hastily strove to suppress the shameful and yet alluring suggestion.

Then she remembered Novikoff and like a humble slave longed for his pardon and his love. She heard steps and looked round. Novikoff and Sanine came to her silently across the gra.s.s. She could not discern their faces in the dusk, yet she felt that the dreaded moment was at hand. She turned very pale, and it seemed as if life was about to end.

"There!" said Sanine, "I have brought Novikoff to you. He will tell you himself all that he has to tell. Stay here quietly, while I will go and get some tea."

Turning on his heel, he walked swiftly away, and for a moment they watched his white shirt as he disappeared in the gloom. So great was the silence that they could hardly believe that he had gone farther than the shadow of the surrounding trees.

"Lidia Petrovna," said Novikoff gently, in a voice so sad and touching that it went to her heart.

"Poor fellow," she thought, "how good he is."

"I know everything, Lidia Petrovna," continued Novikoff, "but I love you just as much as ever. Perhaps some day you will learn to love me.

Tell me, will you be my wife?"

"I had better not say too much about _that_," he thought, "she must never know what a sacrifice I am making for her."

Lida was silent. In such stillness one could hear the rippling of the stream.

"We are both unhappy," said Novikoff, conscious that these words came from the depth of his heart. "Together perhaps we may find life easier."

Lida's eyes were filled with tears of grat.i.tude as she turned towards him and murmured, "Perhaps."

Yet her eyes said, G.o.d knows I will be a good wife to you, and love and respect you.

Novikoff read their message. He knelt down impetuously, and seizing her hand, kissed it pa.s.sionately. Roused by such emotion, Lida forgot her shame.

"That's over!" she thought, "and I shall be happy again! Dear, good fellow!" Weeping for joy, she gave him both her hands, and bending over his head she kissed his soft, silky hair which she had always admired.

A vision rose before her of Sarudine, but it instantly vanished.

When Sanine returned, having given them enough time, as he thought, for a mutual explanation, he found them seated, hand in hand, engaged in quiet talk.

"Aha! I see how it is!" said Sanine gravely.

"Thank G.o.d, and be happy."

He was about to say something else, but sneezed loudly instead.

"It's damp out here. Mind you don't catch cold," he added, rubbing his eyes.

Lida laughed. The echo of her voice across the river Hounded charming.

"I must go," said Sanine, after a pause.

"Where are you going?" asked Novikoff.

"Svarogitsch and that officer who admires Tolstoi, what's his name? a lanky German fellow, have called for me."

"You mean Von Deitz," said Lida, laughing.

"That's the man. They wanted us all to come with them to a meeting, but I said that you were not at home."

"Why did you do that?" asked Lida, still laughing; "we might have gone, too."

"No, you stop here," replied Sanine. "If I had anybody to keep me company, I should do the same."

With that he left them.

Night came on apace, and the first trembling star were mirrored in the swiftly flowing stream.

CHAPTER XXIV.

The evening was dark and sultry. Above the trees clouds chased each other across the sky, hurrying onward as to some mysterious goal. In pale green s.p.a.ces overhead faint stars glimmered and then vanished.

Above, all was commotion, while the earth seemed waiting, as in breathless suspense. Amid this silence, human voices in dispute sounded harsh and shrill.

"Anyhow," exclaimed Von Deitz, blundering along in unwieldy fashion, "Christianity has enriched mankind with an imperishable boon, being the only system of morals that is complete and comprehensible."

"Quite so," replied Yourii, who walked behind the last speaker tossing his head defiantly, and glaring at the officer's back, "but in its conflict with the b.e.s.t.i.a.l instincts of mankind Christianity has proved itself to be as impotent as all the other religions."

"How do you mean, 'proved itself to be'?" exclaimed Von Deitz angrily.

"To Christianity belongs the future, and to suggest that it is obsolete..."

"There is no future for Christianity," broke in Yourii vehemently. "If at the zenith of its development Christianity could not triumph, but became the tool of a shameless gang of impostors, it would be nothing short of absurd to expect a miracle nowadays, when even the word Christianity sounds grotesque. History is inexorable; what has once disappeared from the scene can never return."

"Do you mean to say that Christianity has disappeared from the scene?"

shrieked Von Deitz.

"Certainly, I do," continued Yourii obstinately. "You seem as surprised as if such an idea were utterly impossible. Just as the law of Moses has pa.s.sed away, just as Buddha and the G.o.ds of Greece are dead, so, too, Christ is dead. It is but the law of evolution. Why should you be so amazed? You don't believe in the divinity of his doctrine, do you?"

"No, of course not," retorted Von Deitz, less irritated at the question than at Yourii's offensive tone.

"Then how can you maintain that a man is able to create eternal laws?"

"Idiot!" thought Yourii, agreeably convinced that the other was infinitely less intelligent than he, and would never be able to comprehend what was as plain and clear as noonday.

"Supposing it were so," rejoined Von Deitz, nettled, in his turn. "The future will nevertheless have Christianity as its basis. It has not perished, but, like seed in the soil ..."

"I was not talking about that," said Yourii, confused somewhat, and thus the more vexed, "what I meant to say ..."

"No, excuse me, but that's what you said...."

"If I said no, then I meant no! How absurd you are!" interrupted Yourii, rendered more furious by the thought that this stupid Von Deitz should for a moment presume to think himself the cleverer. "I meant to say ..."