Part 66 (2/2)

”Well,” said he, to gain time, for the mother was still in the room, ”it is serious or not serious, as you like to take it. It does not involve the fate of a nation, for example.”

”It is mysterious, at all events.”

At this moment the elder woman took occasion to slip noiselessly from the room.

”Natalie,” said he, ”sit down here by me.”

She put the footstool on which she was accustomed to sit at her mother's side close to his chair, and seated herself. He took her hand and held it tight.

”Natalie,” said he, in a low voice--and he was himself rather pale--”I am going to tell you something that may perhaps startle you, and even grieve you; but you must keep command over yourself, or you will alarm your mother--”

”You are not in danger?” she cried, quickly, but in a low voice: there was something in his tone that alarmed her.

”The thing is simple enough,” he said, with a forced composure. ”You know that when one has joined a certain Society, and especially when one has accepted the responsibilities I have, there is nothing that may not be demanded. Look at this ring, Natalie.”

”Yes, yes,” she said, breathlessly.

”That is a sufficient pledge, even if there were no others. I have sworn allegiance to the Society at all hazards; I cannot retreat now.”

”But is it so very terrible?” she said, hurriedly. ”Dearest, I will come over to you in America. I have told my mother; she will take me to you--”

”I am not going to America, Natalie.”

She looked up bewildered.

”I have been commissioned to perform another duty, more immediate, more definite. And I must tell you now, Natalie, all that I dare tell you: you must be prepared; it is a duty which will cost me my life!”

”Your life?” she repeated, in a bewildered, wild way, and she hastily drew her hand away from his. ”Your life?”

”Hush, Natalie!”

”You are to die!” she exclaimed, and she gazed with terror-stricken eyes into his face. She forgot all about his allegiance to the Society; she forgot all about her theories of self-sacrifice; she only heard that the man she loved was doomed, and she said, in a low, hoa.r.s.e voice, ”And it is I, then, who have murdered you!”

”Natalie!” he cried, and he would have taken her hand again, but she withdrew from him, shuddering. She clasped her hands over her face.

”Oh, do not touch me,” she said, ”do not come near me. I have murdered you: it is I who have murdered you!”

”For Heaven's sake, Natalie, be calm!” he said to her, in a low, earnest voice. ”Think of your mother: do not alarm her. You knew we might be parted for years--well, this parting is a little worse to bear, that is all--and you, who gave me this ring, you are not going to say a word of regret. No, no, Natalushka, many thousands and thousands of people in the world have gone through what stands before us now, and wives have parted from their husbands without a single tear, so proud were they.”

She looked up quickly; her face was white.

”I have no tears,” she said, ”none! But some wives have gone with their husbands into the danger, and have died too--ah, how happy that were for any one!--and I, why may not I go? I am not afraid to die.”

He laid his hand gently on the dark hair.

”My child, it is impossible,” he said; and then he added, rather sadly, ”It is not an enterprise that any one is likely to gain any honor by--it is far from that; but it has to be undertaken--that is enough. As for you--you have your mother to care for now; will not that fill your life with gladness?”

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