His Hour

Chapter 17

Tamara had just begun to dress when her godmother came into her room

next day.

"There is going to be a terrible snow storm, dear," she said. "I think

we should get down fairly early and suggest to Gritzko that we start

back to Moscow before lunch. It is no joke to be caught in this wild

country. I will send you in Katia."

Tamara's maid had been left in Petersburg, and indeed her godmother's,

an elderly Russian accustomed to these excursions, had been the only

one brought.

"I won't be more than half an hour dressing," she said. "Don't go down

without me, Marraine."

And the Princess promised and returned to her room.

"It has been a real success, our little outing, has it not?" she said,

when later they were descending the stairs. "Gritzko has been so quiet

and nice. I am so happy, dear child, that you can go away now without

that uncomfortable feeling of quarreling. There was one moment when he

got up from behind your chair last night I feared you had angered him

about something, but afterward he was so gentle and charming when we

talked I felt quite reassured."

"Yes, indeed," feebly responded Tamara. "The party has been positively

tame!"

They found their host had gone with Jack and the rest of the men to the

stables to inspect his famous teams. But Princess Sonia and Countess

Olga were already down. They were smoking lazily, and had almost

suggested a double dummy of their favorite game.

They hailed the two with delight, and soon the four began a rubber, and

Tamara, who hated it, had to keep the whole of her attention to try and

avoid making some mistake.

Thus an hour past, and first Stephen Strong and then the other men came

in.

Jack Courtray was enthusiastic about the horses, and indeed the whole

thing. He and Gritzko had arranged to go on a bear-hunt the following

week, and everything looked _couleur de rose_--except the sky,

that continued covered with an inky pall.

The Princess beckoned to Gritzko and took him aside. She explained her

fears about the storm, and the necessity of an earlier start, to which

he agreed.

"I am going to ask you to let us take Katia with us, we have only the

one maid, and must have her in Moscow when we arrive," she said.

So thus it was arranged. The Princess and Stephen Strong and Katia were

to start first, and Sonia and her husband would take both Serge and

Valonne, leaving Gritzko to bring Tamara, Olga and Lord Courtray last.

All through the early lunch, which was now brought in, nothing could

have been more lamblike than their host. He exerted himself to be

sweetly agreeable to every one, and the Princess, generally so alert,

felt tranquil and content, while Tamara almost experienced a sense of

regret.

Only Count Valonne, if he had been asked, would have suggested--but he

was not officious and kept his ideas to himself.

The snow now began to fall, just a few thin flakes, but it made them

hurry their departure.

In the general chatter and chaff no one noticed that Gritzko had never

once spoken directly to Tamara, but she was conscious of it, and

instead of its relieving her, she felt a sudden depression.

"You will be quite safe with Olga and your friend, dearest," the

Princess whispered to her as she got into the first troika which came

round. "And we shall be only just in front of you."

So they waved adieu.

Then Princess Sonia's party started. The cold was intense, and as the

team of blacks had not yet appeared, the host suggested the two ladies

should go back and wait in the saloon.

"Don't you think our way of herding in parties here is quite

ridiculous," he said to Jack, when Olga and Tamara were gone. "After

the rest get some way on, I'll have round the brown team too. It is

going to be a frightful storm, and we shall go much better with only

two in each sleigh."

Jack was entirely of his opinion, from his English point of view, a

party of four made two of them superfluous. Countess Olga and himself

were quite enough. So he expressed his hearty approval of this

arrangement, and presently as they smoked on the steps, the three brown

horses trotted up.

"I'll go and fetch Olga," Gritzko said, and as luck would have it he

met her at the saloon door.

"I had forgotten my muff," she said, "and had just run up to fetch it."

Then he explained to her about the storm and the load, and since it was

a question of duty to the poor horses, Countess Olga was delighted to

let pleasure go with it hand in hand. And she allowed herself to be

settled under the furs, with Jack, without going back to speak to

Tamara. Indeed, Gritzko was so matter of fact she started without a

qualm.

"We shall overtake you in ten minutes," he said. "The blacks are much

the faster team." And they gaily waved as they disappeared beyond the

bend of the trees. Then he spoke to his faithful Ivan. "In a quarter of

an hour let the blacks come round." And there was again the gleam of a

panther in his eyes as he glanced at the snow.

All this while Tamara, seated by the saloon stove, was almost growing

uneasy at being left so long alone. What could Olga be doing to stay

such a time?

Then the door opened, and the Prince came in.

"We must start now," he said, in a coldly polite tone. "The storm is

coming, and four persons made too heavy a load; so Lord Courtray and

Olga have gone on."

Tamara's heart gave a great bound, but his face expressed nothing, and

her sudden fear calmed.

He was ceremoniously polite as he helped her in. Nor did he sit too

near her or change his manner one atom as they went along. He hardly

spoke; indeed they both had to crouch down in the furs to shelter from

the blinding snow. And if Tamara had not been so preoccupied with

keeping her woollen scarf tight over her head she would have noticed

that when they left the park gate they turned to the right, in the full

storm, not to the left, where it was clearer and which was the way they

had come.

At last the Prince said something to the coachman in Russian, and the

man shook his head--the going was terribly heavy. They seemed to be

making tracks for themselves through untrodden snow.

"Stpan says we cannot possibly go much further, and we must shelter

in the shooting hut," Gritzko announced, gravely; and again Tamara

felt a twinge of fear.

"But what has become of the others?" she asked. "Why do we not see

their tracks?"

"They are obliterated in five minutes. You do not understand the

Russian storm," he said.

Tamara's heart now began to beat again rather wildly, but she reasoned

with herself; she was no coward, and indeed why had she any cause for

alarm? No one could be more aloof than her companion seemed. She was

already numb with cold too, and her common sense told her shelter of

any sort would be acceptable.

They had turned into the forest by now, and the road--if road it could

be called--was rather more distinct.

It was a weird scene. The great giant pine trees, and the fine falling

flakes penetrating through, the quickly vanishing daylight, and the

mist rising from the steaming horses as they galloped along; while

Stpan stood there urging them on like some northern pirate at a ship's

prow.

At last the view showed the white frozen lake, and by it a rough log

hut. They came upon it suddenly, so that Tamara could only realize it

was not large and rather low, when they drew up at the porch.

At the time she was too frozen and miserable to notice that the Prince

unlocked the door, but afterward she remembered she should have been

struck by the strangeness of his having a key.

He helped her out, and she almost fell she was so stiff with cold, and

then she found herself, after passing through a little passage, in a

warm, large room. It had a stove at one end, and the walls, distempered

green, had antlers hung round. There was one plain oak table and a

bench behind it, a couple of wooden armchairs, a corner cupboard, and

an immense couch with leather cushions, which evidently did for a bed,

and on the floor were several wolf skins.

The Prince made no explanation as to why there was a fire, he just

helped her off with her furs without a word; he hung them up on a peg

and then divested himself of his own.

He wore the brown coat to-day, and was handsome as a god. Then, after

he had examined the stove and looked from the window, he quietly left

the room.

The contrast of the heat after the intense cold without made a tingling

and singing in Tamara's ears. She was not sure, but thought she heard

the key turn in the lock. She started to her feet from the chair where

she sat and rushed to try the door, and this time her heart again gave

a terrible bound, and she stood sick with apprehension.

The door was fastened from without.

For a few awful moments which seemed an eternity, she was conscious of

nothing but an agonized terror. She could not reason or decide how to

act. And then her fine courage came back, and she grew more calm.

She turned to the window, but that was double, and tightly shut and

fastened up. There was no other exit, only this one door. Finding

escape hopeless, she sat down and waited the turn of events. Perhaps he

only meant to frighten her, perhaps there was some reason why the door

must be barred; perhaps there were bears in this terribly lonely place.

She sat there reasoning with herself and controlling her nerves for

moments which appeared like hours, and then she heard footsteps in the

passage, breaking the awful silence, and the door opened, and Gritzko

strode into the room.

He locked it after him, and pocketed the key; then he faced her. What

she saw in his passionate eyes turned her lips gray with fear.

And now everything of that subtle thing in womankind which resists

capture, came uppermost in Tamara's spirit. She loved him--but even so

she would not be taken.

She stood holding on to the rough oak table like a deer at bay, her

face deadly white, and her eyes wide and staring.

Then stealthily the Prince drew nearer, and with a spring seized her

and clasped her in his arms.

"Now, now, you shall belong to me," he cried. "You are mine at last,

and you shall pay for the hours of pain you have made me suffer!" and

he rained mad kisses on her trembling lips.

A ghastly terror shook Tamara. This man whom she loved, to whom in

happier circumstances she might have ceded all that he asked, now only

filled her with frantic fear. But she would not give in, she would

rather die than be conquered.

"Gritzko--oh, Gritzko! please--please don't!" she cried, almost

suffocated.

But she knew as she looked at him that he was beyond all hearing.

His splendid eyes blazed with the passion of a wild beast. She knew if

she resisted him he would kill her. Well, better death than this

hideous disgrace.

He held her from him for a second, and then lifted her in his arms.

But with the strength of terrified madness she grasped his wounded arm,

and in the second in which he made a sudden wince, she gave an eel-like

twist and slipped from his grasp, and as she did so she seized the

pistol in his belt and stood erect while she placed the muzzle to her

own white forehead.

"Touch me again, and I will shoot!" she gasped, and sank down on the

bench almost exhausted behind the rough wooden table.

He made a step forward, but she lifted the pistol again to her head

and leant her arm on the board to steady herself. And thus they glared

at one another, the hunter and the hunted.

"This is very clever of you, Madame," he said; "but do you think it

will avail you anything? You can sit like that all night, if you wish,

but before dawn I will take you."

Tamara did not answer.

Then he flung himself on the couch and lit a cigarette, and all that

was savage and cruel in him flamed from his eyes.

"My God! what do you think it has been like since the beginning?" he

said. "Your silly prudish fears and airs. And still I loved you--madly

loved you. And since the night when I kissed your sweet lips you have

made me go through hell--cold and provoking and disdainful, and last

night when you defied me, then I determined you should belong to me by

force; and now it is only a question of time. No power in heaven or

earth can save you--Ah! if you had been different, how happy we might

have been! But it is too late; the devil has won, and soon I will do

what I please."

Tamara never stirred, and the strain of keeping the pistol to her head

made her wrist ache.

For a long time there was silence, and the great heat caused a mist to

swim before her eyes, and an overpowering drowsiness--Oh, heaven!--if

unconsciousness should come upon her!

Then the daylight faded quite, and the Prince got up and lit a small

oil lamp and set it on the shelf. He opened the stove and let the glow

from the door flood through the room.

Then he sat down again.

A benumbing agony crept over Tamara; her brain grew confused in the

hot, airless room. It seemed as if everything swam round her. All she

saw clearly were Gritzko's eyes.

There was a deathly silence, but for an occasional moan of the wind in

the pine trees. The drift of snow without showed white as it gradually

blocked the window.

Were they buried here--under the snow? Ah! she must fight against this

horrible lethargy.

It was a strange picture. The rough hut room with its skins and

antlers; the fair, civilized woman, delicate and dainty in her soft

silk blouse, sitting there with the grim Cossack pistol at her

head--and opposite her, still as marble, the conquering savage man,

handsome and splendid in his picturesque uniform; and just the dull

glow of the stove and the one oil lamp, and outside the moaning wind

and the snow.

Presently Tamara's elbow slipped and the pistol jerked forward. In a

second the Prince had sprung into an alert position, but she

straightened herself, and put it back in its place, and he relaxed the

tension, and once more reclined on the couch.

And now there floated through Tamara's confused brain the thought that

perhaps it would be better to shoot in any case--shoot and have done

with it. But the instinct of her youth stopped her--suicide was a sin,

and while she did not reason, the habit of this belief kept its hold

upon her.

So an hour passed in silence, then the agonizing certainty came upon

her that there must be an end. Her arm had grown numb.

Strange lights seemed to flash before her eyes--Yes,--surely--that was

Gritzko coming toward her--!

She gave a gasping cry and tried to pull the trigger, but it was

stiff, her fingers had gone to sleep and refused to obey her. The

pistol dropped from her nerveless grasp.

So this was the end! He would win.

She gave one moan--and fell forward unconscious upon the table.

With a bound Gritzko leaped up, and seizing her in his arms carried her

into the middle of the room. Then he paused a moment to exult in his

triumph.

Her little head, with its soft brown hair from which the fur cap had

fallen, lay helpless on his breast. The pathetic white face, with its

childish curves and long eyelashes, resting on her cheek, made no

movement. The faint, sweet scent of a great bunch of violets crushed in

her belt came up to him.

And as he fiercely bent to kiss her white, unconscious lips, suddenly

he drew back and all the savage exultation went out of him.

He gazed at her for a moment, and then carried her tenderly to the

couch and laid her down. She never stirred. Was she dead? Oh, God!

In frightful anguish he put his ear to her heart; it did not seem to

beat.

In wild fear he tore open her blouse and wrenched apart her fine

underclothing, the better to listen. Yes, now through only the bare

soft skin he heard a faint sound. Ah! saints in heaven! she was not

dead.

Then he took off her boots and rubbed her cold little silk-stockinged

feet, and her cold damp hands, and presently as he watched, it seemed

as if some color came back to her cheeks, and at last she gave a sigh

and moved her head without opening her eyes--and then he saw that she

was not unconscious now, but sleeping.

Then the bounds of all his mad passion burst, and as he knelt beside

the couch, great tears suffused his eyes and trickled down his cheeks.

"My Doushka! my love!" he whispered, brokenly. "Oh, God! and I would

have hurt you!"

He rose quickly, and going to the window opened the ventilator at the

top, picked up the pistol from the table and replaced it in his belt,

and then he knelt once more beside Tamara, and with deepest reverence

bent down and kissed her feet.

"Sleep, sleep, my sweet Princess," he said softly, and then crept

stealthily from the room.