At length the Tsar's arm fell to his side and he tossed his sword upon the table.
"Be it so," he said; and then, "There is not another in all Russia for whose sake that sword should have been held back. Boris Ivanitch, I remind myself of your good service—we have been friends and brothers—you have even saved my life at the risk of your own. For these reasons I forbear to strike, as you deserve. But you have disobeyed me—" here the Tsar's face worked once more, and he was silent for a moment. Then he continued, "You have disobeyed me; you can serve me no longer, you are no servant of mine from this hour. Thus I tear you from my heart for ever. Give me your sword." Peter tore the epaulets from his shoulders, and took Boris's sword, laying it beside his own upon the table. "Now go from my sight; I will never see you more. I can never forget your disobedience; it is for me the unpardonable thing. Away—out of my sight!"
Boris had been prepared for death, but he had not expected this—disgrace and banishment from the face of his beloved master; for at the Tsar's words Boris had felt all his old love come swelling into his heart.
The poor hunter burst into tears and seized the Tsar's hand to kiss it ere he left his presence for ever.
But the Tsar repelled him. "Go," he said sternly—"out of my sight; you sicken me with your woman's ways; I am not to be softened by hand-kissing and crying—go!"
Thus befell the first and only quarrel between the bear-hunter and his much-loved master, and the pair were destined, in consequence of it, to be parted for many a long year.
Boris realized at once that he must leave Moscow. There was little object and much danger in remaining in the capital. Once in disgrace with the Tsar, there was no certainty but that the madness of Peter might cause him to treat Boris with scant ceremony should he meet the hunter in the streets or elsewhere. Whither, then, should he go?
Boris went to his apartment, and, with aching head and dazed intelligence, sat down to think out the problem. Why not return to Dubinka? That was his first idea; but he put it from him at once. Dubinka was too far away from Moscow; for Boris could not allow himself to banish entirely the hope that the Tsar might yet forgive him when these evil days had passed and all was forgotten. Besides, there was Nancy. He could never bear to live so far away from her home; how should he ever do without her love, now that he had come to realize that it was, if not all in all to him, at least a large proportion of his all?
Boris ended his cogitations, which resulted in nothing, by setting out to walk to the Drurys' house, to inform them of the melancholy turn which his affairs had taken, and to ask their advice. No one was at home excepting Nancy, and to her Boris then and there confided his tale.