‘It is not my fault, mother,’ I said; ‘do not speak me ill to Vera. I do not fawn where I am beaten; I can show a true heart when I am shown one.’
‘Well, well! hers is golden, my friend, little doubt of that: he who wins it must prize it too highly to give her in exchange a thing of dross.’
Vera entered, blushing and excited.
‘Is all well?’ she said. ‘Good Chelminsky, tell me quickly!’
‘Well, and very well,’ I replied; ‘though it almost went very ill, for I was spied upon yesterday, being suspected of knowing your whereabouts.’
‘Suspected! and by whom?’
‘By a very cunning person, whose wiles are infinite, and whom I should name “the father of lies” if that title had not already been appropriated by an ally of his——’
‘But who—who?’ she cried.
‘Oh, who but Mazeppa!’ and when I told Vera the whole story of the spy and his confession and Mazeppa’s denial, she agreed that this was indeed a deceiver of whom it was necessary to beware.
‘But what of the palace and of my father?’ continued Vera. ‘Have I been missed by the Regent, and what has my father done? for he, of course, has long since discovered that I have left home.’