‘I remember now,’ said I. ‘Where are they? They have not prevailed, mother? Oh, surely I did not allow them to pass up?’
‘No, no, all is well, my son: they have departed, all three, and his sister is safe within. She knows nothing of the danger she has been through this day. Do your wounds pain you?’
‘Not much. I do not remember this one in the arm. How came I by that? After I fell?’
‘I will tell you. There was a rush of your enemies upon you, and we heard the scuffling and cursing. Vera was alarmed for your safety, and ran out upon the landing just as you fell backwards. When you fell the wounded man gashed you with his sword, which entered your arm; then Vera——’
‘No, no, mother, have pity!’ cried Vera, closing her ears with her hands. ‘Do not speak of it. I have killed a man, Chelminsky, and I am accursed—there! I have said it. How should God or man love a woman who has slain a fellow creature? I tell you it is an accursed thing for a woman!’
‘Peace, Vera, you did not kill him, for he was alive enough to walk into the street alone. Peace, I say, child. Listen, Chelminsky, and I will tell you all. You may, I think, under a merciful Providence, thank Vera for your life, which was nearly taken. Vera snatched your sword, which had fallen from your hand, and with it attacked so furiously the fellow who had struck at you as you lay that he cried for mercy and rolled down the stairs out of the way. Meanwhile I dragged you, with Vera’s help, into this room, locking the door behind us. Presently, hearing the street door open, I looked cautiously forth, and lo! our three men were departing. One was, I think, almost or quite untouched: he it was that supported Rachmanof, who seemed badly wounded, though he stood upon his feet. As for him whom Vera struck at, he walked out, as I say, by himself. Nay, Vera, be comforted, child, for now I think of it, he was alive enough to shake his fist at me, and curse me!’ The good old woman laughed and patted Vera, who now stopped crying.
‘Curses do not lie upon such as thee, good mother,’ I said, laughing. ‘Cheer thee, Vera! Be sure thou art not accursed. I am glad indeed the fellow carried away a beating from thee. Did the sword bite? Did blood flow?’
‘Nay, leave the matter, it is painful to her,’ said the older woman. ‘Vera is gentle, and has seen no blood shed up to this day. Let her be, Chelminsky.’
‘At any rate, be thanked, both, for your good service to me!’ said I; ‘for indeed I am glad to live. Oh that you had beaten that third fellow, Vera, even more soundly! The rascal! he threw me by a trick. I will not rest until I have made his head buzz for him as he has made mine!’
‘Nay, that you cannot,’ said the mother, ‘for you are not fit to move, and shall not. Are you content to lie here for a day or two days? There is an old sister within who is clever with herbs and plasters: she will mend you as quickly as the best of leeches.’