‘How did it happen?’
‘One winter evening I had been sent across to Theodora Petrovna, and was to drive back again with Anthony Kudst, who came to fetch me. We were set upon by three men; I was lifted out of the sledge and placed in theirs, and was driven away, night and day, till we reached the convent, where I was confined more strictly than any of the nuns, and was kept under guard, and never allowed to speak to a stranger.’
‘And Anthony, what became of him?’
‘Ah! what became of him nobody knows; most probably your father gave him money, and sent him back to his own country.’
‘I hunted for you for more than two years, Annita, far and near, as well as in all the convents.’
‘The nuns, or the abbess of the convent, probably received money, according to some agreement with your father, not to give the slightest information. I wrote several times, but the letters, of course, were never sent. Some time after your father’s death they became much less strict in watching me. News of his death had reached the convent, and more money was not sent. I ran away one day from the convent, and travelled on foot as a pilgrim in my nun’s dress, begging all the way, to your home.’
‘Was my mother glad to see you again?’
‘Yes; she embraced me with tears when she saw me again. All the servants and people in the village were glad to see me again. “But where is Theodore?” you may be sure I asked at once, when I did not see you there.
‘ “Theodore,” said your mother with a sigh—“Theodore has gone away.”
‘ “Where?”