“No, it was kept from him,—from the first. It is all old history now, though I learned it within these last few months, chiefly from Natalya. It was her doing,—hers, and the old Count’s, Stepán’s father. The old Count had always resented the marriage; he hated Herr Pendennis, his brother-in-law, as much as he loved his sister. Herr Pendennis was away in England when the children were born; and that increased the Count’s bitterness against him. He thought he should have hastened back,—as without doubt he should have done! It was but a few days later that the young mother was arrested, and, ill as she was, they took her away to prison in a litter. The Count got timely warning, and made his escape. It was impossible for his sister to accompany him; also he did not believe they would arrest her, in her condition, and as she was the wife of an Englishman. He should have known that Russians are without pity or mercy!”
“But the child! He could not take a week-old baby with him, if he had to fly for his life.”
“No, Natalya did that. She escaped to the Ghetto and took the baby with her,—and young Stepán, who was then a lad of six years. There was great confusion at the château, and the few who knew that two children were born doubtless believed one had died.
“For the rest, Natalya remained in the Ghetto for some three years, and then rejoined the Count at the old house near Ziscky,—the hunting lodge. It was all he had left; though he had patched up a peace with the Government. He had friends at Court in those days.
“You know what the child became. He trained her deliberately to that end as long as he lived; taught her also that her father deserted her and her mother in the hour of need,—left them to their fate. It was a cruel revenge to take.”
“It was!” I said emphatically. “But when did she learn she had a sister?”
“That I do not know. I think it was not long before she came to England last; she had often been here before, for brief visits only. She came on the yacht then, with my master; it was their honeymoon, and we had been cruising for some weeks,—the only peaceful time she had ever had in her life. He wished her never to return to Russia; to go with him to South America, or live in England. But she would not; she loved him, yes, but she loved the Cause more; it was her very life, her soul!
“The yacht lay off Greenwich for the night; she meant to land next day, and come up to see Selinski. She had never happened to meet him, though he was one of the Five.”
“Selinski! Cassavetti! Mishka, it was not she who murdered him!”
“No, it was Stepán Vassilitzi who killed him, and he deserved it, the hound! I had somewhat to do with it also; for I had come to London in advance, and was to rejoin the yacht that night. Near the bridge at Westminster whom should I meet but Yossof, whom I thought to be in Russia; and he told me that which made me bundle him into a cab and drive straight to Greenwich.