It was hardly worth while now to dismiss the fellow, when only three or four days’ journey from St. Petersburg; but, while retaining him, Wilfrid determined not to leave these final stages to his judgment. So, after a brief study of the map, he selected both the route and the stages; and since, from motives of prudence, he did not wish either to overtake the Princess or to appear as if following immediately upon her track, he chose a somewhat circuitous road to the capital in lieu of the direct one.
And now, from without, came a jingle of bells and neighing of steeds to tell him that his car was in waiting.
Wilfrid rose, called for his bill, and paid it with a liberal overplus. Boris and his daughter accompanied him to the inn door, where a little crowd of servants had assembled to watch the departure of the rich Englishman.
Wilfrid turned to say “Good-bye” to Nadia. Her manner plainly showed that she was sorry to part with her guest, who, moved by a generous impulse, drew the pretty serf-maiden to one side.
“Nadia,” he whispered, “take heart. How long I shall be in St. Petersburg, I know not; but when I return again this way I will redeem you and your father from serfdom—yes, if it cost me fifty thousand roubles.”
He had thought to see her cheek colour with delight, her eyes to sparkle, and her lips to quiver with thankfulness; it was all the reward he wanted.
But, to his surprise, her emotion took a very different shape. She shrank back, staring at him, her cheek as white as the dead; in her eyes a look of wild, haunting horror.
“Isn’t that promise worth a kiss?” smiled Wilfrid.
She did not give him one; instead, she presented her cheek, and on touching it with his lips he found it as cold as marble.
Somewhat mortified by this strange reception of his offer, an offer made in all good faith, Wilfrid waved his hand to Boris, sprang into the sledge, and the next moment was speeding off along the frozen highway.