“I must go at once,” he said. “Good-bye.”
“Go to Ivan and Nicolai. Good-bye ... comrade!” And she gave him a look that made him tingle all through.
As her proud figure turned coldly away, he slipped out into the entry hall. But his uncle had seen him, and before the old door-man had helped Drexel into his fur coat Mr. Howard had joined him.
“Can I have a talk with you after you come in, my boy?”
“No—I’m sorry,” Drexel answered rapidly, for to him every second had the worth of two lives. “Just got a telephone message from St. Petersburg—got to go back to Moscow on business—must hurry to catch the train.” And disregarding his uncle’s attempt at a reply Drexel rushed out.
Night was fully on, though the hour was scarcely five. The sky was a-glitter with stars, all the wide spaces of the night were flooded with the cold brilliance of the moon, and this celestial brightness was reflected and doubled by the vast mirror of the snow. Why could not this have been a black and hiding night? Drexel cursed this light as his enemy.
He first struck out on foot; but it occurred to him that if he walked the prince, were he minded to pursue, could easily overtake him. So he turned and made haste along the road that swept among the hemlocks back to the stable, determined to ask boldly for a sleigh.
As a curve in the avenue revealed the stable, a dark object glided out and came toward him. It was the answer to his unspoken prayer.
“For whom is this sleigh?” he asked the driver.
“Countess Baronova,” was the answer.