It was past midnight when, with a rush and a crash of breaking wood, the horses galloped madly into the stableyard at Savlinsky, having broken one wheel off the tarantasse against the gate-post. Vronsky, who was restless and feverish, heard the uproar, and sent his servant, who slept in his room, to find out what had happened.
The man returned, chalk-white, and shaking as with ague. The carriage had returned, but it contained neither Felix nor Max. Its only occupant was—was the corpse of Streloff, the young clerk, murdered by a bullet wound in the temple.
The single shot fired by the policeman—the shot that killed Streloff—did not rouse the sleeping village. There was nobody to see the party of kidnappers slip in among the trees with their bound victims, nor to watch them unloose their bonds as soon as darkness covered them.
There was not, nevertheless, a moment to be lost, for the dawn was hard upon their heels, and all must re-enter the Governor's domain unseen. They separated. Only one remained as a guide with Felix and his servant, the others melted away into the forest in various directions. The guide kept them going at a swift trot, along a wood-cutter's path, and in several places over tracts where there was no path. If they came to a place where footmarks were perceptible he covered them up before proceeding. But in most places, on the hard, dry summer ground, their feet left no trace. On they went, on and on, the dawn shimmering down each instant with a more direct threat of daylight. Soon the north-east was on fire with rose-red light, as if it must burst into flame in a few minutes more. Trails of gossamer drifted across the eyes of Felix as he ran, the gray Siberian squirrels ran up the smooth trunks, the birds began to chatter and call. At last, when it seemed they had run for hours, they found themselves breasting a steep hill, where their feet slipped perpetually in the pine needles, and their guide, with infinite labor, had to obliterate their tracks by brushing them with a branch of pine foliage.
At last they reached the high wall or palisade of untrimmed fir trunks which protected the Governor's grounds from the forest.
Along it they moved, battling here with rank undergrowth which grew in profusion wherever trees had been cut down. At last came a door; their guide inserted a key. They slipped through, and found themselves in a long dim green alley.
It seemed to Felix that it reached to the end of the world. His head was swimming, his feet sticky with something that ran down his legs into his boots. But he staggered on, holding on to Max, who did not seem at all distressed; and at last dragged himself into a small room, where stood a table with food and drink, and the Governor himself advanced, with hand outstretched.
"All well?" he asked. "I was a little anxious. You are later than you should have been by nearly an hour."
"There was more than one ambush," began Felix; but, to his own surprise, his voice failed, and the room rocked round him. He made a dizzy step forward and lurched. But the arms of Max behind upheld him.
"Unfasten his coat," said the servant, himself still breathless with the flight. "Unless I am much mistaken he has been losing blood all the way."