She shook her head without a word, with nothing but a gesture of refusal. He lit up, tossed away his match, and leaning forward, remarked, with his eyes fixed upon the side of the road, "This is the second time he has thought that he has got rid of me—that I was safely and permanently out of his way. And once more I turn up! I assure you I pity him. And, really, I am not so much to blame as one might think, either this time or last time. In Deptford, you know how it was that I failed to eliminate myself. This time, I could not have ceased to exist without pretty well breaking up dear old Vronsky. But it's rough on Denzil, all the same."
Rona was filled with indignation. "You do your brother great injustice," she said, warmly.
"I always did, I fancy," was the cool response. "My opinion can, however, matter very little to him, who has so much besides."
There was a pause, the girl too much hurt to speak. Perhaps he felt that he had been cruel, for after a while, he went on—"But what is it that you wish to know?"—and his voice was more gentle. "About my disappearing? Well, to say the truth, that was a plot, arranged between the Governor and myself. Let me see—I believe I have mentioned to you a person called Cravatz?—Ah, of course, you already know that he was executed this morning. Well, we found out that Cravatz had a spy in Vronsky's service, and I disappeared in order to throw them off the scent. Everything depended upon Vronsky not being in the know. So I was waylaid upon the road, between the Governor's house and Savlinsky, and ostensibly kidnapped. But I was all the time at Nicolashof, within a few miles of the poor old chap. After a while, the Governor contrived to give him a hint, though too late, unfortunately, to prevent his stirring up Denzil about the matter. As soon as Cravatz was taken, the Governor sent down a party to Gretz, on Government business, and I went with them, disguised as one of the police. It was well managed. Nobody but Vronsky knows where I have been all the time. Quite a plot, was it not?"
"Most romantic," said Rona, copying the coldness of his tone. "I understand that the Governor's daughter is charming, so that, no doubt, relieved the dullness of your captivity. The anxiety of your brother and—and your other friends was a small matter."
He regarded her with some surprise before he replied.
"When I fell in with the Governor's plan, there was, to the best of my belief, no human creature but Vronsky who would feel the least concern about me. I had not then realized that I was supposed to stand between my brother and—his happiness." He paused a moment. "Perhaps, to avoid returning to an awkward subject, I had better say at once that I duly received your letter, though not until I emerged from my captivity; and that, of course, I resign all claim to—to something that is not mine, and never was."
She made no reply. She looked upon the broad, dusty back of the driver, who inquisitively glanced round every second minute, wondering what the foreigners were saying to one another. It was impossible to break through the wall that Felix had erected. She stared straight in front of her, and wondered how she could bear the long days of companionship which stretched before them.
He turned from her, to search in a bag, which he carried. "I have some English books here," he said, coolly. "Possibly you may not have read them all. Nadia Stepanovna has an English lady living with her, and they lent me some books to beguile the tedium of the journey."
"You are very kind. I will try to keep quiet for the future, and not annoy you with attempts to converse," said Rona, with slow, but fierce emphasis. He held out some English novels towards her, and she took them, without looking at them. Picking up one at random, she began to read it, the type dancing before her eyes, her brain absorbing no word of the sense. If this were his attitude, she could play at it too. She had been so steeped in compassion and compunction that she had yearned to tell him something of what she felt, of her difficulties, her anxieties. But since he bore her so bitter a grudge she would not try to explain, far less to apologize. How unlike he was to Denzil! How differently Denzil would have behaved, she told herself furiously. She did not look at him again until the first stage was over, and they were stopping at a post-house for a fresh team.