He felt that he simply could not help it. It had to be said. It was bald, bare, it needed softening, it needed much explaining. But something in Nadia's heart apparently bridged all the gaps. In a moment he had her in his arms. And as he held her, there leaped upon him, out of the past, a memory of the moment in which he had so held Rona, in the Abbey ruins at Newark.

The thought went nigh to poison his ecstatic hour. Rona had not yielded herself to him. She had not exactly rejected, but she had by no means responded to his mood. But Nadia responded with a rush of feeling which astounded her lover. It almost frightened him. For the moment it carried him away completely. He had a dim feeling that all the careful maxims of centuries were borne away and swept down by the current upon which he was carried. Through it all was a sense that Nemesis must overtake him—that this could not last. Something was coming upon him—what was it? Remorse for treachery? Stuff! How could one be a traitor to a thing one had never felt? Yet, surely the avenging moment was at hand! Surely there was a hand outstretched to dash away this heady cup from his lips?

Yes—and close by.

As at last he lifted his burning face, and loosened the clasp of his arms from about Nadia's form, he saw, standing there before him, in bodily shape, his brother Felix. There stood the scapegrace, and there before him sat the virtuous elder brother, caught in the treacherous act. Felix had indeed changed since their last meeting. Tall, handsome, and altogether at his ease, he fixed a glance of ironic amusement upon the situation for a brief half-moment, and then, turning silently and swiftly, walked off among the trees of the garden, unseen by Nadia, whose face was hidden against her lover; leaving Denzil writhing in the pangs of a shame far more acute than the most scathing criticism in words of his conduct would have produced in him.

CHAPTER XXX
VERONICA IS SURPRISED

I yielded, and unlocked her all my heart,
Who, with a grain of manhood well resolved,
Might easily have shook off all her snares.
—MILTON.

Vronsky had reluctantly decided, in spite of the young girl's own wishes, that it would not be well for Veronica to stay at Savlinsky, all unchaperoned as she was. The Governor's cordial invitation to Nicolashof must be accepted.

The girl was sensible of a distinct unwillingness to become the guest of Nadia Stepanovna. But she could not, of course, voice this sentiment, and obediently submitted, when she had rested an hour at Vronsky's house and had tea, to take her place, with him and Felix, in their own tarantasse, with the devoted Max to drive them, and to be conveyed to the Governor's house.

To Vronsky the drive was most painful. He felt that it would be inhuman to allow this girl to arrive with no inkling of the blow that awaited her when she should meet Denzil Vanston. It was in vain that he told himself that the girl deserved such a fall to her pride—that he tried to think of her as a heartless jilt, who had spoiled the best years of his beloved Felix's life, and then deserted him. There was that in Veronica's face which disarmed him.