“He goes on with his work, one day at a time. The great evangelistic services held at his house have come to an end, but his Bible-readings, his visiting of the sick, both at their homes and in the hospitals, his efforts to raise the condition of the peasantry, he will not cease.”
“Nor have you ceased yours, Marraine, I am sure.”
“Ah, we women are not in such imminent danger, my child. But still, I do not like to involve you in any risk. Would you care to go and stay in the South with my sister? or I have friends in England who would be delighted to receive you?”
“Are you suggesting that I should leave you? Never, Marraine! Let me stay and help you as much as I can. I am not good enough for the Bible-readings and the visiting of the hospitals, but I can be some use to you with your accounts, and the soup-kitchen, and the sewing-class.”
“You shall, my child; and God grant that you may be blessed and be a blessing in your life here.”
The very next day Nadia slipped into her old place in the household, and began her chosen work, much to the relief of the Princess, who had, as she was wont to lament, no head for accounts, and found it very pleasant to be released from the consideration of the innumerable business details connected with all her charitable institutions. To the girl herself, also, it was a delight to be able to plunge into work once more, and she was glad to be kept busy almost all day long, getting in supplies for the girls’ boarding-house, checking the sales at the Bible-depot, and arranging for the despatch of necessary stores to the hospital on her godmother’s country estate. But wherever she went, she was always conscious of the presence and scrutiny of various watchful, ostentatiously quiet-looking men, who were invariably to be seen lounging in the neighbourhood of the different institutions. The Princess’s warning had given her the clue to their appearance there. They were the spies of M. Tourquemadischeff, the Procurator of the Holy Synod.
Things went on quietly, however, until the evening of the second Sunday after her arrival in Pavelsburg, when Nadia accompanied her godmother and several other members of the household to Count Wratisloff’s house for a Bible-reading. There were only about twenty persons present, for although many more would have been glad to attend, the number of the invitations had been restricted, in order to give the police no pretext for interference. The Count had been one of Nadia’s heroes for years, and she embraced eagerly the opportunity of hearing him once again, for what might, as she now learned, be the last time. The address partook of the character of a farewell, and the speaker prefaced it by remarking that it had been intimated to him by a high authority that he might remain in Scythia unmolested if he would consent to discontinue his evangelistic work, but that if he persisted in carrying it on, however quietly, his exile would follow. The holding of this meeting was his answer to the offer, and he seized the occasion to make a last solemn appeal to those who heard him. Their leaders might be exiled, he said, their assemblies prohibited, but their faith did not depend on either the one or the other. Lands and wealth might be taken from them, but they could live, as some of their brethren already did from choice, like the poor, and share with them what they gained by the labour of their hands. They might be deported to distant parts of the empire, might be sent even to Hyperborea, the dismal region of almost perpetual night; but, if so, it was because there was work for them to do there, even though it were only the exhibition of a contented spirit under hardships, and God could make even Hyperborean darkness to be light. Let them feel assured that for every earthly good of which they were deprived, there was a greater blessing waiting to reach them, which could not do so unless the way were prepared for it by the removal of the worldly delight. Was there, then, any reason for condemning the rulers of the empire, or even the authorities of the Church which they had quitted with so much sorrow and reluctance, but which branded them as heretics? None; they were only instruments in the hand of God, and could do nothing without Him. And, therefore, no resentment must be felt towards them, for all that happened would prove to be for the best. And even when the cloud was darkest, and no silver lining was visible, were the sufferers never themselves to blame? Had they never injured any one without offering redress, never refused haughtily a proffered reconciliation, never alienated by their unsympathetic demeanour those who would fain have been friendly? If they had, and there were few who could say they had not, let them bear their punishment meekly, accepting it as less than they deserved, and asking that even out of the sad consequences of their own faults and failings good might arise to the people of God.
The coincidence between the burden of Count Wratisloff’s address and the words which had fallen from the Princess on the night of her arrival struck Nadia forcibly, in spite of the difference in the circumstances to which they applied, but the similarity did not altogether please her. It was hard to acknowledge to herself that her heroic conduct in refusing Caerleon had been wrong from the outset and based upon a mistake, harder still to confess that Cyril would have been powerless for harm if she had not given him a hold upon her by being willing to accept his arguments as true ones. She was silent enough during the farewells and the drive home, but when they had arrived at the Princess’s house she hesitated to face the solitude of her own room, and lingered with Marie Karlovna, echoing her voluble lamentations over the approaching loss of Count Wratisloff. Leaving her at last, and passing along the passage, she heard sobs proceeding from a room on her left, and looking in, found the sempstress Katinka crying as though her heart would break.
“What is the matter, Katinka? Can I do anything for you?” she asked, gently.
“No, thank you, Nadia Mikhailovna,” sobbed the girl. “No one can help me, for the trouble is in myself. I have an enemy whom I cannot forgive.”