“I fear, Your Majesty, that a courier could not reach Omsk under six or seven days, travelling incessantly,” remarked the secretary.
“In seven days will be sufficient time. Both messages are confidential.”
And he dismissed Calitzine with a wave of his hand, the secretary backing out of the presence of his Imperial master.
When the door had closed the tall, muscular man before me placed his hands behind his back and slowly paced the room, saying:
“Well, Trewinnard, I must wish you a safe journey. If you find yourself in any difficulty, communicate direct with me. I must admit that I can’t quite understand the object of this rather quixotic journey of yours—to see a female prisoner. I strongly suspect that you are in love with her—eh?” and he smiled knowingly.
“No, Sire,” I replied, “I am not. On my return I hope to be able to show Your Majesty that I have been actuated by motives of humanity and justice—I hope, indeed, perhaps even to receive Your Majesty’s commendation.”
“Ah! you are too mysterious for me,” he laughed. “Are you leaving at once? Or will you remain here, in the castle, until to-morrow?”
“I am greatly honoured and appreciate Your Majesty’s hospitality,” I said. “But I have horses ready, and I am driving back to the railway at Olevsk to-night.”
“Very well, then,” he said with a smile. “Good-bye, and be back again in Petersburg as soon as ever you can.”
And he stretched forth his big sinewy hand and gave me such a hearty grip that I was compelled to wince.