VFather Constantine had never much of an opinion about the Kaiser and his eldest son. A couple of years before the war he was obliged to take a cure for his old bones in a little town on the Baltic, where the humble folk are still Poles and Catholics. He looked upon the Crown Prince's face many times, for the Kaiser had banished him to the little town, where he swaggered in his blue and silver uniform, leering at the pretty women and sneering at the old ones. And he noted that those eyes were full of evil, though he little dreamed it was God's will to give his wicked passions play in Belgium and France. All the Prussians in that town used to cringe to him; but Father Constantine took no notice, so that at last a Prussian subaltern, in a gorgeous uniform like his master's stopped him in the street and said he would be punished if he continued to ignore the Crown Prince when he passed him. But the old man never did salute the Crown Prince, because he knew how he and his father persecuted little Polish children, having them flogged for not saying their prayers in German, and dragging them from the steps of the altar at their first communion, to prison. He told this to the gaudy officer, whose Teutonic blue eyes blazed with rage. He quite expected to be arrested or at least taken back to the Russian frontier by a couple of German policemen. But nothing happened: they left him alone. But Father Constantine thought they might meet again, for war brings people together in a curious way; and if the Crown Prince should come to Ruvno he was ready to tell him what he thought of his evil actions, even if he were hanged for it. Once in his life, at least, said Father Constantine, he should hear the truth about himself, for he was always surrounded by parasites and sycophants, who praised everything he did.Father Constantine not only talked about these things but set them in his diary; his old head could not keep its thoughts on one thing, even on paper, and he found how hard it was to pick out the most important things he had seen in two months' war, having learned the habit of wandering on in his diary about all kinds of matters. But he felt lonely without it; and hoped, too, that one day he might be the humble means of telling the world what happened in a country house in Poland during the Great War. Besides, he argued, when some foreigner realizes what Poland bears, he, whether he were French, English or American, would understand that Poland, having endured so much, must be saved, because it is against the laws of God and man to tear a country into three parts and put each under foreign domination, making father fight against son, brother against brother.Ever since Ian and he had left the Ruvno men at the Kutno dépôt, he had heard the ceaseless roar of heavy guns day and night. By night he saw them flash around when walking out by the windmill for a little fresh air after leaving the wards. He saw the come and go of large armies and small detachments, of baggage trains, artillery, field hospitals, of war accessories whose very names he ignored but which he declared Beelzebub alone could have conceived. The Countess had given rest, shelter and food to Cossacks of the Urals, who think horse flesh better than capon, and to wild Siberians, who look as shaggy as their little horses and who are infidels, but whom no hardships can dishearten. They slept outside, or in the farm stables. And a pretty mess they made. Poor Ian used strong words when he saw what the first batch had done; but he grew used to it. In the house they had fops of the Imperial Bodyguard, who threw away the soft life of Petrograd, a very wicked city, so the priest said, to sleep in ditches and eat tinned meat. And they were quite cheerful about it, for some came back wounded, and the old priest talked to them. It shocked him to rub shoulders with all these Russians at first. But they were friendly and would vow with strange oaths that Poland must regain her liberty after the war. Sometimes he wondered if he would be there to see that glorious day, or if Ruvno would be standing by then. Even now, poor Ian was half ruined, after only two months of war. His forests, once the pride of Ruvno, had either been cut down for military purposes or burned by shell fire. So far, those near the house were spared; but they were not of great value; it broke his heart to see the stumps and scorched trunks for versts around, and the priest's, too. He had watched some of these forests being planted, years before Ian was born or thought of. They had been tended with great care and grew into the best timber in that part of Poland. Even the Tsar's forests, which began near Ruvno's boundary, were no better. One morning, an old Jewish factor who used to do errands for the house when there was a town they could send to, came up--God knows how these Jews got about--and told them that the Prussians had cut down two hundred square versts of the Tsar's forest land north of Plock and sent the lumber down the Vistula into Prussia. Ian expected they would do the same with his property when they had the chance.The autumn crops, especially potatoes, suffered terribly from the movements of so many troops, though Ian had to own that the Grand Duke saw that they were spared as much as possible. But even he could not be everywhere at once, nor think of an acre of sugar beet when he wanted to drive back the Prussians. Father Constantine dreaded the Cossacks. He saw them at work in 1863, though he had no record of it in his diary, because they burned down his home and all it contained in the spring of 1864. However, these were old doings, and many Russians who passed through Ruvno told him they regretted what happened then as deeply as he did. Ian managed to gather in a good deal of the Ruvno grain, but the peasants in most of the villages round had not enough potatoes to keep body and soul together during the winter.One afternoon late in September, the priest was in the home-forest burying a Polish sapper who had died of wounds the night before. He had just planted the wooden Cross in the sapper's grave when he saw a big, dirty Cossack coming towards him. This man had a reddish beard, his shaggy cap and high boots smelt of earth, pitch and a rough life. He had seen many like him and knew the look of a man who has been fighting from that of one who is only going to fight. He could not define the difference, but it was there, stamped in their faces. Mud stuck to him, though it was not the mud which said this Cossack had come from the battle line. What with dirt and sunburn he was as black as the pieces of oak Ian had pulled from the river, where it lay for centuries, to make house wainscot of."Good-day, priest," he began. Father Constantine noted that he had the good manners to speak Polish."Good-day, my son." His merry eyes belied his savage-looking red beard. There was something familiar about him, too. "I've seen you before; but where?""Ah--where?" he guffawed, and sat on the grave, thereby smoothing the parts that lazy Vitold had left all knobbed. Father Constantine felt for his glasses, remembered that he had left them on the window-sill in the sacristy, and peered at the new-comer helplessly. If any man had told him three months earlier, that he would be quietly watching a Cossack seated on a Catholic's grave and splitting his sides, Father Constantine would have called that man a liar. But war, as he admitted, changes even an old man's point of view, especially if he happen to be in the thick of it."If you have something to laugh at, tell it me," he said, tired of seeing the stranger enjoy a joke he knew nothing of."Laugh!" he cried. "Why, I could laugh for a week, just to see Ruvno again. And you not knowing me, after all the wallopings you've given me, too."This made Father Constantine think. He did thrash a Cossack once, but it was in 1863, and this man was young."Not in 1863?" he asked doubtfully."No--more like '93," and the Cossack laughed again."I've only walloped village boys lately. And we'd no Cossacks in these parts before the war.""How about Ian?" he asked."Count Ian, you mean," said the Father with dignity. He hated these democratic ways the Russian soldiers had of saying "thee" and "thou" to everybody."And Roman Skarbek," he went on, unabashed."Skarbek?""Don't you remember how you walloped us when we ate up all the cherries Aunt Natalie's housekeeper had thrown out of the vodka bottle? Lord, how drunk we were!" and he grinned, being tired of laughing, I suppose.Then the priest remembered the story and recognized him. It was Roman Skarbek himself, the young man who won a fortune at Monte Carlo but could not win Vanda."What do you mean, coming here dressed like a savage?" he asked angrily, for it annoyed him that the trick had succeeded, all through his having left his glasses in the sacristy. "Don't you know what's due to a Pole and a Christian?""Aren't Cossacks Christians?" retorted Roman in that pleasant way which always made the Father forgive his boyish deviltries sooner that he ought. "Come, Father, be just.""Well," he admitted, "some of them are. But why be a Cossack when you can help it?""Can't help it. Being a volunteer, they made me a Cossack.""Before this war I detested the very sight of their tall caps and with good reason," said the Father. "But such is the power of Prussian brutality that Poles now fight side by side with wild children of the steppes to drive the soldier of the anti-Christ out of our country. Where have you been?""In Masuria," and Roman told him some of his experiences, adding that he had come to Ruvno with Rennenkampf, for a few hours."Well, I'm glad you've killed a few Germans. But you had better cut off that red beard before you go to the Countess."As he got on his feet the priest was glad to see he had finished Vitold's work with the sods. He liked the graves to look neat."Aunt won't mind the beard. Let's go to her."He whistled to his horse, which was browsing near by, and walked towards the house. He asked about Vanda, whether she was anxious for Joseph, how she looked, what she was doing. The priest answered truthfully, though it made him sorry to see the shadow come into Roman's face when he realized that she thought still of Joseph with great love."And yet, she hates the Prussians, and he is fighting with them, I suppose," he remarked, hotly.The Father, almost as hotly, explained that, as he knew, several thousands more Poles were with the Prussian armies, through no fault of their own but because they had the bad fortune to be German and Austrian subjects. Roman agreed that many could not cut away from Germany, but Joseph had gone back when ordered."Like one of the herd all Germans are," he added.As they passed the windmill, that stood just before you turn into the high road on the way to Ruvno from the forest, Szmul, a Jewish factor, stopped them. His cunning eyes shone with excitement."Oh, have you heard that great things are happening in Ruvno?" he cried, spreading out his hands in the way Jews have and twisting his mouth about."What things?" asked the priest. "Have they driven the Prussians out of Kalisz?""No, the Prussians are still at Kalisz. But the great General Rennenkampf has deigned to come to Ruvno.""We know that."He looked disappointed, because he took pride in carrying gossip from one village to another. And the Jews always knew the latest news and spread it like wildfire."Anything more?" asked Roman.Szmul made him a deep reverence. You would have thought this dirty-looking man in Cossack uniform was the Grand Duke at least; but that was Szmul's way."Oh--yes, General," Szmul knew he was only a lieutenant. "And I'm sure neither of you know it." He threw his arms about, so Father Constantine told him they were in a hurry."Well, look over there." He pointed westwards, where the blackened stumps of a forest bordered one of Ian's fish-ponds."Well, there's nothing new there. Be quick and tell your news if you have any, for we're off to the house.""Out there, by the fish-pond, they've caught a spy," he said importantly. "He refuses to say who he is. He was caught cutting wires, and burning the toes of Jewish children.""He may have been cutting wires but he wasn't burning Jewish children's toes," said Father Constantine sternly. "The Prussians have sins enough on their heads without you inventing more. You know as well as I do that there are no children, Jew or Catholic, within two versts of those fish-ponds.""But," he protested, "they have caught a spy, and if he wasn't roasting the toes of Jewish children it's only because he hadn't the chance. I saw him being taken into the big house, and they say His Excellency General Rennenkampf is going to shoot him with his own hands to-morrow morning. He'd be shot now, only they hope to find out more about the enemy if they keep him a bit.""Rennenkampf won't shoot him, but I hope to," said Roman as they passed on.He and the priest parted outside the gates, one to vespers, the other to seek the Countess and Ian. Father Constantine excused himself from the Countess' table that evening; he preferred to eat in his room when Great Russians were in the house. Besides, he had much to do and knew the General liked to sit over his meals. On his way to the Countess' boudoir, which was used as an office in connection with the little hospital, he met Roman again."That Jew was right, Father," he threw over his shoulder. "The spy is here, and my men are to have the shooting of him to-morrow at daybreak."Father Constantine had a busy hour with Ian's agent, a surgeon and some refugees who came in from a village ten versts off. All these people now walked in and out of the Countess' boudoir, once a sacred spot, as if it were a mill. He and the agent had disposed of the last fugitive and he was going up to the wards when a Russian corporal blundered in."What do you want in here?" he asked sharply. It annoyed him to see these louts use his patroness' room as a passage.He said something in Russian; Father Constantine had made a point, all his life, not to speak that language, but he understood that an officer upstairs had asked for a priest."Tell him I'll see him to-morrow."The man saluted, grinned and said:"He will be dead to-morrow."Then the priest remembered the spy they had caught: it was he. The wards would have to wait. He sent a message up to Vanda and told the soldier to take him to the condemned man.They made their way through the broad passages and landings which were blocked with wounded waiting for treatment, and up a winding stair which led to the turret. It was silent as the tomb till they disturbed an owl and some rats, and almost as dark. Father Constantine had not been up there since Ian was a boy and kept pets which could not stop outside in the winter. He remembered one winter when Roman and Joseph kept a young dog fox up there in the hopes of taming it. But it was never even friendly and when the first signs of spring came through the chinks of its prison, it gnawed the staple from its chain and made off into the fields. He felt glad that this Prussian prisoner would not get away so easily.Two sentries stood at the top. They unlocked the door at a sign from the corporal and let him into the turret chamber.It was small and dirty. A straw mattress lay upon the unswept floor; and some broken food. An old packing-case served as table. A candle, thrust into the neck of an empty champagne bottle, gave a feeble light and aft air of sordid debauchery, out of keeping with the place and circumstances. The prisoner sat on one end of the packing-case, his back to the door. He was writing the last letter of his life, and so intent that he took no notice of their entrance.The priest dismissed his guide with a nod. He saluted, went out, and shut the door noisily after him: and still the man did not turn round. This was all very well, but Father Constantine was wanted below, in the wards, where others were under sentence of death, though not at the hands of Rennenkampf."You asked for a priest," he began in his mother tongue, though he knew German, too.The prisoner rose and faced him. As the old man looked upon him his heart stood still in fear and his knees shook."Mother of God! Joseph Skarbek!" he gasped.And he must die as a spy!And his own brother was to shoot him!These thoughts rushed across his brain. They stood looking at each other, both speechless. Joseph Skarbek, whom he had taught and scolded and loved with Ian and Roman, who was to marry Vanda, had come to Ruvno, not to claim his bride, but to spy. When he found tongue it was for reproach."How dare you come here like this?" he cried angrily, because great fear always made him furious, and he was aghast at the tragedy which had thus fallen upon his dear ones. His next thought was that none of them, neither Roman, the Countess, Ian nor Vanda must know this hideous secret, up in the turret chamber. He must find Rennenkampf, tell him the tale, plead with him that this prisoner be shot, if die he must, by another man's orders, and not Roman's. There was no time to be lost."Wait," he said. "I'll be back soon."Joseph grasped his arm as he made for the door, and he saw how haggard his face was and how wild his eyes. Calm, self-contained Joseph had vanished; he was the incarnation of tragedy."For the love of God don't tell them," he muttered huskily."I'm not mad.""Then where are you going?""To the chapel--for the Sacred Vessels."He hastily prayed God to forgive him for using His Vessels to hide the truth; but could not tell the boy the real reason for his sudden departure. Outside, he had to explain to the sentries, who said they supposed it would be all right, only he must bring a permit if he wanted to go into the room again.It took him some time to find an officer, who said that Rennenkampf had left Ruvno half an hour ago."But somebody must be in charge," he said, for the place swarmed with troops."I am," he snapped. He was a hard-faced, battered-looking man, hated the Poles and believed every Catholic priest a Jesuit, bent on his neighbor's destruction for the benefit of his Order. Father Constantine stated his case, after he had promised to respect the confidence. He yawned through most of the story; but when he heard that Roman Skarbek had been ordered to shoot his own brother, his narrow eyes flashed with rage."A Pole has no business to fight against us!" he cried."Colonel, there are several million Poles in Germany and Austria not through any fault of..."He stamped his feet."Don't argue, priest! I won't have it. This Polish Count could have blown his brains out when they told him to fight us--and spy on us. I'll make an example of him. Eh, God, I will!""You gave me your word of honor to respect my secret," said the other, looking into the depths of his narrow eyes till he had to drop them. He thought for a moment."True," he growled. "I did give you my honorable word. But I will not cancel General Rennenkampf's order. This young volunteer will take his men out to shoot his traitor brother. It will be a lesson to him, and to all Poles."And all eloquence was without avail, though Father Constantine pleaded earnestly with him. But war had turned this already hard man into adamant."No and no, and yet once more no!" he said with a calm that was worse than his rage. He even grumbled at a request for a pass to show the two guards; but gave it at last.As the priest left he met the Countess and she kept him some time. Then he had to go to the chapel. As he felt his way up the turret stairs, determined to stop with Joseph till the end, he heard steps behind. Somebody was coming up with an electric torch; he waited, rather than bruise his shins in the dark."Who's there?" His heart sank; it was Roman's voice."Go back!" he ordered. "I forbid you to come up here."But he came up, put his arm around the old man and helped him up the stairs. "I know all," he said."All about what?"--this hoping against hope that Roman meant something else."About Joe, up in there.""That narrow-eyed Muscovite told you. I suppose he scrupled not to break word to a priest."The only thing left was to try and comfort these poor brothers. Whilst in the chapel, he had nursed hopes of saving Roman from the agony of seeing Joseph die. Now, all was lost; his brain was in a whirl and he felt, for the hundredth time since August, that old age is a terrible thing when you want to help the young and strong.Roman went into the turret chamber first. He did not rush to his brother and weep; what he said was:"You're writing to Her."Joseph looked up at the familiar voice."Roman!" was all he said; but his haggard face flushed from ear to ear."Yes." He touched his Cossack's clothes. "I am on the other side." And it seemed to the priest that this impulsive and turbulent young man had put Poland's greatest sorrow into those few simple words--brother fighting against brother, flesh against flesh, not of free will, but because a wicked old cynic called Frederick and an ambitious German wanton who usurped the Russian throne divided Poland between them more than a century ago."On the other side," repeated Joseph bitterly. He, too, was suffering."Do you know what this is?" he asked, showing them a square of dirty white doth sewn on to the front of his tunic."No.""The Prussian way of branding Polish conscripts. Easier to shoot us if we try to desert.""Such is the way of Prussians," said Father Constantine. They stood there looking at one another as though they were three strangers at a loss for something to say. Father Constantine put the Sacred Vessels on the floor and waited. Joseph, he reflected, had all night in which to make his peace with God, Who understands these tribulations, and why they are laid upon us. As for himself, he felt very old and of small account by the side of these stalwart boys, each worth ten of a worn-out priest too infirm to fight, and fit only to watch the young and the stalwart die before their time. Joseph spoke first; his thoughts still ran upon Vanda."You'll be able to marry her now," he remarked hoarsely. "Make her happy.""I'll do my best," said Roman.At the time Father Constantine knew not what he meant, for years dull the mind as well as the eye. He looked so peaceful despite the overhanging sorrow, that he began to wonder if the boy thought the prize of winning Vanda was worth all this.Joseph took up his sheet of paper and tried to dry the ink at the candle flame. The priest noticed there was a fresh wound on his wrist."Let me see your hand," he said."It doesn't matter--now." He smiled nervously. Then: "Dotheyknow I'm here?""No," answered Roman. "They must never know.""Never." Another pause: the candle scorched his raw wound, and he muttered something."How did you know?" he asked Roman."Never mind how." He went near his brother, much reproach in his voice. "Oh, why did you do it, Joe? What in the world induced you to put on this?" He tugged angrily at the Prussian uniform."Because there, in Germany, we were a herd ... and I little thought what this war was going to be." Then he turned to the priest, lowering his voice. "And I know, too, in the bottom of my heart, that I went with the herd because it seemed better to die fighting than to be shot for not going on. Oh, the misery of it all!""My child, God is merciful.""I have explained what I could, as clearly as I can, here," he went on, more quietly. "To Vanda.""But explain it now, to me," his brother insisted.Joseph sighed. "It is too long and too late. See that she gets this without knowing I have been here." He swallowed a lump in his throat and went on: "I did what I thought best." He looked round the little room, and his voice broke. "To spend my last night here, a prisoner, in Ian's house, so near her and yet so..." His voice refused to come.Roman was pacing the floor in that impatient way he had. Suddenly he stopped, and said with decision:"There's not a moment to lose!""I have the night before me," remarked Joseph, looking first at the Sacred Vessels, then at the priest "We must wait till midnight, in any case.""I don't mean that," said Roman. "You must escape." He had lowered his voice: they talked in whispers now. Joseph's eyes were alight with sudden hope."Yes, but how?" asked Father Constantine."We change clothes," answered Roman, and he began to undress. "You and the Father leave the room together, Joe dressed in my things. In the dark the men won't know it isn't me. Go down to the chapel together." He handed his high Russian boots to Joseph, who was taking off his own, somewhat reluctantly."Well, but how about you?" he objected."Never mind me. Father Constantine will hide you in the chapel.""I know of a place where nobody will think to look for him," said the priest."But what are you going to do?" asked Joseph, still at his first boot."Wait till the men outside have fallen asleep. Then I take off that Prussian uniform you've got on and sneak past them. I know every corner of this place, which they don't."Joseph was not satisfied. "You'll be locked in," he objected. Roman pulled out some nippers."I've got these. The lock is old. So hurry up, or we'll have the men in, wondering why Father Constantine is still here. I wouldn't plan this if it wasn't safe."Joseph obeyed."How long am I to keep him in the chapel?" asked the priest."Till the rest of the Russians leave. We're off at dawn to-morrow. Ian can keep him quiet in one of the cellars for a day or two till the spy affair blows over, then you must go and fight for us. Promise?""I promise," answered Joseph. Roman did not seem satisfied."Swear it," he insisted, holding up his fingers.Joseph swore; then they embraced, in the Polish way."That's right," said Roman, smiling and happy again. "I thought we'd find some way out of this muddle." He glanced at Father Constantine. It took some time to persuade Joseph that Roman would get out all right. Indeed, the priest, too, had fears about it; guards, he said, sleep with their eyes open. But Roman was so enthusiastic and hopeful, so thoroughly master of the situation that he inspired the others with his optimism. Besides, the priest knew he was thinking of to-morrow morning; and the power of the secret they shared overcame his objections.They changed clothes at last, Joseph putting the Cossack's cap well over his eyes. Then they embraced again. Joseph began to talk of gratitude; but Roman cut him short."I'll see you soon, I hope. Meanwhile, marry Vanda and fight for us.""I will. Oh, Roman, you're heaping coals of fire on my head.""Fiddlesticks! Now, be off, and show a brazen face."Roman had put on the Prussian clothes far quicker than Joseph had taken them off, and before the others left, threw himself on the straw mattress, his back to the door. The brothers were much the same height and build, and Roman had shaved his red beard before sitting down to supper with the Countess and Rennenkampf that night. His face was darker than Joseph's, though he had washed; but the light was so bad and the guards so indifferent and unsuspecting that Father Constantine felt almost easy in his mind when a sentry looked in as he let them out."He's got his passport," he remarked, nodding towards the mattress. "German swine."He saluted Joseph, who strode downstairs, clanking his spurs and carrying himself as straight as you please. In one of the corridors they passed a cornet, who called out to him; but he strode on, muttering something between his teeth. Father Constantine noticed that the subaltern was going up to the turret. After his visit the sentries would probably doze. Roman knew what he was doing, anyway.It was nearly three when, at last, the priest threw himself into a chair in the sacristy. He could not leave the chapel precincts while Joseph lay hiding there. Not that he hoped to be any good, supposing that the Russians took it into their heads to look there for their quarry; but he felt he would be in a fever of apprehension if he went to his rooms. With some trouble and many precautions he had managed to hide Joseph under the altar of a side chapel, dedicated to the Mother of God of Czenstochova. The altar was there temporarily, the Countess having ordered a marble one last time she was in Rome; the war had stopped its arrival, and only the other day she had said how sorry she was not to get it sooner. And now, it looked as if the wooden altar was to save Joseph's life. Its back was hollow, and there he hid.The priest could not sleep, tired though he felt. His mind was full of trouble. Suddenly, he remembered that the narrow-eyed Muscovite knew the story of Joseph's arrest and would suspect him when he heard of the escape, would search the chapel. But then he comforted himself with the thought that evenhewould not order his men to pull out an altar. He was not a Prussian. After that, he began to worry about Roman. How could he get past those guards? The more he thought about it the clearer it seemed that he had run his head into certain danger. Not only would he be caught, but all his dear ones would be dragged into the trouble; that Muscovite would punish every inmate of Ruvno in his rage. Such were his thoughts as night gradually left the sacristy.At last he fell into a troubled doze. He was awakened by the sound of musket shots coming through the open window. With vague fears he hurried into the garden. A young subaltern was enjoying the last of the Countess' roses; all was quiet."Reminds me of Monte Carlo," he remarked."What were those shots?"He turned his head towards a tall pine, where smoke, blue in the air, still lingered."Only a German." He plucked a large red rose, heavy with dew, saluted and walked off, whistling.With shaking knees the old man staggered to the stretch of sward upon which Prince Mniszek killed Ian's father, years ago. Under the pine lay a huddled form. Somebody had thrown a blanket over it. He drew it aside and knelt before the body. The film of death had covered his eyes. His wounds were horrible. But it was Roman, dressed in the Prussian uniform, the one white patch of cloth stained with blood....Had he been caught? Did he, when he sent Joseph down, know that this was the only way to save him? Or did the thought of Vanda's happiness urge his sacrifice? The priest remembered his anxiety that Joseph should promise to fight against Prussia, his insistence for a solemn oath. Did he think that, since one of them must die, better he, rather than the man Vanda loved? Who shall look into his heart, one of the bravest and truest that ever beat? Father Constantine puzzled his brains many times, but found no answer. And he could not ask anybody to help, because he alone knew that Roman Skarbek, and no Prussian spy, lay under the pine tree in the rose garden.He never even found that subaltern, who must have gone off while he was weeping over Roman's remains. A couple of soldiers came up to take them away. He could not bear the thought of their burying him in a ditch, wanted him to lie amongst the trees and the other soldiers, where he had been the day before, laughing and joyous because he found Ruvno safe in the midst of the storm."Leave him to me. He was a Catholic," he pleaded. They looked at each other."We've orders to bury him.""Then take him over there," he pointed to the home forest."Too far," said one. "We're off this minute."As they dug a hasty grave for him he went for Holy Water, and gave him Christian burial. And much later, when he could control his face, he told the Countess that the German who had been shot in the Garden was a Catholic; so they put up one of the wooden Crosses such as you can see by the thousand in Poland to-day. And when there was nobody about he used to pray for his soul. And sometimes, in the very early morning, he would take the portable altar out there, and say a Mass for Roman Skarbek.And because the burden of his secret was worse than his heart could bear, he sat up all night when the household thought him asleep and set it down in his diary.VIIan, on waking that morning, found that all the Cossacks had left. He went in to breakfast, feeling a little hurt with his cousin, Roman. He might at least have shouted a farewell through the window."Has anybody seen Roman this morning?" he asked the rest of the family as they met for the morning meal."He came in last night for a moment, after supper," said the Countess. "But I was going to the wards and we did not talk. He said some officer had sent for him.""He was going to shoot a spy at daybreak," said Minnie. Vanda was silent. She had not seen him at all, had kept away from the supper-table, on purpose to avoid him.At that moment Father Constantine came in. His face was ashen gray and distorted with emotion."What's the matter?" they all asked."Nothing. That is..." He could not speak. Ian made him sit down and went to a sideboard for brandy, which he waved aside."Joseph Skarbek is here," he stammered."Roman, you mean?" suggested Ian.He shook his head and said with sudden vigor:"No--not Roman. He..." Then, with another effort, painful to see, he added: "Roman went away this morning."They thought he was going to faint. Ian loosened his neckband, the Countess dipped her napkin in water and dabbed his wrinkled face; Vanda made him drink something. Minnie stood near, watching and listening. He had enough people taking care of him; besides, it took all her time to follow what was said. They talked Polish; a habit of theirs whenever they got excited or related thrilling experiences, so that she had to concentrate all her energies upon listening to them. They were pained and puzzled over Father Constantine, speculating as to what had happened to upset him like this."He is overworked," was Vanda's verdict, "I'm sure he's not been to bed last night. Look how rumpled he is."He lay back in the chair, his eyes closed, his thin hands, puckered with age and none too clean, closing and unclosing on the chair arms."Worn out," said Ian, whilst his mother watched her faithful chaplain with deep concern. "I'll take him into my room. It's quiet there." He proceeded to do this; but the patient suddenly sat upright and said peremptorily:"Leave me alone!""But you must rest," explained the Countess, soothingly."Nonsense.... I was never better in my life." They exchanged glances; the poor old man was out of his mind; never, in all the years he had been at Ruvno, had he spoken to her like that. Before they had recovered from their astonishment he got up and walked across the room, tottering a little, but more sure of his step every minute. They watched him in silence and Ian, at least, stood spellbound. This little old man, with his creased alpaca soutane, muddy shoes and unshaven chin, dominated the room.He reached the door, which was a long way off, just as one of the servants came in with coffee."Give me that! And go away!" he ordered, taking the tray from its astounded bearer."Do as the Father says," said Ian, hurrying to take the heavy tray."Be off with you, quick!" repeated Father Constantine. The man obeyed, filled with curiosity. He locked the door, and turned to Vanda, whispering angrily:"I tell you, Joseph Skarbek is in the chapel.""Yes, yes," she agreed soothingly. Her tone only irritated him the more. He stamped his foot."Not yes, yes--but give me something to eat for him. He's starving.""But where is he?""In the chapel. Behind the altar of the Mother of God of Czestochova.""Hiding?" She was white as a sheet"Of course." He drew them in a circle, and went on, very low: "Listen. Yesterday, the Russians took him prisoner.""And he escaped?" asked Vanda."Rennenkampf said he must be shot....""What for?" she faltered."Mother of God, how should I know? Don't keep on interrupting." He looked apprehensively at the door, motioned to them to move further away from it and the windows, and went on: now, he spoke French, not for Minnie's benefit, but for secrecy."They were to shoot him this morning----"Minnie, still watchful, saw Ian put his arm round Vanda, who looked ready to faint; she felt a pang of resentment. How dare he, seeing Vanda was betrothed to Joseph! He said something encouraging to her, but Minnie could not make out what it was."Last night," continued the priest, "a soldier came for me to see a prisoner. He takes me up to the turret. Imagine my horror, Countess, when I saw it was Joseph.""Oh--but he's safe?" sobbed Vanda."Yes. He's safe.""But how?" asked Minnie."Whilst I was talking to him in the turret, in comes Roman.""Roman?" they echoed."Yes." He eyed Vanda. "Roman is the best man who ever lived. He--he helped Joseph escape." He stopped, brushed away some tears with the back of his hand, and sighed."But where is Roman now?" asked the Countess anxiously."With his Master.""With the General?" Ian asked.Father Constantine nodded, blew his nose with vigor, put his handkerchief away and went on more calmly:"Roman planned it all. He changed clothes with Joseph, who passed the door with me. We reached the chapel without seeing anybody but a young subaltern who ... who saluted him. I put him behind the altar in the chapel of the Mother of God of Czestochova. Roman said he must stop there till the General and all his soldiers leave Ruvno. Then, Joseph must volunteer for our side. That is what Roman said.""They've all left!" said Vanda, breaking from Ian and going over to the sideboard, where she hastily piled food upon a plate, smiling and crying in turns and taking no further interest in what the priest said. The others were more interested in Roman."But how did Roman get out of the turret?" Ian asked. "Where is he?""I told you. With the General.""You're sure?" insisted the Countess, anxiously."Quite. He picked the lock when the guards went to sleep." He turned to Ian. "You remember that lock, how weak it was?""But how did he get past the guards?" asked Ian, to whom Roman's non-arrival of the evening before was explained."I don't know. But he managed it. He is not a child." Father Constantine spoke peevishly."You've seen him since?" asked the Countess."Yes, Countess, I've seen him since.""After he was free?""As free as air." He leaned against the paneled wall and put his hand to his head. "I am very tired ... had no sleep ... and no food.... I am getting old.""You must come and rest now." Ian put his arm round the stooping shoulders. The old man made no further resistance. He was dead-beat."But you must help me give him this," said Vanda, holding up her plate of food. Her face was radiant. Joseph was safe, above all he would never fight with Prussia again."Let Father take a mouthful first," said her aunt reprovingly. "Can't you see his condition?"Vanda's heart smote her; she blushed and took some food to the priest, who, however, could eat but little. All he needed was rest."The shock," he explained, seeing their anxious faces. "Joseph Skarbek ... up there..."They would not let him go back to the chapel, but Ian and Vanda, with infinite precaution, took the food to Joseph. Meanwhile, Minnie went to see the turret chamber, which she knew only from the outside. The dark stairway was littered with rubbish left by the soldiers. The chamber door stood open, as if the guards had rushed out of it in vain pursuit of their prisoner. She went in.There were some dirty plates, and a straw pallet. Her eyes searched the door and the blood rushed to her face. The lock was intact! She examined it. Far from being old and weak, it was quite strong; indeed, it had been put on when Rennenkampf sent Joseph up to await his death. Roman had not escaped that way: she was certain of it, the old priest had hidden the truth. She turned to the window, which was only a slit in the wall, protected by a grating of iron bars. They, too, were firm and strong in the stone work. She looked out and saw a sheer drop of eighty feet, into the moat below. There was nothing Roman could have held, even supposing he had accomplished the impossible and squeezed himself between those bars.She thought it out rapidly. The others, including Ian, would be curious to see Joseph Skarbek's prison; he would probably come up here himself. As she failed to see how Roman had escaped, since there was no other exit, not even a chimney, she supposed that they, too, would be as puzzled. The priest, she felt sure, knew exactly what had happened; but he was not going to tell. Why should she betray his secret?She went down to Martin, the old butler, and borrowed some tools he kept in his pantry, then sneaked up again and took off the lock and bolt. The bolt was rusty enough and looked as old as the room itself; but it gave some trouble and she chipped her hands. No prisoner could have taken them off the door without waking the guards, because the bolt was on the outside. She only realized this when she had half finished, for her nerves were upset. Then she put the bolt on again and threw the lock on to the pallet.On her way back she saw the Countess, Vanda and Ian on the large staircase. They said they were off to see how Roman had escaped, and would she go, too. The tools were under her white nursing apron, and she was in no mood to discuss Joseph's adventure, so she muttered an excuse and went to her room.Why had she connived at keeping Father Constantine's secret? she asked herself. Did she want to spare all the family the pain of knowing that the door had been opened from the outside, or only Ian? What had Vanda to do with her impulsive action? During that morning, whilst working in the wards, she searched her heart and found the answer. She had been jealous of Vanda for some time past. She felt, without knowing why, that Ian's coldness to herself was connected in some way with Vanda's presence in the house. He had never been the same since that day when the Jew brought news of the Kalisz atrocities and she had refused to go home. Where was Vanda to blame? Ian apparently had no more to say to his cousin than to his visitor; and yet, she did blame the girl. The sooner she married her precious Joseph and went away, the better. Perhaps she would stop on at Ruvno, since Joseph, it appeared, was to fight; but she would be married, and that would make a difference.Thus she explained to herself the lock-picking of the morning; told herselfshewould have refused to have anything more to do with Joseph under the circumstances. First, he fights for Prussia: then he risks his brother's life, gives his brother's life, to save his own skin. And now as Vanda did not know that Roman had given his life in exchange, offered it for her happiness, she would marry Joseph. And that is what Minnie wanted her to do, with as little delay as possible.Ian, too, examined the door, and the lock that Roman, so he thought, had picked and put on the dirty pallet. His mother asked what he made of the business."Roman is worth a thousand Josephs," he answered hotly. "Think of the risk! If the soldiers had shot the bolt, he would have been lost.""But he saved Joseph so that he might fight for the right side," put in Vanda.Their eyes met. He had his own thoughts on the matter, and his face was stern. Instead of speaking, he went out of the room.He felt irritable. Though work waited him below he made for the old priest's room; he wanted to hear how Roman had persuaded his brother to accept the exchange. His contempt for Joseph grew at every step. How was he to know the trick would succeed? Yes: Joseph had left his brother in a trap, from which he escaped by the skin of his teeth, because the guards were too lazy to shoot the bolt. And Roman had done it for Vanda's sake. He believed love meant sacrifice and lived up to his belief. HowcouldVanda care for Joseph? Ian was disappointed in her, thought she had a juster sense of values. How blind love made women!Father Constantine was asleep, and he had no opportunity that day of talking about the adventure with him. And later on, even, Father Constantine was very reticent about the scene in the turret chamber. When questioned about it, he would shut his bright, bird-like eyes, fold his thin hands together and say, in a voice shaking with emotion:"It was the most terrible evening of my life. Let us not talk of it.""Roman will tell me," said Ian, loth to disturb the old chaplain any more. "He may be here any day."But it was some time before any Cossacks stopped at Ruvno, and when the first contingent rested there for a few hours, they told Ian they knew nothing of Roman's regiment, but thought it was fighting in Galicia.But Joseph's escape caused changes in the family, all the same.
V
Father Constantine had never much of an opinion about the Kaiser and his eldest son. A couple of years before the war he was obliged to take a cure for his old bones in a little town on the Baltic, where the humble folk are still Poles and Catholics. He looked upon the Crown Prince's face many times, for the Kaiser had banished him to the little town, where he swaggered in his blue and silver uniform, leering at the pretty women and sneering at the old ones. And he noted that those eyes were full of evil, though he little dreamed it was God's will to give his wicked passions play in Belgium and France. All the Prussians in that town used to cringe to him; but Father Constantine took no notice, so that at last a Prussian subaltern, in a gorgeous uniform like his master's stopped him in the street and said he would be punished if he continued to ignore the Crown Prince when he passed him. But the old man never did salute the Crown Prince, because he knew how he and his father persecuted little Polish children, having them flogged for not saying their prayers in German, and dragging them from the steps of the altar at their first communion, to prison. He told this to the gaudy officer, whose Teutonic blue eyes blazed with rage. He quite expected to be arrested or at least taken back to the Russian frontier by a couple of German policemen. But nothing happened: they left him alone. But Father Constantine thought they might meet again, for war brings people together in a curious way; and if the Crown Prince should come to Ruvno he was ready to tell him what he thought of his evil actions, even if he were hanged for it. Once in his life, at least, said Father Constantine, he should hear the truth about himself, for he was always surrounded by parasites and sycophants, who praised everything he did.
Father Constantine not only talked about these things but set them in his diary; his old head could not keep its thoughts on one thing, even on paper, and he found how hard it was to pick out the most important things he had seen in two months' war, having learned the habit of wandering on in his diary about all kinds of matters. But he felt lonely without it; and hoped, too, that one day he might be the humble means of telling the world what happened in a country house in Poland during the Great War. Besides, he argued, when some foreigner realizes what Poland bears, he, whether he were French, English or American, would understand that Poland, having endured so much, must be saved, because it is against the laws of God and man to tear a country into three parts and put each under foreign domination, making father fight against son, brother against brother.
Ever since Ian and he had left the Ruvno men at the Kutno dépôt, he had heard the ceaseless roar of heavy guns day and night. By night he saw them flash around when walking out by the windmill for a little fresh air after leaving the wards. He saw the come and go of large armies and small detachments, of baggage trains, artillery, field hospitals, of war accessories whose very names he ignored but which he declared Beelzebub alone could have conceived. The Countess had given rest, shelter and food to Cossacks of the Urals, who think horse flesh better than capon, and to wild Siberians, who look as shaggy as their little horses and who are infidels, but whom no hardships can dishearten. They slept outside, or in the farm stables. And a pretty mess they made. Poor Ian used strong words when he saw what the first batch had done; but he grew used to it. In the house they had fops of the Imperial Bodyguard, who threw away the soft life of Petrograd, a very wicked city, so the priest said, to sleep in ditches and eat tinned meat. And they were quite cheerful about it, for some came back wounded, and the old priest talked to them. It shocked him to rub shoulders with all these Russians at first. But they were friendly and would vow with strange oaths that Poland must regain her liberty after the war. Sometimes he wondered if he would be there to see that glorious day, or if Ruvno would be standing by then. Even now, poor Ian was half ruined, after only two months of war. His forests, once the pride of Ruvno, had either been cut down for military purposes or burned by shell fire. So far, those near the house were spared; but they were not of great value; it broke his heart to see the stumps and scorched trunks for versts around, and the priest's, too. He had watched some of these forests being planted, years before Ian was born or thought of. They had been tended with great care and grew into the best timber in that part of Poland. Even the Tsar's forests, which began near Ruvno's boundary, were no better. One morning, an old Jewish factor who used to do errands for the house when there was a town they could send to, came up--God knows how these Jews got about--and told them that the Prussians had cut down two hundred square versts of the Tsar's forest land north of Plock and sent the lumber down the Vistula into Prussia. Ian expected they would do the same with his property when they had the chance.
The autumn crops, especially potatoes, suffered terribly from the movements of so many troops, though Ian had to own that the Grand Duke saw that they were spared as much as possible. But even he could not be everywhere at once, nor think of an acre of sugar beet when he wanted to drive back the Prussians. Father Constantine dreaded the Cossacks. He saw them at work in 1863, though he had no record of it in his diary, because they burned down his home and all it contained in the spring of 1864. However, these were old doings, and many Russians who passed through Ruvno told him they regretted what happened then as deeply as he did. Ian managed to gather in a good deal of the Ruvno grain, but the peasants in most of the villages round had not enough potatoes to keep body and soul together during the winter.
One afternoon late in September, the priest was in the home-forest burying a Polish sapper who had died of wounds the night before. He had just planted the wooden Cross in the sapper's grave when he saw a big, dirty Cossack coming towards him. This man had a reddish beard, his shaggy cap and high boots smelt of earth, pitch and a rough life. He had seen many like him and knew the look of a man who has been fighting from that of one who is only going to fight. He could not define the difference, but it was there, stamped in their faces. Mud stuck to him, though it was not the mud which said this Cossack had come from the battle line. What with dirt and sunburn he was as black as the pieces of oak Ian had pulled from the river, where it lay for centuries, to make house wainscot of.
"Good-day, priest," he began. Father Constantine noted that he had the good manners to speak Polish.
"Good-day, my son." His merry eyes belied his savage-looking red beard. There was something familiar about him, too. "I've seen you before; but where?"
"Ah--where?" he guffawed, and sat on the grave, thereby smoothing the parts that lazy Vitold had left all knobbed. Father Constantine felt for his glasses, remembered that he had left them on the window-sill in the sacristy, and peered at the new-comer helplessly. If any man had told him three months earlier, that he would be quietly watching a Cossack seated on a Catholic's grave and splitting his sides, Father Constantine would have called that man a liar. But war, as he admitted, changes even an old man's point of view, especially if he happen to be in the thick of it.
"If you have something to laugh at, tell it me," he said, tired of seeing the stranger enjoy a joke he knew nothing of.
"Laugh!" he cried. "Why, I could laugh for a week, just to see Ruvno again. And you not knowing me, after all the wallopings you've given me, too."
This made Father Constantine think. He did thrash a Cossack once, but it was in 1863, and this man was young.
"Not in 1863?" he asked doubtfully.
"No--more like '93," and the Cossack laughed again.
"I've only walloped village boys lately. And we'd no Cossacks in these parts before the war."
"How about Ian?" he asked.
"Count Ian, you mean," said the Father with dignity. He hated these democratic ways the Russian soldiers had of saying "thee" and "thou" to everybody.
"And Roman Skarbek," he went on, unabashed.
"Skarbek?"
"Don't you remember how you walloped us when we ate up all the cherries Aunt Natalie's housekeeper had thrown out of the vodka bottle? Lord, how drunk we were!" and he grinned, being tired of laughing, I suppose.
Then the priest remembered the story and recognized him. It was Roman Skarbek himself, the young man who won a fortune at Monte Carlo but could not win Vanda.
"What do you mean, coming here dressed like a savage?" he asked angrily, for it annoyed him that the trick had succeeded, all through his having left his glasses in the sacristy. "Don't you know what's due to a Pole and a Christian?"
"Aren't Cossacks Christians?" retorted Roman in that pleasant way which always made the Father forgive his boyish deviltries sooner that he ought. "Come, Father, be just."
"Well," he admitted, "some of them are. But why be a Cossack when you can help it?"
"Can't help it. Being a volunteer, they made me a Cossack."
"Before this war I detested the very sight of their tall caps and with good reason," said the Father. "But such is the power of Prussian brutality that Poles now fight side by side with wild children of the steppes to drive the soldier of the anti-Christ out of our country. Where have you been?"
"In Masuria," and Roman told him some of his experiences, adding that he had come to Ruvno with Rennenkampf, for a few hours.
"Well, I'm glad you've killed a few Germans. But you had better cut off that red beard before you go to the Countess."
As he got on his feet the priest was glad to see he had finished Vitold's work with the sods. He liked the graves to look neat.
"Aunt won't mind the beard. Let's go to her."
He whistled to his horse, which was browsing near by, and walked towards the house. He asked about Vanda, whether she was anxious for Joseph, how she looked, what she was doing. The priest answered truthfully, though it made him sorry to see the shadow come into Roman's face when he realized that she thought still of Joseph with great love.
"And yet, she hates the Prussians, and he is fighting with them, I suppose," he remarked, hotly.
The Father, almost as hotly, explained that, as he knew, several thousands more Poles were with the Prussian armies, through no fault of their own but because they had the bad fortune to be German and Austrian subjects. Roman agreed that many could not cut away from Germany, but Joseph had gone back when ordered.
"Like one of the herd all Germans are," he added.
As they passed the windmill, that stood just before you turn into the high road on the way to Ruvno from the forest, Szmul, a Jewish factor, stopped them. His cunning eyes shone with excitement.
"Oh, have you heard that great things are happening in Ruvno?" he cried, spreading out his hands in the way Jews have and twisting his mouth about.
"What things?" asked the priest. "Have they driven the Prussians out of Kalisz?"
"No, the Prussians are still at Kalisz. But the great General Rennenkampf has deigned to come to Ruvno."
"We know that."
He looked disappointed, because he took pride in carrying gossip from one village to another. And the Jews always knew the latest news and spread it like wildfire.
"Anything more?" asked Roman.
Szmul made him a deep reverence. You would have thought this dirty-looking man in Cossack uniform was the Grand Duke at least; but that was Szmul's way.
"Oh--yes, General," Szmul knew he was only a lieutenant. "And I'm sure neither of you know it." He threw his arms about, so Father Constantine told him they were in a hurry.
"Well, look over there." He pointed westwards, where the blackened stumps of a forest bordered one of Ian's fish-ponds.
"Well, there's nothing new there. Be quick and tell your news if you have any, for we're off to the house."
"Out there, by the fish-pond, they've caught a spy," he said importantly. "He refuses to say who he is. He was caught cutting wires, and burning the toes of Jewish children."
"He may have been cutting wires but he wasn't burning Jewish children's toes," said Father Constantine sternly. "The Prussians have sins enough on their heads without you inventing more. You know as well as I do that there are no children, Jew or Catholic, within two versts of those fish-ponds."
"But," he protested, "they have caught a spy, and if he wasn't roasting the toes of Jewish children it's only because he hadn't the chance. I saw him being taken into the big house, and they say His Excellency General Rennenkampf is going to shoot him with his own hands to-morrow morning. He'd be shot now, only they hope to find out more about the enemy if they keep him a bit."
"Rennenkampf won't shoot him, but I hope to," said Roman as they passed on.
He and the priest parted outside the gates, one to vespers, the other to seek the Countess and Ian. Father Constantine excused himself from the Countess' table that evening; he preferred to eat in his room when Great Russians were in the house. Besides, he had much to do and knew the General liked to sit over his meals. On his way to the Countess' boudoir, which was used as an office in connection with the little hospital, he met Roman again.
"That Jew was right, Father," he threw over his shoulder. "The spy is here, and my men are to have the shooting of him to-morrow at daybreak."
Father Constantine had a busy hour with Ian's agent, a surgeon and some refugees who came in from a village ten versts off. All these people now walked in and out of the Countess' boudoir, once a sacred spot, as if it were a mill. He and the agent had disposed of the last fugitive and he was going up to the wards when a Russian corporal blundered in.
"What do you want in here?" he asked sharply. It annoyed him to see these louts use his patroness' room as a passage.
He said something in Russian; Father Constantine had made a point, all his life, not to speak that language, but he understood that an officer upstairs had asked for a priest.
"Tell him I'll see him to-morrow."
The man saluted, grinned and said:
"He will be dead to-morrow."
Then the priest remembered the spy they had caught: it was he. The wards would have to wait. He sent a message up to Vanda and told the soldier to take him to the condemned man.
They made their way through the broad passages and landings which were blocked with wounded waiting for treatment, and up a winding stair which led to the turret. It was silent as the tomb till they disturbed an owl and some rats, and almost as dark. Father Constantine had not been up there since Ian was a boy and kept pets which could not stop outside in the winter. He remembered one winter when Roman and Joseph kept a young dog fox up there in the hopes of taming it. But it was never even friendly and when the first signs of spring came through the chinks of its prison, it gnawed the staple from its chain and made off into the fields. He felt glad that this Prussian prisoner would not get away so easily.
Two sentries stood at the top. They unlocked the door at a sign from the corporal and let him into the turret chamber.
It was small and dirty. A straw mattress lay upon the unswept floor; and some broken food. An old packing-case served as table. A candle, thrust into the neck of an empty champagne bottle, gave a feeble light and aft air of sordid debauchery, out of keeping with the place and circumstances. The prisoner sat on one end of the packing-case, his back to the door. He was writing the last letter of his life, and so intent that he took no notice of their entrance.
The priest dismissed his guide with a nod. He saluted, went out, and shut the door noisily after him: and still the man did not turn round. This was all very well, but Father Constantine was wanted below, in the wards, where others were under sentence of death, though not at the hands of Rennenkampf.
"You asked for a priest," he began in his mother tongue, though he knew German, too.
The prisoner rose and faced him. As the old man looked upon him his heart stood still in fear and his knees shook.
"Mother of God! Joseph Skarbek!" he gasped.
And he must die as a spy!
And his own brother was to shoot him!
These thoughts rushed across his brain. They stood looking at each other, both speechless. Joseph Skarbek, whom he had taught and scolded and loved with Ian and Roman, who was to marry Vanda, had come to Ruvno, not to claim his bride, but to spy. When he found tongue it was for reproach.
"How dare you come here like this?" he cried angrily, because great fear always made him furious, and he was aghast at the tragedy which had thus fallen upon his dear ones. His next thought was that none of them, neither Roman, the Countess, Ian nor Vanda must know this hideous secret, up in the turret chamber. He must find Rennenkampf, tell him the tale, plead with him that this prisoner be shot, if die he must, by another man's orders, and not Roman's. There was no time to be lost.
"Wait," he said. "I'll be back soon."
Joseph grasped his arm as he made for the door, and he saw how haggard his face was and how wild his eyes. Calm, self-contained Joseph had vanished; he was the incarnation of tragedy.
"For the love of God don't tell them," he muttered huskily.
"I'm not mad."
"Then where are you going?"
"To the chapel--for the Sacred Vessels."
He hastily prayed God to forgive him for using His Vessels to hide the truth; but could not tell the boy the real reason for his sudden departure. Outside, he had to explain to the sentries, who said they supposed it would be all right, only he must bring a permit if he wanted to go into the room again.
It took him some time to find an officer, who said that Rennenkampf had left Ruvno half an hour ago.
"But somebody must be in charge," he said, for the place swarmed with troops.
"I am," he snapped. He was a hard-faced, battered-looking man, hated the Poles and believed every Catholic priest a Jesuit, bent on his neighbor's destruction for the benefit of his Order. Father Constantine stated his case, after he had promised to respect the confidence. He yawned through most of the story; but when he heard that Roman Skarbek had been ordered to shoot his own brother, his narrow eyes flashed with rage.
"A Pole has no business to fight against us!" he cried.
"Colonel, there are several million Poles in Germany and Austria not through any fault of..."
He stamped his feet.
"Don't argue, priest! I won't have it. This Polish Count could have blown his brains out when they told him to fight us--and spy on us. I'll make an example of him. Eh, God, I will!"
"You gave me your word of honor to respect my secret," said the other, looking into the depths of his narrow eyes till he had to drop them. He thought for a moment.
"True," he growled. "I did give you my honorable word. But I will not cancel General Rennenkampf's order. This young volunteer will take his men out to shoot his traitor brother. It will be a lesson to him, and to all Poles."
And all eloquence was without avail, though Father Constantine pleaded earnestly with him. But war had turned this already hard man into adamant.
"No and no, and yet once more no!" he said with a calm that was worse than his rage. He even grumbled at a request for a pass to show the two guards; but gave it at last.
As the priest left he met the Countess and she kept him some time. Then he had to go to the chapel. As he felt his way up the turret stairs, determined to stop with Joseph till the end, he heard steps behind. Somebody was coming up with an electric torch; he waited, rather than bruise his shins in the dark.
"Who's there?" His heart sank; it was Roman's voice.
"Go back!" he ordered. "I forbid you to come up here."
But he came up, put his arm around the old man and helped him up the stairs. "I know all," he said.
"All about what?"--this hoping against hope that Roman meant something else.
"About Joe, up in there."
"That narrow-eyed Muscovite told you. I suppose he scrupled not to break word to a priest."
The only thing left was to try and comfort these poor brothers. Whilst in the chapel, he had nursed hopes of saving Roman from the agony of seeing Joseph die. Now, all was lost; his brain was in a whirl and he felt, for the hundredth time since August, that old age is a terrible thing when you want to help the young and strong.
Roman went into the turret chamber first. He did not rush to his brother and weep; what he said was:
"You're writing to Her."
Joseph looked up at the familiar voice.
"Roman!" was all he said; but his haggard face flushed from ear to ear.
"Yes." He touched his Cossack's clothes. "I am on the other side." And it seemed to the priest that this impulsive and turbulent young man had put Poland's greatest sorrow into those few simple words--brother fighting against brother, flesh against flesh, not of free will, but because a wicked old cynic called Frederick and an ambitious German wanton who usurped the Russian throne divided Poland between them more than a century ago.
"On the other side," repeated Joseph bitterly. He, too, was suffering.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked, showing them a square of dirty white doth sewn on to the front of his tunic.
"No."
"The Prussian way of branding Polish conscripts. Easier to shoot us if we try to desert."
"Such is the way of Prussians," said Father Constantine. They stood there looking at one another as though they were three strangers at a loss for something to say. Father Constantine put the Sacred Vessels on the floor and waited. Joseph, he reflected, had all night in which to make his peace with God, Who understands these tribulations, and why they are laid upon us. As for himself, he felt very old and of small account by the side of these stalwart boys, each worth ten of a worn-out priest too infirm to fight, and fit only to watch the young and the stalwart die before their time. Joseph spoke first; his thoughts still ran upon Vanda.
"You'll be able to marry her now," he remarked hoarsely. "Make her happy."
"I'll do my best," said Roman.
At the time Father Constantine knew not what he meant, for years dull the mind as well as the eye. He looked so peaceful despite the overhanging sorrow, that he began to wonder if the boy thought the prize of winning Vanda was worth all this.
Joseph took up his sheet of paper and tried to dry the ink at the candle flame. The priest noticed there was a fresh wound on his wrist.
"Let me see your hand," he said.
"It doesn't matter--now." He smiled nervously. Then: "Dotheyknow I'm here?"
"No," answered Roman. "They must never know."
"Never." Another pause: the candle scorched his raw wound, and he muttered something.
"How did you know?" he asked Roman.
"Never mind how." He went near his brother, much reproach in his voice. "Oh, why did you do it, Joe? What in the world induced you to put on this?" He tugged angrily at the Prussian uniform.
"Because there, in Germany, we were a herd ... and I little thought what this war was going to be." Then he turned to the priest, lowering his voice. "And I know, too, in the bottom of my heart, that I went with the herd because it seemed better to die fighting than to be shot for not going on. Oh, the misery of it all!"
"My child, God is merciful."
"I have explained what I could, as clearly as I can, here," he went on, more quietly. "To Vanda."
"But explain it now, to me," his brother insisted.
Joseph sighed. "It is too long and too late. See that she gets this without knowing I have been here." He swallowed a lump in his throat and went on: "I did what I thought best." He looked round the little room, and his voice broke. "To spend my last night here, a prisoner, in Ian's house, so near her and yet so..." His voice refused to come.
Roman was pacing the floor in that impatient way he had. Suddenly he stopped, and said with decision:
"There's not a moment to lose!"
"I have the night before me," remarked Joseph, looking first at the Sacred Vessels, then at the priest "We must wait till midnight, in any case."
"I don't mean that," said Roman. "You must escape." He had lowered his voice: they talked in whispers now. Joseph's eyes were alight with sudden hope.
"Yes, but how?" asked Father Constantine.
"We change clothes," answered Roman, and he began to undress. "You and the Father leave the room together, Joe dressed in my things. In the dark the men won't know it isn't me. Go down to the chapel together." He handed his high Russian boots to Joseph, who was taking off his own, somewhat reluctantly.
"Well, but how about you?" he objected.
"Never mind me. Father Constantine will hide you in the chapel."
"I know of a place where nobody will think to look for him," said the priest.
"But what are you going to do?" asked Joseph, still at his first boot.
"Wait till the men outside have fallen asleep. Then I take off that Prussian uniform you've got on and sneak past them. I know every corner of this place, which they don't."
Joseph was not satisfied. "You'll be locked in," he objected. Roman pulled out some nippers.
"I've got these. The lock is old. So hurry up, or we'll have the men in, wondering why Father Constantine is still here. I wouldn't plan this if it wasn't safe."
Joseph obeyed.
"How long am I to keep him in the chapel?" asked the priest.
"Till the rest of the Russians leave. We're off at dawn to-morrow. Ian can keep him quiet in one of the cellars for a day or two till the spy affair blows over, then you must go and fight for us. Promise?"
"I promise," answered Joseph. Roman did not seem satisfied.
"Swear it," he insisted, holding up his fingers.
Joseph swore; then they embraced, in the Polish way.
"That's right," said Roman, smiling and happy again. "I thought we'd find some way out of this muddle." He glanced at Father Constantine. It took some time to persuade Joseph that Roman would get out all right. Indeed, the priest, too, had fears about it; guards, he said, sleep with their eyes open. But Roman was so enthusiastic and hopeful, so thoroughly master of the situation that he inspired the others with his optimism. Besides, the priest knew he was thinking of to-morrow morning; and the power of the secret they shared overcame his objections.
They changed clothes at last, Joseph putting the Cossack's cap well over his eyes. Then they embraced again. Joseph began to talk of gratitude; but Roman cut him short.
"I'll see you soon, I hope. Meanwhile, marry Vanda and fight for us."
"I will. Oh, Roman, you're heaping coals of fire on my head."
"Fiddlesticks! Now, be off, and show a brazen face."
Roman had put on the Prussian clothes far quicker than Joseph had taken them off, and before the others left, threw himself on the straw mattress, his back to the door. The brothers were much the same height and build, and Roman had shaved his red beard before sitting down to supper with the Countess and Rennenkampf that night. His face was darker than Joseph's, though he had washed; but the light was so bad and the guards so indifferent and unsuspecting that Father Constantine felt almost easy in his mind when a sentry looked in as he let them out.
"He's got his passport," he remarked, nodding towards the mattress. "German swine."
He saluted Joseph, who strode downstairs, clanking his spurs and carrying himself as straight as you please. In one of the corridors they passed a cornet, who called out to him; but he strode on, muttering something between his teeth. Father Constantine noticed that the subaltern was going up to the turret. After his visit the sentries would probably doze. Roman knew what he was doing, anyway.
It was nearly three when, at last, the priest threw himself into a chair in the sacristy. He could not leave the chapel precincts while Joseph lay hiding there. Not that he hoped to be any good, supposing that the Russians took it into their heads to look there for their quarry; but he felt he would be in a fever of apprehension if he went to his rooms. With some trouble and many precautions he had managed to hide Joseph under the altar of a side chapel, dedicated to the Mother of God of Czenstochova. The altar was there temporarily, the Countess having ordered a marble one last time she was in Rome; the war had stopped its arrival, and only the other day she had said how sorry she was not to get it sooner. And now, it looked as if the wooden altar was to save Joseph's life. Its back was hollow, and there he hid.
The priest could not sleep, tired though he felt. His mind was full of trouble. Suddenly, he remembered that the narrow-eyed Muscovite knew the story of Joseph's arrest and would suspect him when he heard of the escape, would search the chapel. But then he comforted himself with the thought that evenhewould not order his men to pull out an altar. He was not a Prussian. After that, he began to worry about Roman. How could he get past those guards? The more he thought about it the clearer it seemed that he had run his head into certain danger. Not only would he be caught, but all his dear ones would be dragged into the trouble; that Muscovite would punish every inmate of Ruvno in his rage. Such were his thoughts as night gradually left the sacristy.
At last he fell into a troubled doze. He was awakened by the sound of musket shots coming through the open window. With vague fears he hurried into the garden. A young subaltern was enjoying the last of the Countess' roses; all was quiet.
"Reminds me of Monte Carlo," he remarked.
"What were those shots?"
He turned his head towards a tall pine, where smoke, blue in the air, still lingered.
"Only a German." He plucked a large red rose, heavy with dew, saluted and walked off, whistling.
With shaking knees the old man staggered to the stretch of sward upon which Prince Mniszek killed Ian's father, years ago. Under the pine lay a huddled form. Somebody had thrown a blanket over it. He drew it aside and knelt before the body. The film of death had covered his eyes. His wounds were horrible. But it was Roman, dressed in the Prussian uniform, the one white patch of cloth stained with blood....
Had he been caught? Did he, when he sent Joseph down, know that this was the only way to save him? Or did the thought of Vanda's happiness urge his sacrifice? The priest remembered his anxiety that Joseph should promise to fight against Prussia, his insistence for a solemn oath. Did he think that, since one of them must die, better he, rather than the man Vanda loved? Who shall look into his heart, one of the bravest and truest that ever beat? Father Constantine puzzled his brains many times, but found no answer. And he could not ask anybody to help, because he alone knew that Roman Skarbek, and no Prussian spy, lay under the pine tree in the rose garden.
He never even found that subaltern, who must have gone off while he was weeping over Roman's remains. A couple of soldiers came up to take them away. He could not bear the thought of their burying him in a ditch, wanted him to lie amongst the trees and the other soldiers, where he had been the day before, laughing and joyous because he found Ruvno safe in the midst of the storm.
"Leave him to me. He was a Catholic," he pleaded. They looked at each other.
"We've orders to bury him."
"Then take him over there," he pointed to the home forest.
"Too far," said one. "We're off this minute."
As they dug a hasty grave for him he went for Holy Water, and gave him Christian burial. And much later, when he could control his face, he told the Countess that the German who had been shot in the Garden was a Catholic; so they put up one of the wooden Crosses such as you can see by the thousand in Poland to-day. And when there was nobody about he used to pray for his soul. And sometimes, in the very early morning, he would take the portable altar out there, and say a Mass for Roman Skarbek.
And because the burden of his secret was worse than his heart could bear, he sat up all night when the household thought him asleep and set it down in his diary.
VI
Ian, on waking that morning, found that all the Cossacks had left. He went in to breakfast, feeling a little hurt with his cousin, Roman. He might at least have shouted a farewell through the window.
"Has anybody seen Roman this morning?" he asked the rest of the family as they met for the morning meal.
"He came in last night for a moment, after supper," said the Countess. "But I was going to the wards and we did not talk. He said some officer had sent for him."
"He was going to shoot a spy at daybreak," said Minnie. Vanda was silent. She had not seen him at all, had kept away from the supper-table, on purpose to avoid him.
At that moment Father Constantine came in. His face was ashen gray and distorted with emotion.
"What's the matter?" they all asked.
"Nothing. That is..." He could not speak. Ian made him sit down and went to a sideboard for brandy, which he waved aside.
"Joseph Skarbek is here," he stammered.
"Roman, you mean?" suggested Ian.
He shook his head and said with sudden vigor:
"No--not Roman. He..." Then, with another effort, painful to see, he added: "Roman went away this morning."
They thought he was going to faint. Ian loosened his neckband, the Countess dipped her napkin in water and dabbed his wrinkled face; Vanda made him drink something. Minnie stood near, watching and listening. He had enough people taking care of him; besides, it took all her time to follow what was said. They talked Polish; a habit of theirs whenever they got excited or related thrilling experiences, so that she had to concentrate all her energies upon listening to them. They were pained and puzzled over Father Constantine, speculating as to what had happened to upset him like this.
"He is overworked," was Vanda's verdict, "I'm sure he's not been to bed last night. Look how rumpled he is."
He lay back in the chair, his eyes closed, his thin hands, puckered with age and none too clean, closing and unclosing on the chair arms.
"Worn out," said Ian, whilst his mother watched her faithful chaplain with deep concern. "I'll take him into my room. It's quiet there." He proceeded to do this; but the patient suddenly sat upright and said peremptorily:
"Leave me alone!"
"But you must rest," explained the Countess, soothingly.
"Nonsense.... I was never better in my life." They exchanged glances; the poor old man was out of his mind; never, in all the years he had been at Ruvno, had he spoken to her like that. Before they had recovered from their astonishment he got up and walked across the room, tottering a little, but more sure of his step every minute. They watched him in silence and Ian, at least, stood spellbound. This little old man, with his creased alpaca soutane, muddy shoes and unshaven chin, dominated the room.
He reached the door, which was a long way off, just as one of the servants came in with coffee.
"Give me that! And go away!" he ordered, taking the tray from its astounded bearer.
"Do as the Father says," said Ian, hurrying to take the heavy tray.
"Be off with you, quick!" repeated Father Constantine. The man obeyed, filled with curiosity. He locked the door, and turned to Vanda, whispering angrily:
"I tell you, Joseph Skarbek is in the chapel."
"Yes, yes," she agreed soothingly. Her tone only irritated him the more. He stamped his foot.
"Not yes, yes--but give me something to eat for him. He's starving."
"But where is he?"
"In the chapel. Behind the altar of the Mother of God of Czestochova."
"Hiding?" She was white as a sheet
"Of course." He drew them in a circle, and went on, very low: "Listen. Yesterday, the Russians took him prisoner."
"And he escaped?" asked Vanda.
"Rennenkampf said he must be shot...."
"What for?" she faltered.
"Mother of God, how should I know? Don't keep on interrupting." He looked apprehensively at the door, motioned to them to move further away from it and the windows, and went on: now, he spoke French, not for Minnie's benefit, but for secrecy.
"They were to shoot him this morning----"
Minnie, still watchful, saw Ian put his arm round Vanda, who looked ready to faint; she felt a pang of resentment. How dare he, seeing Vanda was betrothed to Joseph! He said something encouraging to her, but Minnie could not make out what it was.
"Last night," continued the priest, "a soldier came for me to see a prisoner. He takes me up to the turret. Imagine my horror, Countess, when I saw it was Joseph."
"Oh--but he's safe?" sobbed Vanda.
"Yes. He's safe."
"But how?" asked Minnie.
"Whilst I was talking to him in the turret, in comes Roman."
"Roman?" they echoed.
"Yes." He eyed Vanda. "Roman is the best man who ever lived. He--he helped Joseph escape." He stopped, brushed away some tears with the back of his hand, and sighed.
"But where is Roman now?" asked the Countess anxiously.
"With his Master."
"With the General?" Ian asked.
Father Constantine nodded, blew his nose with vigor, put his handkerchief away and went on more calmly:
"Roman planned it all. He changed clothes with Joseph, who passed the door with me. We reached the chapel without seeing anybody but a young subaltern who ... who saluted him. I put him behind the altar in the chapel of the Mother of God of Czestochova. Roman said he must stop there till the General and all his soldiers leave Ruvno. Then, Joseph must volunteer for our side. That is what Roman said."
"They've all left!" said Vanda, breaking from Ian and going over to the sideboard, where she hastily piled food upon a plate, smiling and crying in turns and taking no further interest in what the priest said. The others were more interested in Roman.
"But how did Roman get out of the turret?" Ian asked. "Where is he?"
"I told you. With the General."
"You're sure?" insisted the Countess, anxiously.
"Quite. He picked the lock when the guards went to sleep." He turned to Ian. "You remember that lock, how weak it was?"
"But how did he get past the guards?" asked Ian, to whom Roman's non-arrival of the evening before was explained.
"I don't know. But he managed it. He is not a child." Father Constantine spoke peevishly.
"You've seen him since?" asked the Countess.
"Yes, Countess, I've seen him since."
"After he was free?"
"As free as air." He leaned against the paneled wall and put his hand to his head. "I am very tired ... had no sleep ... and no food.... I am getting old."
"You must come and rest now." Ian put his arm round the stooping shoulders. The old man made no further resistance. He was dead-beat.
"But you must help me give him this," said Vanda, holding up her plate of food. Her face was radiant. Joseph was safe, above all he would never fight with Prussia again.
"Let Father take a mouthful first," said her aunt reprovingly. "Can't you see his condition?"
Vanda's heart smote her; she blushed and took some food to the priest, who, however, could eat but little. All he needed was rest.
"The shock," he explained, seeing their anxious faces. "Joseph Skarbek ... up there..."
They would not let him go back to the chapel, but Ian and Vanda, with infinite precaution, took the food to Joseph. Meanwhile, Minnie went to see the turret chamber, which she knew only from the outside. The dark stairway was littered with rubbish left by the soldiers. The chamber door stood open, as if the guards had rushed out of it in vain pursuit of their prisoner. She went in.
There were some dirty plates, and a straw pallet. Her eyes searched the door and the blood rushed to her face. The lock was intact! She examined it. Far from being old and weak, it was quite strong; indeed, it had been put on when Rennenkampf sent Joseph up to await his death. Roman had not escaped that way: she was certain of it, the old priest had hidden the truth. She turned to the window, which was only a slit in the wall, protected by a grating of iron bars. They, too, were firm and strong in the stone work. She looked out and saw a sheer drop of eighty feet, into the moat below. There was nothing Roman could have held, even supposing he had accomplished the impossible and squeezed himself between those bars.
She thought it out rapidly. The others, including Ian, would be curious to see Joseph Skarbek's prison; he would probably come up here himself. As she failed to see how Roman had escaped, since there was no other exit, not even a chimney, she supposed that they, too, would be as puzzled. The priest, she felt sure, knew exactly what had happened; but he was not going to tell. Why should she betray his secret?
She went down to Martin, the old butler, and borrowed some tools he kept in his pantry, then sneaked up again and took off the lock and bolt. The bolt was rusty enough and looked as old as the room itself; but it gave some trouble and she chipped her hands. No prisoner could have taken them off the door without waking the guards, because the bolt was on the outside. She only realized this when she had half finished, for her nerves were upset. Then she put the bolt on again and threw the lock on to the pallet.
On her way back she saw the Countess, Vanda and Ian on the large staircase. They said they were off to see how Roman had escaped, and would she go, too. The tools were under her white nursing apron, and she was in no mood to discuss Joseph's adventure, so she muttered an excuse and went to her room.
Why had she connived at keeping Father Constantine's secret? she asked herself. Did she want to spare all the family the pain of knowing that the door had been opened from the outside, or only Ian? What had Vanda to do with her impulsive action? During that morning, whilst working in the wards, she searched her heart and found the answer. She had been jealous of Vanda for some time past. She felt, without knowing why, that Ian's coldness to herself was connected in some way with Vanda's presence in the house. He had never been the same since that day when the Jew brought news of the Kalisz atrocities and she had refused to go home. Where was Vanda to blame? Ian apparently had no more to say to his cousin than to his visitor; and yet, she did blame the girl. The sooner she married her precious Joseph and went away, the better. Perhaps she would stop on at Ruvno, since Joseph, it appeared, was to fight; but she would be married, and that would make a difference.
Thus she explained to herself the lock-picking of the morning; told herselfshewould have refused to have anything more to do with Joseph under the circumstances. First, he fights for Prussia: then he risks his brother's life, gives his brother's life, to save his own skin. And now as Vanda did not know that Roman had given his life in exchange, offered it for her happiness, she would marry Joseph. And that is what Minnie wanted her to do, with as little delay as possible.
Ian, too, examined the door, and the lock that Roman, so he thought, had picked and put on the dirty pallet. His mother asked what he made of the business.
"Roman is worth a thousand Josephs," he answered hotly. "Think of the risk! If the soldiers had shot the bolt, he would have been lost."
"But he saved Joseph so that he might fight for the right side," put in Vanda.
Their eyes met. He had his own thoughts on the matter, and his face was stern. Instead of speaking, he went out of the room.
He felt irritable. Though work waited him below he made for the old priest's room; he wanted to hear how Roman had persuaded his brother to accept the exchange. His contempt for Joseph grew at every step. How was he to know the trick would succeed? Yes: Joseph had left his brother in a trap, from which he escaped by the skin of his teeth, because the guards were too lazy to shoot the bolt. And Roman had done it for Vanda's sake. He believed love meant sacrifice and lived up to his belief. HowcouldVanda care for Joseph? Ian was disappointed in her, thought she had a juster sense of values. How blind love made women!
Father Constantine was asleep, and he had no opportunity that day of talking about the adventure with him. And later on, even, Father Constantine was very reticent about the scene in the turret chamber. When questioned about it, he would shut his bright, bird-like eyes, fold his thin hands together and say, in a voice shaking with emotion:
"It was the most terrible evening of my life. Let us not talk of it."
"Roman will tell me," said Ian, loth to disturb the old chaplain any more. "He may be here any day."
But it was some time before any Cossacks stopped at Ruvno, and when the first contingent rested there for a few hours, they told Ian they knew nothing of Roman's regiment, but thought it was fighting in Galicia.
But Joseph's escape caused changes in the family, all the same.