From this time things began to go somewhat contrariwise. There came excitements and perils and failures, together with some successes and certain moments of great joy; but the smoothness which had been my portion in life during late years became changed, and I travelled over rough and stony roads.

There was uproar in the Kurbatof mansion when it was discovered that Vera the fair had fled without farewell. Old Kurbatof, that proud and angry old Boyar, was furious with rage.

‘The minx has wrecked her own fortune,’ he cried; ‘she who might have been the first woman in the land! I tell you the Tsar is sick with love for the wench—dear saints in Heaven! and she must needs object to this in him and to that, and disappear rather than share the throne with him. Oh, the fool; the blind, senseless minx! As if the husband mattered when a crown and sceptre go with him!’

‘Maybe she is in love with some young coxcomb, Boyar!’ ventured a servant; but the Boyar fell upon him and struck him with his dubina so that the fellow lay for a week and groaned.

‘Let her be a hundred times in love, what matters?’ he roared. Then he assembled the household and gave out that if any man dared whisper outside the house that the Barishnya Vera had disappeared he should be punished with fifty blows of the knout and sent to the estate to work in the fields. ‘Let her be found before the bride-choosing,’ he said, ‘and there shall be one hundred roubles for the finder. Till she is found not a word—remember, one and all, or I swear the devil shall be a gentler master than I!’

Notwithstanding which threats, however, the secret did leak out—as shall presently be seen—though Vera’s departure was fortunately not known at the palace, where all were busy with the rest of the maidens, of whom the whole number were by this time assembled.

As for me, I went boldly here and there as before, and there was no suspicion that I knew anything about Vera and her disappearance. Whether Mazeppa suspected or not I could not with certainty discover, for if so he did not show it. Indeed, Mazeppa would be the very last person to go to for any indication of Mazeppa’s own feelings on this or any matter, supposing that he desired to preserve his sentiments to himself.

But two days after Vera’s admission into sanctuary I, guessing that she would be anxious to know how matters went with regard to her disappearance, determined to visit the DiÉvitchy monastery, in order to assure her that all was so far well.

Now I was not easy in my mind with regard to Mazeppa and his suspicion of me. Knowing him as I did, it was impossible to think that he would not be suspicious: it was an equal wager that his spies were on the watch in order to acquaint him with my doings, where I went and whom I saw, and so forth.

Therefore I resolved to go most circumspectly, to walk half round the city before bending my steps towards the monastery, and to keep my eyes wide open the while on all four sides of me.

And thus I became aware, before I had gone far, that there followed in my steps a man unknown to me. Wheresoever I went, there was he. As I turned out of a street and glanced behind me, there he was entering it at the further end; or if I stopped in the midst of a pereoolok (lane) and looked back, perhaps he was tying his shoe-lace, or he had turned almost as quickly as I, as though he desired me to think that he walked in the opposite direction.

‘Oho, my man,’ thought I, ‘it is well, and very well. We will go into a quiet place I know of, you and I, and there we shall enjoy a little private conversation!’

Having now made sure that my man was certainly dogging me, I looked round no more lest I should alarm him; but taking a short way to an outskirt of the city I brought him in safety to a lonely spot, where I turned a corner and waited until he should come round and fall into my arms.

This he did very quickly, and no sooner did his face appear than I sprang upon him and had him pinned in an instant by the throat against the wall.

‘Now, my friend,’ said I, fiercely enough, ‘before I choke your life out at the mouth, who set you to dog me?’

‘Let go of me and I will tell you,’ he said, ‘if you will spare my life afterwards.’

I let him go. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘who?’

He gazed up the street and down it, as though in search of help; but he found none.

‘Quickly,’ I said. ‘Before I count three; one—two——’

‘Mazeppa the Cossack,’ he muttered. ‘But for the sake of all good saints let him not know that I told thee.’

‘Thanks, friend,’ I said. ‘Be sure I shall not. You were to watch where I went: is that it?’

‘Where you went and whom you spoke to and all you did.’

‘Did you follow me yesterday, then?’

‘All day long; it was yesterday early at morn that I took the Cossack’s orders.’

‘Good. Well, I shall not tell of thee. Meanwhile here is a rouble; and if thou art wise, continue in the pay of Mazeppa, for he shall know nothing of this; only do not follow me; take his money but remain at home: do you understand?’

The fellow laughed and thanked me and went his way: I had no fear that I should see any more of him.

But it was now too late to carry out my intention of going to see Vera, therefore I changed my mind and paid Mazeppa a visit instead.

We spoke of the bride-choosing, and I asked Mazeppa whether anything had been heard of Vera.

‘Not a word,’ said he, ‘unless it was you that heard it!’

‘And wherefore I?’ I asked in assumed surprise.

‘Only that you have doubtless made inquiries, and I was in hopes you might have heard something of her.’

‘Tell me, Mazeppa, do you suspect me of concealing anything from you in this matter? Do you believe me to be less honest with you than you are—I doubt not—towards me?’

‘Suspect you, my best of friends?’ exclaimed Mazeppa. ‘Heaven forbid! Why do you ask so foolish a question?’

‘Well, I have a reason. You must know that as I walked out this day I became aware that I was dogged by some unknown rascal, and I must confess that the idea did occur to me that for some reason unguessed by me you had set a watch upon my goings. Now that I reflect upon the matter, I see that the suspicion was foolish and baseless. Yet who should have set the rascal to spy upon me, and why?’

‘That is impossible to guess; but at any rate do not suspect your oldest friend,’ said Mazeppa. ‘Could you not compel the fellow to declare himself?’

‘A man must be caught before he is compelled,’ I laughed, ‘as a hare must be trapped before he is stewed; and like a hare indeed the fellow ran.’

I watched Mazeppa’s face as I spoke, expecting to see at least a look of relief, but my fox gave no sign.

‘That is a misfortune,’ he said, ‘that you could not catch the rascal, for I wager you would have found him no employed spy, but a very common cutpurse with a better opinion of your purse’s weight than it deserves!’

‘True!’ I said, ‘I had not thought of it.’

‘For who in this city would desire to spy upon you, of all unlikely people?’ he continued; ‘you, a poor Cossack, unknown to all, or near it!’

‘Yes, it is true, I was a fool, I own it!’ said I, sighing. ‘Shall I confess to the end, Mazeppa, and tell thee all I suspected?’

‘Say on!—confess, and it may be that I shall give thee absolution,’ said Mazeppa, laughing, ‘if thy sin is not too great, and thy repentance is sincere!’

‘Well, believe it or not,’ said I, affecting confusion, ‘but alas! it is true that I actually suspected that thou—being somewhat in love with this Kurbatof maiden—wert, lover-like, apprehensive that all others must see her with thine eyes, and therefore must needs suspect innocent me of hiding the wench for my own purposes, having me watched, moreover, in case I should thus reveal her private hiding-place by visiting her!’