The Superior was kind and cordial, and hesitated not a moment when asked by me to receive Vera for a while under exemption from the strict rules of the convent.

She took Vera’s hand and patted it, laying her own presently upon her golden crown of hair.

‘Too fair, too fair,’ she smiled, ‘to be shorn! Are you in some danger, my pretty?’

‘In great danger, mother,’ said Vera. ‘The Regent would have the Tsar Ivan choose me, and indeed I would sooner die!’

‘There is no need for that,’ exclaimed the Superior, laughing kindly, ‘for in case of extreme danger you should be received here under full vows, and who would dare to touch you then? That would be better than death, child; believe me, we are not so terribly miserable here, though we have withdrawn from the outside world. If we do not hear its laughter, neither do its moans distress our ears.’

‘Nevertheless, good mother,’ said Vera, ‘I would sooner remain in the world. God may be served without these walls as well as within them.’

‘That is both true and untrue. But remain in the world by all means, pretty: who would prevent thee? Moreover, we are most of us disappointed women—we have had our sorrows, our bereavements, our sins, many of us, and therefore we are here. You, I doubt not, have reason enough for desiring neither to be Tsaritsa nor to enter sanctuary; maybe, also, I can guess the reason.’

The good old woman glanced in my direction, smiling very kindly. ‘Oh, well, well,’ she ended, ‘we have all been young once. God send thee happiness, my child, of the best that the world can give, and remember, in case the world prove illusive and disappointing, that there is pure happiness to be had here also, even though it is not that which the world generally esteems highest.’ Vera blushed, but spoke up frankly.

‘Mother, it is right that I should undeceive you, for you are mistaken. I am heart-free, and this good youth is in love with another maiden, who is, alas! in the terem, as I should be also but for his kindness and yours!’

‘Dear Mother of the Lord!’ exclaimed the old woman, raising her hands in pious horror. ‘In the terem, and he loves her? Can you not save her, good Cossack, and bring her to us? Heaven forfend that so good a youth should be so ill-treated by fate! Bring her to me, my son, bring her to me, as you have saved two already from the danger of loveless marriage.’

‘Let her be, mother, let her be!’ I cried, laughing; ‘she went of her free will, deserting me for the chance of selection as Tsaritsa. I am under no illusion: she is not one to be wept for. I have torn her from my heart, and be sure I am none the worse!’

I saw Vera flush and listen as I said this, and the sight pleased me well. The old lady sighed.

‘Poor youth, you have done wisely, yet you must have suffered much! Be comforted, your heart will find its home; rest assured, so brave a one will not go long a-begging. Now farewell, my son, for I have many duties and the days are too short for those who toil in God’s service. Stay, this pretty one will desire to hear news of the bride-choosing, and of the Regent’s attitude when her disappearance is discovered. Come here, if you will, from time to time: you shall see her in the ante-room which is set apart for such meetings. By our rules another must be present, but do not fret lest her secret should be known to others, for I myself shall be that third party. Now come, my pretty, and you—good Cossack—depart.’

‘If they send, mother, to seek her, what then?’ I asked, my hand upon the door.

‘They may send, but they will not find her!’ smiled the good old woman.

And Vera, as I left the room, gave me a glance which I liked well—a look which I analysed in my memory many times afterwards, and most carefully, and from which at each recollection I derived satisfaction and delight.

‘That is a girl who can love like another, in spite of her piety, and her gentleness, and her honesty and other rare qualities,’ thought I, ‘and will love well. Happy he who gains that heart, for I think he will find it true gold. Moreover, that man is not Mazeppa!’ This last consideration afforded me wondrous comfort and delight, and I dwelt upon it so long and so lovingly that I almost forgot to consider what was my own chance of winning where he had certainly lost.

When I did take this matter into consideration and weighed it together with the glance which Vera had thrown in my direction as I left the convent—well, I felt a glow of renewed delight.

‘I will out-fox you in this, old fox Mazeppa,’ I thought, ‘or it shall not be for want of trying.’

And when I had come to this determination I returned to the city in order to acquaint Mazeppa with the disconcerting fact of Vera’s mysterious disappearance, and to enjoy his surprise and probable anger and disgust.

I found Mazeppa at his lodging.

‘Well?’ he asked, and waited with evident anxiety for my response.

‘Not so very well,’ I laughed. ‘That is, she is, I suppose, safe, but it has not happened as you desired.’

‘It has not?’ he said, looking annoyed. ‘Wherefore not?’

‘She has disappeared. She is not at her home, and her father knows nothing of her whereabouts.’

‘By all the devils!’ exclaimed Mazeppa, growing suddenly furious. ‘How dare she disappear when I had promised to succour her and see to her safety?’

‘Ask her that when you find her!’ I said haughtily. ‘How should I reply to such a riddle?’ Mazeppa stamped his foot with anger, but controlled himself.

‘But where do you suppose she has hidden herself? has she taken a horse, servants, and so forth? Tell me the details, man, as you know them! Do you not see that I am anxious about the girl and must know all you have to tell?’

‘I have told all I have to tell. She has disappeared. If she is wise she has gone a long way and will tell to no one where to seek her. You should hope this as much as I. Do we not both desire that she should escape from this loathsome marriage with the Tsar? If so, what matters it to us where she is, so long as she is safe? The further the better, say I!’

‘That is true, of course,’ said Mazeppa, with a quick glance at me. ‘My own object, no less than yours, was to get her out of the way and into safety; but I am interested in the girl, and would prefer to keep in touch with her.’

‘Yet how awkward that would be, if it should occur to the Regent to suspect you and to put certain awkward questions to you. As it is, you can reply, if asked, that you know nothing. At any rate, I suppose you do not hold me to blame because the girl has disappeared?’

Mazeppa glanced keenly at me and flushed.

‘I had not thought of it until you suggested it!’ he said. ‘If the girl were anything to you I should certainly suspect you; but I believe she is not.’

‘Anything to me—she, this yellow-haired chit? Oh, she is too pious and gentle for us Cossacks, Mazeppa; she is not the stuff we look for, we Cossacks. I think she is not much to either of us, though I confess that I had imagined at one time you looked somewhat fondly upon the girl.’

‘You are a fool, Chelminsky,’ said Mazeppa. ‘Do you suppose I should take so much trouble to help the girl out of her troubles if I took no interest in her? I tell you she is a finer girl than I have seen in the Ukraine!’

‘What, finer than Olga Panief, whom you tried to steal from me?’

‘Lord, man, she stole herself from both of us. Olga is a fine wench, but she is not fit to lace this other’s bodice!’

‘Oh, is it so?’ I laughed. ‘Then, indeed, we must see whether she cannot be found, this timid Vera of ours! Lord, Mazeppa, you should have told me of this before.’

‘Well, now you know it: show your friendship by finding the wench,’ he said. ‘You have nothing to do in Moscow: I am busy as an official at this choosing. Exert yourself, Chelminsky, I beseech you, and find her, or trace of her.’

‘Would you marry her, Mazeppa?’ I cried, ‘or would it be a mere spiriting away of the girl?’

‘Oh, it is too soon to speak of such things,’ he replied, smiling; ‘first find her, my friend; earn my gratitude, for, seriously, I am badly thrown by her disappearance.’

‘Well, I shall see what I can do!’ I replied; but I left Mazeppa with my tongue in my cheek; for this time, for once, I had out-foxed him. I had the wench under my thumb, and he had revealed his game. A good day’s work, by the saints!