CHAPTER XXXIII
A little later Tatiana Markovna and Raisky returned to the house.Raisky and Tushin were embarrassed in one another's presence, and foundit difficult to talk naturally about the simplest things. But at thedinner-table the real sympathy between them conquered the awkwardness ofthe situation. They looked one another straight in the eyes and readthere a mutual confidence. After dinner Raisky went to his room, andTushin excused himself on the ground of business. Vera's thoughtsfollowed him.
It was nearly five o'clock when he was trying to find his direction inthe thicket. Although he was no stranger there he seemed not to be ableto find what he sought; he looked from side to side where the bushesgrew more thickly, certain that he must be in the neighbourhood of thearbour. He stood still and looked impatiently at his watch. It wasnearly five o'clock, and neither the arbour nor Mark were visible.
Suddenly he heard a rustle in the distance, and among the young pines afigure appeared and disappeared alternately. Mark was approaching, andreached the place where Tushin was standing. They looked at one anothera full minute when they met.
"Where is the arbour?" said Mark at last.
"I don't exactly know in which direction...."
"In which direction? We are standing on the spot where it was stillstanding yesterday morning."
The arbour had vanished to allow of the literal carrying out of TatianaMarkovna's promise that Mark should not wait for Vera in the arbour. Anhour after her conversation with Vera she had descended the precipice,accompanied by Savili and five peasants with axes, and within two hoursthe arbour had been carried away, the peasant women and children helpingto remove beams and boards. Next day the site of the arbour was levelled,covered with turf, and planted with young fir trees. "If I had had thearbour removed before," thought Tatiana Markovna regretfully, "therascal would have noticed it, and would not have written her theletters."
The situation was clear enough to the "rascal" now. "That is the oldlady's handiwork," he thought, when he saw the young fir trees. "HerVera, like a well-bred young woman, has told her the whole story." Henodded to Tushin, and was turning away, when he saw his rival's eyeswere fixed on him.
"Are you out for a stroll?" said Mark. "Why do you look at me in thatextraordinary fashion? I suppose you are visiting at Malinovka."
Tushin replied drily and politely that he was a visitor at the house,and had come down especially to see Mark.
"To see me?" asked Mark quickly with a look of inquiry. Has he heard too?he wondered. He remembered that Tushin admired Vera and wondered whetherthe "Forest Othello" was meditating tragedy and murder on the green.
"I have a commission for you," said Tushin, handing him the letter.
Without betraying any sense of discomfort, or any sign of pain or rageMark read it rapidly.
"Do you know the whole story?" he asked.
"Allow me to leave that question unanswered, and instead to ask youwhether you have any answer to give," said Tushin.
Mark shook his head.
"I take it for granted, that, in accordance with her wish, you willleave her in peace in the future, that you will not remind her of yourexistence in any way, will not write to her, nor visit this place...."
"What business is it of yours?" asked Mark. "Are you her declared lover,that you make these demands?"
"One does not need to be her fiance to execute a commission; it issufficient to be a friend."
"And if I do write, or do come here, what then?" cried Mark angrily.
"I cannot say how Vera Vassilievna would take it, but if she gives meanother commission, I will undertake it," said Tushin.
"You are an obedient friend," observed Mark maliciously.
"Yes, I am her friend," replied Tushin seriously. "I thought her wishwould be law to you too. She is just beginning to recover from a seriousillness."
"What is the matter with her?" said Mark, gently for him. As he receivedno answer he went on, "Excuse my outburst, but you see my agitation."
"Calmness is desirable for you too. Is there any answer to this letter?"
"I do not need your assistance for that. I will write."
"She will not receive your letter. Her state of health necessitatesquiet, which she cannot have if you force yourself on her. I tell youwhat was told me, and what I have seen for myself."
"Do you wish her well?" asked Mark.
"I do."
"You see that she loves me. She has told you so."
"She has not said so to me; indeed she never spoke of love. She gave methe letter I handed you, and asked me to make it clear that she did notwish, and was not indeed in a condition to see you or to receive anyletter from you."
"How ridiculous to make herself and other people suffer. If you are herfriend you can relieve her of her misery, her illness, and her collapseof strength. The old lady has broken down the arbour, but she has notdestroyed passion, and passion will break Vera. You say yourself she isill."
"I did not say that passion was the cause of her illness."
"What can have made her ill?" asked Mark.
"Your letters. You expect her in the arbour, and threaten to come to heryourself. That she cannot endure, and has asked me to tell you so."
"She says that, but in reality...."
"She always speaks the truth."
"Why did she give you this commission?" Receiving no answer, Markcontinued: "You have her confidence, and can therefore tell her howstrange it is to refuse happiness. Advise her to put an end to thewretched situation, to renounce her Grandmother's morality, and then Ipropose...."
"If you understood Vera Vassilievna, you would know that hers is one ofthose natures that declines explanations and advice."
"You execute your errands most brilliantly and diplomatically," saidMark angrily.
Tushin looked at him without replying, and his calm silence enraged Mark.He saw in the disappearance of the arbour and the appearance on thescene of Tushin as a mediator, the certain end of his hopes. Vera'shesitation was over, and she was now firmly determined on separation.
He was enraged by his consciousness that Vera's illness was really notthe result of her infatuation for him, which she would not haveconfessed to her aunt, much less to Tushin. Mark knew her obstinacy,which resisted even the flame of passion, and on that very account hehad, almost in despair, resigned himself to submit to a formal betrothal,and had communicated his decision to her, had consented to remain in thetown indefinitely, that is, so long as the tie between them held.Convinced of the truth of his conception of love, he foresaw that in thecourse of time passion would grow cool and disappear, that they wouldnot for ever be held by it, and then.... Then, he was convinced, Verawould herself recognise the situation, and acquiesce in the consequences.
And now his offer had become superfluous; no one was prepared to acceptit, and he was simply to be dismissed.
"I do not know what to do," he said proudly. "I cannot find any answerto your diplomatic mission. Naturally, I shall not again visit thearbour, as it has ceased to exist."
"And you will write no more letters either," added Tushin, "as theywould not in any case reach her. Neither will you come to the house,where you would not be admitted."
"Are you her guardian?"
"That would depend on Vera Vassilievna's wishes. There is a mistress ofthe house who commands her servants. I take it that you accept thefacts."
"The devil knows," cried Mark, "how ridiculous all this is. Mankind haveforged chains for themselves, and make martyrs of themselves." Althoughhe still justified himself in making no reply, he felt that his positionwas untenable. "I am leaving the place shortly," he said, "in about aweek's time. Can I not see Vera--Vassilievna for a minute?"
"That cannot be arranged, because she is ill."
"Is any pressure being put upon her?"
"She requires only one medicine--not to be reminded of you."
"I do not place entire confidence in you, because you do not appear tome to be an indifferent party
."
Tushin did not answer in the same tone. He understood Mark's feeling ofbitter disillusion, and made another attempt at conciliation. "If you donot trust me," he said, "you hold the evidence in your hand."
"A dismissal. Yes, but that proves nothing. Passion is a sea, wherestorm reigns to-day, and tomorrow dead calm. Perhaps she already repentshaving sent this."
"I think not. She takes counsel with herself before acting. It is plainfrom your last words that you don't understand Vera Vassilievna. Youwill, of course, act in accordance with her wishes. I will not insistany more on an answer."
"There is no answer to give. I am going away."
"That is an answer."
"It is not she who needs an answer, but you, the romantic Raisky, andthe old lady."
"Why not include the whole town! But I will take on myself to assureVera Vassilievna that your answer will be literally carried out.Farewell."
"Farewell ... Sir Knight."
Tushin frowned slightly, touched his cap, and was gone.
Mark's face was very pale. He recognised bitterly that he was beaten,that his romance ended here at the foot of the precipice, which he mustleave without once turning round, with no pity, no word of farewell tospeed him; he was bidden to go as if he were a contemptible enemy. Whyhad all this come about? He was not conscious of any fault. Why shouldhe part from her like this. She could not pretend that he had been thecause of what old-fashioned people would call her "fall." He had gone sofar as to belie his own convictions, to neglect his mission, and waseven prepared to contemplate marriage. Yet he received a laconic noteinstead of a friendly letter, a go-between instead of herself. It was asif he had been struck with a knife, and a cold shiver ran through hisbody. It was not the old lady who had invented these measures, for Veradid not allow others to dictate to her. It must have been she herself.What had he done, and why should she act with such severity?He went slowly away. When he reached the fence he swung himself on tothe top and sat there, asking himself again where his fault lay. Heremembered that at their last meeting he had fairly warned her. He hadsaid in effect: "Remember that I have warned you. If you stretch outyour hand to me you are mine, and the responsibility for theconsequences rests with you; I am innocent." That was surely logical, hethought. Suddenly he sprang down on to the road, and went withoutlooking back. He remembered how at this very spot he had prepared toleave her. But he heard her nervous, despairing cry of farewell, and hadthen looked round and rushed to her. As he answered these questions hisblood hammered in his veins. He strode up the hill. The knife had doneits work; it bored deeper and deeper. Memory pitilessly revived a seriesof fleeting pictures. The inner voice told him that he had not actedhonourably, and spared her when her strength had failed.
She used to call you a "Wolf" in jest, but the name will be no jest inher memory, for you joined to the fierceness of a wolf a fox's cunningand the malice of a yapping dog; there was nothing human about you. Shetook with her from the depths of the precipice nothing but a bittermemory and a lifelong sorrow. How could she be so blind as to be ledastray, to let herself be dazzled, to forget herself? You may triumph,for she will never forget you.
He understood now the laconic note, her illness and the appearance ofTushin instead of herself at the foot of the precipice.
Leonti told Raisky that Mark had informed him that he was going to spendsome time with his old aunt in the government of Novgorod; he intendedto enter the army once more as an ensign, in the hope of being sent tothe Caucasus.
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