The surgeon shook him off, with an oath; and two Cossacks, coming up
hastily, bound his hands behind his back, and tied his legs, quite
regardless of his wounded condition. Meanwhile, the Russian major had sought out Olga, "Madame la Baronne,"
he said respectfully, "I congratulate you upon your safety and your
recovered freedom. Your father is with us; he will soon be here. Your
letter reached him safely, in spite of its roundabout direction; and the
Governor of Tobolsk despatched us at once upon this errand of release. Baron Niaz had long been suspected: your letter removed all doubts upon
the subject." A minute or two later, the Cossacks marched their prisoners out of the
courtyard, two and two, into the great hall of the stronghold. "I wish to bid farewell to my wife," Niaz cried to the major, in a loud
voice. "I shall be sent to the mines, I suppose, and I shall never see
her again in this world most probably." The major allowed him to come near within speaking distance, under guard
of two Cossacks. "Madame la Baronne," he hissed out between his clenched teeth, "this is
your hand. It was your hand that you gave me in marriage; it was your
hand that wrote to betray me. Believe me, madame, come what may, your
hand shall pay the penalty." So much he said, passionately indeed, but with the offended dignity of a
civilized being. Then the Tartar in him broke through the thin veneer of
European culture, and he lolled his tongue out at her in savage
derision, with a hideous menacing leer like an untamed barbarian. Till
that moment, in spite of the horrible massacre she had seen with her own
eyes, Olga had never suspected what profound depths of vulgar savagery
lay unperceived beneath Alexander Niaz's handsome and aristocratic
European features. One more word he uttered coarsely: a word of foul reproach unfit to be
repeated, which made Olga's cheek turn crimson with wrath and
indignation even in that supreme moment of conflicting passions. She
buried her face between her two hands wildly, and burst into a sudden
flood of uncontrollable tears. "March him away," cried the major in a stern voice. And they marched him
away, still mocking, with the other prisoners. That was the last Olga Davidoff then saw of her Buriat husband. V.

After Niaz had been tried and condemned for robbery and murder, and sent
with the usual Russian clemency to the mines of Oukboul, Olga Davidoff
could not bear any longer to live at Tobolsk. It was partly terror,
partly shame, partly pride; but Tobolsk or even St. Petersburg she felt
to be henceforth utterly impossible for her. So she determined to go back to her kinsfolk in that dear old quiet
England, where there are no Nihilists, and no Tartars, and no exiles,
and where everybody lived so placidly and demurely. She looked back now
upon The Laurels, Clapham, as the ideal home of repose and happiness. It was not at Clapham, however, that Madame Niaz (as she still called
herself) settled down, but in a quiet little Kentish village, where the
London branch of the Davids family had retired to spend their Russian
money. Frank Davids, the son of the house, was Olga's second cousin; and when
Olga had taken the pretty little rose-covered cottage at the end of the
village, Frank Davids found few things more pleasant in life than to
drop in of an afternoon and have a chat with his Russian kinswoman. Olga
lived there alone with her companion, and in spite of the terrible
scenes she had so lately gone through, she was still a girl, very young,
very attractive, and very pretty. What a wonderfully different life, the lawn-tennis with Frank and the
curate and the Davids girls up at the big house, from the terror and
isolation of the Buriat stronghold! Under the soothing influence of
that placid existence, Olga Davidoff began at last almost to outlive the
lasting effects of that one great horror. Stamped as it was into the
very fabric of her being, she felt it now less poignantly than of old,
and sometimes for an hour or two she even ventured to be careless and
happy. Yet all the time the awful spectre of that robber and murderer Niaz, who
was nevertheless still her wedded husband, rose up before her, day and
night, to prevent her happiness from being ever more than momentary. And Frank, too, was such a nice, good fellow! Frank had heard from
Madame Davidoff all her story (for madame had come over to see Olga
fairly settled), and he pitied her for her sad romance in such a kind,
brotherly fashion. Once, and once only, Frank said a word to her that was not exactly
brotherly. They were walking together down the footpath by the mill, and
Olga had been talking to him about that great terror, when Frank asked
her, in a quiet voice, "Olga, why don't you try to get a divorce from
that horrible Niaz?" Olga looked at him in blank astonishment, and asked in return, "Why,
Frank, what would be the use of that? It would never blot out the memory
of the past, or make that wretch any the less my wedded husband." "But, Olga, you need a protector sorely. You need somebody to soothe and
remove your lasting terror. And I think I know some one, Olga,--I know
some one who would give his whole life to save you, dearest, from a
single day's fear or unhappiness." Olga looked up at him like a startled child. "Frank," she cried, "dear,
dear Frank, you good cousin, never say again another word like that, or
you will make me afraid to walk with you or talk with you any longer. You are the one friend I have whom I can trust and confide in: don't
drive me away by talking to me of what is so impossible. I hate the
man: I loathe and abhor him with all my heart; but I can never forget
that he is still my husband. I have made my choice, and I must abide by
it. Frank, Frank, promise me,--promise me, that you will never again
speak upon the subject." Frank's face grew saddened in a moment with a terrible sadness; but he
said in a firm voice, "I promise," and he never broke his word from that
day onward. VI. Three years passed away quietly in the Kentish village, and every day
Olga's unreasoning terror of Niaz grew gradually fainter and fainter. If
she had known that Niaz had escaped from the mines, after eight months'
imprisonment, and made his way by means of his Tartar friends across the
passes to Tibet and Calcutta, she would not have allowed the sense of
security to grow so strong upon her. Meanwhile Frank, often in London, had picked up the acquaintance of a
certain M. de Vouillemont, a French gentleman much about at the clubs,
of whose delightful manners and wide acquaintance with the world and men
he was never tired of talking to Olga. "A most charming man, indeed, De
Vouillemont, and very anxious to come down here and see Hazelhurst. Besides, Olga, he has been even in Russia, and he knows how to talk
admirably about everybody and everything. I've asked him down for Friday
evening. Now, do, like a good girl, break your rule for once, and come
and dine with us, although there's to be a stranger.