full of gaiety, triumph, and enthusiasm, greeted this suggestion.
"That is an impossibility," they all asserted; "they have not the faintest clue."
They refused to listen to Mirkovitch's threatening speeches, his regrets at the happy escape of one of the tyrant's brood. They were discussing Dunajewski's surprise when he found himself a free man, with a passport, allowing him and his comrades to go whither they chose. One or two of the older members had gone to meet them at Hamburg with money and clothes to enable them to embark for England.
Maria Stefanowna had gone with them. It had been thought wiser that she should be out of the country for a little while, both for her own safety and for that of all her comrades. Let them, out there at Petersburg, do their worst to discover the originators of this great plot so complete in its victory. What could they do when there was no clue?
"None!" said Mirkovitch quietly, "except our papers, which we have entrusted to Volenski, and of which and of our messenger we have not the slightest news."
If his wish was to damp an enthusiasm which he had not kindled, he certainly fully succeeded. It certainly did seem strange that no news of any sort or kind had been heard of the young Pole, since the night when he had announced his departure, under the protection of his Eminence the Cardinal, for the following morning; and nearly a fortnight had elapsed since then.
Though every confidence was still felt in the messenger, there was a curious restlessness–a vague, undefined fear appreciable when his name was mentioned. The president's uneasiness at the topic was also decidedly ominous; but he evidently, though unable to account for Volenski's protracted silence, would not allow the slightest doubt to be cast on his absent young friend's good name.
The ugly word "traitor" had been whispered once or twice, but not in his hearing. The older men believed in some untoward accident to the messenger, but still hoped that the papers were safe.
It would be such a crushing blow, after the great victory, to have to face defeat so complete, so humiliating, with no hope of vengeance, now that their hostage was out of their hands; those papers were so hopelessly compromising, both to them and to those at Petersburg to whom they were addressed, that not one of them could possibly hope to escape.
The president, as usual, tried to reassure them, and to calm the tide of feelings that began to rise high against Volenski.
"Remember," he said, "we must not condemn him unheard. After all, our papers cannot at this moment be in wrong hands, or we should not be sitting here unmolested, and what occurred an hour ago would not have taken place."
That was obviously the case, and all felt perhaps a trifle reassured. Anyhow, it was but waste of time to sit and discuss Volenski's possible movements at this moment. News, good and bad, was bound to reach them sooner or later, that would clear up this mystery.
Some future meeting in a day or two was arranged, and all prepared to leave. As Mirkovitch was about to turn to the door, something in the eyes of the old president made him pause and wait, till they two were left, the sole occupants of the room.
"You know something, Lobkowitz–what is it?"
"Look at this letter I received this morning."
"From Volenski?"
"Read it."
Mirkovitch began reading half aloud:
"Charing Cross Hotel, London.
"My dear Lobkowitz,–You will wonder at the place I am writing from, and still more so at what I can possibly be doing there. I have been at death's door, my good friend, owing to a series of the most terrible misfortunes that could befall any man. Do not be alarmed, though the news I am at last able to send you is of a most terrible kind. The papers are out of my possession –– "
Here a half-suppressed oath escaped Mirkovitch's lips, and his hands clenched themselves over the almost illegible letter, obviously written by a sick man, hardly able to hold the pen.
"For God's sake, read on," said the president, "there is not a moment to be lost."
"The most fatal conglomeration of mishaps" (continued Mirkovitch) "originally deprived me of them, at the very moment when I had placed them in what I considered absolute safety. Since that terrible hour all my energies have been spent in recovering them, for, although I have always known where they were, they always have by some almost diabolical coincidence evaded my grasp at the very moment when my hand was, so to speak, upon them. At last the strain on my brain shattered my health, and I have been thrown on a bed of sickness. Again I say, do not be alarmed. To the best of my belief no mortal eye has, as yet, rested upon our papers, and our secrets are still our own. But I am now too feeble to act alone; I must have help from one of you, and I may want a great deal of money. I dare not ask what happened in Vienna, if our comrades are free, if, not hearing from me, you have dared to act, or if Nicholas Alexandrovitch still remains a hostage. For God's sake, I beg of you, my friend, not to mistrust me, and, if possible, not to alarm our comrades unnecessarily. All is not lost yet, but I must have your help. Come as soon as you can. –Your friend and comrade,
Iván Stefanovitch Volenski.'"
Mirkovitch did not speak, made no comment; he crushed the letter in his hand, and there was a dark scowl on his face.
The president waited for a while, he knew the fanatic Russian's violent temper; he began to fear for his young sick friend, who already seemed to have suffered so much.
"I cannot go, unfortunately," he said at last, "and there is no one I could trust more completely than you, Mirkovitch."
"Oh! I will go, all right enough," said Mirkovitch, "and take the money, since money is wanted; but," he added fiercely, "let Iván look to himself if our papers fall into wrong hands."
"It was a blunder, at worst, I feel sure," said Lobkowitz; "Iván is no traitor, I pledge you my life as to that."
"I am not accusing him," rejoined the other impatiently, "but the trusted messenger of our brotherhood had no right to blunder."
"Well, we know very little so far; do not let us imagine the worst. He writes hopefully after all."
"I had better start to-night," said Mirkovitch. "Can you let me have the funds? He says much may be wanted; for bribery, I suppose."
"Come and see me at my house before you start, and I will have everything ready for you.… And.… Mirkovitch," he added, "do not condemn unheard. Remember, Iván is young, and has our cause just as much at heart as you have."
"Well, if he has, he certainly has it in a different way," said Mirkovitch as he shook the president's hand, and prepared to leave.
The latter sighed as he tried to read the Russian's thoughts through his deeply sunken eyes, tried to fathom if there lurked some danger there for his young friend. Then, half reassured, he gave Mirkovitch a parting handshake, and watched the old fanatic's figure slowly disappearing down the stairs.
Chapter XIX
"BY ORDER OF THE EXECUTORS OF THE LATE MR. JAMES HUDSON
"Messrs.
