CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
arV1415 
 
 The wrong man : 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 
 3 1924 031 263 894 
 olin.anx 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tinis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031263894 
 
Hppletons' 
 
 Uown ant> Country 
 
 Xibrari? 
 
 "Ho. i86 
 
 THE WRONG MAN 
 
Novels by Dorothea Gerard, 
 Each, i2mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 An Arranged Marriage. 
 
 The scene of this charmmg' and refined story is laid in 
 Italy, and the author has found a most picturesque back- 
 ground for an international romance which is skillfully worked 
 out on fresh lines. It is one of the most satisfactory of her 
 always admirable books. 
 
 Lot 13. 
 
 ** A varied and complicated plot, a flavor of old-fashioned romance, 
 vivacious descriptions « picturesque scenes, and a company of inter- 
 esting people go to make up the attractive features of ' Lot 13.' . . . 
 Extremely well written.** — Boston Beacon, 
 
 Orthodox. 
 
 "Its dramatic interest reaches a really magnificent climax." — 
 Loudon A cade?ny. 
 
 A Queen of Curds and Cream. 
 
 " Romance pure and simple has full sway in * A Queen of Curds 
 and Cream. '^ The author has written nothing better, and one may 
 well doubt if she has ever produced anything qtiite as good." — 
 Boston Beacon. 
 
 Etelka's Vow. 
 
 " The tale is well wrought out^ and the interest is well sustained to 
 the last." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 The Rich Miss Riddell. 
 
 "A love-story at once clean, interesting, and wholesome." — Tke 
 Churchman, 
 
 A Sensitive Plant. 
 
 By E. and D. Gerakd, joint authors of *' Reata," *' The 
 Waters of Hercules," etc. 
 " An agreeable and amusing love-story, the scene of which is part 
 of the time in a coal-mining district in Scotland, and afterward in 
 Venice, and a promineiit character in which is a shrinking girl, whose 
 sensitiveness is suggestive of the little mimosa flower which gives title 
 to the book," — Cincinnati Times-Star. 
 
 New Yoik : D. Appleton & Co.» 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
THE WRONG MAN 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 DOROTHEA GERARD 
 
 AUTHOR OF AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE, THE RICH MISS RIDDELL, 
 ETELKa's vow, a queen of curds and CREAM, ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1896 
 
Copyright, iSgs* 
 By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
 Afy5(ob^ 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was on a chilly evening of early spring that Lieu- 
 tenant Milnovics sat down in his lodging to write a 
 letter to his father. This had been a busy and some- 
 what exciting day, and most of his comrades were 
 still talking over events in the dining-room of the 
 Black Eagle, the one hotel of Lohatyn. But in 
 spite of his twenty-six years, Stepan Milnovics was 
 not sociable, neither had he any money to spend 
 upon the bottles of more or less mediocre wine 
 which formed the unavoidable adjunct to these con- 
 vivial gatherings. 
 
 To-day he had come home even earlier than was 
 his wont, because of the letter which pressed upon 
 his mind. He knew that he would have no leisure 
 for it to-morrow, and he knew that its arrival was 
 already being anxiously looked for. 
 
 When he had hung up his wet cloak — for it was 
 1 
 
2 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 raining outside — he sat down at a small deal table 
 and dipped his pen into a huge glass inkstand with- 
 out a lid, of the sort that is in use in public schools. 
 
 " My beloved and reverend Father," he 
 began to write upon half a sheet of foolscap paper, — 
 "I know that you will be looking for this impatiently, 
 although I am writing at the earUest moment that is 
 possible. It is barely two hours since the cavalry 
 inspector left us, after what, I am thankful to say, 
 has been a successful day — for me, though not for 
 all of us. There are two or three of my comrades 
 who at this moment are, no doubt, in a much worse 
 humour than I am ; for the inspector speaks freely 
 when he is roused, and he is easily roused, espe- 
 cially to displeasure. I am very sorry for them — ^but 
 why do they not work? There are no presents to 
 be had in this world, I have learnt that ali-eady; 
 everything has to be bought, either with work or 
 with money. You know that I have worked hard 
 all winter; the inspector's words to me to-day were 
 some reward for what has been at moments a very 
 bitter slavery. My courage has never ebbed, but 
 to-day it has risen another degree. Do not fear, 
 my poor father, — I always told you that I had in 
 me the makings of a soldier. 
 
 Lieutenant Milnovics raised his head for an in- 
 stant, believing that he heard footsteps upon the 
 
THE WRONG MAN. , 
 
 wooden staircase, — he fancied even that he distin- 
 guished the subdued rattle of spurs. But as every- 
 thing seemed quiet he went on writing. 
 
 "Wait until I get the next star on my collar. 
 Fate has not been very kind to us, but we will con- 
 quer Fate yet; one only has to be strong and patient 
 and not to forget that " 
 
 "Come in," he said, impatiently, for there was a 
 low knock at the door. 
 
 An officer in the same Lancer uniform which 
 Milnovics wore entered the room, followed imme- 
 diately by a second, who carefully closed the door. 
 
 "They have come to drag me back to their 
 drinking-bout," was Milnovics's first thought, and 
 an ungracious refusal had all but risen to his lips, 
 when something in the faces of the two young lieu- 
 tenants arrested his attention and caused the annoy- 
 ance of the disturbance to sink suddenly out of sight. 
 He laid down his pen and stood up from his chair, 
 looking in silence from one of his comrades to the 
 other. 
 
 "We are here as the representatives of Lieuten- 
 ant Radford," began the elder of the two officers, 
 a rosy-cheeked youth who was evidently a little 
 nervous, and whose boyish treble shook just percep- 
 tibly. He paused, very red in the face, and looked 
 at Milnovics, as though he were entreating him to 
 
4 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 answer. But Milnovics only stared back at him 
 blankly, waiting for what might be coming. 
 
 "We are here," began the first speaker again, 
 like a school-child repeating its lesson; but at this 
 moment the younger and bolder of the two youths 
 came to his leader's assistance. 
 
 "We are here in order to receive your instruc- 
 tions with regard to the affair between yourself and 
 Lieutenant Radford," he said, jostling aside his 
 comrade as he stepped forward, and speaking with 
 a great deal more energy than the occasion required. 
 This one had learnt his lesson much better than the 
 other, but, like the other, he talked of a Lieutenant 
 "Rahdfort." 
 
 "What affair?" Milnovics in his utter astonish- 
 ment had almost replied, but he pulled himself to- 
 gether in time, struck by the absurdity of such a 
 question at such a moment. He was now looking 
 into the face of the second speaker, still without in 
 the least comprehending the situation. He had 
 stood thus for several seconds when it struck him 
 that he must necessarily say something. 
 
 "I am entirely at Lieutenant Radford's disposal," 
 he said, speaking quite in his usual tone and feeling 
 anxious only not to betray his surprise. 
 
 "We presume that you have chosen your sec- 
 onds," broke in the younger lieutenant, who by this 
 time had taken the matter entirely into his Jiands. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 5 
 
 He had to repeat his question, for Mihiovics did 
 not seem to have heard him immediately. 
 
 "No, I have not yet chosen my seconds," he said, 
 raising his head. "But I shall communicate with 
 two of my comrades without delay." 
 
 Something had occurred to him which seemed to 
 throw a certain amount of light on tlais matter, — a 
 faint and unsatisfactorj' light, but nevertheless 
 something a little better than utter darkness. He 
 paused just perceptibly, and then added, "I presume 
 tliat Lieutenant Radford has spoken to you of the 
 remarks which passed between us last night at 
 supper?" 
 
 The two lieutenants exchanged a rapid glance 
 in which a shade of surprise was perceptible, but 
 again it was the younger one who recovered him- 
 self first. 
 
 "Exactly. Those remarks are the reason of our 
 being here. At what place and hour can we meet 
 your representatives?" further inquired the well-in- 
 structed youth, as glibly as though tliis were not his 
 debut in the character of a second. 
 
 "In a private room of the hotel and in an hour's 
 time," answered Milnovics, who had completely re- 
 covered his self-possession. "Does that arrange- 
 ment suit you?" 
 
 "Perfectly," they both replied, in one breath. 
 
 "The two gentlemen whom you will find at the 
 
6 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 place indicated will by that time have received my 
 instructions and be empowered to act in my name. 
 I think this is all that you require to know. Good 
 evening." 
 
 A sharp clanking of spurs, a mute salute on 
 either side, and Stepan Milnovics was once more 
 alone in his room, standing beside the table and 
 looking at the door which had just closed. 
 
 For a brief space he remained thus, lending an 
 ear to the sound of the descending footsteps. Then 
 his eyes left the door and stared fixedly at the fresh, 
 muddy prints marking the spot where Lieutenant 
 Radford's seconds had been standing within the 
 minute. He felt at this moment what the French 
 describe' as " tombi des nuesT If Radford himself 
 had burst into the room with a bare sword in his 
 grasp, it would scarcely have surprised him more 
 than did this challenge. Radford, of all men in 
 the world, the lieutenant with the golden hair and 
 the English name, who looked so far from savage, 
 and for whose blood he certainly was not conscious 
 of thirsting! , 
 
 The remarks which had passed between them 
 last night had been on the subject of church cere- 
 monies. He tried now to recall what exactly had 
 been said. 
 
 Somebody at the supper-table had asked Rad- 
 ford why he had missed appearing at dinner. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 7 
 
 "Because I was kicking my heels in church," 
 Radford had repUed, "and in a Ruthenian church, 
 too. It was my turn to chaperon the men, and, as 
 ill-luck would have it, I hit upon their Palm Sunday. 
 No end of prostrations. I actually tliought they 
 would Uck the floor clean by dint of smacking it, — 
 no easy job, I can tell you, for scrubbing is evidently 
 considered a luxury here." 
 
 "The floors in our churches are washed before 
 every feast-day," Milnovics had remarked, with a 
 somewhat darkening face. 
 
 "Oh, you're one of them, IVIilnovics — I forgot," 
 said Radford, lightly. "By the way, perhaps you 
 can tell us what's the object of blessing all that 
 bread and butter, or whatever the stuff is which they 
 say prayers over? Do the priests dine upon it after- 
 wards?" 
 
 "It is not bread and butter," Milnovics replied, 
 in a somewhat sharper tone, "and the priests do not 
 dine upon it It is bread and salt, and the blessing 
 is s}Tnbolical. Surely it would be better not to talk 
 of things which you do not understand, and which 
 your remarks only help to make ridiculous." 
 
 Radford made some indifferent reply, and the 
 conversation drifted to other subjects. 
 
 This was absolutely all that had passed. Who 
 but a veritable fire-eater could discover here the 
 ground for a challenge? Rather had it not the 
 
8 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 appearance of being one of those grounds which, are 
 sometimes snatched at as a pretext — ^used, in fact, 
 as a mark to cover the real cause of a quarrel? Mil- 
 novics knew well enough that such cases were not 
 infrequent, and that whenever, for any reason, it 
 appeared undesirable to make public the real ground 
 of the difiference — as especially when the name of a 
 woman was involved — it was quite a common prac- 
 tice to select whatever trifle lay nearest at hand, and 
 which by tacit understanding lent its countenance 
 to the rencontre. But here the theory would not 
 hold. There could be no question of any woman 
 between himself and Lieutenant Radford, just as 
 little as there existed, to his knowledge, a question 
 of any serious difference between them. It was 
 nearly incredible, for verily Radford did not look 
 like this sort of man ; but here Milnovics reminded 
 himself that he had known this new comrade for 
 barely a month, since it was in February only that 
 Radford had entered the regiment. For anything 
 he knew Radford might be any sort of man. 
 
 Finding himself beside the table, Milnovics 
 dipped his pen in the ink, as though he were about 
 to finish his uncompleted letter. Twice he read 
 through what he had written, without being able to 
 get at the sense of it. He had lost the thread of 
 what he had meant to say. Besides, what was the 
 use of saying it now? By to-morrow morning there 
 
THE WRONG MAN. g 
 
 might be something quite different to say. The 
 meeting would be very early, of course. And then 
 only it flashed upon him that, instead of sitting here, 
 he ought to be looking about him for a pair of sec- 
 onds, since this duel apparently was a solid fact, and' 
 not a mere practical joke. 
 
 He took his damp cloak from the wall and put 
 it on. Below it on the boards a pool of rain-water 
 had already collected. His sword, too, was hang- 
 ing on the wall; he unsheathed it and tried the edge 
 with the palm of his hand, half inclined to laugh as 
 he did it To-morrow morning, was it to be? Even 
 now he still had some difficulty in taking the matter 
 quite seriously. 
 
 In the passage outside there was no light, only 
 the reflection of a lamp burning in the window of a 
 house across the street Milnovics saw that some 
 one was seated at the head of the stairs, and as he 
 approached, a small dusky figure rose, as tliough to 
 bar his passage. 
 
 "Herr Lieutenant," said a woman's voice, in un- 
 mistakably Jewish accents and in an insinuating 
 undertone, "I have sometliing I could tell the Hen- 
 Lieutenant" 
 
 "Let me pass," replied Milno^ncs, shortly. 
 
 He had recognised Xessi ^Meerkatz, the daugh- 
 ter of the old Jew in whose house he lodged, a young 
 woman of an extremely loose reputation, whose face. 
 
lO THE WRONG MAW. 
 
 if thoroughly scrubbed, might possibly have been 
 pretty, and whose black hair was for ever in sore 
 need of a comb. 
 
 "The Herr Lieutenant is always unkind to poor 
 Nessi," said the little Jewess, pretending to whim- 
 per; "none of the other gentlemen are so unkind as 
 he. But I have a good heart; I will tell him what I 
 know, — only he must ask me. Will not Herr Lieu- 
 tenant ask me?" 
 
 "No. Let me pass, I say." This was not the 
 first time that, while hurrying either in or out of his 
 lodging, he had found the tousled, black-eyed 
 little Jewess in his way, and always with something 
 to say, which he had neither time nor inclination to 
 listen to. If he had noticed her as anything but a 
 nuisance, it had only been to wonder whether she 
 knew the use of soap. Her insinuating glances and 
 coaxing nasal tone had always been vaguely repul- 
 sive to him. 
 
 "Let me pass, I say," and he brushed past her 
 without ceremony. 
 
 "But, Herr Lieutenant," she called after him, in 
 a sharper tone, "wait only one little minute, — there 
 is something which I should talk to the Herr Lieu- 
 tenant about. He will be angry with me, maybe, 
 but then perhaps he will forgive poor Nessi, — for it 
 is his own fault, indeed " 
 
 Nessi broke off and peered sulkily down the dark 
 
THE WRONG MAN. II 
 
 staircase. The closing of the house-door had told 
 her that she was wasting her words. 
 
 "laet him go to perdition!" she muttered, shrug- 
 ging her plump shoulders and tossing back the un- 
 tidy locks that were for ever tumbling into her eyes. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 At this season of melting snow, when every half- 
 mile on a country road meant so many more ounces 
 of mud to be carried home on boots or hoofs, the 
 riding-school was the only spot where a duel could 
 comfortably take place. 
 
 Seven o'clock was still striking upon the church- 
 tower of Lohatyn, and not more than a few passes 
 had been made, when quite suddenly Lieutenant 
 Milnovics's sword fell out of his hand. 
 
 "Hold !" cried the seconds. 
 
 "The matter is concluded," added one of them. 
 
 And so indeed it was, since "until the first blood 
 drawn" had been the condition settled, and now the 
 blood was dropping fast from Milnovics's arm on 
 to the thick layer of sawdust that covered the riding- 
 school floor. 
 
 One of Lieutenant Radford's juvenile seconds 
 
 heaved a secret sigh of relief. The sight of blood 
 
 had made him feel almost certain that he was going 
 
 to faint, and he stood by now, looking much whiter 
 
 than did the wounded man. 
 
 12 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 1 3 
 
 Lieutenant Radford lowered his sword, and, 
 coming a few steps forward, stood still again, look- 
 ing towards the spot where the regimental doctor 
 was already busy with his adversary. He was a tall, 
 powerfully-built young man, with the true Anglo- 
 Saxon breadth of shoulders, with wonderfully blue 
 eyes and close-cropped curls of almost too crude a 
 gold. The strain of excitement had scarcely yet 
 relaxed upon his handsome features, but the angry 
 fire which but a minute ago still burned in the blue 
 eyes was already dying out. 
 
 It was under one of the tall windows that the 
 doctor had placed himself with his patient, for the 
 huge riding-school was as yet but dimly lighted by 
 the early morning light. Having slit open the 
 sleeve of Lieutenant Milnovics's blouse, he glanced 
 towards Radford. 
 
 "What are you waitng for. Lieutenant Radford? 
 There is going to be no more fighting to-day. 
 You've heard, haven't you, that the matter is 
 concluded ?"- 
 
 "I am not waiting because I want to fight," 
 replied Radford, putting away his sword; "I am 
 waiting to shake hands with Lieutenant Milnovics 
 whenever you have done with him. There is no 
 more grudge betwen us now, I hope." 
 
 "You will have to do it somewhat less vigorously 
 than is your habit," drily replied the doctor, who did 
 
14 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 not approve of duels; "unless you handle him Uke 
 broken glass the haemorrhage will be considerably 
 increased." 
 
 "I will be very careful," replied Radford in an 
 unexpectedly submissive tone. A few minutes ago 
 he had felt quite capable of killing his adversary, but 
 he was not capable of harbouring a grudge. The 
 moment that he considered his honour to be satis- 
 fied, his anger also was spent. 
 
 "I feel certain that this first difference between 
 us will also be the last," he said, looking earnestly 
 at his comrade. "I wish, with all my heart, that it 
 had never occurred. Hang it, Milnovics !" he burst 
 out upon some new impulse, "what made you 
 choose just this thing of all others to hit out at? 
 If you had pounced upon anything else I think I 
 could have been quite patient," and he tried to smile, 
 evidently feeling that the situation required to be 
 relaxed. "You would have been welcome to abuse 
 either my horses or my dogs, or even the cut of my 
 moustache, but my troop is the one thing that I 
 really am touchy about." 
 
 Milnovics had not spoken yet. He now glanced 
 up from the bandage which the doctor was adjusting 
 upon his right elbow. His eyes were full of an un- 
 disguised astonishment. 
 
 "I have abused neither your horses nor your 
 troop. Why are you bringing in these things now ?" 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 15 
 
 "Well, perhaps 'abused' is rather too strong a 
 word for the occasion ; let ns say that you have made 
 uncomplimentary remarks." 
 
 "About your troop?" 
 
 "Of course. Why, Milnovics, what makes you 
 so slow to-day?" 
 
 The other looked across at him for a moment in 
 silence. 
 
 "Perhaps I am slow ; at any rate I do not under- 
 stand yet. I am not aware of having ever made any 
 remark about your troop, either uncomplimentary 
 or otherwise." 
 
 The words were so distinctly and deliberately 
 spoken that they were perfectly audible to every 
 one in the riding-school. The seconds on both 
 sides exchanged questioning glances. Evidently 
 there was something here that required clearing up. 
 
 Radford himself began to look bewildered. 
 
 "But, Milnovics, recollect yourself; did you not 
 yesterday, after the close of the inspection, make 
 the remark that my troop had disgraced the squad- 
 ron in the eyes of the inspector, and that my men 
 looked like nothing so much as potato sacks tied on 
 to the backs of Konikil " * 
 
 "Yesterday?" 
 
 "Yes, of course, yesterday." 
 
 "And to whom?" 
 
 * Small peasant horses. 
 
1 6 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 "Why, to — ^to Nessi Meerkatz. I had not meant 
 to mention her name, but there,— the thing is said 
 now." 
 
 "And it was on the strength of her report that 
 you challenged me?" 
 
 Milnovics again looked at his comrade with 
 something unspeakable in his piercing black eyes, 
 while his somewhat thin lips were drawn a little in- 
 wards. 
 
 Radford reddened with vexation. He under- 
 stood already that he had been rash, though he 
 had not fairly acknowledged it even to him- 
 self. 
 
 "What reason had I to doubt her report?" he 
 said, speaking faster, for his excitement was begin- 
 ning to rise. "No, she cannot have invented it, — 
 those words certainly were said." 
 
 "Then somebody else said them. The only 
 time I spoke to Nessi Meerkatz yesterday was to 
 tell her to get out of my way." 
 
 "You mean that you are the wrong man?" cried 
 Radford, in a voice which rang with consternation. 
 "For Heaven's sake, say No! Please tell me that 
 you really did make that joke about the potato- 
 sacks !" and he moved a step nearer, looking almost 
 imploringly towards his comrade. 
 
 "I am sorry I cannot oblige you. You have 
 heard my assertion." 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 17 
 
 "Then yoti really are the wrong man?" 
 
 "I certainly am not the right one; not the man 
 who made the remark you have just quoted." 
 
 "Good God! then why did you accept my 
 challenge?" 
 
 "Because I was given to understand that we 
 were fighting out the question of the church 
 ceremonies." 
 
 "The church ceremonies, — to be sure. I could 
 think of no better pretext on the spur of the moment, 
 and I wasn't particularly inclined either to have my 
 name coupled with that of that little slut of a Meer- 
 katz, and if I had brought up that remark I'd have 
 had to name my authority, don't you see? So I just 
 laid hold of our talk at supper, and it was only my 
 seconds who knew what we were really fighting 
 about. Of course, I thought you would understand. 
 Gracious heavens, what a tangle! What is it I have 
 done?" 
 
 "What you should have done would have been 
 to sift the matter a little more carefully before send- 
 ing me your seconds." 
 
 "Yes, yes, — it is all true, but I scarcely knew 
 what I was doing. You know how hard the inspect- 
 or was upon me, — I suppose it was my own fault, but 
 it put me oflf my balance. I was feeling excited and 
 sore. I see it all now. But what reason had she 
 to tell lies? I will shake that girl half out of her 
 
1 8 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 skin. Milnovics, can you forgive me? I don't think 
 I shall be able to forgive myself." 
 
 He stepped close up to Milnovics and impul- 
 sively held out his hand. 
 
 "You see that I cannot shake hands at this mo- 
 ment," said Milnovics, in a tone which, beside that 
 of the other speaker, sounded a little chilly. 
 
 "But you can say that you forgive me?" 
 
 A sharp contraction passed over Milnovics's 
 face; possibly it was caused by the pain of the wound 
 with which the doctor was still busy. He did not 
 answer immediately. 
 
 "Do not ask me yet," he said, after a moment, 
 hurriedly and low. "It would be easy to say 'Yes,' 
 but I cannot make pretences. It is too soon. You 
 have done a very foolish thing, and I am sufifering 
 for it. I will forgive you if I can, but not now." 
 
 "Yes, I have done a very foolish thing. The 
 heavens be thanked that no worse harm has come 
 of itl His arm will be all right again in a few days, 
 will it not, doctor?" 
 
 "That depends on what you call a few," grumbled 
 the regimental doctor into his grizzled moustache. 
 "I can't say anything until I have properly examined 
 the wound, and there's no light for doing that here. 
 This is only a provisional bandage." 
 
 "But in a few weeks at least " 
 
 "I tell you that I know absolutely nothing until 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 19 
 
 after the examination. Leave him alone now, he 
 has lost a good deal of blood and he must get home 
 immediately.'' 
 
 Radford stood for some moments more, still lost 
 in amazement, then, appearing to recollect some- 
 thing, he turned sharply and left the riding-school in 
 a sudden access of hurry. 
 
 A few minutes later the doctor followed with his 
 patient. The seconds still lingered, looking into 
 each other's perplexed faces and exchanging hurried 
 remarks. 
 
 "I cannot recollect an exactly parallel case," re- 
 marked one of Milnovics's seconds. "It was indeed 
 not hard to guess that something was being kept 
 in the background, for the ostensible cause of the 
 quarrel seemed to me from the first to be inade- 
 quate, but who could suppose that he had not 
 made sure of what he was about?" And he looked 
 reproachfully at the two youths who had acted for 
 Radford, and who now stood by somewhat de- 
 jectedly, well aware that a good share of the guilt 
 in this imprudently conducted matter might rightly 
 be imputed to themselves. 
 
 On leaving the riding-school Lieutenant Rad- 
 ford had gone straight to the house of Abraham 
 Meerkatz. A frail, little, old Jew, who appeared 
 for ever to be staggering under the weight of his 
 white beard, was engaged in getting his crockery- 
 
20 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 shop into order for the day. His face was the 
 colour of a tallow candle, and his long, limp fingers 
 shook continually. The sight of an ofificer in the 
 doorway at this unexpected hour, and more still, 
 something in the expression of the officer's face, 
 gave him such a "turn" that the earthenware dish 
 he was holding dropped on to the floor with a dull, 
 unmusical crash. 
 
 "Where is your daughter?" demanded Lieu- 
 tenant Radford, peremptorily, and still breathing 
 hard, for he had walked fast. "I must speak to 
 her instantly." 
 
 "My daughter? Gracious Herr Lieutenant, it 
 is you? I scarcely, knew your face, — ^what a 
 fright you gave me, — see that dish there, — six- 
 teen kreutzers at the lowest valuation, — it is done 
 for, — and all because of that fright." 
 
 "Where is your daughter, I say?" repeated Rad- 
 ford, with an unpleasant look in his eyes. 
 
 "My daughter? Holy Moses! in her bed, I 
 suppose, — she's never any good to me in the morn- 
 ings. As if it wasn't bad enough for me to have 
 to take the things off the shelves with this pain 
 ill my old back. What a fright, to be sure; but 
 the gracious Herr Lieutenant is always generous 
 — he will make good to me the sixteen kreutzers, 
 will he not?" 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 21 
 
 But Radford was already in the passage, hav- 
 ing traversed the shop in two strides. 
 
 "Fourteen kreutzers let it be then, Herr Lieu- 
 tenant,'' whimpered Abraham Meerkatz after him, 
 and receiving no answer, turned back sadly to the 
 contemplation of the green glazed fragments on 
 the floor. 
 
 Nessi Meerkatz, her toilet but barely com- 
 pleted, was sitting on the edge of her unmade bed, 
 lazily twisting her tangled black hair into a rough 
 knot. She was not nearly so startled by the sight 
 of a visitor as her father had been, although so 
 stormy entrance evidently astonished her. 
 
 "You unhappy creature, have I caught you?" 
 broke out Radford, still breathless with excitement 
 and haste. "You shall not escape me until you 
 have given an account of your cursed lies. Speak, 
 girl, — what do you mean by your falsehood?" 
 
 "Wherefore should I give an account?" an- 
 swered Nessi, in a slow, sulky drawl. By the look 
 of his face she knew why he had come, and she 
 was frightened now, though she was trying not to 
 show it. 
 
 "What do you mean by your lie about the po- 
 tato-sacks and the Koniki ? " 
 
 "That isn't a lie. It was said so, and very funny 
 it sounded, too," and she laughed uneasily. 
 
22 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 "But you told me that it was Lieutenant Mil- 
 no vies who said it?" 
 
 Nessi shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps I told 
 you so." 
 
 "But he did not say it!" 
 
 "Then some one else did." 
 
 "You confess you He?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders again. "How do 
 I know whether it's a lie? Lieutenant Milnovics 
 may have said the same thing." 
 
 "Who was it?" said Radford, peremptorily. 
 
 Nessi played with a loose button on her bodice, 
 and made no answer. 
 
 "Who was it?" and stepping close up to her, 
 his face white witli anger, he took her by the arm, 
 not over-gently. 
 
 " Wail" howled Nessi, collapsing on the instant. 
 "The Herr Lieutenant wants to kill me, — oh waiJ" 
 
 "Who was it?" 
 
 "It was the Hcrr Lieutenant Brelitz." 
 
 "Brelitz, was it? Then why in the name of all 
 the devils did you say it was Milnovics?" 
 
 "Because I hate him," snapped out Nessi, 
 through the midst of her tears. "Never has he 
 looked at me yet. Even yesterday at night when 
 I meant to tell him and he might have put things 
 right, he only pushed me aside." 
 
 "He was right to push you aside, for you are 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 23 
 
 a venomous little toad. It would have been bet- 
 ter for me if I too had gone out of your way. See 
 what you have done, you vile girl, — a great mis- 
 fortune might easily have happened, — do you 
 know that I have wounded Lieutenant Milnovics in 
 the arm?" 
 
 "You might have cut off his arm for anything 
 I care," she snarled; "I am glad that he is wound- 
 ed." And her black eyes lit up with a spiteful 
 joy. 
 
 Radford withdrew his hand, and looked at the 
 small untidy figure with a sense of overpowering 
 disgfust; and yet it was only a few days ago that 
 Nessi Meerkatz had seemed to him quite tolerably 
 attractive. 
 
 "And if Lieutenant ^Milnovics had lost his arm 
 through your fault, do you think that would have 
 been the end of this business? How do you know 
 that there would not have been an inquiry? Would 
 not the police have had a word to say in the mat- 
 ter, eh, Nessi? Even as it is he is wounded, you 
 know." 
 
 All the ugly delight in Nessi's face turned into 
 unmixed alarm, — for of all words in the diction- 
 ary that of "police" is the one most full of terror 
 to Hebrew ears. 
 
 "The police?" she stammered; "does the Herr 
 Lieutenant really mean that the police could be 
 
24 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 after me for this? Will there really be an inquiry? 
 Oh wai, oh wai! Why did I do this thing?" 
 
 "Because you are a creature without conscience 
 and without heart. If you must be howling, why 
 do you not howl over that man who has gone up- 
 stairs now with the bandaged arm?" 
 
 "But it is not really true, is it? The police can- 
 not take me? Beautiful Herr Lieutenant, please 
 say that it is not true." 
 
 "No, it is not true; stop that noise, for Heaven's 
 sake ! Nobody is going to take you, nobody wants 
 you, such vermin as you is generally free to run 
 where it likes." 
 
 And turning quickly he went from the room, 
 leaving Nessi still rocking her body on the edge 
 of the bed in a paroxysm of mingled terror and 
 self-pity. 
 
 In the shop Abraham Meerkatz was dejectedly 
 collecting the fragments of the broken dish and 
 groaning audibly every time he had to stoop 
 afresh. 
 
 "Fourteen kreutzers, Herr Lieutenant," he 
 whined, as Radford was passing out — "only 
 fourteen kreutzers !" 
 
 Radford pulled out a paper florin and threw it 
 on to the counter in passing. 
 
 "It's been a good Geschdft* after all," reflected 
 
 * Bargain, 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 2$ 
 
 Abraham Meerkatz, and as he stooped to pick up 
 the last piece of green earthenware he quite forgot 
 to groan over the pain in his back. 
 
 Once out in the street Lieutenant Radford at- 
 tempted to collect his thoughts. Going over in 
 memory that which had happened yesterday, it 
 was not difficult to see how it had all come about. 
 When, after the departure of the cavalry inspector, 
 Nessi had received him laughingly, telling him to 
 his face that she had already heard all about his 
 failure, and asking him with coquettish imperti- 
 nence whether he was coming to her to be con- 
 soled, he had replied by losing his temper forth- 
 with. Who was it who had made these remarks 
 about him? he had fiercely demanded, and Nessi, 
 taking fright at his tone, had stammered out that 
 it was the Lieutenant Milnovics, — choosing him 
 partly because she was afraid of naming Brelitz, 
 who, as she knew, would never forgive her, but 
 doing so principally in a flash of resentment against 
 the one officer in this division of the regiment who 
 had shown himself perfectly unassailable by her 
 bold black eyes, and whom, as she vaguely fore- 
 saw, she was by this means probably entangling 
 in some sort of unpleasantness. 
 
 It was easy enough to see how it had come 
 abotit, now that the thing could not be undone. 
 
 Half-way up the street Radford met Lieuten- 
 
26 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 ant Brelitz, and instinctively quickened his pace 
 so as not to have to speak to him. Brelitz, in ig- 
 norance of what bad happened, returned his com- 
 rade's hasty salute and dark look in genuine as- 
 tonishment. But Radford hurried on. The sight 
 of Brelitz was too disturbing at this moment, — for 
 if Milnovics was the wrong man, this was the right 
 one, the one whom he ought to have challenged 
 and fought. He might challenge him yet, but he 
 had no more wish to do so. If he was angry with 
 him any longer, it was only for not being in Mil- 
 novics's place ; for the potato-sacks and the Koniki 
 had quite lost their sting under the pressure of 
 weightier events. And besides, he had had enough 
 of duelling for just one day. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon before Lieutenant Rad- 
 ford, finding himself at length at leisure, started 
 in some slight trepidation for Dr. Bruck's house. 
 Until he had heard the final verdict he knew that 
 his mind could not be entirely at rest. Not that 
 he had any serious misgivings, for his nature was 
 one of those which always instinctively hope for 
 the best. As he hurried through the unpaved, 
 wretched-looking streets, he kept at bay whatever 
 doubts were ready to assail him by recalling to 
 his memory all the cases he had ever heard of in 
 which a cut upon the arm had proved to be no 
 worse than an inconvenience of a few weeks. There 
 had been Captain Binden, for instance, whose arm 
 had been slashed almost to the bone in that affair 
 with Kestler, and who yet had been back with 
 his regiment before the month was out. It is true 
 that Milnovics's arm had bled very freely, but that 
 need not mean more than a mere flesh-wound, — 
 yes, probably it would be no more than that; and 
 
 just then Lieutenant Radford turned into the cov- 
 
 27 
 
28 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 ered entrance of the house where lived Dr. Bruck, 
 and at the same moment met the doctor himself 
 coming out with a small bag in his hand. 
 
 "Dr. Bruck, wait one moment, I beg of you — 
 I had hoped to find you at home. I have come 
 to ask you what is the result of the examination. 
 Please be so good as to tell me how many days 
 it will be before Milnovics can use his arm again?" 
 
 The doctor looked at Radford doubtfully, then, 
 taking a fresh grasp of his bag, he tried to pass 
 him. 
 
 "I cannot speak to you now; I cannot stop. 
 There is a diphtheria case waiting for me at the 
 other end of the town." 
 
 "But you must speak to me," said Radford, 
 who felt suddenly disturbed by something in the 
 doctor's face. " I want you to tell me immediately, 
 in two words, if you like, exactly how matters stand 
 with Milnovics," and he took hold of the doctor's 
 sleeve with the air of a man who means to have 
 his way. 
 
 "You want to know exactly how they stand?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well then, you can have your two words, if 
 you like. The musculus biceps and the musculus 
 brachialis are both cut clean through, that is how 
 the matter stands." 
 
 "The musculus biceps i Let me see — I have 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 29 
 
 forgotten all my Latin. Please talk German, doc- 
 tor. What is it that is cut clean through?" 
 
 "The chief muscle of the elbow.'' 
 
 "A muscle can't be healed, can it?" 
 
 " I've never heard so, anyway." 
 
 "Then that would mean — good gracious, doc- 
 tor, do you mean to say that he will not be able to 
 use his arm again? I suppose it can't be any good 
 to him without the muscles." 
 
 "I suppose exactly the same thing." 
 
 "Then what you want to tell me is that Mil- 
 novics has lost the use of his arm — of his right 
 arm?" 
 
 "No, that's not what I wanted to tell you," 
 snapped the doctor; "it's what you insisted on 
 hearing. Let me go, I say; they're waiting for me 
 over there." 
 
 "But in time, surely in time," persisted Rad- 
 ford, taking a firmer hold of the doctor's sleeve. 
 " Everybody knows that time works wonders. How 
 can you say anything until the healing process has 
 begun? Cut clean through, you say? Are you 
 quite sure that nothing can be done? Supposing 
 that I were to telegraph to Vienna for Billroth?" 
 
 The doctor broke into a sharp short laugh. 
 
 "Telegraph for a dozen Billroths if it helps to 
 put your mind at ease, but Billroth can't put a new 
 muscle into his elbow any more than I can. There 
 3 
 
30 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 are no 'perhapses' and no 'ifs' in the case, my 
 young friend; it's as simple as a sum in arithmetic; 
 I'd certainly pluck every student who couldn't tell 
 me that in his very first year." 
 
 "But without the use of his right arm surely 
 he cannot go on serving?" 
 
 "I never said he could," growled the doctor. 
 "But I wouldn't take it so to heart if I were you. 
 What does anything matter since your honour is 
 "satisfied?' Duelling is a fine practice, isn't it? So 
 chivalrous, so picturesque, and — above all — so 
 just! There, — I have no time to answer any more 
 questions now," and wrenching himself free of the 
 other's hold, he slipped out of the doorway and up 
 the street. 
 
 Lieutenant Radford made no attempt to follow 
 him. A momentary sense of physical weakness 
 had come over him quite suddenly, forcing him 
 to put out his hand to steady himself against the 
 wall. The only time that he had ever before felt 
 any sensation approaching to this had been when, 
 as a boy of twelve, a falling tile had struck and par- 
 tially stunned him. At this moment, too, it seemed 
 to him that he had recently received a severe blow 
 on the head, and was still reeling under its effects. 
 Within a minute he had recovered himself suffi- 
 ciently to set off walking down the street, very slowly 
 at first, and with something of a dazed look in his 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 3 1 
 
 eyes, but presently so fast that when for the second 
 time to-day he reached the house of Abraham Meer- 
 katz, his face was deeply flushed and his uniform be- 
 spattered up to the collar with the liquid yellow 
 mud under which at this season Loh'atyn annually 
 threatened to disappear. 
 
 Up-stairs in one of the two rooms of which 
 his lodging was composed, Milnovics, his shabby 
 blouse unbuttoned over his shirt, was sitting before 
 the table. His dark face was much paler than usual, 
 and his right arm thickly bandaged. On the table 
 beside him there lay an open book, which in a 
 calmer moment Radford would probably have rec- 
 ognised as the Dienstreglement, — a ponderous vol- 
 ume which every wearer of the Austrian uniform is 
 supposed to know at least as well as his Paternoster, 
 but whose outside was generally enough to make 
 Lieutenant Radford instinctively yawn. 
 
 At this moment he did not even see that there 
 was a book upon the table — he saw nothing except 
 that bandage on Milnovics's right arm. The first 
 sight of it struck upon him with so painful an emo- 
 tion that he was not immediately able to speak. 
 Almost a minute passed before he sat down, still 
 struggling with himself, and still not able to take 
 his eyes oflf the bandage, but still without speaking. 
 
 Milnovics had been watching him in evident 
 surprise. 
 
,2 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 "You hav.e something to say to me?" he asked 
 at last, and in his voice too the surprise betrayed 
 itself. 
 
 "I have so many things to say to you," broke 
 out Radford, suddenly finding it possible to speak, 
 "that I don't know where to begin. I have just 
 come from Dr. Bruck." 
 
 "Ah!" There was a distinct shade of interest 
 in Milnovics's tone, and his straight black eyebrows 
 contracted quickly. Evidently he was already sus- 
 picious. 
 
 "You have come from Dr. Bruck? And it is 
 that which has excited you? Yes, I see." 
 
 "It has confounded me, Milnovics." 
 
 "I understand; he has probably said more to 
 you than to me, — yes, I think I quite understand." 
 
 Radford took sudden fright. He saw, too late, 
 that he had made another blunder, and grasped 
 blindly at the nearest means of repairing it. 
 
 "It is not what he said that excited me," he 
 stammered, colouring like a schoolboy under the 
 keen scrutiny of Milnovics's black eyes, "but only 
 — but only that I am not able to^forgive myself 
 for my own imprudence, — I have been thinking of 
 it all day, and " 
 
 He broke off and turned away, unable any 
 longer to support the gaze of Milnovics's eyes. 
 
 "It is not something you have been thinking 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 33 
 
 of all day which has put you into the state you are 
 in now," said Milnovics, after a moment; "it is 
 something which you have heard quite lately, — 
 from Dr. Bruck, of course. This morning you 
 already knew that you had been imprudent, and 
 yet you did not look like this. What did Dr. 
 Bruck say to you, Radford? I want to know it 
 exactly." 
 
 "Nothing in particular," said Radford uncer- 
 tainly, and still with averted face. "I mean, he 
 said that the arm would take longer to heal tkan 
 he had at first supposed." 
 
 "That also is not true," interrupted Milnovics, 
 a little impatiently. "Tell me what he really did 
 say." 
 
 He paused and looked at Radford, but there 
 was no reply. 
 
 "Radford"- — ^and this time, despite the efforts 
 he was making, his tone betrayed something of 
 that anguish of suspense which is so much worse 
 than any sort of certainty — "we are no children, 
 surely. Do you not see that, having said as much 
 as you have said, it would be unmerciful not to say 
 more? Tell me, I entreat of you, upon your hon- 
 our — tell me every word of what has just passed 
 between Dr. Bruck and yourself." 
 • "Do not make me tell you, Milnovics, — Dr. 
 Bruck will tell you ; perhaps there is some mistake." 
 
,. THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 "About what? No, I will hear it from you now 
 —this very minute. Listen, Radford. This morn- 
 ing you wanted to have my forgiveness, did you 
 not? Well, listen, then; you shall have my for- 
 giveness, but only if you tell me the whole truth 
 now. Do you understand me? This is the price 
 of my forgiveness. Speak quickly — you do not 
 know how you are torturing me; you cannot know 
 what this means for me." 
 
 Milnovics had risen as he spoke, and stood now 
 close in front of the chair on which Radford sat. 
 Radford slowly turned his head and looked up into 
 the other's face, as though he were asking for 
 mercy. But there was no mercy written there, only 
 a fierce impatience and an almost savage determi- 
 nation. He lowered his eyes and began to speak, 
 feeling that he had no more will of his own. In 
 hurried sentences he repeated all that he had heard 
 from the doctor, not omitting even the smallest de- 
 tail; the look upon Milnovics's face had convinced 
 him that to keep anything back would be unfair. 
 
 Milnovics stood so immovable as he listened 
 that he scarcely seemed to be breathing. 
 
 " And he said positively that I could never use 
 my arm again? " he asked, in a much quieter tone, 
 when Radford had done speaking. 
 
 Radford only nodded in reply; he knew well 
 enough that at that moment he had no voice. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 35 
 
 " But that would mean the end of my career," 
 said Milnovics, still aloud, but speaking to himself. 
 " Yes, I understand. I had guessed half of this for 
 myself, but he would not speak out. It is always 
 better to know the whole than the half." 
 
 Radford had put his hand over his eyes in order 
 not to see his comrade's face. Not that he had the 
 means of. realising entirely what was passing in the 
 mind of the other, but, despite the absence of ex- 
 citement in Milnovics's last words, something told 
 him that it would be an indiscretion, almost an in- 
 decency, to look at him at this moment. He heard 
 how Milnovics returned to his chair and again sat 
 down, and he began to wish that he would speak. 
 He could not look at him, so he told himself, until 
 he had again heard his voice. When the silence had 
 lasted several minutes more he took his hand from 
 his eyes, feeling that he could not wait any longer. 
 
 There was nothing remarkable to be seen about 
 Milnovics. His face was only a little paler than 
 it had been before, but the emotion had aipparently 
 died out of it. He was sitting at the table, exactly 
 as he had been sitting at Radford's entrance, with 
 his left hand upon the open book, but he was not 
 reading, he was looking straight out of the window 
 in front of him, lost in deep thought, and evidently 
 having forgotten Radford's presence. Looking at 
 him, Radford was afraid of speaking, and yet this 
 
,6 THE WRONG MAJN. 
 
 silence was more unbearable than any words that 
 could be said; he felt that he must break it at any 
 price. 
 
 " If it really should be so," he began, tentatively, 
 "I mean if you really are forced to leave the army 
 — though Dr. Bruck did not exactly say so in so 
 many words — have you any plan as to what you 
 will do?" 
 
 Milnovics started as though out of a trance, 
 and turned round quickly in his chair. 
 
 "What is that to you?" he said, roughly. 
 
 "It is everything to me, since everything that 
 follows has its origin in my own act." 
 
 For a short space Milnovics still gazed upon 
 him with angry eyes and with every nerve and 
 muscle strained, as though he were about to spring 
 from his chair, then his attitude relaxed. He ap- 
 peared to remember what he was doing. Several 
 seconds passed before he had controlled himself 
 sufficiently to speak. 
 
 "There has been no time to make a plan yet," 
 he said, in a curiously measured tone. " If it should 
 be as I suppose, I shall have to think of a plan. I 
 am young still, and the military career is not the 
 only one in the world." 
 
 "Good gracious, no!" said Radford, with a 
 movement of relief. "There are dozens of other 
 ways of getting on. One can work with one's head 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 37 
 
 as well as with one's hands, can one not? And I 
 am certain that your head is worth at least a dozen 
 of mine." He tried to laugh, but not successfully. 
 
 "Yes, one can work with one's head," remarked 
 Milnovics in the same flat tone. "There are many 
 people who do so." 
 
 "Of course there are; but look here, Milnovics, 
 surely we are going too fast. Dr. Bruck has not 
 yet spoken the final word. It is not impossible 
 that you may be able to go on serving." 
 
 " No, it is not impossible. We are certainly go- 
 ing too fast. At any rate, there can be no use in 
 discussing the subject now." And again he turned 
 towards the table and looked straight in front of 
 him. 
 
 Radford watched him, understanding quite well 
 that the other wanted to be rid of him, and yet 
 not able immediately to make up his mind to go. 
 There were a hundred questions burning on his lips, 
 not one of which he dared to ask. It occurred to 
 him now that he knew next to nothing about this 
 comrade of his. They were not in the same squad- 
 ron, and Radford himself had not been two months 
 in the regiment. In this short time he had indeed 
 made several friends, but the taciturn and some- 
 what unamiable Milnovics had not been among 
 these. Who was he, and what was he, except just 
 being Lieutenant Milnovics and having thirty-six 
 
,8 . THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 men and as many horses to drill? What would 
 remain of him when once he was out of his lieu- 
 tenant's uniform, — supposing that he had to take it 
 off? What other chances in life stood open for 
 him? Who belonged to him, and did he belong 
 to any one except just to his Majesty Francis 
 Joseph? All this and much more Radford longed 
 to ask and yet sat silent, feeling that in face of the 
 other's reserve it was impossible to press further 
 upon him. 
 
 Milnovics had again fallen back into his reflec- 
 tions and sat with his eyes upon the darkening 
 window, thinking of things to which his comrade 
 could have no clue. 
 
 Having waited for a little while, Radford got up 
 and left the room as quietly as though some one 
 were lying asleep. He had already resolved that 
 he would go back to Dr. Bruck, for Dr. Bruck was 
 the only man whom he could speak to about this, 
 and besides the doctor was one of the veterans of 
 the regiment, and would doubtless be able to answer 
 at least some of the questions that were pursuing 
 him. 
 
 At the sound of the closing door Milnovics 
 raised his head. His eyes returned to the Dien- 
 streglement, which still lay open before him. For 
 a short space he gazed at it as though it were sorne- 
 thing strange to him, then closing the thick vol- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 39 
 
 ume with a bang which had something final in its 
 sound, he pushed it to one side. Having looked 
 round to convince himself that he was alone, .he 
 now opened the drawer of his table, took out the 
 letter with which he had been busy not twenty-four 
 hours ago, and which still lay there half-finished, 
 read it carefully through, and then with a sudden 
 savage gesture crumpled it into a ball with his left 
 hand and hurled it into a corner of the room. 
 
 "It is a lie," he muttered with white lips. 
 "To be strong and patient is not enough. Every- 
 thing is a cruel, miserable lie!" 
 
 Lieutenant Radford found Dr. Bruck barely re- 
 turned from his last sick-call and in an even worse 
 humour than usual. 
 
 "That's what comes from treating those brats 
 like toys, instead of like reasonable creatures," were 
 the snarled-out words with which he greeted Rad- 
 ford at his entrance. "Do you suppose that a 
 mountain of gold would have induced that small 
 monkey to unlock his jaws to-day? I can't look 
 into his throat from the outside, can I? And diph- 
 theria, mind you, the worst form of diphtheria. 
 Parents are deplorable things, I tell you." 
 
 " Dr. Bruck, I have come back to ask you about 
 Milnovics." 
 
 "Milnovics? Milnovics? What do you want 
 
40 THE WROWCi MAjn. 
 
 now? Surely I've had enough of Molnovics for one 
 day? " 
 
 ."Only one question; has he any relations, any 
 brothers? What sort of a fortune has he got? 
 What is his position, — I mean what would his po- 
 sition be if he really should be forced to leave the 
 army?" 
 
 "You call that one question do you? I call it 
 half a dozen. His position? Why, his position 
 would be just the position of any other son of a 
 Ruthenian Popa who has trouble enough to feed 
 himself without counting his children." 
 
 "His father is a priest?" 
 
 "Didn't you know that? Yes, of course his 
 father is a priest, an old priest, and pretty shaky 
 by this time, I fancy." 
 
 "And are the priests in this country so badly 
 paid?" 
 
 " Bless me, what a question ! To be sure, you've 
 only been two months in Galicia. Who's to pay 
 them, do you suppose? Do the peasants look 
 much like large tithes, eh? — Has any one ever heard 
 of such an obstinate monkey! But I'll whip him 
 with my own hands if he has the good luck to 
 recover." 
 
 "And he has no private fortune? " 
 
 "No, he has none." 
 
 "And will they give him no pension?" 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 41 
 
 "You know as well as I that they don't give 
 pensions to people who have served under ten 
 years." 
 
 "Are there any other relations?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, aunts and sisters in plenty; I've heard 
 that they all starved themselves to a set of skele- 
 tons in order to scrape together the money for his 
 studies. He's what a poet would call ' the pride of 
 the family,' so I've heard say. It seems that he had 
 taken it into his head to become a soldier, — and a 
 rattling good soldier he would have made, too, if 
 it had not been for accidents," and the doctor darted 
 a spiteful side-glance at his interlocutor. "Yes, 
 duels are a fine institution no doubt, but I sup- 
 pose I'm too dull-witted to see the beauty of 
 them." 
 
 "An old father, and sisters, and no money," re- 
 peated Radford to himself. "And are you quite 
 certain, doctor, that he cannot go on being a 
 soldier?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm pretty certain of that too. What's 
 a lieutenant without a right arm?" 
 
 "Must he lose his arm? Is there no alter- 
 native?" 
 
 " Oh yes, there is an alternative. There are two 
 possibilities : either mortification sets in or it doesn't 
 set in ; if it sets in I'll have to cut of5f his arm for him, 
 if it doesn't set in he's welcome to keep it, but it 
 
42 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 will be about as much good to him as a piece of 
 wood." 
 
 Radford stood for a few moments longer, look- 
 ing only at the floor. He had not yet sat down. 
 Presently he turned and went out of the room, for- 
 getting even to say good evening to the doctor. 
 He felt afraid of making some ridiculous exhibition 
 of himself if he stayed one minute longer. 
 
 It was almost dark by this time. "An old 
 father — no fortune — sisters — the pride of the fam- 
 ily," such broken thoughts as these shot backwards 
 and forwards through his mind as he walked in a 
 great hurry towards his lodging, without having 
 any distinct idea as to what he would do when he 
 got there. In his hitherto smooth and easy life no 
 emotion approaching to what he now felt had ever 
 come near him. The burden of self-reproach 
 seemed about to break his heart. Had he indeed 
 any right to the rest of his life? In the agitation 
 that was sweeping through his mind the answer 
 almost sounded like " No." For twenty-four hours 
 past he had been living in an abnormal state of mind, 
 and, now that the climax was reached, common- 
 sense seemed likely to be submerged by pure nerv- 
 ous excitement. He began to think of the room 
 in his lodging, of the drawer in his writing-table, 
 and he kept walking faster and faster. He could 
 see that drawer with extraordinary vividness, he 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 43 
 
 could see himself turning the key in the lock, and 
 then 
 
 A hand was laid on his shoulder, and turning 
 round with a start he found Dr. Bruck, breathless, 
 beside him. 
 
 "A nice pace to lead a man of my age out walk- 
 ing," panted the doctor — "truly a nice pace." 
 
 "I didn't ask for your company," said Radford, 
 angrily. 
 
 "I know you didn't, but I've taken a sudden 
 fancy to yours. You think you're going to your 
 lodging, do you? Well, I think quite differently; I 
 think you're coming along with me to the Black 
 Eagle. You've got a revolver at home, haven't you, 
 my young friend? Well, I may be an old fool, but 
 I've taken it into my head not to leave you and your 
 revolver tite-h-tite until your nerves have got a little 
 nearer to a normal condition. I know you young 
 scatter-brains pretty well all round, and maybe, too, 
 I should not have given it you quite so sharply just 
 now, if that little devil of a boy hadn't put me off my 
 balance. But you've had about enough for to-day. 
 Come along to the Black Eagle." 
 
 Long, long after this evening, which was the 
 beginning of the history of his life, Radford used 
 to try and imagine what would have happened if 
 Dr. Bruck had not stopped him on his way to his 
 lodging. Not that he was conscious of having 
 
^ THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 come to any concrete resolve, but nevertheless there 
 really was a revolver in that locked drawer in his 
 lodging, and he really had been thinking of it at 
 the moment when the doctor's hand was laid upon 
 (lis shoulder. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The world has often been roughly divided into a 
 lucky and an unlucky half, and although a doubt 
 may occasionally arise as to the rightful frontier- 
 line, the point in Alfred Radford's case was at any 
 rate perfectly clear. If he had not literally lain in 
 the proverbial golden cradle in which fairy princes 
 lie, it had at least been in one of unimpeachable 
 material and faultless appointments, and if he had 
 not hitherto moved exclusively in Court circles, he 
 had undoubtedly had a very pleasant part to play 
 in those in which his lot was cast. 
 
 By a series of circumstances his father had be- 
 come one of those Anglo- Austrians of whom a cer- 
 tain percentage is to be met with in every province 
 of the dual empire, and who, while never ceasing to 
 call themselves Englishmen, have yet found it quite 
 possible to strike root in a foreign soil. As the sec- 
 ond son of a Suffolk country lawyer, George Rad- 
 ford had at .the age of twenty been despatched to 
 the colonies, and there in twenty further years had 
 managed, more by good luck than by good man- 
 4 45 
 
-5 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 agement, to make a considerable fortune. Return- 
 ing to Europe in his fortieth year, fate gave him the 
 lovely Hilda von Feuchtenstein as fellow-passen- 
 ger, and this proved to be the chief circumstance 
 which eventually made of him an Anglo-Austrian. 
 By the time Trieste was reached George Radford's 
 fate was sealed. Hilda could not, or thought she 
 could not, support the British climate, and as in de- 
 fault of ready money she possessed a tumble-down 
 castle standing in an untrimmed park, George de- 
 cided, without any great pang, for his father was 
 dead and his brother was a stranger to him, to set- 
 tle upon his wife's property. Soon the castle was 
 rebuilt and the park put in order, and in a few years 
 more George Radford had subsided into one of 
 those peaceful country bumpkins who are perfectly 
 content to watch their crops and their sons grow 
 up at a safe distance from the disturbances of the 
 capital. What there was of energy in his nature 
 had been expended in the colonies, and whatever 
 there was of ambition was completely satisfied by 
 Alfred's success. For Alfred had so far been an un- 
 deniable success, — physically in the first place, to all 
 appearances morally also, and quite enough so in- 
 tellectually not to mar the general effect. So great 
 a favourite was he in the country society in which 
 he had hitherto spent most of his time, and in which 
 the only son and heir of the wealthy Mr. Radford 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 47 
 
 and of the former Hilda von Feuchtenstein was 
 necessarily a person of some importance, that but 
 tor something Intrinsically sound in his nature the 
 young man could scarcely have escaped becoming 
 either a ridiculous sop or a worthless worldling. 
 Neither his father's guineas nor his mother's quar- 
 terings, taken separately, would have made his po- 
 sition what it was, but the combination was gen- 
 erally found to be irresistible. 
 
 In this way, therefore, Alfred had grown up, 
 being acquainted with such things as anxiety or 
 sorrow only by hearsay, never having missed any- 
 thing that he required, never having wept over 
 any grave, — without any of those contrarieties 
 which imbitter the mind but also steel the charac- 
 ter, and surrounded with nothing but those joys 
 which indeed expand the heart, but are also so 
 fatally apt to clog even the noblest will. Personally 
 he was neither quite an Englishman nor quite an 
 Austrian,, and yet he was a little of bdth. Thus 
 while his habits were distinctly Austrian, his tastes 
 were to some degree coloured by his father's de- 
 scriptions of what to old Mr. Radford always re- 
 mained "home Hfe." As far as could be judged as 
 yet there was 'in his nature none of that mysterious 
 quality designated as " das Britische Phlegma," but 
 a good deal of the true British sturdiness, and while 
 light-hearted as any full-blood Austrian, there had 
 
48 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 SO far been no symptoms of the dangerous Austrian 
 Leichtsinn. There were, indeed, admirers who as- 
 serted that Alfred had managed to pick out the de- 
 sirable qualities of both nations and to pass over the 
 undesirable ones, but generally these were people 
 who ultimately counted upon borrowing money 
 from Mr. Radford, and whose opinions were there- 
 fore not entirely free from prejudice. To an unin- 
 terested spectator it appeared undecided what sort 
 of a man he would ultimately become. That he 
 should so far have borne himself well at all points 
 was scarcely to be counted in his favour, seeing that, 
 under present circumstances, it was almost easier 
 to behave well than badly. 
 
 Alfred never guessed how wise was his father's 
 resolve to send him to the army, nor, for the mat- 
 ter of that, had Mr. Radford himself any suspicion 
 of the wisdom of his own act. He had always heard 
 that there was nothing like the army for polishing 
 up a young man, and as Hilda would not hear of 
 a son of hers serving in any army but the Aus- 
 trian, it naturally followed that Alfred became an 
 Austrian officer. 
 
 Alfred went readily, though without any spe- 
 cial enthusiasm at first, well understanding that his 
 military career was not meant to be the object of his 
 life, but only a stage upon the road. It was only 
 within his new surroundings that his ambition took 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 4g 
 
 sudden fire, causing him to feel so acutely such re- 
 marks as that unfortunate one reported to him by 
 Nessi Meerkatz. 
 
 Brought face to face with the results of his own 
 rashness, Alfred began by feeling entirely helpless, 
 as all those must on whose notice sorrow and want 
 — even the sorrow and want of others — have never 
 before obtruded themselves. He had always had a 
 certain difficulty in realising that most other people 
 were not as well oS as he, whether morally or finan- 
 cially; and while never advertising his good luck, 
 had enjoyed it without reflection and with a frank 
 geniality which disarmed envy, not looking upon it 
 as luck, but rather as the natural course of things. 
 
 That had been until now; but quite suddenly, 
 within the space of a few hours, his own good for- 
 tune, as weighed against the fate of another, began 
 to appear to him in its true colours. A burning 
 desire for atonement took possession of him; all 
 the more burning because as yet there was abso- 
 lutely nothing to be done but to be patient. Dr. 
 Bruck having for the present flatly forbidden all 
 visits to the injured man. Amputation had not 
 proved necessary, for which small mercy Radford 
 probably felt more thankful than did Milnovics 
 himself; but the unavoidable fever which had set 
 in, together with the stage of inflammation, had 
 proved unusually acute, so necessarily mental ex- 
 
50 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 citement stood first upon the list of forbidden 
 things. 
 
 Since learning from the doctor those few ter- 
 rible details with regard to Milnovics's history, Rad- 
 ford had felt himself to be guilty not of the ruin of 
 an individual, but of a whole family. But there 
 must exist some manner of atonement. Now that 
 he had recovered from the first stupor of the blow, 
 his incorrigibly sanguine nature was already begin- 
 ning to catch sight of all sorts of favourable possi- 
 bilities. Not that he inclined to think lightly of 
 the matter — or if so, only just lightly enough to 
 keep him from despairing — ^but that his inexperi- 
 ence could not realise the details of what must now 
 necessarily follow. During this fearfully long fort- 
 night of waiting he had hatched a plan which ap- 
 peared to himself so beautifully simple and so en- 
 tirely satisfactory at all points, that he felt no very 
 serious misgivings as to its acceptance. It seemed 
 to him that the moment for laying the matter before 
 Milnovics would never arrive, but nevertheless one 
 afternoon about the middle of April, he found him- 
 self somewhat nervously mounting the wooden stair- 
 case of Abraham Meerkatz's house, while carefully 
 repeating to himself Dr. Bruck's strict injunctions 
 as to the avoidance of all excitement. 
 
 Milnovics, his long narrow face grown yet nar- 
 rower, and looking all the more colourless in con- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 SI 
 
 trast to the stubbly black beard of a .fortnight's 
 growth, lay propped against his pillows. As Rad- 
 ford entered, a tall, stooping figure in a long black 
 habit rose from a chair beside the bed. Radford's 
 first impression was of a nun, but looking more 
 closely he perceived that this was no nun, but an 
 ethereal-looking old man with a delicate face of a 
 wonderful waxen pallor, and covered with a net- 
 work of tiny wrinkles. He wore the dress of a 
 Ruthenian priest, and his well-shaped and remark- 
 ably small head was so completely covered by a 
 black silk handkerchief, tied nightcap-wise under 
 his chin, that not even a single wisp of snow-white 
 hair had had the chance of escaping, — for that the 
 hair must be as white as snow was written quite 
 plainly in the wrinkles, as well as in the tired, grey 
 eyes. The impression produced by the strange fig- 
 ure was partly pathetic and partly grotesque. 
 
 "This is my father," said Milnovics, looking at 
 Radford; "and this," he added somewhat more 
 quickly, glancing towards the old priest, "is — one 
 of my comrades." 
 
 "Please sit down again, I did not mean to dis- 
 turb you," said Radford, instinctively moving back 
 towards the door. 
 
 It was the old priest who interfered. 
 "It is no disturbance," he protested, in a thin, 
 musical voice and somewhat broken German. "I 
 
e2 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 have talked to him quite long enough, longer proba- 
 bly than is good for him. A little conversation 
 with a comrade will be a pleasant change. We old 
 men are not apt to be amusing," he added, showing 
 his almost toothless gums in a faint smile, while with 
 a feeble, friendly nod towards Radford, he slipped 
 quietly through the door and into the next room. 
 
 Radford stood looking at the door after it had 
 closed. When his eyes returned to the bed he saw 
 that Milnovics was watching him. 
 
 "Is that your father?" 
 
 " I have told you that it is my father. Why are 
 you looking so astonished? " 
 
 "I was wondering " 
 
 " Perhaps you are wondering at his appearance," 
 said Milnovics, a little sharply. " He suffers from 
 rheumatism in his head, that is why he is obliged to 
 keep it covered." 
 
 Again he looked searchingly at his comrade, as 
 though to detect in Radford's face the faintest sign 
 of a derisive smile. It was impossible for him not 
 to be aware of the effect which that long, night- 
 capped figure was apt to produce upon" strangers. 
 But Radford's thoughts were elsewhere. 
 
 "Does your father know who I am?" 
 
 "I suppose so; I told him that you were my 
 comrade." 
 
 "But did you tell him lahich of your comrades 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 S3 
 
 I am? No, he could not have caught iriy name; I 
 remember now, you did not even mention it. Why, 
 he spoke to me as he might have spoken to any good 
 Samaritan come to nurse you. Milnovics, this is 
 frightful; I cannot stand that look of his, — that 
 smile. If he had flown out at me and called me 
 names I know I should have felt ever so much bet- 
 ter. He must fly out at me if he knows who I am. 
 Let me tell him, please." 
 
 He had already made one step towards the sec- 
 ond door when Milnovics's voice interfered. 
 
 "Leave my father alone," he said, quickly. 
 "Why do you want to torment him? You must 
 not go into that room." 
 
 The colour was mounting to his forehead as he 
 spoke, and at sight of it Dr. Bruck's strict injunc- 
 tions rose again in Radford's mind. Silent and 
 submissive he sat down upon the chair beside the 
 bed. How he had pictured that meeting! How 
 steeled himself to bear the wrath of a righteously 
 indignant father, who, even if deterred by his po- 
 sition from openly cursing him, would yet probably 
 like best to excommunicate him henceforward from 
 all Christian society! And was this to be all? — 
 that meek smile and the benevolent nod? Even 
 though his name had not been pronounced, ought 
 not the man of God to have instinctively recognised 
 him as the criminal? 
 
54 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 He had come here with his plan in his pocket, 
 as it were, and more than ready to pop out of it, — 
 so it had seemed; but from the moment that he had 
 again seen Milnovics's face and had caught sight of 
 the stiff arm lying upon the coverlet, his courage had 
 unaccountably begun to sink a very little. He de- 
 cided that it would be wiser not to come to the point 
 immediately, but rather to start with some other 
 subject and gradually to work up to his real object. 
 
 "When does Dr. Bruck mean to let you out of 
 bed? " he began, at random. 
 
 "In the course of this week, I believe." 
 
 "But not out of your room yet, I suppose." 
 
 Radford took a look round the room. It struck 
 him as a peculiarly dreary cage to be shut up in 
 during this glorious spring weather. A defective 
 cane chair stood conspicuous beside the window, 
 and, with the exception of its fellow which he at 
 this moment occupied, formed the only sitting ac- 
 commodation of the apartment. 
 
 " But surely you will want something more com- 
 fortable than that if you are to be kept locked up 
 here," he observed, looking almost indignantly at 
 the chair. " Nobody could sit for hours on a thing 
 like that." 
 
 "I have a sofa in the next room," said Milno- 
 vics, evasively. 
 
 "That narow bit of a bench? Why, that's 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 55 
 
 worse than the chair; it's all one can do to balance 
 oneself upon it. I've often meant to ask you where 
 ,on earth you picked up that awful piece of furni- 
 ture — I mean," he added, growing suddenly very 
 red as he saw Milnovics's face darkening, "of 
 course the sofa is all right, I suppose, when one is 
 accustomed to it, but for a person just out of bed 
 it doesn't strike me somehow ^s being exactly the 
 thing. It's rather slippery, don't you know." 
 
 Milnovics said nothing, and Radford took an- 
 other hasty look round the room. He had been 
 in this same room before, without ever having 
 noticed any of the dreariness of its details. The 
 iron wash-hand-stand from which most of the 
 enamel had already crumbled, the curtainless win- 
 dows, the little mirror on the wall, with its blistered 
 wooden frame, had never before attracted his atten- 
 tion, just as little as the rickety sofa in the next 
 room would have done if he had not happened per- 
 sonally to have experienced its discomfort. Bu^ to- 
 day, every one of these details seemed to have be- 
 come all at once hugely conspicuous. He even 
 observed that the comb which lay upon the wash- 
 hand-stand had lost three of its teeth. The single 
 thing that resembled an ornament was the picture 
 of a black-faced Madonna, painted upon wood, 
 against a background of gold, and supported by a 
 wooden shelf in a comer of the room. It was so 
 
56 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 unexpected, and looked so out of place upon the 
 bare walls, that Radford could not immediately take 
 his eyes off it. 
 
 Presently his train of thought drew him back 
 to the contemplation of the cane chair. 
 
 "It's quite impossible," he broke out aloud. 
 "Milnovics, you must let me send over an arm- 
 chair; I've got one which I never use — upon my 
 honour, I never do, — and you positively must have 
 something better than this to sit on — even Dr. 
 Bruck will tell you so." 
 
 "I am going to hire a chair. Aaron Blauwurz 
 lets out furniture, you know." 
 
 "Yes, and moths into the bargain,. not to men- 
 tion other species of insects. Nonsense, Milnovics, 
 you must let me send over that chair." 
 
 " I don't require the chair," said Milnovics, with 
 a touch of irritation. "I have already settled with 
 Aaron Blauwurz." 
 
 The sharpness of the tone caused Radford to 
 sink into discouraged silence, but not for long. 
 
 "Well, if you have got a chair already," he be- 
 gan, after a minute, though in a tone of much less 
 assurance, "you will at least need a footstool, — 
 and, perhaps a low basket-table for keeping your 
 newspaper at your elbow, don't you know? Aaron 
 Blauwurz has certainly got no basket-tables, and I 
 just happen to have one which is always standing 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 57 
 
 in my way, — and you would positively be obliging 
 me if " 
 
 " I cannot oblige you, Radford. Many thanks, 
 but I require none of these things." 
 
 "None at all?" repeated Radford, looking once 
 more dicconsolately around the room in the vague 
 hope of discovering some further excuse for an 
 offer. Excuses there would in truth have been 
 enough, but they were not available, for it could 
 scarcely be quite the thing to offer his comrade a 
 new mirror or a blind for his window. 
 
 "Tell me, Milnovics," he said, speaking upon 
 some impulse of curiosity, as his eyes once more 
 rested upon the black-face^ Madonna in the corner, 
 "have you always had that picture there? I did 
 not notice it before. I positively did not know you 
 were so pious." 
 
 "I am not pious," replied Milnovics. 
 
 "But that picture " 
 
 "That picture hangs there because my father 
 occasionally visits me, and he likes to see it in its 
 place." 
 
 "You must be very fond of your father," said 
 Radford, warmly, " and I suppose he is very fond of 
 you, and yet," he added in a lower tone, " he seems 
 to be bearing it wonderfully." 
 
 "He is accustomed to bearing things," replied 
 Milnovics, almost indifferently. 
 
58 THE WRONG MAM. 
 
 "Does he know that — that you will have to 
 leave the army? " 
 
 "Yes, he knows it" 
 
 "Then by rights he ought to want to kill me, 
 or at least to cut oflf my right arm. Properly speak- 
 ing, I have got no right to my arm, since I have 
 deprived you of the use of yours. It was I who 
 did that, Milnovics, remember! " 
 
 Milnovics was stroking his black, unkempt 
 moustache with his left hand, and said nothing. 
 
 "Your arm is useless, and your career is cut 
 short," went on Radford, eagerly, bending a Httle 
 forward as he spoke; "and it was I who did it — 
 vou must remember that!" 
 
 The other went on looking before him in 
 silence. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, say something, — ^was it 
 not I?" 
 
 "Do you think I am likely to forget?" said 
 Milnovics, almost in a whisper, and with one quick, 
 fierce glance into his comrade's face. 
 
 "Ah, you admit it, — and not by mere accident, 
 but literally and positively through my own un- 
 pardonable imprudence." 
 
 Radford paused for a few moments, rapidly re- 
 viewing the arguments which had been prepared 
 for the occasion. 
 
 "Tell me another thing, Milnovics," he began, 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 5g 
 
 after that pause; "supposing you had happened to 
 smash up something belonging to some one else, — 
 I mean if you had broken the neck of a horse be- 
 longing to one of the other fellows, or if you had 
 borrowed some one's riding-whip and snapped it 
 in two, what would you naturally do? " 
 
 Milnovics looked at him in astonishment, with- 
 out immediately replying. 
 
 "You would feel bound to replace the horse, 
 would you not, or to buy a new riding- whip?" 
 
 "I suppose I should," repHed Milnovics, still 
 watching the other's face curiously. 
 
 "And if the case was reversed, and your whip 
 had been broken, you wouldn't think twice about 
 accepting a new one ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "No? Well, then, Hsten to me!" said Rad- 
 ford, triumphantly. "What I want to do is not a 
 bit different from what you say you would feel bound 
 to do. You admit that I have smashed up your 
 career; well, then, I too feel bound to replace it." 
 
 " I don't understand you," said Milnovics, coldly. 
 
 "You shall immediately, — wait a little. My 
 plan is simply this: since I, by my act, have de- 
 prived you of your lieutenant's charge and conse- 
 quently also of your lieutenant's pay, I wish by 
 another act to return to you what still can be re- 
 turned, that is unfortunately only the pay. It is 
 
6o THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 exactly the same really as if I had broken your rid- 
 ing-whip and were giving you another — don't you 
 understand? It is really quite simple. Even my 
 father has made no objections; I told him all about 
 it in my last letter, and I have got his consent." 
 
 Literally speaking this was true. During the 
 past fortnight Alfred had attempted to relieve his 
 mind by taking his father into his confidence, and 
 by appealing somewhat incoherently to the pater- 
 nal generosity towards his injured comrade. Old 
 Mr. Radford did not follow all the arguments, but 
 he gathered that his son was in an over-excited 
 state of mind, and readily gave Alfred carte blanche 
 to do whatever his conscience might demand of him. 
 Neither had he any serious apprehensions as to the 
 result. Alfred always had been easily moved, and, 
 judging from experience, he calculated that the 
 first passion of remorse would be spent before the 
 reply to his letter had reached him. The only mis- 
 take Mr. Radford made was in forgetting that al- 
 though he had often before seen his son carried 
 away by his feelings, those feelings had never been 
 very serious ones, seeing that all his life up to this 
 point had been one long play-time. 
 
 While he detailed his present plan Milnovics's 
 expression underwent a change which it would not 
 have been easy to define. 
 
 " So the idea is that I am to draw my pay from 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 6 1 
 
 you or from your father, instead of from the Em- 
 peror? " he remarked, when Radford had done 
 speaking. 
 
 "Yes, that is exactly the idea; you couldn't 
 have put it more clearly. It is perfectly logical, is 
 it not?" 
 
 " Not perfectly; in order to be quite logical I 
 ought to swear allegiance to you, instead of to the 
 Emperor, since I am to be your lieutenant. And 
 tell me, by the by, am I always to remain a lieu- 
 tenant? Is there no advancement in your service?" 
 
 " Of course there is," said Radford, eagerly, 
 feeling at once both astonished and pleased at the 
 other's tone; it seemed almost as though there 
 were going to be no struggle at all. " Of course 
 the pay will increase just the same as if you were 
 in the army and still advancing. You agree to my 
 plan, do you not? " 
 
 " Wait a little ; I want to hear a little more first. 
 You mean to make me advance at a proper rate, 
 I hope, — and how far do you propose to let me 
 get? Is there any chance of my becoming a gen- 
 eral? " 
 
 " As far as my means will reach; the last penny 
 of my fortune exactly represents the limits of what 
 I wish to do for you. I want you to believe that 
 I would gladly give it all up at this moment, only 
 to undo the misfortune I have brought about." 
 5 
 
62 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 He spoke so earnestly that, somewhat to his 
 annoyance, he feh the tears rise to his eyes. 
 
 " You do believe me, do you not? And you do 
 agree to my proposal? " 
 
 Milnovics put his head further back upon the 
 pillow, and, with his eyes upon the ceiling, seemed 
 to be stifling an abrupt attack of laughter. 
 
 " I did not think that anything could amuse 
 me now, but really, Radford, you are quite irresisti- 
 ble. It is an excellent joke, — there, — that's enough 
 for the present, — ^we may as well talk seriously if 
 we are to talk at all." 
 
 " A joke? " repeated Radford, taken suddenly 
 aback ; " you surely cannot suppose that I meant 
 this as a joke? " 
 
 " Possibly not, but I certainly take it as one." 
 
 " And you will not agree to my proposal? " 
 
 " No, I will not, — since you seem to expect a 
 serious answer. But I am quite ready to admit 
 that you had no intention of insulting me with your 
 oflfer." 
 
 " But, Milnovics," began the distressed Radford, 
 " you surely admitted " 
 
 " Be quiet ! " said Milnovics, peremptorily. " I 
 have kept my temper so far, but everything has 
 limits. I tell you plainly, once for all, that I will 
 not accept any money from you, either now or at 
 any future time and under whatever ingenious ex- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 63 
 
 cuses you attempt to thrust it upon me. Is that 
 clear enough? " 
 
 " But, Milnovics," Radford began again, and 
 then at sight of his comrade's heightened colour 
 Dr. Bruck's injunctions rose once more to his mind, 
 and once more he felt himself effectually silenced. 
 
 " I will not press you further upon this point — 
 at present," he began after a long pause, " but sure- 
 ly there are other ways in which I might be of help 
 to you. Probably — I mean possibly — you may 
 wish to look out for some other occupation. My 
 mother has a great many influential relations, — 
 perhaps she might be able to procure for you some 
 appointment which would suit you." 
 
 " It is very obliging of you to suggest it, but 
 I do not intend to appeal to your mother." 
 
 " Then do you mean that I can do absolutely 
 nothing for you? " 
 
 " I have not asked you to do anything for me." 
 " Unfortunately you have not. All that remains 
 for me is to be- your friend; that at least you can- 
 not forbid me." 
 
 Milnovics had turned his head upon the pillow 
 and was looking straight at the wall. 
 
 " Milnovics," said Radford, almost a little tim- 
 idly, "if it is not unpleasant to you, I wish you 
 would call me by my name — ^Alfred, — it would 
 make me feel somehow as though we were a little 
 
64 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 nearer together, and as though I had a better right 
 to render you some small service now and then. 
 You will let me be your friend, will you not? " 
 
 Milnovics turned his head again sharply, and, 
 raising himself somewhat upon his pillows, began 
 to talk rapidly and low, with flushed face and shin- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 " Leave me alone, Radford; it is all the mercy 
 I ask of you. You have got my forgiveness, but 
 in the name of heaven, spare me your friendship! 
 I cafvnot bear everything; I am not like my father. 
 Do you not understand that the very sight of you 
 must always keep the wound open? I beg of you 
 to leave me alone. Do you think I do not un- 
 derstand what all this means? You have been 
 making inquiries, and you have found out that 
 I am poor, — ^that we are all poor, and you want 
 to force your help upon me, in some shape or 
 other; but I tell you that I want your friendship 
 just as little as I want your footstools, or your 
 money, or your— .pity. That which I have to bear 
 I can bear best alone. I ask you again, will you 
 leave me alone? " 
 
 " No, I will not leave you alone," said Radford, 
 rising from his chair under the impression of some 
 new emotion. His eyes were shining, and the 
 colour had mounted to his face as he returned his 
 comrade's full gaze. " You shall not forbid me to 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 65 
 
 do that which I know to be not only my duty but 
 also my right. You will not have my friendship, 
 you say, — well, then, what I say is, that I shall 
 yet become your friend and gain you for a friend, 
 in spite of everything, in spite of your very self. 
 Let it be a trial of strength between us, — ^it is no 
 matter, I know that I shall conquer in the end. 
 I shall not leave you alone — I tell it you to your 
 face — I shall follow you always with my thoughts, 
 if I cannot do so with my eyes ; I shall never cease 
 to invent and combine until I have discovered 
 some means of doing you some good. If ever you 
 are in want of a helping hand, it shall be my hand 
 and no other that helps you. I can understand 
 that you should hate me, but you have no right 
 to repulse me; you have no right to deprive me of 
 the means of repairing my own fault, at least to 
 some small extent, and of re-establishing myself 
 in my own eyes. Do you hear me, Milnovics, do 
 you understand? " 
 
 It was hard to say whether Milnovics had 
 heard. While Radford was speaking he had sunk 
 back upon his pillow and again turned his face 
 towards the wall. He now lay immovable, without 
 response and without sign. 
 
 "Do you understand?" repeated Radford, — 
 then seeing that there was still no movement in 
 the bed and no break in the sullen silence, he 
 
66 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 stood for only one moment longer, looking down 
 upon the disabled man not with sorrow this time, 
 but rather with a glance which was on fire with 
 the joy of a real resolution. The next moment, 
 without another word, he turned and left the room. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Radford's declaration was followed by immediate 
 action. Had he been a little older or a little wiser 
 he would doubtless have set to work on a totally 
 different method, and by biding his time would 
 probably have made more speed in the end; but 
 being such as he was, he did not stop to lay am- 
 bushes or dig mines, but, having collected his am- 
 munition, began straightway to open an exceed- 
 ingly lively fire on the citadel of Milnovics's 
 friendship. 
 
 The first shot was discharged in the shape of 
 a splendidly comfortable rocking-chair which, on 
 the very morrow of his visit, he ordered his serv- 
 ant to carry to Milnovics's lodging. The servant 
 was back again in half an hour, bringing both the 
 chair and a message to the effect that Lieutenant 
 Milnovics was much obliged, but that sitting in that 
 sort of chair always made him feel sea-sick. The 
 next experiment was a packet of books which, as 
 the accompanying note explained, Mrs. Radford 
 
 happened to have sent her son lately, but which 
 67 
 
68 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 the latter could not possibly find time to read. The 
 books were returned upon Radford's hands with as 
 little delay as the rocking-chair, for Dr. Bruck had 
 forbidden the patient to read; wrhile a box of choice 
 cigars shared the fate of both rocking-chair and 
 books, — the patient had likewise been forbidden 
 to smoke. 
 
 But even after the failure of the cigars, Radford 
 was by no means at his wits' end. Never before 
 had he suspected himself of such an inventive facul- 
 ty as that which now came to his aid, causing him 
 to catch sight of the most out-of-the-way chances 
 of rendering some service either directly or indi- 
 rectly to the convalescent, either with or without 
 his knowledge. There was a good deal of indeli- 
 cacy in all this, but much more of genuine eager- 
 ness, and withal such an absence of ostentation 
 and so steadfast a good humour in the face of con- 
 tinued failure, that though the lookers-on might 
 criticise, they could not avoid smiling leniently. 
 Perfect tact is not generally an attribute of raw in- 
 experience, and Radford, moreover, being robust 
 in all his instincts, had not hitherto been given to 
 studying the nicer shades of a somewhat morbid 
 sensibility. There were not awanting voices to tell 
 the Englander that he was a fool for his pains, and 
 that no one but just an Englander could be so pig- 
 headed as to persist in his efforts, for the weeks 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 69 
 
 that had passed since the duel had brought about 
 a gradual but certain change in the attitude of the 
 regiment towards the event. The sympathy for 
 Milnovics's misfortune had begun by being just as 
 unanimous as the blame for " Rahdfort's " impru- 
 dence, as was indeed unavoidable; but when the 
 unfortunate man is so persistently ungracious and 
 the imprudent man so truly remorseful, a modifica- 
 tion both of sympathy and of blame is almost as 
 unavoidable. Milnovics had always been too taci- 
 turn to be popular, whereas Radford, here as every- 
 where, was a general favourite; the glamour of his 
 wealth and position probably did the rest. How it 
 came about nobody could exactly say, but before 
 a month from the fatal day had elapsed the mutual 
 position of the two men had been so thoroughly 
 exchanged that, from being the martyr, Milnovics 
 had in the public opinion been degraded to the 
 rank of offender, while the original offender, with- 
 out either his consent or knowledge, was now gen- 
 erally looked upon as the martyr. 
 
 Before the end of April Radford was tempor- 
 arily ordered off to one of the outlying stations 
 of the regiment. Returning to Lohatyn a fortnight 
 later, his first thought was of Milnovics. The an- 
 swers which met his inquiries struck him, with 
 somiething like consternation. Milnovics was no 
 longer here; he had gone home to his relations 
 
70 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 on what was called six months' sick-leave, but 
 which every one recognised as the legitimate meth- 
 od of drawing the pay for one extra half-year be- 
 fore finally quitting the army. 
 
 " He has chosen this moment on purpose," said 
 Radford, in angry disappointment; " he has given 
 me the slip; but he shall not escape me because 
 of that— no, he shall not! " 
 
 With a sense of relief he remembered having 
 heard that Milnovics's home was at no great dis- 
 tance from Lohatyn. Immediately he set about 
 making more particular inquiries, and learnt to 
 his satisfaction that an hour and a half of hard rid- 
 ing would take him to the village of Berenow, 
 where Father Floryan Milnovics's living was situ- 
 ated. 
 
 There now followed a few days of most unusual 
 indecision and of somewhat mixed sensations. The 
 recollection of that tall bowed figrure, and of the 
 waxen face with the tired, grey eyes which he had 
 seen as in a vision, rose again and seemed to be 
 barring his passage. The grief which he had read 
 there touched him as something almost too sacred 
 to be intruded upon. 
 
 Having twice had his horse saddled for the ride 
 to Berenow and twice countermanded his own 
 order, there came to him on the morning of the 
 fourth day a thought which seemed to throw the 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 71 
 
 required light upon his perplexities. Was not the 
 name of the feeling that was holding him back false 
 rather than true shame? This suggestion settled 
 the matter. From the moment that he suspected 
 himself of wishing to spare himself rather than 
 Father Floryan, his duty appeared to him clear. 
 On the afternoon of that day the horse was once 
 more saddled, and Radford started for Berenow, 
 fully determined to bear the whole brunt of the 
 reproaches with which the afHicted family could 
 scarcely fail to receive him. 
 
 It was a perfect evening in the latter half of 
 May, and the monotony of the straight highroad 
 was gratefully relieved by the pink flush of an oc- 
 casional apple-tree among the limes and birches 
 which stood at irregular intervals to the right and 
 to the left. The nearer the road drew to Berenow 
 the closer did the straggly avenue become and 
 the more frequent the fruit-trees, until at length, 
 towards sunset, the rider made his entry under tri- 
 umphal arches of pink and white, which, since he 
 happened to be the only moving thing within 
 sight, seemed to have been erected especially in 
 his honour, and were ready at the lightest pufF of 
 air to shower their blossoms upon his head and 
 shoulders, and even into his pockets, had he been 
 so minded. 
 
 " They don't know who I am," reflected Rad- 
 
72 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 ford, while with a whimsical fancy he shook his 
 head al the dazzling pear and cherry trees; " they 
 have set their hearts upon crowning me, as though 
 I were a hero returning from the battle-field, 
 whereas I am a criminal, and scarcely well on the 
 battle-field as yet. They should be throwing stones 
 at me, not flowers. Why, it looks for all the world 
 as though I were a prince in a fairy-tale on my way 
 to fetch my bride to church." 
 
 He laughed aloud at his own idea, and then 
 checked himself abruptly at the sound of his voice. 
 This surely was not the right mood in which to 
 enter on his mission of to-day. He should be 
 thinking of the serious side of life, whereas these 
 blossoms and this soft evening air, and even the 
 luscious green in the roadside ditch, all tended to 
 put forward the gay side against a man's will, 
 and despite of whatever might be in his mind. 
 Amidst the gentle intoxication of a spring day, it 
 is hard for youth and health to remain perfectly 
 sober, very hard for a man to keep his eyes shut 
 to his own good fortune, merely because some one 
 else has been unfortunate. 
 
 Thanks to the evening light and to the profu- 
 sion of blossoms on all sides, the loose labyrinth 
 of poverty-stricken huts was looking its best to-day. 
 The Ruthenian Pentecost was only just over, and 
 the birch-boughs, with which it is the fashion to 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 73 
 
 deck out the houses for the " green festival," were 
 still fresh and juicy, imparting a distinctly festive 
 character to the straw-thatched roofs from which 
 they hung in glistening green fringes. The fancy 
 pursued Radford that everything had been pre- 
 pared expressly, for his entry. Even the young 
 families of rosy pigs and canary-coloured chickens 
 that met him at every corner, seemed to have 
 turned out especially in his honour. 
 
 By the time Radford had dismounted in front 
 of a decrepit gate of plain deal boards, every urchin 
 in the place seemed to have put in an appearance 
 for the- purpose of swelling his cortege; a silent and 
 respectful cortege, without a stocking or a shoe 
 amongst them, with unwashed faces but awestruck 
 eyes, and who, although apparently deeply observ- 
 ant, never got so far as to exchange the results of 
 those observations even in the most unobtrusive of 
 whispers. 
 
 What had been pointed out to Radford as the 
 plebanija (priest's house) appeared to be simply an- 
 other of the peasant houses, with the difference 
 that it possessed whole windows and a brick chim- 
 ney. Within the gate he found himself in a large 
 but apparently thinly stocked farmyard, in which 
 nettles were evidently the most thriving article. 
 Right through their rank growth a path had been 
 trodden to where, somewhere about the middle of 
 
74 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 the space, the beam of a draw-well was reared 
 against the sky. From a muddy-looking pond at 
 the further end there came filing along a family 
 of half-grown ducks, not one of which had yet at- 
 tained the dignity of a graceful waddle, painfully 
 conscious of the immensity of their feet, visibly em- 
 barrassed by the shortness of their tails. A long 
 tumble-down shed ran along one side of the yard, 
 and in one of the scattered straw-heaps two rather 
 thin pigs were wallowing. 
 
 Radford looked about him with a sinking heart. 
 On everything that he saw not only was poverty 
 and even want written in plain letters, but a hun- 
 dred details which he was scarcely aware of notic- 
 ing, indirectly offended some innate sense of order 
 and accuracy inherited from British forefathers. 
 Could this be Milnovics's home, the place where 
 he was to spend the remainder of a life only just 
 begun? No, at any price, it must not be. 
 
 The door stood open, but from within there 
 came no sign of life, and Radford, having fastened 
 his horse to the paling, where it stood stamping 
 impatiently and shaking out the apple-blossoms 
 that still clung to its chestnut mane, decided upon 
 following the example of a young hen who, being 
 apparently well acquainted with the premises, was 
 just now mounting the doorstep. Following the 
 hen closely he first found himself in a brick-paved 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 75 
 
 passage, and from there was led into the kitchen, 
 at which point, however, his feathered guide aban- 
 doned him in order to throw herself upon a dish of 
 cold potatoes standing uncovered upon the table, 
 and on which three sisters of her own were already 
 feasting. 
 
 " Is there any one here? " Radford asked of the 
 walls, and at the loudly spoken question the silent 
 house awoke suddenly into life. From behind a 
 door opposite a quick whispering arose, somebody 
 peeped through a chink and disappeared again 
 with a breathless exclamation. Steps were heard 
 to cross the passage outside, but before Radford 
 had time to turn round they were gone again. 
 More doors were opened and more startled faces 
 became visible for a passing second, but evidently 
 no one had as yet found courage to face such an 
 unusual thing as a visitor in uniform. It was not 
 until several more minutes had passed that a bare- 
 footed servant-girl, of apparently about eight years 
 old, came to the surface, and, with burning blushes, 
 led Radford into a large square room with the low- 
 est ceiling he had ever seen. Here, before anything 
 further happened, he had ample time to come to 
 the conclusion that the narrow slippery sofa which 
 formed the principal article of furniture, must be 
 the twin-brother of the one in Milnovics's lodging, 
 as well as to count the various circles left upon the 
 
76 THE WRONC, MAN. 
 
 polish of the table, probably by glasses of hot tea. 
 In one comer of the room a small oil-lamp burned 
 before the same sort of religious picture that he 
 had seen in Milnovics's bedroom, and here as there 
 it was the only ornament. 
 
 Radford's heart sank lower still while he sat and 
 looked anxiously towards the door, half hoping, 
 and yet more than half afraid, to see the old Popa 
 enter. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 When some one entered at last it was not the old 
 Popa, but apparently his female counterpart. This 
 was an elderly woman in an ostentatiously new 
 black dress, very badly made, and of which some 
 of the buttons had not been fastened. She had 
 the same long, narrow figure as the Popa, held rig- 
 idly upright instead of being bowed, and the same 
 cut of face as he; the difference being only that 
 whereas his features seemed to have been moulded 
 out of wax hers might have been cut out of 
 stone. Her instinct of hospitality was evidently 
 struggling to get the upper hand of the annoyance 
 of having had to change her dress in such a hurry; 
 moreover, to judge from the condition of her fin- 
 ger-tips, she had evidently been interrupted in the 
 kneading of some sort of dough. 
 
 " I am a comrade of Lieutenant Milnovics," 
 said Radford, having named himself, " and I am 
 come to inquire after his health." 
 
 " You are the first who has taken the trouble 
 
 to do so," replied the elderly lady in a grating voice, 
 6 77 
 
78 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 while her hard, grey eyes seemed to be examining 
 the visitor with some suspicion. She paused for 
 a moment and then added, " I presume that this 
 inquiry is not the sole object of your riding eight 
 miles? " 
 
 " I would gladly have ridden twenty with the 
 same intention. But why do you ask me this?" 
 
 " Because it is not the way of the world to take 
 trouble when other people alone are concerned. 
 It looks well to appear charitable, but I have never 
 known a charity yet behind which some self-inter- 
 est was not lurking. If you are speaking the truth 
 you are an exception, and I do not believe in ex- 
 ceptions. That is why I asked you." 
 
 Radford gazed at the stony-faced and distinctly 
 unceremonious old woman with a feeling of sur- 
 prise not unmixed with amusement. Unwittingly 
 she had given him exactly the opening which he 
 wanted. 
 
 " Madam," he began presently, — ^he supposed 
 he was safe in saying Madam, — " I will tell you 
 the truth: I am no exception, — there is a self- 
 interest lurking behind my action. I have not 
 come here merely for Milnovics's sake, but also for 
 my own. You probably do not know who I am. 
 You say that I am the first of his comrades who 
 has taken the trouble to come, but you do not 
 know that none of the others have the same reason 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 79 
 
 for coming that I have. It was with me that he 
 fought that unhappy duel, and therefore it is I who 
 am the cause of his misfortune." 
 
 He paused with a flush on his face and looked 
 expectantly towards her, prepared for the worst 
 that could come in the way of reproaches. But she 
 also was looking expectantly towards him, as 
 though waiting to hear more. 
 
 "Well?" she said as he did not speak; "you 
 have not yet told me what your own interest is in 
 coming here? " 
 
 " Not told you? " he stammered; " but did you 
 not just hear me say that it was I who have dis- 
 abled his arm? and do you not understand that 
 my self-reproaches would kill me if I did not do 
 all that is in my power for the man whom I have 
 injured? " 
 
 " Ah, so you reproach yourself? " remarked the 
 old lady in the same harsh, unmodulated voice. 
 " That is because you are young. When you are 
 a little older you will see that such self-reproach 
 is mere foolishness. All that talk about freewill 
 is nonsense; we are nothing but instruments, and 
 we can do nothing but what is ordained, some- 
 where or other — perhaps in heaven or possibly in 
 hell — that we shall do. It may amuse you to call 
 yourself the cause of his misfortune, but you are 
 really nothing at all, nothing but an inert mass 
 
8o 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 in the hand of— whoever settles our fates. If it 
 had not been you it would have been another. 
 Therefore it would have been very unreasonable 
 of you to ride out here merely because of a feeling 
 of self-reproach." 
 
 There was a bitter smile upon her dry lips, and 
 her glance added very plainly: " But I do not by 
 any means take you for such a fool as that; there 
 certainly is something more behind this." 
 
 " But I am forgetting my duties," she said, ris- 
 ing stiffly; " you must be thirsty after those eight 
 miles. I do not know why Marysia is not bring- 
 ing the samovar (tea-urn)." 
 
 Radford let her go out without another word. 
 He had hoped that she would begin by weeping, 
 and end by granting him her forgiveness, but evi- 
 dently there was no chance of either, for not only 
 did those grey eyes, as he had seen them now, 
 seem incapable of shedding tears, but, according 
 to her creed, there simply was nothing to for- 
 give. 
 
 When several more minutes had passed, the 
 door opened once more. Radford turned round 
 quickly, but it was not yet Father Floryan, it was 
 a woman of somewhere about thirty, with sleek 
 black hair, and a small, mobile, yellow face. She 
 came in briskly, almost jauntily, smiHng somewhat 
 nervously at Radford, before she had quite closed 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 8 1 
 
 the door. While still crossing the room she began 
 to talk in short jerky sentences. 
 
 " You are Stepan's comrade? Yes, I have al- 
 ready heard. Please do not stand. This is very 
 kind. The samovar will be here immediately. You 
 have ridden out from Lohatyn? " 
 
 " Yes, I came to inquire after Milnovics's health, 
 but I have not yet heard how he is." 
 
 " Oh, his health is very good. That is to say, 
 he has had a relapse, but that is all the better. A 
 recovery should not be too fast, do you not think 
 so ? I am sure he will be delighted to see 
 you." 
 
 " And I am sure he will not," said Radford, al- 
 most bitterly for him. 
 
 " This event must have been a great blow to the 
 family," he added tentatively. Possibly this lively 
 and voluble person — a sister or a cousin, he sup- 
 posed — might listen with more sympathy to the 
 confession he was dying to make, and which at the 
 first attempt had proved so complete a failure. 
 
 To his consternation she began to laugh, not 
 very gaily, it is true, and in rather too shrill a tone 
 to be perfectly natural, but it was nevertheless 
 enough to disconcert him. 
 
 " A blow, yes, of course it was a blow," she said, 
 and her laughter broke off as abruptly as it had 
 begun. " It was so sudden as to be almost funny. 
 
82 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 I don't think we any of us quite believed it at first. 
 I cried a good deal on the first day, but there isn't 
 much sense in crying, and, after all, a great many 
 things that look like misfortunes really are bless- 
 ings — disguised blessings, I think people call them. 
 Now, for instance, if Stepan had gone on being 
 a soldier he might have had to go to the war, and 
 there he might have been killed, while now we shall 
 have him at home with us always." 
 
 " But with one arm only," said Radford, 
 gloomily. 
 
 " Yes; but is it not better to have him with one 
 arm than to lose him with both?" 
 
 She had grown suddenly serious, and was look- 
 ing at Radford with anxious, questioning eyes. 
 
 " She also does not know who I am," he re- 
 flected; " I must tell her the truth." 
 
 " Does that mean," he asked aloud, " that you 
 would be able to forgive the man who did him this 
 harm?" 
 
 " I have forgiven him long ago,— if you will call 
 it a harm; but I have told you already that for any- 
 thing I know it may be a blessing." 
 
 " Then it is me whom you have forgiven, for it 
 was I who fought with him." 
 
 Instantly the small face began to work, and the 
 nervous laugh broke out again. 
 
 "You! Oh, this is terribly funny. Why did 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 83 
 
 you not tell me? I never guessed that it was you. 
 Is that why you are looking so distressed? " 
 
 " Do you expect me to look cheerful? " 
 
 " Why not? That duel may have saved Stepan 
 from far greater misfortunes, from far bloodier 
 wounds, and in that case you really are his bene- 
 factor, don't you see? So why shouldn't you be 
 cheerful? My belief is that things generally are 
 best as they are, — at any rate it's better to look at 
 it that way," she added, with a just susceptible sink- 
 ing of her voice. 
 
 " Possibilities can never console me for facts," 
 said Radford almost hotly. 
 
 " Better look at it that way — far better look at 
 it that way," murmured the black-haired woman 
 in reply, and hastily rose, adding something about 
 its being incredible how long a time Marysia took 
 to heat the samovar. 
 
 Once outside the door she stood still, and her 
 small, crumpled face grew still smaller and more 
 crumpled up, almost as though she were on the 
 point of bursting into tears; but happening at that 
 moment to put her hand to her throat, she became 
 aware that in her hurry she had forgotten to put 
 on her brooch — a. discovery which immediately 
 gave her thoughts another turn. With a look of 
 annoyance on her face she went quickly to her own 
 room. 
 
84 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 For Radford there followed another interval of 
 solitude. 
 
 " Every one in this house seems to have a the- 
 ory of his own," he reflected, " and none of them 
 agree with mine." 
 
 Then he sat looking at the closed door and won- 
 dering what was coming next. 
 
 What came next was an insignificant-looking 
 man, whose age was difficult to determine, in 
 priestly attire, and with a spiritless expression of 
 countenance. He had been busy with his collar 
 outside the door, and was not quite done with it 
 at the moment of entering. He approached Rad- 
 ford with the timid suggestion that they should go 
 together to meet Stepan and his father, who had 
 walked up to the old church, but who must be on 
 their way back by this time. It appeared that the 
 rate at which Marysia was getting on with the 
 samovar promised to give them ample time for this 
 excursion. 
 
 The wooded hillock on which the old church 
 stood sloped down till close behind the line of 
 sheds, and formed on this side the natural bound- 
 ary of the farmyard. At the further end, beyond 
 the well and the duck-pond, there stood a large 
 group, almost a small forest, of very tall and very 
 thin ash-trees, which had evidently been planted 
 much too thickly, and had therefore not 'been able 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 85 
 
 to expand. It was towards these trees that the man 
 in priestly attire led the way. The ascent was easier 
 from that side, he explained. 
 
 " K he isn't a brother, I don't know where to 
 put him," reflected Radford, " and yet I was told 
 there were no brothers." 
 
 Judging from his experiences to-day, introduc- 
 tions were not the fashion here, and yet they un- 
 doubtedly had their advantages, as Radford had 
 time to reflect while picking his way between the 
 puddles and manure-heaps of the farmyard and 
 while his companion walked listlessly beside him. 
 Radford looked at him once or twice questioningly. 
 This time he was determined to go straight to the 
 point; no doubt a man would understand him bet- 
 ter than those women could. 
 
 " This is a great misfortune," he began abruptly. 
 
 "What is a great misfortune?" 
 
 " Why, this disablement of Milnovics's arm." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it is what one would call a 
 great misfortune," agreed his companion without 
 much interest. 
 
 " Let me begin by telling you at once that it 
 was I who challenged him to the duel which ended 
 so unhappily." 
 
 " Ah, indeed, — you had better step aside or you 
 will tread in that puddle." 
 
 " Tell me," said Radford, earnestly, " please tell 
 
36 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 me whether you really feel no anger, no indigna- 
 tion at all against me? You are such strange peo- 
 ple here, I cannot understand you. Do you not 
 think that it would be natural to feel indigna- 
 tion?" 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it would be natural," repHed 
 the dreary man, reflectively; "but then, you see," 
 and he turned a pair of spiritless, neutral-tinted 
 eyes upon Radford, " I have long ago given up 
 being indignant with anybody or anything. I do 
 not think it repays the trouble." 
 
 Radford was silent, feeling that there was noth- 
 ing which he could say. 
 
 " One misfortune more or less does not seem 
 to make much difference now," went on the other, 
 in his colourless voice. " My own misfortune is 
 quite as large as Stepan's, and yet I have had to 
 live through mine, just as he will have to live 
 through his." 
 
 " Are you unhappy? " asked Radford, a little 
 shyly. 
 
 " I have been unhappy. It was my one great 
 wish to become a priest." 
 
 " But are you not a priest? " 
 
 " No, I am a deacon, and my wife is dead, so 
 a deacon I must remain till the end of my life. 
 With us a widower may not receive orders, you 
 know." 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 87 
 
 He sighed heavily, roused momentarily from his 
 apathy by some passing recollection. 
 
 They had now reached the ash-trees and began 
 threading their way between the straight, thin 
 stems. Something that Radford first took for a 
 heap of clothes was lying at the foot of one of the 
 trees. As they came nearer he perceived that a 
 young woman was sitting there fast asleep. 
 
 " It is only Jusia," said the deacon, turning to 
 Radford. " She often sits here." 
 
 " Go to sleep again, Jusia; we are not going 
 to disturb you," he added to the puffy-cheeked, 
 unhealthy-looking young girl, who had opened a 
 pair of drowsy eyes at their approach, speaking 
 as if to a child. 
 
 At the same moment Radford caught sight of 
 Milnovics and his father coming from the oppo- 
 site side. They were talking earnestly and did not 
 observe him until they had almost met. 
 
 Milnovics looked up quickly and flushed vividly 
 at the sight of Radford. Though he did not speak, 
 Radford understood the language of that first 
 glance. 
 
 " Must you pursue me even here? " it said quite 
 unmistakably. And in his heart he answered, 
 " Yes, I must pursue you even here, even until 
 you yourself surrender yourself to me." 
 
 Of the half-hour that followed one moment only 
 
88 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 remained for ever vivid in Radford's memory. 
 Milnovics, without having done more than ac- 
 knowledge Radford's greeting, had returned to the 
 house together with the deacon, who had prom- 
 ised to give a call, in case by any chance Marysia 
 should yet be ready with the samovar. The host 
 and his visitor were walking slowly to and fro be- 
 tween the straight, smooth tree-stems, as though in 
 a many-pillared corridor. For the first time Rad- 
 ford was quite alone with the old Popa, for even 
 Jusia had disappeared. For several minutes he 
 was silent, longing and yet not daring to make one 
 last and supreme confession, one final attempt to 
 have his position as a criminal openly recognised 
 and clearly established. 
 
 It was with an immense effort that he began 
 at last to speak, watching, as well as his own emo- 
 tion would allow him, the changes on Father 
 Floryan's face. These changes were swift. Upon 
 an almost childish surprise there followed a gentle 
 distress, which again gave way to a look of mild 
 concern in the eyes turned upon the speaker. 
 When he ceased Father Floryan put out an un- 
 steady hand and feebly pressed Radford's finger- 
 tips. 
 
 "Poor child, poor child," he murmured just 
 above his breath, " you must have suflfered greatly." 
 ■ "What does it matter what / have suffered?" 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 89 
 
 retorted Radford, almost with indignation; " I 
 brought it on myself, but you — you and your son 
 — are both unhappy through my fault." 
 
 " I am not unhappy," said Father Floryan, 
 mildly. 
 
 " Are you too going to tell me that you do not 
 feel this blow?" 
 
 " I feel," said the old Popa in a whisper, and 
 glancing fearfully around him, almost as though 
 he were afraid of being overheard, " but I submit. 
 It has been so ordained by Him." 
 
 "And you are still capable of being happy?" 
 
 " There can be no unhappiness where there is 
 peace. Believe me, my son," and the trembling 
 fingers passed over Radford's sleeve with a timid- 
 ly caressing touch, "perfect peace lives through 
 everything." 
 
 Radford walked on again in silence. This was 
 not what he had looked for, not what could satisfy 
 him. Was there positively no way of rousing this 
 tranquil old man to even the mildest expression 
 of indignation? 
 
 " And does your son share your view of the 
 case? " he inquired moodily, after a minute. or two. 
 
 Another light cloud passed over the old priest's 
 face. 
 
 " Stepan is still too young, he has not yet found 
 perfect peace, but it will come with the years." 
 
90 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 " Has he not spoken to you about me? " 
 
 " He has not; but I see, alas! that he broods. 
 I did not know until to-day who had been his ad- 
 versary in that duel — may God forgive both him 
 and you the sin that was there committed ! " 
 
 " And you do not know what we fought 
 about? " 
 
 " I know nothing. Stepan does not like to be 
 questioned." 
 
 " Then you do not know the worst against 
 me," said Radford, standing still and facing the 
 priest. " It is not only that I was his adversary 
 in that duel, but also that I challenged him on the 
 strength of a mistake, — a ridiculous blunder which 
 any child might have avoided. He was the wrong 
 man, — do you understand? Not the man who 
 made the remark at which I had taken offence, — 
 it was only that I had not made sufficient inquiries. 
 You know everything now. Is it not enough yet? 
 Have you no other words for me at last?" 
 
 It seemed that Father Floryan had no words 
 at all. With astonished eyes, and lips a little apart, 
 he stood opposite to Radford and slowly folded his 
 hands before him, while a shower of golden arrows, 
 the parting salute of the setting sun, came slipping 
 in between the ash-stems and clung in brilliant 
 sheaves to the surface of his worn black soutane. 
 The wonder on his face, and the silk handkerchief 
 
THE WRONG MAN. qi 
 
 tied under his chin, combined to make him look 
 like a rather grotesque old woman. Yet Radford 
 felt no inclination to laugh. 
 
 Presently he saw that the priest's lips were 
 moving. 
 
 " What are you saying? " he asked, lowering 
 his own voice. 
 
 " I am saying. Thy Will be done," answered 
 Father Floryan, just audibly. " I have often said 
 it before." 
 
 This was the moment which remained fixed in 
 Radford's memory. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 By his second or third visit Radford had learnt 
 to disentangle and to classify the different mem- 
 bers of the Milnovics family. Taken in a general 
 way they could be defined only as a collection of 
 failures, and in a general way, too, each was re- 
 signed to his lot; but just as each had accomplished 
 this failure in his or her own particular way, so also 
 did resignation take in each of them an individual 
 form. 
 
 The hard-featured woman, whom Radford had 
 rightly guessed to be a sister of Father Floryan's, 
 had buried not only her husband, but also five 
 children, and all this so long ago that even her 
 best friends were apt to forget that Jadwiga Serpow 
 had ever been anything but her brother's house- 
 keeper. But Jadwiga Serpow herself did not for- 
 get, just as little as she had ever forgiven Fate for 
 the wrongs it had done her. There were others 
 among her best friends who maintained that the 
 wrongs had been committed not by Fate, but by 
 
 the defunct Father Jozef himself, who in his leisure 
 92 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 93 
 
 hours had cultivated homoeopathy, and who, ac- 
 cording to the popular belief, had " cured " all his 
 children " into their graves," and himself into the 
 bargain. Madame Serpow herself believed in noth- 
 ing but Fate. Its blows had not broken her, rather 
 they had but hardened and stiffened an originally 
 vigorous nature; but her belief in God's goodness, 
 and consequently in that of man, was gone. She 
 had become a sour and suspicious old woman, as 
 honest as daylight — although she did "not believe 
 in honesty — but also as tough as leather. 
 
 Agniecka Dydicka, Stepan's eldest sister, was 
 quite as much a failure in her way. As a very 
 young girl she had, to the consternation of her 
 family, insisted on marrying an exceedingly good- 
 looking railway official whom she had spoken to 
 half-a-dozen times, in place of the worthy young 
 deacon for whom she had been destined. It had 
 cost the Popa a sharp pang to see a daughter of 
 his bestow her hand upon a secular personage, and 
 when a few years later Agniecka had been thrown 
 again upon his hands, a disappointed and aban- 
 doned woman, unaware even of her husband's 
 whereabouts — for the railway official had made 
 excellent use of his intimate acquaintance with 
 time-tables — Father Floryan had never doubted 
 that this was the direct punishment for the sin com- 
 mitted against custom if not against law. Ag- 
 7 
 
94 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 niecka's manner of looking at events was almost 
 the direct opposite of that of her aunt. Morally 
 she was not nearly as strong as Jadwiga Serpow, 
 not nearly as well able to look events in the face, 
 and being perfectly aware of this, the ingenious 
 little woman had hit upon the device of not looking 
 them in the face. Once admit to herself that her 
 life was wrecked, and she knew that her strength 
 must break down. There was nothing for it, there- 
 fore, but to shut her eyes tightly, and use all her 
 ingenuity in persuading herself that there really 
 was nothing seriously wrong anywhere. Her phi- 
 losophy was that of the ostrich that buries its head 
 in the sand. Thus, although it was eleven years 
 now since her return home, she would not yet con- 
 sider herself, or allow herself to be considered, as 
 finally abandoned. It was true that her temper 
 and that of Ladislas had not always perfectly 
 agreed, and it was probably better that they should 
 not meet for the present, but some day, no doubt, 
 he would come to fetch her again; and meanwhile 
 she did her best to feel convinced that, in spite of 
 the somewhat discouraging appearances, the heart 
 of the gay railway official had belonged to her all 
 along. There was something good in every ill, she 
 was wont to say— it all depended upon how one 
 looked at things; and to such perfection had she 
 developed her theory, that if only a saucer came 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 95 
 
 to be smashed and her aunt Jadwiga was bitterly 
 lamenting the loss, Agniecka was able to discover 
 some hidden advantage lurking behind the acci- 
 dent, — such, for instance, as that the saucer should 
 have broken at this particular juncture, rather than 
 at some other, possibly more inconvenient moment. 
 In this way she went through life with a veil care- 
 fully held between her and every sort of unpleas- 
 ant truth; and although there came moments when 
 the sham cheerfulness would break down, and hys- 
 terics take the upper hand, yet on the whole the 
 system might be said to answer well, since it had 
 saved her from despair. 
 
 Bogumil Meczek had invented no theory 
 against misfortune, and perhaps for this reason had 
 succumbed to it more completely. He was the 
 same virtuous deacon whom Father Floryan had 
 originally destined for Agniecka, and who in her 
 default had married her yotmger sister Marcia, 
 without any particular regret; for what the deacon 
 wanted was neither exactly Agniecka nor exactly 
 Marcia, but simply the wife who to a destined 
 Ruthenian priest is indispensable. But Bogumil 
 was never to become a priest ; for while he was pre- 
 paring to receive orders Marcia died in her first 
 confinement, lea^nng him a widower of not yet 
 twenty-two, cut off for ever from the hope of the 
 priesthood, since it is only in very exceptional 
 
g6 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 cases, and never before the age of forty years, that 
 the Greek Church permits a widower to attain to 
 this dignity. The double blow had been more than 
 enough to crush out of Bogumil Meczek whatever 
 spark of spirit he may once have possessed. He 
 went down under it once and for ever, and since 
 that time had made no efifort to rise again. Ever 
 since the collapse of his prospects he had gone on 
 living, or rather vegetating, in the house of his 
 father-in-law, whom he was supposed to assist in 
 his character of deacon, although he never now 
 could be his successor. 
 
 Of all the family failures, that of poor Jusia 
 was doubtless the most free of regret. Jusia had 
 not failed through her own or any one else's fault; 
 she had begun life as a failure — a mental failure 
 — and although strangers saw only that she was 
 so silent that some people had taken her to be 
 dumb, also that she was as greedy as a child, and 
 had a strange habit of wandering about alone and 
 falling asleep at all sorts of odd moments, yet 
 every one in the village knew that the Popa's 
 youngest daughter had never had all her wits 
 about her — a circumstance generally attributed to 
 the carriage accident which had happened to her 
 mother shortly before the girl's birth. 
 
 As for Father Floryan himself, his own par- 
 ticular manner of resignation was certainly the sim- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 97 
 
 plest of any ever invented, consisting as it did in 
 an unconditional and unquestioning submission to 
 the decrees of Heaven — the sort of submission 
 whose motto consists in the one word Fiat, but 
 which in this case, although deeply religious, did 
 not spring from religion alone, but to some extent 
 also from that strange sense of fatalism so indige- 
 nous in the Slav mind, and with which the attitude 
 of Jadwiga Serpow's mind was, unknown to her- 
 self, just as much coloured as that of either Ag- 
 niecka's or Bogumil's. That " peace of God, which 
 passeth all understanding," strikes root more easily 
 in an oriental than in an occidental mind. 
 
 There remains but to speak of Stepan: he who 
 having been the one success of the family had now 
 come to swell the strange assortment of failures 
 already gathered under the straw-thatched roof of 
 the plebanija. The form which resignation would 
 ultimately take with him was so far undetermined. 
 Whether he would settle down into the hard cynic- 
 ism of his aunt, or sink into the dull apathy of his 
 brother-in-law, or whether there was any hope of 
 his ever raising himself to the heights on which 
 his father lived, no one, least of all Stepan himself, 
 could yet know. The danger of bitterness — an 
 egotistical and loveless bitterness — was that which 
 lay nearest. Although barely twenty-six years old, 
 he already had in him the makings of a pessimist 
 
gg THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 —not SO much as regards his fellow-creatures, of 
 whom he had as yet had but little experience, but 
 as regards life and the chances of life. That letter 
 begun on the eve of the duel, and destined never 
 to be finished, marked by far the most sanguine 
 mood which he had yet experienced, as well as the 
 most expansive. It had required the Inspector's 
 visit and its brilliant results to loosen his tongue 
 so far as this, even towards his father. A morbid 
 reticence was Stepan's bane. Having lived through 
 a joyless childhood, he had, on reaching manhood, 
 found himself standing isolated in the midst of his 
 relations. To them, indeed, he was all in all ; upon 
 him were concentrated all their hopes of a brighter 
 future, just as upon him also had been spent all 
 the meagre sums painfully saved both from cup- 
 board and wardrobe. But through these very 
 means he was in a certain degree estranged from 
 his own people. They had sacrificed themselves 
 to further his studies, yet exactly those studies it 
 was which showed him everything in a new light 
 — amongst other things, his own home and his own 
 relations. He could no longer see with their eyes 
 nor hear with their ears. Having once become 
 aware of what he could do, and having once had 
 a glimpse of the battle-field without, he knew that 
 he could not be content to sit still as they were sit- 
 ting. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. gg 
 
 Yet there had intervened a period of doubt. 
 Pulled one way by the inherent pessimism of his 
 nature, which told him that a fight was useless, 
 plucked at on the other by the consciousness of 
 vigorous youth and perfect strength, it took some 
 little time to let him come to the conclusion that 
 he was indeed strong enough to attempt the strug- 
 gle with Fate. It was with no boyish enthusiasm 
 that he rushed into the battle, nor was he intoxi- 
 cated with over-sanguine expectations. Deliber- 
 ately, and with eyes wide open, did he take up the 
 unequal fight, well knowing it to be unequal, 
 clearly foreseeing his chances of defeat, and yet 
 determined to take the risk The step was al- 
 most unavoidable; this alone could satisfy the sub- 
 stratum of fighting instinct which exists in every 
 healthy man's nature. He could not have remained 
 passive without at least having tried his strength 
 against that of the giant, and satisfied himself by 
 personal experience that this giant is not to be 
 overcome. 
 
 Originally Stepan had been destined for the 
 Church, or rather for the Cloister; for the Popa 
 was ambitious for his sori, and it is entirely from 
 the ranks of the monastic clergy that the Greek 
 Church selects her bishops. It had been the bit- 
 terest moment in Father Floryan's life when Stepan 
 discovered to him that he had a leaning towards 
 
lOo THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 the army — bitterer even than had been Agniecka's 
 defection from the deacon— but he had scarcely re- 
 sisted. He could as little hope to shake a resolu- 
 tion of his son's as he would ever have dreamt of 
 questioning the superiority of his intellect. 
 
 For five years all had gone well, and even the 
 deacon began to have visions — ^very distant ones, 
 it is true — of his brother-in-law with the green 
 feathers, which mark an Austrian general, flaunt- 
 ing upon his hat. Then followed the duel and its 
 results. 
 
 To Stepan the full recognition of the catas- 
 trophe brought at the first an access of outwardly 
 repressed, but not the less savage, rage against 
 Fate, and to some extent against Fate's instru- 
 ment. It was almost as though the cruel goddess 
 had played him this trick merely for her own en- 
 tertainment. She had given him a little tether, had 
 allowed him to amuse himself by the belief that 
 he was approaching victory, and then with one jerk 
 of the string, with one tap of her little finger, she 
 had knocked over this would-be adversary, by way 
 of teaching him a lesson for his impudence. 
 
 But almost before he was aware of feeling en- 
 raged there had come another thought, the thought 
 of his father. From his earliest childhood he had 
 loved him with a passionate devotion, with which" 
 yet was mingled a certain tender pity. In him he 
 
THE WRONG MAN. lOi 
 
 recognised a saint, although not of a pattern which 
 he himself would ever have set up for imitation. 
 It was for him that he meant to succeed in life, for 
 the sake of shedding a brighter gleam over the 
 evening of that long, cheerless day. He had count- 
 ed on repaying every sacrifice a hundred-fold, on 
 smoothing away those careworn wrinkles with 
 joyful surprises. Those had been his dreams, and 
 now he was a cripple. 
 
 Upon rage there followed an uneasy despair, 
 which the vanquished man did his best to lock 
 within himself, for fear of that pity which he read 
 in the eyes of every man he met, since every man 
 knew his story. It was from that pity that he had 
 fled when he abruptly left Lohatyn, but in the per- 
 son of Alfred Radford it had pursued him unto 
 his retreat. 
 
 By the end of the first month Radford had 
 given up all hope of being accepted as a sinner, and 
 had taught himself to bear with what grace he 
 could those coals of fire which the Milnovics family 
 seemed bent on heaping upon his head. Since he 
 could not do public penance in sackcloth and ashes, 
 as he would have wished, and having been cured 
 of lending things to Stepan, he attempted to relieve 
 his mind by bringing sweetmeats for Jusia, and 
 books for Agniecka, and music for the deacon, who 
 
I02 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 at times was given to piping mournfully upon a 
 flute, as well as to conciliating Madame Serpow's 
 eminently housewifely mind by an occasional pot 
 of English mustard or marmalade. Often after a 
 long day spent in the saddle would he arrive at 
 nightfall tired and dusty, laden with some fresh 
 roll that had just come by the post, or with some 
 new sort of tobacco for the Turkish chibouk which 
 was the one luxury allowed himself by the Popa. 
 He was no longer a stranger at Berenow, but a 
 gladly welcomed friend. His individuality had 
 helped him to this in the first place, but his posi- 
 tion and his money had likewise assisted, here as 
 everywhere. Not that either interest or servility 
 were at work here. Probably not one of these 
 people would have taken his money, or if so, only 
 with a great efifort; but neither could they entirely 
 escape the pleasant sensation of awe which the 
 mere thought of that money exercised upon them. 
 It was not their fault, but the fault of human na- 
 ture, if, unknown to themselves, they found it easier 
 to forgive a rich man than it would have been to 
 forgive one as poor as themselves. By degrees his 
 visits came to be looked forward to as to a welcome 
 break in the greyness of everyday life. His ring- 
 ing voice and ready laughter — for in spite of him- 
 self he had learned to laugh again — ^brought new 
 life into the silent house. When a week passed 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 103 
 
 without the visitor, Father Floryan would mildly 
 observe — ^though of course without complaining — 
 that Lieutenant Radford seemed to have forgotten 
 them. Even Jusia would watch for half an hour 
 at a time at the gate, looking out with greedy eyes 
 for the box of bonbons, without which she had 
 learned to know that he never came; and even the 
 small servant Marysia would burst radiantly into 
 the room to announce that the Pan Lieutenant's 
 horse was just crossing the bridge. 
 
 All this was good enough of its kind, Radford 
 told himself, but it was not enough. It did well 
 enough in the meantime, until he could find some- 
 thing real which he could do, something that would 
 directly benefit Stepan himself. But what should 
 this something be? So far he had no idea. 
 
 The first step must be to gain Stepan himself, 
 for Stepan was not yet gained : on this point Rad- 
 ford had no illusions. He had indeed never with a 
 word objected to his comrade's visits, but neither 
 had he ever welcomed him in anything but the 
 most conventional manner. Radford understood 
 perfectly well that he had not given in, and he knew 
 also that if he had not yet been forbidden the house, 
 it was because the sight of the mild pleasure on 
 the father's face, of the old eyes lighting up at the 
 entrance of the visitor, was keeping tied the tongue 
 of the son. From the first he had been careful to 
 
I04 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 accentuate the very real feeling of reverence with 
 which Father Floryan inspired him. Some instinct 
 told him that this was the road to his comrade's 
 heart. 
 
 Whether he had made any way or not he could 
 scarcely say ; almost it seemed to himself as though 
 he were but standing still. Then quite unexpect- 
 edly there came a day which brought him new 
 hope. It was a day which, looked back upon in 
 later years, appeared Hke the beginning not of this 
 hope alone, but of many other things as well. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 It was on a Sunday towards the end of July, for 
 Radford's Sunday afternoons belonged almost as a 
 matter of course to B erenow. On this Sunday he 
 had happened to get off rather earlier than usual, 
 and on reaching the house he found it deserted 
 even of Marysia, for none of the household had' 
 yet returned from afternoon service. The door, 
 however, was as usual open, and Radford, who by 
 this time knew his way at least as well as any of the 
 hens who had the run of the kitchen, entered with- 
 out hesitation. On the table in the sitting-room 
 there stood pen and ink, and several sheets of paper 
 were scattered about, covered with single letters 
 and words written awkwardly, and yet apparently 
 not by a child, for a childish caligraphy sins almost 
 always through over-roundness, while these curi- 
 ous attempts were all angles and comers. With 
 a pang at his heart, Radford took up one of the 
 sheets and contemplated it. He knew well enough 
 what they signified. Not many- weeks ago he had 
 
 unexpectedly come upon Milnovics busied with 
 105 
 
lo6 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 just such a sheet as this. On that occasion the 
 other had risen quickly and stuffed the paper into 
 a drawer. 
 
 " I am learning to write," he had said drily, in 
 answer to the unspoken question, and had immedi- 
 ately turned to an indifferent subject. 
 
 " He is making some progress, at least," re- 
 flected Radford with a mournful smile: "these k's 
 are much more creditable already than those which 
 I caught sight of the other day. I suppose it is 
 not really too late yet to train his left hand, and in 
 that case " 
 
 And Radford fell into a hopeful reverie, in 
 which Milnovics figured sometimes as a brilliantly 
 paid^ secretary to some Minister of State, and some- 
 times as the Minister himself. Of late he had heard 
 no word dropped as to the future, and yet, al- 
 though Milnovics still wore his uniform, the mo- 
 ment was wellnigh reached at which he must of 
 necessity tender his formal resignation. On the 
 one occasion on which he had found courage to 
 broach the subject he had not learnt much. 
 
 " Yes, my general health is now recovered," 
 Milnovics had replied, in anything but a tone of 
 encouragement, to a question of Radford's. 
 
 " And, I suppose," the other had pursued, 
 " that you will soon be thinking of doing some- 
 thing now? " 
 
THE WRONG MAN. I07 
 
 " I suppose so," had been the answer. " Yes, 
 I shall certainly have to be thinking of doing — 
 something." 
 
 Beyond this point they had not got on that oc- 
 casion. 
 
 Radford awoke from his dreams to observe that 
 a stream of brown-coated peasants was pouring 
 down the sides of the wooded hillock which sloped 
 towards the yard. That meant that the afternoon 
 service had been held in the old, wooden church 
 up there, as was the case on special occasions, in- 
 stead of in the new, whitewashed, long-spired edi- 
 fice below, which had been standing for barely two 
 years. Except on these special occasions, the lit- 
 tle church on the hillock was rarely visited; and, 
 indeed, had it not been for the fact that the grave- 
 yard which surrounded it still had some space to 
 spare, the wooden house of prayer would probably 
 long since have been relegated to the category of 
 lumber. 
 
 " I shall look for them up there," decided Rad- 
 ford. 
 
 He crossed the yard with far less astonishment 
 than he had done at his first visit, for in two months 
 he had got used to many things, — for instance, to 
 seeing Marysia enter barefooted with the samovar, 
 and to being asked to help himself to sugar out of ' 
 a disused sardine-box, — but, nevertheless, he had 
 
I08 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 not yet completely got rid of a certain sense of sur- 
 prise. Had it really never struck anybody that tfie 
 dunghills would be less offensive if properly con- 
 centrated? And it was the same with everything 
 else. A loose plank or a crooked hinge appeared 
 to disturb nobody, not even Stepan, who in every 
 other point was incomparably more sensitive than 
 his relations; and as for Father Floryan, he was 
 capable of knocking his reverend shins day after 
 day. against a broken door-post, or stumbling for 
 a month consecutively into a hole left by a miss- 
 ing brick in the pavement of the passage, before 
 the necessity of having either that door-frame 
 or that hole looked to obtruded itself upon his 
 notice. 
 
 " It must be something in the blood," Radford 
 said to himself for the fiftieth time, as he crossed 
 the yard to-day. 
 
 There were various paths winding up the hill- 
 side, all trodden into existence only by the feet of 
 the peasants, and all bordered with a tangle of wild 
 raspberry bushes which formed the undergrowth 
 of birches and limes. It was difiScult to say where 
 the graveyard exactly began, for from the moment 
 that the incline became less steep, grassy humps 
 of an oblong shape were to be caught sight of 
 among the trees, growing more conspicuous to- 
 wards the top, until, having gained the level, they 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 109 
 
 stood as thick as green waves that, by some word 
 of magic, have been arrested in their course. The 
 iron cross which marked the resting-place of the 
 Popa's wife stood Uke a landmark in the midst of 
 this wilderness. The little humpbacked church, 
 up to whose very door the green waves seemed to 
 be breaking, was built entirely of wood, dark- 
 brown with age and more than half-rotten. Its 
 three round roofs gave to it something of the ap- 
 pearance, although none of the gaiety, of a Chinese 
 pagoda. An open passage ran round the small 
 building, and here it was that Radford found the 
 !Milnovics family assembled and engaged in so 
 earnest a conversation that his approach was not 
 immediately observed. Jusia alone was amissing 
 in the group, having wandered oil to eat raspber- 
 ries upon the older graves, where she knew that 
 they grew thickest, — and this, too, seemed to dis- 
 turb nobody's mind. 
 
 Father Floryan still wore his surplice and stole. 
 It was a black stole — and not far off there stood a 
 mound that was brown, instead of green. A mus- 
 cular individual, whose copper-coloured mane was 
 beginning to be mottled with grey, and whom Rad- 
 ford knew by sight as being something between 
 a sacristan and a church singer, occasionally also 
 a grave-digger, was just now giving the finishing 
 
 touches with his spade to the newly-turned earth. 
 8 
 
no THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 It was evident that a funeral had been the attrac- 
 tion here this afternoon. 
 
 " And did she name any date? " Radford heard 
 Madame Serpow inquiring as he approached. 
 
 " No," replied Agniecka, speaking even more 
 shrilly than usual; " she says only before the end 
 of the summer." 
 
 " But we're in the middle of July now," said 
 Madame Serpow, and at that moment she caught 
 sight of Radford and very nearly looked pleased. 
 In these two months, and in the teeth of her own 
 theory, she had got almost convinced that this 
 young man had, after all, no darker motive lurk- 
 ing in the background of his visits to Berenow. 
 At moments she got so far as to admit that he 
 must be an exception, although she never forgot 
 to add that exceptions prove the rule. 
 
 "What is the news?" asked Radford, when 
 the greetings were over. " To judge by your faces 
 there certainly is news." 
 
 " Of course there is," broke out Agniecka, with 
 an aggravation of her usual nervous laugh, "and 
 most excellent news too!" 
 
 " If you call it an excellent thing to be taken 
 by surprise in this way, with the church roof all 
 in holes and the school at sixes and sevens," drily 
 responded her aunt, " then no doubt we ^ave every 
 reason to rejoice." 
 
THE WRONG MAN. Ill 
 
 " But, dearest aunt, we are not taken by sur- 
 prise; there is still half the summer before us, and 
 even if there was not " 
 
 " It would be all the better if Antonina Brun- 
 owska were to find both the school and the roof 
 exactly as they are, it would save us from false 
 pride and her from hollow hopes; that's what you 
 meant to say, was it not? " 
 
 " But I haven't heard the news yet," inter- 
 rupted Radford. "What is the matter with the 
 school? And who is Antonina Brunowska? " 
 
 " Antonina Brunowska ! " repeated several 
 voices in a chorus of reproachful surprise. " You 
 surely must know who Antonina Brunowska 
 is?" 
 
 " I have heard the name before," said Radford, 
 penitently. " Let me see — is that the name of the 
 — ^what do you call her? the 'Pani? Is the news 
 about her? " 
 
 ■'The news is that she is coming home before 
 the end of the summer to take possession of the 
 ,estate," said Agniecka. " I have just been told 
 so by Halina Mertic, the housekeeper. She was 
 attending afternoon service." 
 
 " Which means that our days of peace are at 
 an end," interpolated Madame Serpow. 
 
 " The Lord will show us the right road," mur- 
 mured Father Floryan, on whose face a mild be- 
 
112 THE WRONG MANI 
 
 wilderment was nevertheless discernible, while 
 with unsteady fingers he loosened his stole. 
 
 " Surely she won't be so very hard to please," 
 observed Radford, by way of encouragement to 
 the evidently startled company. "Who knows 
 whether she hasn't been painted blacker than 
 she is." 
 
 Although he had not immediately recognised 
 the name, Radford had on several occasions heard 
 the absent owner of the estate, of which the village 
 of B erenow formed a part, alluded to, and as often 
 as he had entered the village he had caught sight 
 of the big house, whose cream-coloured walls were 
 visible at the end of a long, straight avenue of very 
 old and mostly half-dead poplars. He knew that 
 Antonina had been the only daughter of the late 
 possessor, who had died about four years ago; and 
 had incidently learnt that the education of the 
 orphan heiress, who was not yet of age, was being 
 completed in Lemberg, under the eyes of her ma- 
 ternal aunt. He had found it quite natural that the 
 person of Antonina Brunowska should loom super- 
 naturally large in the minds ctf all the inhabitants 
 of Berenow, and more particularly of the Milnovics 
 family, whose position, even though indirectly, was 
 in many ways , dependent upon her goodwill, or 
 would be so the moment that she came of age; 
 and yet it had only been with half an ear that he 
 
THE WRONG MAN. II3 
 
 listened to the surmises occasionally interchanged 
 as to whether the youthful Pani would prove as 
 easy-going as her father had been, and to the dis- 
 cussion of reports which spoke of her as strong- 
 minded and sometimes even as eccentric. A lurk- 
 ing dread of possible reforms had rung through 
 all these arguments, but had as yet not become 
 acute, seeing that the heiress was barely eighteen 
 and was not expected to come home until she 
 reached her majority. Hence the consternation 
 spread by Halina Mertic's news. Two questions 
 claimed immediate attention — the question of a 
 new roof, and the question of a new school- 
 master. 
 
 " But if she is not of age she cannot take pos- 
 session," remarked Radford; "and until she has 
 done that she cannot surely prove very formid- 
 able." 
 
 " Not formal possession, but she can do what 
 she likes with that old fool of a guardian. Evi- 
 dently he can't manage her any longer, and they 
 say she is a young woman with ideas of her own 
 — bad ideas, I suppose," added Madame Serpow, 
 grimly, " since they always seem to come more 
 naturally than the good ones." 
 
 " Well, let's hope she won't be an ogress," 
 laughed the visitor good-humouredly. " Do none 
 of you know her?" he asked, turning to Ste- 
 
114 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 pan, who had as yet taken no part in the discus- 
 sion. 
 
 " As a child we all used to know her by sight 
 — scarcely more than that." 
 
 "An ugly, brown-faced brat she used to be 
 then," observed Madame Serpow. 
 
 " And as wilful as a mule," added the deacon, 
 with a sigh. " They wanted me to give her re- 
 ligious instruction, but after the day she threw the 
 catechism at my head I gave it up." 
 
 " But about the school," mildly put in Father 
 Floryan — " ought we not to be talking of the 
 school? " 
 
 " The application ought to be sent in immedi- 
 ately," remarked Madame Serpow, " and, if possi- 
 ble, also the name of a candidate. It certainly 
 would not do to be without a master when Anto- 
 nina Brunowska comes." 
 
 " Have you no schoolmaster? " inquired Rad- 
 ford. " What has become of Pelgki? " 
 
 He knew that this was the name of a small, 
 consumptive individual of whom he had caught 
 various glimpses in the course of his visits, but 
 who had invariably fled at his approach. 
 
 " That is what has become of Pelski," said the 
 Popa, pointing towards the newest of the graves. 
 " He was ill for only a few days." 
 
 " That is to say, he has been ill for half his life," 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 115 
 
 corrected Stepan, " and has been dying so often 
 that no one beUeved he was really dying this time 
 until he was dead." 
 
 " He was waiting for the most appropriate mo- 
 ment, you see," supplemented Madame Serpow. 
 " To die at any other time might not have put us 
 to any especial inconvenience, but to leave us with- 
 out a schoolmaster at this juncture is almost a 
 stroke of genius. I always said that he was a spite- 
 ful little body," and she frowned revengefully at 
 the mound of newly-turned earth. 
 
 " If Bogumil felt able to undertake the extra 
 work," suggested Father Floryan, looking doubt- 
 fully at his son-in-law. 
 
 But the deacon only shook his head despond- 
 ently. He knew himself to be utterly unable to 
 manage more than the religious instruction which 
 already fell to his share, and which alone taxed 
 his energies almost to the point of collapse. 
 
 " Unless we have a candidate they will send us 
 a stranger," sighed the old Popa. 
 
 " If only Ladislas were here," said Agniecka 
 abruptly. " He is so clever that he can manage 
 anything. I am sure he would do as a school- 
 master, at least provisionally; but I am afraid he 
 will not be back in time, — at this season his duties 
 are especially onerous." 
 
 She looked round as she spoke with a certain 
 
Il6 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 defiance in her eyes, and her relations avoided her 
 gaze and were silent. They were all of them ac- 
 quainted with Agniecka's way of talking of her 
 husband as of one whose absence was merely 
 accidental, and whose return might any day be 
 looked for, and they had all learned to humour 
 her on this point, although with every year that 
 passed it became more difficult to give even a tacit 
 assent to the amiable fiction. 
 
 It was Father Floryan who broke the painful 
 pause. 
 
 " We can talk about the school later on," he 
 said a little hastily. " Heaven will no doubt send 
 us good counsel, but there is still the question of 
 the roof. Andrei! " and he signalled to the eccle- 
 siastical maid-of-all-work who was just shoulder- 
 ing his spade, " how long would it take us to put 
 on the new roof? The shingles are lying ready, 
 you know." 
 
 As a matter of fact those shingles had been 
 ready for a rather considerable time. Ever since 
 Stepan had been a boy he could remember the 
 piles of thin boards lying packed in one corner of 
 the passage — not always the same boards, it is true, 
 since from time to time they were found to be rot- 
 ten and had been renewed, for the idea of re-cov- 
 ering the church roof had ever and anon been in- 
 distinctly entertained without . having, in Stepan's 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 117 
 
 memory at least, as yet reached fulfilment. Of 
 course it would have to be re-covered some day, 
 but meanwhile the church funds were so low and 
 Andrei was so clever at patching up the holes, and 
 so ingenious in adapting bits of board for the re- 
 quirements of the moment, that a series of indefi- 
 nite postponements was the natural result. Being 
 called upon now to give his opinion on the sub- 
 ject, Andrei expressed his belief that, as far as he 
 could see, there was nothing particularly wrong 
 with the roof, and that the employment of the shin- 
 gles would be a piece of useless extravagance — for 
 Andrei was nothing if he was not economical. 
 
 " It would not do to begin and not to be fin- 
 ished," remarked the Popa, doubtfully. 
 
 " Better leave things as they are," was the dea- 
 con's comment. 
 
 " You're always wanting to leave things as they 
 are, Bogumil Meczek," bitterly observed Madame 
 Serpow; " we all know that. But if you had been 
 in my place last Pentecost Monday, and had had 
 your best bonnet spoiled by the drippings from the 
 roof, maybe you'd have changed your mind by this 
 time." 
 
 " There is no doubt that a big drop did fall upon 
 the book of Gospels," said Father Floryan, look- 
 ing half-deprecatingly at Andrei. 
 
 " I know the hole which your Reverence 
 
Ilg THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 means," serenely replied Andrei, " and I have al- 
 ready put aside the lid of the case in which the last 
 altar-wine came; it will cover it beautifully. Real- 
 ly, I can see no reason for using up the new shin- 
 gles." 
 
 When the discussion had lasted for several min- 
 utes longer, Andrei, in a slightly aggrieved frame 
 of mind, proposed to take the Popa up to the top 
 of the bell-tower beside them, where he would 
 have a better view of the roof, and could convince 
 himself of its being in a fit condition to bear the 
 scrutiny even of Antonina Brunowska. This bell- 
 tower, in which no bell had hung for two years, 
 it having been transferred to the newly-built house 
 of prayer below, stood at about a dozen paces from 
 the church, and could be reached only by stum- 
 bling up and down half-a-dozen graves. The com- 
 pany began to move in that direction; they were 
 alone now in the graveyard, since the last of the 
 church-goers had dispersed. The building was 
 nothing but a square, squat, wooden shell, with a 
 platform half-way up, and four small windows at 
 the top. A heap of disused ropes, the- wreck of an 
 altar-railing, and various other fragments of eccle- 
 siastical rubbish, lay in the corners of the dark 
 space below. Of the wooden steps that led to the 
 platform above, three were awanting. 
 
 "We will go up without you. Father," said 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 1 19 
 
 Stepan, standing still at the foot of the ladder. " It 
 does not look very safe. You had better stay out- 
 side with Aunt Jadwiga and Agniecka, and we will 
 bring the report." 
 
 But Father Floryan wanted more than a re- 
 port. The event of the day had produced in him 
 something that almost resembled excitement, and 
 he wished to judge of the roof with his own eyes. 
 The ascent was safely accomplished; but it was 
 during the descent, which took place some ten 
 minutes later — the roof having been condemned in 
 tlie face of Andrei's almost tearful protestations — 
 that there occurred the accident destined to revive 
 Alfred Radford's hopes of ultimate success in the 
 task which he had set himself. 
 
 Radford and the deacon had already reached 
 the ground, when Father Floryan, who was follow- 
 ing, mistaking a broken step for a whole one in the 
 semi-darkness, suddenly lost his footing and stum- 
 bled violently forward. Milnovics, who was above 
 him, made an instinctive but ineffectual movement 
 with his left arm. A serious accident seemed un- 
 avoidable, when Radford, hearing Milnovics's ex- 
 clamation, turned quickly round, and pushing aside 
 the bewildered deacon, sprang on to the lowest 
 step, just in time to break the weight of the fall 
 against his outstretched right arm. 
 
 Several moments passed before Andrei had 
 
I20 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 swung himself down from above to come to his 
 assistance in lifting the Popa to the ground. Mil-" 
 novics, looking rather white, followed immediately. 
 
 " Is he hurt? " he asked in a voice which, with- 
 out being excited, yet betrayed an inexpressible 
 terror. 
 
 " I think not," said Radford, against whose arm 
 Father Floryan was still leaning, breathing a little 
 faster than usual. " I think he is only faint from 
 the fright." 
 
 In a few minutes th&Popa was sufficiently recov- 
 ered to be able to walk homewards, and by that 
 time, too, the momentary flurry which had per- 
 vaded the company had begun to die away. Stepan 
 alone remained more silent than usual, and when 
 the moment for leave-taking came he had disap- 
 peared from the room. There was nothing remark- 
 able about this, seeing that good-byes and greet- 
 ings were things which he always liked to avoid. 
 Without dwelling on the matter, Radford stepped 
 out of the house, and, to his astonishment, found 
 Stepan waiting for him beside the gate. 
 
 " Good night, Milnovics," he said, putting out 
 his hand. 
 
 " Good night," said Milnovics, and added after 
 a second's pause, " Thank you for what you did to- 
 day, Alfred." 
 
 He turned as he spoke, and walked rapidly back 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 121 
 
 to the house, while Radford looked after him in 
 the dark, wondering whether he ought not to fol- 
 low. At the sound of that last word he had felt the 
 sudden flush upon his face. The importance of the 
 moment was quite clear to him. If that one word 
 was not exactly a surrender, yet to one who knew 
 Stepan, it undoubtedly signified the first step to- 
 wards one. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The friendship of which the foundation had been 
 laid on that Sunday afternoon very nearly failed 
 to come into existence after all. Radford's next 
 visit to Berenow brought with it a danger which, 
 for one moment, appeared about to stifle the new- 
 born plant, even in the seed. 
 
 It so happened that three weeks passed before 
 this next visit took place, for the manoeuvres were 
 at their height, and the regiment had been at work 
 at some distance from Lohatyn. On the very day 
 of return Radford mounted his chestnut and started 
 for Berenow, impatient to test the reality of his 
 hopes with regard to Stepan, and impatient also 
 to lay before him the contents of a letter which 
 he carried in his pocket. 
 
 The day was sultry, and the road covered with 
 
 a thick layer of dust, as fine and almost as white 
 
 as flour, rising in a cloud at every footfall of the 
 
 horse, and hovering for long in the still air before 
 
 again sinking earthwards. By the time Berenow 
 
 was reached the chestnut was no longer a chest- 
 133 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 123 
 
 nut, but a doubtful looking grey, while Radford 
 himself, with his powdered hair, dingy uniform, 
 and eyes half blinded with dust, bore far more re- 
 semblance to a miller out on a spree than to a 
 lancer lieutenant. 
 
 The appearance of the village took him by sur- 
 prise. B erenow was far from presenting its usual 
 peacefully sleepy aspect. Everybody seemed to 
 be moving and busy; several houses were being 
 white-washed, door-steps which had probably not 
 been scrubbed for a year were being operated upon, 
 while the festive green boughs on the roofs re- 
 called to Radford's mind that afternoon in May 
 when he had made his first entrance here. The 
 branches which had seemed to welcome him then 
 had long since grown brown and rustling, but were 
 only now being plucked from their places and flung 
 down on the road to make room for their success- 
 ors. He supposed this must be the eve of some 
 Tiigh festival, although he could not remember 
 which, not having the Greek calendar at his finger 
 ends. 
 
 At the plebanija he found the turmoil at its high- 
 est. Through the wide open gate a cart laden high 
 with birch branches was just creaking into the 
 yard, while Andrei with more than usually tangled 
 locks, and a look of semi-distraction on his face, 
 was racing for the hillock, from whose top the 
 
124 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 sound of vigorous hammering echoed through the 
 hot air. A ladder stood against the house, and — 
 most astonishing of all — the deacon was actually 
 exerting himself so far as to hand up the boughs 
 to one of the farm-servants who sat upon the roof. 
 Agniecka, with an apron over her dress, could be 
 seen darting backwards and forwards across the 
 passage, sometimes with a broom in her hands, and 
 sometimes with a hammer or a piece of string, 
 while in the sitting-room, where all the furniture was 
 pushed into oiie corner, and two scrubbing-brushes 
 were at work, Madame Serpow was doing some- 
 thing with a bundle of sticks and a heap of cotton 
 handkerchiefs, and the Popa, his white hair escap- 
 ing from under his displaced head-covering, moved 
 from corner to corner with a duster in his hand, 
 anxiously peering about for possible spider-webs. 
 
 So great was the general excitement that Rad- 
 ford's entrance was scarcely noticed. 
 
 " Yes, it is a great occasion," said Father Flory- 
 an absently, in answer to the simultaneous greet- 
 ing and question. " Agniecka, my love, I see one 
 more up there, but perhaps I had better not get 
 upon a chair, or perhaps the Pan Lieutenant will be 
 so kind as to remove it." 
 
 "But what is the occasion?" asked Radford, 
 having complied with the Popa's wish. " I see 
 nothing but green branches everywhere, and " 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 125 
 
 " We have too few of them on the roof, have we 
 not?" remarked Agniecka, darting into the room. 
 " I told you that we should need another cart-load, 
 Aunt Jadwiga. Shall I give the order?" 
 
 Madame Serpow shrugged her bony shoulders. 
 
 " Give the order if you like, but what difference 
 a few branches more or less will make to Antonina 
 Brunowska is more than I can say. Have you got 
 those nails I sent you for? " 
 
 " So it is Antonina Brunowska who is the cause 
 of all this? I thought she was not expected 
 until " 
 
 " Would you mind holding this stuff while I 
 cut it in two?" interrupted Madame Serpow. 
 " Agniecka has run away just because I wanted 
 her." 
 
 " But about Antonina Brunowska? " 
 
 It took several more minutes and several more 
 questions before anybody's attention was sufficient- 
 ly arrested to supply a coherent explanation. Rad- 
 ford then learned that for some reason, or appar- 
 ently for no "particular reason, the Pani had sud- 
 denly decided upon hurrying the date of her arrival, 
 and was expected to reach her home on the very 
 next day, when tradition and custom made it neces- 
 sary that the village should wear its most brilliant 
 holiday aspect. 
 
 " And the result is, as you see, that even Bogu- 
 
126 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 mil has recognised that this is not a moment for 
 leaving things as they are," said Madame Serpow 
 with a jerk of her head, indicating the window. " I 
 believe he has actually handed up a dozen branches 
 already." 
 
 " And Stepan, where is he? " 
 
 " At the schoolhouse. They are just as mad 
 there as we are here. If Antonina Brunowska 
 comes up to her reputation she will probably put 
 her nose into every corner the very moment that 
 she steps out of the carriage. Not that it matters 
 much; everything happens as it is ordered, and 
 even Antonina Brunowska is only another instru- 
 ment. Upon my word, Jusia is the only sensible 
 one among us. She has gone to sleep in the cor- 
 ner of the kitchen. More nails, Agniecka," she 
 called through the open door. " The last were too 
 small." 
 
 Radford left the house immediately, for it was 
 only to talk to Stepan that he had come to-day. 
 
 The school-house, distinguishable from the 
 other houses only by the bell which hung between 
 two tall posts straight in front of the door, lay at 
 about the centre of the village. Several persons 
 were busy within, but on first entering it appeared 
 to Radford that Milnovics was not one of them. 
 Here, too, the boards were still shining with wet; 
 and the benches which had been piled at the end 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 1 27 
 
 of the long, low room were only now being re- 
 placed in their proper position by two peasant lads, 
 under the direction of a tall, spare man in a linen 
 coat and grey trousers, who stood with his back 
 towards the door. A big, highly-coloured young 
 person stood upon a chair, diligently sticking pur- 
 ple asters into the frame of a large coloured litho- 
 graph of the Emperor Francis Joseph, while a 
 small, pale-faced young person was holding the 
 basket of flowers. 
 
 " Can any one tell me where Lieutenant Mil- 
 novics is? " asked Radford, somewhat hoarsely, 
 for the dust of the road was still in his throat. 
 
 The man in the Unen coat turned round, and, 
 to his astonishment, Radford recognised his com- 
 rade. 
 
 " Milnovics — Stepan ! What on earth does this 
 mean? " 
 
 " It means only that there is no more Lieuten- 
 ant Milnovics," replied the other, colouring a little 
 under Radford's astonished gaze. " You surely 
 knew that I could not wear the uniform for 
 ever." 
 
 " Yes, but until you had resigned." 
 
 " I have already resigned." 
 
 " Before the end of your leave? " 
 
 " Yes, before the end of my leave. It was ad- 
 visable for many reasons," he added, with a glance 
 
128 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 towards the two young women at the other side of 
 the room. 
 
 Radford understood that this was not the mo- 
 ment for explanations, more particularly as he was 
 just then requested to make way for a bench that 
 was to be placed at that particular spot. It seemed 
 as though he were in the way everywhere to-day 
 — in the way, that is, of Antonina Brunowska and 
 of her vassals. In somewhat moody silence he 
 stood by, watching Milnovics as he directed the 
 movements of the two lads and simultaneously an- 
 swered the questions of the two young women, 
 who, having done for the Emperor's portrait, 
 wanted to know whether the blackboard was like- 
 wise to be decorated, and in what fashion, also 
 what was to be done about the big ink-stain in the 
 corner of the room, and whether brown paper or 
 white paper was to be used for replacing the win- 
 dow-pane which Anna Bellek had broken yester- 
 day during evening class. This and a great many 
 other things they wanted to know; for scarcely 
 had the small young woman put a question than 
 the big young woman did her best to think of 
 something to ask, being evidently determined not 
 to leave all the conversation with the former lieu- 
 tenant to her pale-faced companion. He did not 
 seem to be looked upon with disfavour by either 
 of the young school-mistresses, and yet, Radford 
 
THE WRONG MAN. I2q 
 
 told himself as he stood by, his comrade had un- 
 doubtedly appeared to greater advantage in the 
 Lancer uniform than in his present dress. Stepan 
 had never been called a handsome man, for that 
 his face was too narrow, his lips too thin, and, 
 above all, his expression too unyouthful; but with 
 his finely cut nose and coal-black eyes set some- 
 what deep under slightly protruding brows, he had 
 been a striking figure wherever he showed him- 
 self. For the first time to-day Radford had the op- 
 portunity of judging of the truth of the somewhat 
 brutal proverb which says that it is the clothes that 
 make the man. This Milnovics of to-day was not 
 quite the same Milnovics that he had known. The 
 badly-made linen coat did its best to disguise the 
 lithe and well-knit figure, while its uncertain colour 
 was far from harmonising with the intensely black 
 hair and eyes in the way that the blue iihlanka with 
 the red facings had done. The sight helped to in- 
 crease Radford's moodiness. To see his comrade 
 standing thus palpably one step lower in the world 
 meant a new and sharper pang of self-reproach. 
 
 "You seem very busy," he observed at last; 
 and then as a recollection visited him, " Have you 
 got no schoolmaster yet? " 
 
 " Yes, we have got a schoolmaster," replied 
 Milnovics; and, with another glance across the 
 room, added in a lower tone, " I will tell you about 
 
I JO THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 that afterwards. In five minutes I shall be done 
 with this." 
 
 Owing to the many doubts which the two 
 young school-dames still wished to have settled, 
 the five minutes became ten; and it was with his 
 stock of patience wellnigh exhausted that Radford 
 at length stepped out of the school-house by the 
 side of Milnovics. 
 
 He lost no time in saying what he had come 
 to say. A letter of his mother's had told him that 
 there was a chance of securing for his comrade a 
 position in one of the best-known Vienna banks. 
 The work was almost purely nominal, the position 
 being chiefly honorary, and the salary quite ac- 
 ceptable. 
 
 Milnovics listened in silence until Radford had 
 finished his explanations, and then said, without 
 any of the bitterness with which he had declined 
 the first ofifer of help, but with an evidently fixed 
 determination — 
 
 " No, thank you, Alfred; that is not the sort of 
 work I could ever undertake." 
 
 " But the work is really nothing ; you will only 
 have to control the others. Of course you would 
 have to go through a course of book-keeping, but 
 for a man with your brains that will be child's 
 play. What they want is a safe man, that is all." 
 
 " I should not be a safe man, since I cannot 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 131 
 
 undertake to control others without having com- 
 pletely mastered the work which they are expected 
 to do, and this work I should certainly never mas- 
 ter. I have always detested everything in which 
 arithmetic played a part. No, I certainly cannot 
 undertake the responsibility." 
 
 " But surely it is better than doing nothing 
 at all." 
 
 " I am not doing nothing at all. I was just 
 about to tell you that I had got an appointment." 
 
 " An appointment? " questioned Alfred in as- 
 tonishment, and just then Milnovics stood still and 
 turned round in answer to a call that resounded 
 from somewhere down the street. It was the big 
 schoolmistress who could be seen flying along be- 
 tween the houses, and who arrived breathless with 
 one more final question which had occurred to her 
 and which she now panted out amid vivid blushes. 
 At what hour were the schoolgirls to be marshalled 
 next morning? and was she to lead the way with 
 her pupils, or did Pan Milnovics intend to take 
 the precedence with the boys? 
 
 Milnovics briefly and somewhat impatiently set- 
 tled the question, and then turned to resume his 
 way. For a few seconds Radford walked silently 
 beside him. He had not understood every word 
 of what had been said, but he knew enough Polish 
 by this time to guess the purport of the remarks 
 
132 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 made. With awakened suspicion he glanced at 
 his companion. 
 
 " Stepan," he said in an altered tone, " why does 
 she ask you this question about the boys? Why 
 does she not go to the schoolmaster? You told me 
 that you had a schoolmaster; you told me also 
 that you -had found employment, — you surely don't 
 mean to say " 
 
 " Yes, I do mean to say it," repUed Stepan, 
 steadily, and, acting upon the same impulse, the 
 two men stood still again and faced each other in 
 the middle of the village street. 
 
 The mingled incredulity and horror on Alfred's 
 face was printed so broadly that Stepan only just 
 stopped short of laughing. 
 
 " What are you looking so desperate about? " 
 he asked, with a faint smile. " There have to be 
 schoolmasters in the world, so why should I not 
 be one of them?" 
 
 Alfred had recovered his speech. " Great heav- 
 ens, Stepan, are you really serious? Surely it is 
 impossible." 
 
 " I assure you that it is not impossible. No 
 doubt a one-armed schoolmaster sounds an ab- 
 surdity, but I have been working very hard lately, 
 and I can really write quite decently by this time, 
 decently enough, that is to say, for chalking up 
 letters on a board, though it never would become 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 133 
 
 decent enough to do the accounts in your Vienna 
 baak." 
 
 " That is not what I mean, — you know it isn't. 
 A village schoolmaster! You, with your abilities, 
 — why, even the Colonel admitted that you had the 
 head of a tactician on your shoulders, — you to bury 
 yourself in this hole, in order to teach young sav- 
 ages their A B C, — Stepan, it cannot be true! " 
 
 " Do not excite yourself," said Stepan, some- 
 what coldly. " Very likely I shall not be at the 
 A B C for long. The strong-minded Antonina 
 Brunowska will most likely not be contented with 
 a left-handed schoolmaster, and will find ways and 
 means for having me removed. She has friends 
 enough at headquarters." 
 
 " And do you pretend to say that you like the 
 work? " 
 
 " I do not pretend anything of the sort, but I 
 like still less to look on at my father reducing his 
 ration of tobacco, and Agniecka spreading the but- 
 ter thinner upon her bread, day by day. I am an- 
 other mouth to feed, you know. Don't look at me 
 like that, I beg of you; you should be congratu- 
 lating me, instead of condoling. I consider myself 
 in luck. If this had not been my father's parish 
 I could never have got the place." 
 
 " What is the salary of a schoolmaster here? " 
 
 " It comes to about twenty-two florins a- 
 
134 "^"^ WRONG MAN. 
 
 month," replied Stepan, carefully avoiding Alfred's 
 eyes as he spoke. " It was because of this chance 
 that I sent in my resignation, without waiting for 
 the end of my leave. I lose something in pay, but 
 the opening might have been filled up if I had 
 waited, so I gain more in the end." 
 
 " Less than half of a lieutenant's pay," groaned 
 Alfred to himself. 
 
 " I wish you had not acted in such a hurry," 
 he remarked aloud. " If at least you had waited 
 until I was back." 
 
 "The thing had to be done in a hurry. My 
 father has had some heavy expenses lately, that 
 is to say, what we call heavy," added Stepan, with 
 a rather bitter laugh. " Several of the vestments 
 were found to be defective, and had to be replaced 
 before the arrival of Antonina Brunowska. The 
 church-moneys did not sufifice, and, rather than 
 be discredited in the eyes of the new Pani, my 
 father had recourse to private means. But it is 
 no use wasting words over it," he abruptly broke 
 off, as though provoked with himself for having 
 said so much as this. " The long and the short 
 of it is that, in face of all this, I did not consider 
 myself justified in letting this chance go by." 
 
 " Always Antonina Brunowska," ground out 
 Radford between his teeth. He had not seen her 
 yet, and he felt already as though he hated her. 
 
THE WRONG MAN". 135 
 
 Again he walked on in silence, not because he 
 had nothing to say, but because he was trying to 
 collect his thoughts, in face of this unloosed for 
 contingency. He was grievously distressed, and 
 yet at the same time he was almost pleasantly 
 moved by something about Stepan's manner, 
 something which used not to be there. What 
 he had said was not much, but it came infinitely 
 nearer to being a confidence than anything he had 
 hitherto said. Alfred's instinct told him that this 
 was the fruit of that which had happened at their 
 last meeting. Some of the obdurate hardness had 
 gone from both glance and tone, and though he 
 might not yet be accepted as a friend, it was clear 
 that he was no longer received as an enemy. His 
 right to speak would now not be denied, and he 
 would make use of his right; he would see whether 
 by his words he could not yet avert this evil that 
 was threatening. 
 
 " Stepan," he began earnestly, but scarcely had 
 he said the one word than to his astonishment he 
 became aware that the gate of the plebanija was 
 already reached, and all privacy at an end for the 
 present. 
 
 It was in deep perturbation of spirit that he 
 followed Stepan into the house, where every one 
 was still running about breathless and flushed, oc- 
 cupied principally, it would seem, in getting into 
 
1,6 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 one another's way. Father Floryan, tired out with 
 the unusual exertion, was sitting apart, with a hand 
 on either knee, and his head sinking somewhat for- 
 ward. The furniture was still in the corner of the 
 room, and the flags which were to be hung from 
 the church tower, and which consisted of scarlet 
 and orange cotton handkerchiefs nailed on to 
 wooden poles, were lying scattered over the floor. 
 A discussion was just now going on as to the ad- 
 visability of despatching a cart to the neighbour- 
 ing village for a certain Jew who possessed a ffddle, 
 in order to heighten the efiEect of the village band, 
 which consisted of two flutes and one concertina. 
 Madame Serpow was of opinion that the fiddle 
 would make no difference to Antonina Brunowska, 
 but Agniecka was on fire with the idea. 
 
 " It will make just the difference," she fervently 
 declared. " They had a fiddle at Bublice when the 
 proprietor came home, and surely we are not going 
 to be outdone by them! Ah, there is Stepan, — 
 am I not right, Stepan? Listen! " 
 
 Thus appealed to, Milnovics joined the group 
 at the further end of the room. Radford, catch- 
 ing sight of an unexpected opportunity, stepped 
 quickly up to the corner where the old Popa was 
 sitting alone, taking no part in the discussion. 
 
 " Father Floryan," he said hurriedly, somewhat 
 lowering his voice, " Stepan has just told me that 
 
THE WRONG MAN. I37 
 
 he has been appointed schoolmaster. It is impossi- 
 ble that he should continue in so mean a position, 
 but I understand that the resolution was taken 
 in a hurry, because of some — of some financial em- 
 barrassments, which suddenly arose. If I had been 
 here I am sure it would not have happened, and 
 even now perhaps something can still be done. I 
 have only fifty florins by me, but if they are of any 
 use for the moment — you cannot refuse to accept 
 them as a favour, as a favour to me, — remember 
 that I have a right, — no, that it is my duty to do 
 something for Stepan." 
 
 Father Floryan had raised his head from his 
 breast and was listening in bewilderment. He did 
 not immediately understand what this was about, 
 but, having grasped it, the tears rose irresistibly 
 to his eyes. He smiled unsteadily at Radford, while 
 at the same time shaking his head and making a 
 movement with his right hand as though to push 
 aside the banknote which the other had furtively 
 snatched out of his purse, as though he were afraid 
 of being seen from the other end of the room. It 
 had been towards the other end of the room, too. 
 that the old Popa had begun by throwing an in- 
 stinctive glance of alarm the moment that Rad- 
 ford's meaning became clear to him. 
 
 " You are good, but it would not do, — it would 
 not do," he murmured, while his eye hung wistfully 
 
138 THE WRONG MAN, 
 
 upon the crisp paper which, for those he loved, 
 meant such a Hfting of the load of care. 
 
 " It is not the same as though you were taking 
 it from anyone else," urged Radford in the same 
 guilty whisper. 
 
 " It would not do," repeated Father Floryan, 
 but he said it more faintly already. 
 
 "Why would it not do? Have you got the 
 right to refuse me an opportunity of atonement? 
 It is a question of conscience; are you not a priest 
 before anything else? " 
 
 Father Floryan looked into Radford's face, and 
 slowly and hesitatingly put out his hand. The face 
 had convinced him far more than the words. A 
 gift that is so simply offered should be as simply 
 taken. But the unsteady white fingers had not yet 
 touched the paper when they were abruptly with- 
 drawn, for, glancing upwards, the Popa had met 
 the stern eyes of his son, looking at him over Rad- 
 ford's shoulder. 
 
 Radford turned round, and seeing his comrade 
 beside him, instinctively attempted to stuff the 
 banknote back into his purse. 
 
 " Don't take the trouble," said Milnovics, look- 
 ing from Radford's face to that of his father, and 
 speaking in a tone of forcibly suppressed rage. " I 
 see what you have been doing; you have been 
 offering money to my father, — and you, father, 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 139 
 
 would have taken it if I had not been there. Is 
 it not true?" 
 
 The Popa sunk his head in guilty silence. 
 
 " It would only have been a loan," said Radford 
 quickly. 
 
 " No, it would not have been a loan," remarked 
 Milnovics with a certain malicious emphasis. " We 
 have no means and no prospect of ever repaying a 
 loan, therefore it would have been a gift. Do you 
 understand me, father? It is a gift which you were 
 about to take from Lieutenant Radford. For 
 Heaven's sake let us call things by their names. 
 I have no right to forbid you the acceptance of 
 gifts, but listen to this, father: for you to take 
 money from him," and his glowing eyes just passed 
 over Radford, " will mean a break for ever between 
 him and me. Think of it well, father, — and now 
 do what you like about the money." 
 
 He turned his back and began to recross the 
 room, but had not reached the middle of the floor 
 when Andrei, with his arms wildly waving and his 
 eyes rolling in his head, dashed in through the 
 open door and attempted to speak, but either from 
 want of breath or from pure excitement succeeded 
 only in gasping. 
 
 " The fiddle, — ^we must certainly have the fid- 
 dle!" Agniecka was insisting in her highest head- 
 notes. " And more branches, more flags, more 
 
140 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 everything; the reception must be talked of ten 
 years hence, — we must " 
 
 Here she broke off at sight of Andrei, and was 
 about to frame an alarmed question, when close 
 upon his heels there appeared in the doorway the 
 figure of a slight, dark-haired girl, dressed in a 
 grey travelling-dress which was obviously town- 
 made, and with a small grey hat upon her head. 
 She stood still and looked about her, evidently in 
 some astonishment; then, as her eyes fell upon the 
 Popa, who had risen in his corner, she went quickly 
 towards him and put out her hand. 
 
 " You are Father Floryan, are you not? " she 
 asked, beginning to smile. " Do you not remem- 
 ber me? I am Antonina Brunowska." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 It took several minutes to allay the first feeling 
 of consternation, and it would certainly have taken 
 much more but for Antonina Brunowska herself, 
 who did not seem to see anything in the least em- 
 barrassing in the situation. Perceiving that Father 
 Floryan was still too much paralysed with aston- 
 ishment to put out his hand, she settled the matter 
 by taking hold of it with both of hers and pressing 
 it warmly, after which, without waiting for a reply 
 to her question, she looked round her once more. 
 " I have come at an inconvenient moment, have 
 I not? You seem to be having a big cleaning; but 
 never mind, — I hate ceremony, and I shall find 
 something to sit down upon, never fear ! " and be- 
 fore any one had recovered enough presence of 
 mind to intervene, Antonina had taken down the 
 topmost chair from the pile beside her, and was 
 just ensconcing herself upon it when her quick 
 eye was caught by the heap of gaudy flags in the 
 middle of the floor. 
 
 " Flags? What are these for? I have never 
 lo 141 
 
J -2 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 heard of flags at a cleaning. And you have green 
 branches on the roof, too,— surely you have not 
 been " 
 
 She looked from one face to the other with a 
 dawning suspicion. No one replied — in fact no one 
 had yet spoken since she entered the room,— but 
 the silence in itself was answer enough. 
 
 Her eyes began to dance, and after a short, 
 fruitless struggle, she burst into a clear laugh that 
 was like the laugh of a high-spirited child. 
 
 " Oh, so that is it! Now at last I understand, 
 and the green branches on the roof, they also were 
 for me. I have come upon you in the middle of 
 the preparations. Please don't be vexed — ^but I 
 cannot help laughing — I really cannot; it is like 
 a scene in a theatre; now I understand why you 
 have all got such long faces and such round eyes. 
 Oh, whoever would have thought of this? " 
 
 " Your arrival was announced for to-morrow," 
 remarked Madame Serpow, in her most grating 
 tone of voice. 
 
 " Of course it was, but I found it too long to 
 wait till to-morrow; the last day of waiting is al- 
 ways by far the worst, do you not find so too? But, 
 after all," said Antonina, suddenly recovering her 
 gravity, "this is no misfortune; all those flags and 
 branches and whatever else you may have planned, 
 would not have pleased me half so much as this 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 143 
 
 simple and — and homely reception. I have no 
 taste for pageantry, all that belongs to the old 
 regime, and that is just what we must sweep aside, 
 — that and a great deal more," and with her neatly 
 gloved hand she made a gesture as though she 
 were brushing aside a fly. 
 
 " The old what? " ventured Father Floryan, 
 finding his voice at last. 
 
 " The old regime. It is a French word, you 
 know. I shall explain it to you some day when 
 we have time. Dear Father Floryan, you don't 
 feel ill, do you? You look so terribly white. I 
 hope I haven't frightened you. Perhaps. I ought 
 to have sent a message, but the journey had not 
 tired me a bit, and I really could not wait longer 
 to see my field of work, — I have been dreaming 
 of it for so long, — for I mean to do work, real 
 work, and I will need you to help me. Father 
 Floryan, you will help me, will you not? And in 
 the meantime I may have a cup of tea, mayn't I? " 
 she added in the same breath, looking inquiringly 
 from Madame Serpow to Agniecka. " I am not 
 at all tired, but I am perishing with thirst. It is 
 my own fault for running away from the house 
 before the samovar was hot." 
 
 Agniecka flew from the room in search of 
 Marysia. The mere mention of the samovar had 
 raised every one's spirits. Over the very vsreck 
 
144 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 of to-morrow's prospects, over the hecatomb of 
 useless banners and of branches that had been cut 
 in vain, the chief emblem of Russian hospitality- 
 still shone out triumphant, like a star of salvation, 
 spreading warmth and comfort from out of its shin- 
 ing brass breast. With a steaming samovar on 
 the table it would become almost possible to regard 
 the reception of Antonina Brunowska as not being 
 a complete failure. 
 
 " She does not seem so very alarming, after 
 all," reflected Radford, in the depths of the corner 
 to which he had retreated. 
 
 From where he stood he could only occasionally 
 catch a glimpse of her features seen en profile. An- 
 tonina Brunowska was a brunette of medium 
 height, whose hair appeared to be black, except 
 when a ray of sunshine, falling on it, revealed it to 
 be of the deepest, richest shade of brown. Black 
 eyebrows that were almost too strongly marked 
 stamped her physiognomy with a look of energy 
 and determination, but it was the eyes themselves 
 that struck attention at the first glance, — dark, 
 quick eyes, that were as full of lights as of shadows, 
 and which, at moments, had something untamed 
 and well-nigh fierce in their expression, while at 
 other moments they looked like the eyes of a child. 
 And not the eyes alone spoke of the child in her; 
 for, not only did she give the impression of not 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 145 
 
 having quite done growing, but even the faultless 
 town-made dress could not disguise a certain ju- 
 venile angularity of Umbs, as well as a certain want 
 of finish — or maybe it was innate abruptness — 
 about her movements. Obviously she was at an 
 intermediate stage of both physical and mental de- 
 velopment. The rawness of early youth betrayed 
 itself in her laugh and even in her voice, but none 
 of all this offended, and all of it pleased, and, to 
 a certain degree, astonished. Her complexion, 
 though somewhat dark, harmonised perfectly with 
 the deep, shadowy hair. If she was not beautiful 
 yet, it was only because Nature had still to put the 
 finishing touches to her work. Everything about 
 her, from the dark eyes that were never still, to the 
 glowing lips which, despite their imperious curve, 
 seemed forever ready to break into eager speech, 
 breathed the very essence of a strong, youthful vi- 
 tality. Her very smile overflowed with the joy of 
 living. In the low, dingy sitting-room of the ple- 
 banija, where, as a rule, little was spoken, and that 
 little not of an exhilarating nature, her coming had 
 completely upset the mental atmosphere, much as 
 though a strong, fresh breeze, entering through the 
 open- door, had dispersed all hanging clouds. 
 
 " Do we also belong to the things that are to 
 be swept aside? " inquired Stepan suddenly. He 
 had hitherto watched in perfectly impassive si- 
 
146 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 lence what was going on at the other side of the 
 room. 
 
 Antonina turned quickly towards him. 
 
 "Why do you ask?" 
 
 " Because it struck me that we also are of 
 the old regime ; certainly we are of no new 
 one." 
 
 She looked at him attentively instead of re- 
 plying. 
 
 "Surely I ought to remember you; are you 
 not the son? Let me see, what was he called? 
 Cyprian? Christian?" 
 
 " Stepan," said the old Popa quickly. 
 
 " Ah, yes ; now I remember your face quite 
 well. Did not you recognise me too? " 
 
 " No, I did not recognise you," replied Stepan, 
 steadily returning her gaze. 
 
 " Have I changed so very much? " she asked, 
 in evident astonishment. 
 
 " You have changed very much." 
 
 She was still looking at him with a puzzled 
 frown upon her face. 
 
 " I suppose I must be making a mistake, but 
 I fancied, yes, I certainly believed, that you were 
 in the army? " 
 
 Father Floryan glanced in instinctive alarm 
 towards the second visitor ; Madame Serpow 
 smiled bitterly at the wet scrubbing-brush which, 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 147 
 
 in the sauve qui pent of the charwomen, happened 
 to have been cast down at her feet, and Stepan 
 himself said nothing at all. It was Radford's voice 
 that broke the painful pause. 
 
 " It is quite true that Stepan was in the army," 
 he said, clearing his throat of the obdurate dust, 
 " but he has been forced to leave it." 
 
 Radford in his comer was standing almost 
 straight behind Antonina's chair. At the sound 
 of this new and unpleasantly hoarse voice she 
 turned her head in some astonishment, for she had 
 not yet perceived him. What she saw now was 
 a big and, as it struck her, somewhat clumsy-look- 
 ing man, whose blue uniform-coat and yellow hair 
 were scarcely to be recognised as either blue or 
 yellow, because of the thick powdering of dust 
 which clung to them and hung on his very mous- 
 tache and eyelashes. Her eyes passed over him in- 
 differently. 
 
 "This is a stranger, is it not. Father Floryan? 
 Surely he does not belong to Berenow? " 
 
 " This is Lieutenant Radford, my comrade," 
 said Stepan. " I ought to have introduced him 
 earlier.'' 
 
 Antonina bowed and turned away again. Evi- 
 dently she had no interest to spare just then for 
 people who did not belong to Berenow — that is, 
 to her future field of work. 
 
148 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 " You have been forced to leave the army? " 
 she said, looking inquiringly at Stepan; and at 
 that moment Marysia entered, bearing the samovar 
 in triumph. 
 
 It became necessary to pull forward the table 
 and to take some more chairs from the pile. Ste- 
 pan lifted down two chairs with his left hand, and 
 Antonina watched him as he did so. The samovar 
 was in danger of falling; he righted it barely in 
 time, also with his left hand, and at the same mo- 
 ment, looking up, found her eyes fixed upon him 
 in astonished inquiry. 
 
 " I am not able to use my right arm," he said 
 briefly. 
 
 " And that is why you are no longer a soldier? " 
 she asked more softly, with eyes full of interest and 
 of pity. 
 
 " Yes, that is why." 
 
 " But how could such a thing happen? " 
 
 " It was in consequence of a duel," said Stepan 
 hurriedly, and then immediately added in a louder 
 tone, " Since you say that you remember my face 
 you have probably not forgotten my sister's 
 either? " 
 
 "In consequence of a duel?" repeated Anto- 
 nina, with an almost vindictive accent, and flush- 
 ing vividly, as she was apt to do when moved. 
 "Nothing like a duel for injustice and cruelty. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 149 
 
 That also is of the old regime; that also will have 
 to go." 
 
 " Did you say that you had recognised my sis- 
 ter?" asked Stepan, unmoved. 
 
 Antonina began again to look about her. 
 
 " Let me see. Yes; I think I can recognise 
 everybody here, if you only give me time. That," 
 and she looked at Madame Serpow, " is not your 
 sister, but your aunt, and I used to be terribly 
 frightened of sitting opposite to her in church;" 
 and she smiled into the old lady's unresponding 
 face. " I was positively afraid of lifting my eyes 
 from my book, for fear of meeting a reproving 
 glance." 
 
 " You didn't look particularly afraid, anyhow," 
 muttered Madame Serpow under her breath.^ 
 
 "And that is your elder sister; I remember 
 her too — ^the married sister — ^what is her name? 
 Agniecka? She used to be a little stouter than 
 she is now; I remember her quite well, but some- 
 how I don't seem to remember her husband." 
 
 " My husband is travelling at present," put in 
 Agniecka, smiling radiantly. 
 
 " Ah, really? And your other sister is poor 
 Jusia." Her face grew grave for a moment. " You 
 see I even remember her name. I used to be 
 afraid of her too, but now I am only sorry — ^very 
 sorry. And, let me see, who is there still?" She 
 
156 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 glanced again at Radford, and again passed him 
 over with a movement which said quite plainly, 
 " You do not count." Then her eyes fell on Bo- 
 gumil. 
 
 " Ah, the Deacon. Of course I remember the 
 Deacon, and most certainly the Deacon remembers 
 me. It was at your head, was it not, that I threw 
 the catechism? You can't imagine how I was lec- 
 tured for it! But, really, it was hard to be expected 
 to learn one's catechism on Christmas Eve ! " 
 
 She was laughing again from the bottom of her 
 heart, and her laugh was infectious. Even Madame 
 Serpow relaxed a little at sight of the Deacon's 
 face, who, from the safe retreat of the window em- 
 brasure, was throwing mistrustful glances towards 
 the speaker, almost as though, in spite of the fash- 
 ionable length of her skirts, he suspected her of 
 being capable of repeating that memorable opera- 
 tion on Christmas Eve. 
 
 Under cover of the general hilarity, Radford 
 slipped out of the room. He felt that he was not 
 wanted here to-day, that his presence stood in the 
 way of these mutual reminiscences that were being 
 exchanged, and in which he had no part. Another 
 feeling, too — an uneasy feeling of guiltiness — 
 made him glad to leave that room, for might not 
 Antonina return to the subject of Stepan's disabled 
 arm? The part he had played at its first mention 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 151 
 
 had seemed to himself both pitiable and absurd; 
 he would not risk having to go through it once 
 more. 
 
 " She must have changed a good deal since she 
 left the place," he mused on his homeward ride. 
 " Who called her an ugly, brown-faced brat? She 
 is certainly not ugly now; a little lanky, perhaps, 
 but with those eyes she may improve into almost 
 anything. Her shoulders want filling out; but her 
 eyes — no, I don't think her eyes want anything 
 done to them, though, to be sure, I scarcely saw 
 them properly." 
 
 " After all, it is just as well she took us by sur- 
 prise," said Agniecka that evening, when the day's 
 events were being reviewed. " Since she really 
 hates pageantry and fuss, all our flags and our fid- 
 dles would only have put her in a bad humour from 
 the first, while this way she was simply delight- 
 ful." 
 
 " If things had been left as they were," sighed 
 the Deacon, " then there would have been no fuss, 
 and all this trouble would have been saved." And 
 he sadly shook his head at recollection of the use- 
 less hour spent upon the ladder, and of the many 
 branches handed up in vain. 
 
 " This accident was ordered from above," said 
 Father Floryan, with a touch of admonition. 
 
 Madame Serpow said nothing at all, but drew 
 
152 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 in her lips till they were scarcely visible. In her 
 heart of hearts she was convinced that the descent 
 upon them had been no accident, but a deep-laid 
 plan of the Pani's, made with the express intention 
 of putting everybody to extreme inconvenience. 
 
 After all, Agniecka had her wish; for although 
 neither procession nor triumphal arches ever came 
 off, yet the coming home of Antonina Brunowska, 
 and the circumstances attending it, were talked of 
 in the country-side for even more than ten years. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 The education of Antonina Brunowska had been 
 a somewhat curious mixture of extremes. Hav- 
 ing lost her mother in her infancy, she had until 
 the age of fourteen been brought up, or rather al- 
 lowed to run wild, by an indulgent father, who 
 could not make up his mind either to part with his 
 only child or to attempt the task of controlling her. 
 There were governesses in the house, of course; 
 but they seldom stayed there for longer than three 
 months at a time, and the intervals that elapsed 
 before a suitable successor was found were gener- 
 ally longer than this, so that it is scarcely paradox- 
 ical to say that on the whole there were more inter- 
 vals than governesses. It could, therefore, be no 
 wonder if Antonina, before whom every person in 
 her father's service bowed down as to their future 
 ruler, and whose small hand was reverently kissed 
 by white-headed peasants on the road, should 
 grow up imperious and exacting, deeply impressed 
 with the sense of her own importance, and unable 
 
 to bear the slightest touch of restraint. 
 153 
 
154 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 When she was fourteen her father died, and 
 Antonina found herself abruptly transplanted into 
 very different surroundings. An unmarried sister 
 of her mother's was still living at Lemberg, and on 
 his deathbed Tomasz Brunowska had bethought 
 himself of his sister-in-law, and had desired that 
 his daughter should be placed under the care of 
 her aunt. In his heart of hearts he had long 
 known that some such step would be unavoidable, 
 and now that he would no longer be there to look 
 on, he could even face the thought of the strict 
 educational measures that would probably have to 
 be employed. 
 
 The Baroness Mielecka was an elderly elegante 
 who had spent most of her earlier years in Court 
 circles, having been lady of honour, first to a dis- 
 possessed duchess, and then to an uncrowned 
 queen. Her one ambition in life, besides that of 
 dressing perfectly, was to live up to the level of a 
 fin^de-siede woman, although a close investigation 
 would probably have shown that her ideas as to- 
 the meaning of the term were slightly hazy. To 
 judge from appearances, the Baroness evidently 
 believed that by covering the walls of her drawing- 
 room with Japanese fans and peacocks' feathers, 
 wearing the newest combinations of colours, read- 
 ing the latest telegrams, and mixing up all that 
 she had ever heard about either Women's Rights 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 155 
 
 or the future mission of air-balloons, she was doing 
 all that could be expected of a worthy representa- 
 tive of the latter end of the nineteenth century. 
 This was what she wanted to be; what she really 
 was was an empty-headed, good-natured, perfectly 
 conventional, and perfectly harmless old maid, who 
 during her sojourn at Court had got so used to 
 having to dress well — ^the duchess, in especial, had 
 been very particular as to the appearance of her 
 dames d'honneur, and had been known to dismiss 
 one because of the inferior quality of the lace on 
 her bodice — that she could not now do without 
 the delights of the wardrobe; who loved to dabble 
 in socialistic ideas, and had yet never forgiven the 
 people who had dispossessed her duchess and 
 neglected to crown her queen; who delighted in 
 posing as an atheist, although in secret she wore 
 two scapulars and three blest medals next her skin, 
 and went regularly to church on Sundays, in order 
 not to shock people " with prejudices." 
 
 The prospects of having a niece to educate, as 
 well as to dress, filled her with delight. Here was 
 an opportunity for openly proclaiming her prin- 
 ciples; for, of course, Antonina was to be turned 
 out a model fin-de-siecle girl. But by the end of 
 the first month she began to understand that her 
 task was no easy one, and by the end of the first 
 year she had given it up. The material had proved 
 
156 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 too tough to be worked upon by the dehcate fingers 
 of the ex-dame d'honneur. Antonina had evidently 
 no idea of being "turned" into anything. The 
 affection which the lonely elegante — for she was 
 lonely, in spite of her dresses — felt for her pupil 
 had from the first been tinged with a feeling of 
 alarm. She had undertaken to tame a wild bird 
 that had been brought to her in a cage — a wild bird 
 fresh from its native woods, and quivering with 
 youth and life ; but the bird had a strong beak and 
 sharp claws, and once having felt them, the fright- 
 ened old maid was thankful to capitulate, and to let 
 the captive do almost what it liked, so long as it 
 did not fly straight into her face. 
 
 The result was that in the capital Antonina was 
 just as much the spoilt child as she had been at 
 home. Her aunt had the satisfaction of choosing 
 her dresses and her hats for her, but that was about 
 all. She could superintend her chaussure but not 
 her actions, polish her manners but not her mind, 
 or at least not in the fashion that the Baroness, who 
 was town-bred to the marrow of her bones, and in 
 whom an almost holy horror of everything coun- 
 trified, of everything that flavoured of the bump- , 
 kin, had survived from Court-days, would have 
 wished. Very early indeed she began to despair 
 of making Antonina conventional. 
 
 Antonina herself, though her whole nature drew 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 1 57 
 
 her towards the freedom of the country and its 
 more boisterous delights, of which she had drunk 
 in such full draughts, was yet at that age when 
 root is easily taken. Being thirsty for love, she 
 had from the first attached herself with all her 
 heart to her aunt, and partly for this reason she 
 was not unhappy at Lemberg. What her nature 
 wanted was an outlet, whether physical or mental 
 did not greatly matter. Since she could no longer 
 roam about at will in the big empty park at Bere- 
 now with her dogs at her heels, she sought solace 
 in her aunt's bookcase, and threw herself with heart 
 and soul into the earnest exploration of its shelves. 
 When it is mentioned that this bookcase was fur- 
 nished chiefly with volumes which Baroness Mie- 
 lecka had selected because of what she considered 
 a certain Hn-de-siecle flavour about their titles, with 
 which she counted upon impressing her friends, 
 but very few of which she had managed to read 
 beyond the first page, it will readily be understood 
 that the mental food imbibed by Antonina at this 
 period was of a somewhat perilous and likewise 
 of an extremely miscellaneous nature. Now and 
 then the Baroness, catching sight of some volume 
 in her niece's hands, would be visited by a twinge 
 of uneasiness; but the twinge would pass again, 
 for in the first place free reading belonged to the 
 principles of Women's Rights, and in the second. 
 
IjS THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 and far more important place, she knew that An- 
 tonina would not give up the book if called upon 
 to do so. 
 
 Russian authors figured largely on the shelves, 
 and it was to be considered as a piece of remark- 
 able good fortune that, in this case, the result of 
 free reading was nothing worse than a violent ac- 
 cess of ideas and projects a la Tolstoi. By the time 
 she was sixteen Antonina began to bewilder her 
 aunt by her talk of " work," and of the duties of 
 proprietors. 
 
 " My path is quite clear before me," she would 
 explain to the startled Baroness. " That wonder- 
 ful old man has told me everything I need to 
 know. The very moment that I can do what I 
 like " 
 
 " You do what you like now," faintly interpo- 
 lated the Baroness, but without being heard. 
 
 " I shall fly to Berenow and never leave it again. 
 B erenow is the field which heaven has given to 
 me, and I mean to live for it." 
 
 " But surely not for it alone, Antusia. When 
 you marry " 
 
 " I doubt whether I shall ever marry. I have 
 thought over this matter a great deal, and I don't 
 think that marrying is my vocation. You see, I 
 don't believe I could manage to be decently obedi- 
 ent to my husband. At any rate, I could never 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 159 
 
 consent to marry merely for the sake of being mar- 
 ried; there would need to be something behind it, 
 some object to be fulfilled, some real good to be 
 done by marrying that particular man. But for 
 managing Berenow I don't need a man, and it is 
 Berenow that evidently is intended to be my field 
 of work. Yes, darling aunt, I am going to live 
 for Berenow and at Berenow, and of course you 
 will live with me." 
 
 The Baroness heaved a resigned sigh. Truly, 
 had' she foreseen this result of the free reading, it 
 is just possible that after all she would have found 
 the courage to lock the door of the bookcase, and 
 keep the key in her pocket. 
 
 Soon it became clear to Antonina that to wait 
 until she was of age would be pure waste of time. 
 If she could not yet actually realise her projects, 
 she could at least study the battle-field, and pre- 
 pare the ground. 
 
 The result of these conclusions — her guardian 
 being fortunately as easy to manage as her aunt — 
 was her descent upon Berenow in the August fol- 
 lowing on her eighteenth birthday. 
 
 And thus Antonina came back to her home, 
 brimful of ideas, of hopes, of theories, trembling 
 with impatience to test her own power; with all 
 the vigor of her nature, all the strength of her 
 youth and splendid vitality, brought to bear upon 
 
j6o THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 one point; feeling quite secure of her mission, 
 though possibly not quite as clear in her mind as 
 she fancied herself with regard to what this mission 
 exactly consisted in. She was not a woman yet, 
 but a headstrong and emotional child, full of con- 
 tradictions, whose tears rose at the sight of a beg- 
 gar in the street, and whom yet the faintest oppo- 
 sition made savage — a child with the power almost 
 of a small sovereign in its hand, and of whom no 
 one could yet foresee how she would use it. 
 
 The feeling that he was not wanted at present 
 made Radford stay away from B erenow until the 
 beginning of September. He could not stay away 
 longer than this, for that which he had attempted 
 to say to Stepan last time must absolutely be said. 
 He had not by any means given up the hope of 
 arguing him out of this terrible idea about the 
 schoolmastership. 
 
 Like the last time, Stepan was at the school- 
 house, and like the last time, too, he was not at 
 liberty. The schoolmistresses were indeed not visi- 
 ble, and the children had been dismissed; but hav- 
 ing crossed the threshold, Radford observed that 
 Antonina Brunowska was standing in the middle . 
 of the floor, talking with so much vivacity to the 
 new schoolmaster that his entrance passed appar- 
 ently unnoticed. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. i6i 
 
 The argument seemed to bear the character of 
 a dispute. Antonina was evidently advocating the 
 introduction of some measure which Stepan con- 
 demned as worthless. 
 
 " Worthless ! " she was repeating as Radford 
 entered, with ringing scorn in her voice. " Every- 
 thing is called worthless that has not yet been 
 tested. It is the stock phrase of all the enemies 
 of progress — for heaven's sake don't use it. Lieu- 
 tenant Milnovics— I cannot help still calling you a 
 lieutenant," she added, while her voice sank a little 
 and she glanced quickly towards his disabled arm, 
 — " don't use it, please, or I shall have to put you 
 down as one of those enemies. What would be- 
 come of t*rogress if nothing new was ever to be 
 attempted?" 
 
 " But this particular thing is not new at all," 
 remarked Stepan, with a politely derisive smile. 
 " It has been tried over and over again, and has 
 failed Just as often. I thought it was a common- 
 place that farmers are not made by theory, any 
 more than soldiers are." 
 
 "That can only be the fault of the theory, or 
 else of the teachers. If the theory is good, surely 
 it stands to reason that the results must also be 
 good. I have made up my mind to turn my people 
 into model farmers, and I have made up my mind 
 that you shall help me." 
 
1 62 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 Stepan broke into a somewhat irritated laugh. 
 
 " You want to turn the people into model farm- 
 ers! Excuse me, Pani Brunowska, but you don't 
 know what strange things you are saying. Why, 
 even the smallest boy who comes to school with 
 the most ragged shirt and the blackest finger-nails 
 knows more about the proper season for sowing 
 and reaping than either you or I do. No amount 
 of books and of theories will ever induce our peas- 
 ants to feed their cows with anything but what 
 their great-grandfathers fed theirs with. Printed 
 rules are merely objects of suspicion. You can 
 open your agricultural class if you like; but I give 
 you fair warning that no one will come to it.'' 
 
 " I shall make them come," said Antonina, a 
 trifle haughtily, for the schoolmaster's tone was 
 not quite as respectful as she had a right to expect. 
 " Those old methods are all exploded. I wonder 
 that you, who have studied and seen life, should 
 talk as you do. Every one seems asleep here; cer- 
 tainly it was high time that I should come to wake 
 you up. Do you really mean to maintain that 
 everything is done as it ought to be done?" 
 
 " Nothing of the sort; I only maintain that the 
 agricultural class is not the remedy for the evil." 
 
 "Then what is?" 
 
 "Example might be. Start a model farm ac- 
 cording to your ideas, and let the people see for 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 163 
 
 themselves that your crops are better than 
 theirs." 
 
 " Of course I shall start a model farm, but for 
 that I must be of age. My guardian is manage- 
 able about everything except money. But in the 
 meantime I cannot possibly sit still. The agricul- 
 tural class will pave the way. I have ordered the 
 books already — five different works on agriculture; 
 there were four more on the catalogue, but I 
 thought these would do to begin with. And you 
 must help me; you positively must help me, Lieu- 
 tenant Milnovics. I have counted so firmly upon 
 your help." 
 
 Her voice had become soft, almost coaxing. 
 She moved a little nearer, and gazed at him with 
 imploring eyes. She was not the imperious Pani 
 now, but a child begging for a favour. 
 
 Stepan looked at her without immediately an- 
 swering. He was hesitating, but the irritation on 
 his face had already begun to vanish. 
 
 " What is the good of my saying either Yes or 
 No? I cannot prevent your having your own way." 
 
 " But you can use your influence and make 
 matters easier. It makes all the difference whether 
 I have the schoolmaster on my side or not. You 
 will help me, will you not? Please say Yes ! " And 
 unconsciously she half clasped her fingers. 
 
 " Let it be Yes, then, in the name of all that 
 
164 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 is unreasonable," said Stepan, smiling in spite of 
 himself. The irritation was quite gone from his 
 face. 
 
 "Splendid!" cried Antonina. "Now I have 
 gained you ! " and she impulsively gave him her 
 hand. 
 
 Stepan took the small, exquisitely gloved hand, 
 and, according to the Polish fashion, raised it re- 
 spectfully to his lips. 
 
 " Yes, you have gained me," he repeated a lit- 
 tle absently. 
 
 " I am rather glad you were so obstinate," went 
 on Antonina gaily. "It is much more satisfactory 
 to gain over an obstinate person than one who al- 
 ways says ' Yes ' to everything, and besides " 
 
 But at this moment she caught sight of Rad- 
 ford standing in the doorway, a passive and some- 
 what perplexed spectator. 
 
 " This is a visitor for you," she said, barely 
 returning his bow, and looking at him . with a 
 mixture of displeasure and astonishment, as at a 
 complete stranger. "We can settle the details 
 later on." And snatching up the parasol which 
 she had laid on the bench beside her, she turned 
 in her somewhat brusque fashion and disappeared 
 through the second door. 
 
 " Shall we go up to the house? " asked Stepan, 
 bringing back his eyes to Radford's face. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 165 
 
 " No, let US stay here. I must talk to you, and 
 here we shall not be interrupted." 
 
 Without waiting for Stepan's answer, he sat 
 down on the bench that was nearest and began 
 the attack. For several minutes he talked on un- 
 disturbed. The excellent and carefully prepared 
 reasons, which all went to prove the reasonable- 
 ness of accepting the confidential post in Vienna 
 and the unreasonableness of remaining a school- 
 master at Berenow, were not refuted; indeed they 
 were scarcely answered, but the result remained 
 what it had been last time. Stepan was a school- 
 master, and meant to remain one. He spoke with- 
 out irritation. There was in his manner less bitter- 
 ness than there had been during the first discus- 
 sion of this subject, and there was also more 
 indifference. The short, vehement scene which 
 had followed upon that discussion was to-day 
 not touched upon with any word. It seemed 
 almost as though Stepan had forgotten the inci- 
 dent. 
 
 " And you actually mean that this is your final 
 decision?" asked Radford, at the end of ten fruit- 
 less minutes of argument. 
 
 " Not my decision," replied Stepan, a little 
 wearily, " but the decision of Fate. To be a soldier 
 was my wish, to be a schoolmaster is evidently 
 my destiny." 
 
1 66 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 Radford contemplated his comrade for a minute 
 in incredulous silence. 
 
 " It is quite true," he then said suddenly, " it is 
 quite true what the Pani Brunowska was saying 
 just now about your all being asleep here. It lies 
 in the atmosphere; it is a torpor which holds you 
 all. Even you, Stepan, even you are infected; you 
 talk to-day not like yourself, but like a mixture 
 of your aunt and your brother-in-law. You are 
 sinking into this poisonous torpor; but it is not too 
 late yet, there is still time to awake you." 
 
 Radford had risen as he spoke, and now, in the 
 excess of his eagerness, took his comrade by the 
 shoulder, in the way in which one man takes hold 
 of another whom he wishes to shake out of deep 
 slumber. 
 
 Stepan had not sat down. With his left arm 
 leaning against the back of a chair, he gazed un- 
 moved into Radford's disturbed face. His reply 
 did not come at once, and his glance seemed to 
 say that he was considering some question within 
 himself. 
 
 I " Perhaps it is torpor," he said at length. " Per- 
 haps I am falling asleep. But why awake me? Is 
 it not better so? People who are asleep escape a 
 great deal. Yes, let me sleep, let me sleep!" he 
 added with sudden vehemence, shaking Radford's 
 hand from off his shoulder. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 1 67 
 
 " I do not understand you to-day," said Rad- 
 ford again, after another long look at his comrade. 
 " You used to be different. It was not like you 
 either to give in just now about that agricultural 
 class; wasn't that what the Pani called it?" 
 
 " It's a piece of nonsense," remarked Stepan 
 shortly. " She wants to start evening lectures on 
 farming for any one under twenty. A mere ab- 
 surdity." 
 
 " Then why did you end by saying that you 
 would help her? You aren't generally so yielding, 
 and you gave way quite suddenly, too. Don't you 
 see that this also is torpor? " 
 
 " I suppose it is," said Stepan, looking from 
 Radford's face to the open window. " Yes, very 
 likely this too is torpor." 
 
 His black brows were drawn together in a per- 
 plexed frown. 
 
 " I forgot that I have still got to inquire at the 
 shop whether the new copy-books have arrived," 
 he remarked abruptly. " If you will walk on to 
 the house I shall follow immediately." 
 
 And, taking his hat, he went out before Rad- 
 ford had time to make any further remark. 
 
 " I can go with you to the shop," the other 
 called after him, but Stepan was in the street al- 
 ready. 
 
 Radford was on the point of following, when. 
 
l68 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 from the opposite direction, he perceived Antonina 
 Brunowska returning towards the schoolhouse. 
 
 " Probably she has something more to say to 
 him," reflected Radfofd. " I shall wait till she has 
 passed; '' and he drew back a little from the door- 
 way. 
 
 Instead of passing, however, Antonina came 
 straight towards the schoolhouse, walking like 
 somebody who has a very distinct object in her 
 mind. 
 
 " Lieutenant Milnovics has just gone over to 
 the shop," said Radford, stepping forward as she 
 reached the door. 
 
 She stood still immediately, and looked at him 
 for a few seconds steadily, and with the same as- 
 tonishment as at first. 
 
 " I am not looking for Lieutenant Milnovics," 
 she said at last. " I am looking for you. It is to 
 you I must speak." 
 
 " For me! " repeated Radford in unbounded 
 astonishment. " What on earth can you have to 
 say to me?" he added under the influence of his 
 first surprise. 
 
 Antonina coloured angrily. Already, as she 
 approached the schoolhouse, Radford had fancied 
 he saw an ominous light in her eyes, and a certain 
 marked displeasure about the very manner in which 
 she picked her way across the cart-ruts ; but it had 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 169 
 
 never for a moment occurred to him to connect 
 these symptoms in any way with himself. 
 
 " I have a great deal to say to you," she re- 
 plied, in a low but agitated voice. " I have only 
 just realised who you are. You are the ofificer with 
 the English name, are you not? — the same man 
 who was at the plebanija 6n the day when I ar- 
 rived? I did not immediately recognise you; you 
 look quite different to-day." 
 
 She looked at him with inimical sharpness, as 
 though to convince herself that there was indeed 
 no mistake as to identity. And certainly there 
 could be no doubt that Radford looked quite dif- 
 ferent to-day. In this Lancer lieutenant, with the 
 brilliant golden hair, the brilliant blue eyes, and the 
 brilliant uniform-coat, it was scarcely possible to 
 recognise the dingy and hoarse miller-like individ- 
 ual of whom she had caught a glimpse last week. 
 
 " Yes, I am the same man," said Radford, still 
 lost in wonder. 
 
 "Then you are the person I am looking for; 
 you are the cruel and unscrupulous man who is the 
 cause of poor Lieutenant Milnovics's misfortune. 
 I came to look for you, because I felt that I could 
 not meet you again in a conventional manner with- 
 out first having told you what I really think of you. 
 I cannot bear pretences. In public I shall have 
 to be polite to you, I suppose; but first I must tell 
 
I70 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 you in private that in my eyes you are a — ^well, 
 very nearly a murderer." 
 
 " Has Stepan told you the story? " asked Rad- 
 ford, after a short pause of consternation, taken 
 aback, in spite of himself, by the epithet. 
 
 "No, he has told me nothing; he is far too 
 generous to speak, but I have found out. I made 
 Father Floryan tell me everything; and since I 
 know all, it is incomprehensible to me how you 
 can even eat and sleep. You do eat and sleep, do 
 you not?" 
 
 " I do," admitted Radford, shamefacedly. 
 
 " I thought you didn't look as if you either 
 watched or starved," said Antonina between her 
 teeth, with a revengeful glance at the healthy young 
 face before her. " Do you never tell yourself that 
 you have ruined an existence, disappointed the 
 hopes of a whole family? " 
 
 " I often tell myself that," murmured Radford. 
 
 But the question had only been put for form's 
 sake, and the answer was unheard. 
 
 " I don't know what you fought about — a mere 
 trifle. Father Floryan says, and you were the chal- 
 lenger. Not that any cause can really justify a 
 duel; but when the cause is small the injustice ap- 
 pears all the larger. And because of this mere 
 trifle, and because you couldn't keep your tem- 
 per, poor Lieutenant Milnovics has been sacrificed 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 171 
 
 — a man of his abilities, of his intellect, of his noble 
 qualities! Oh, how can you ever forgive yourself? " 
 
 She stopped, with her blazing eyes full upon 
 him, and in the midst of their fire Radford was 
 astonished to see some suddenly risen tears glisten- 
 ing. He knew that they were tears of pity for Mil- 
 novics. 
 
 " She takes a deep interest in this affair," it 
 crossed his mind to say. 
 
 Aloud he said nothing at all, but stood look- 
 ing into Antonina's agitated face. He was far, 
 yet, from having recovered his presence of mind, 
 neither was he able to analyse his sensations. Here 
 were the reproaches which he had sought for so 
 long in vain; here, at last, was some one who was 
 ready to look upon him as a criminal: ought he 
 not to be satisfied? To be condemned was exactly 
 what he had wished for; but now that he had got 
 what he wanted, he perceived to his astonishment 
 that the sensation was not by any means uncon- 
 ditionally agreeable. The identical terms which he 
 had applied to himself had a completely different 
 and much harsher sound when coming from other 
 lips. 
 
 " And she does not know all yet! " he reflected, 
 with a distinct accession of alarm. " Had I not 
 better tell her that I fought the wrong man, and 
 get it over once for all? But, after all, why? I 
 
172 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 think I have had about enough for one day, and 
 it is no business of hers that I can see. I wonder 
 why she has taken up the cause so hotly? " 
 
 " Have you nothing to say? " inquired Anto- 
 nina, tapping the floor impatiently with the point 
 of her parasol. 
 
 Radford became aware that he was still stand- 
 ing silent before her, in very truth like a condemned 
 man before his judge. In point of fact he had noth- 
 ing to say, and yet he would have spoken had not 
 the appearance of the big schoolmistress in the 
 doorway put an end to the tete-a-tete. 
 
 " There can be no doubt that she takes an un- 
 common interest in the matter," was Radford's 
 reflection, as he walked up to the plebanija alone. 
 " But an interest in the matter presupposes an in- 
 terest in the man. H'm, that would be strange 
 indeed — ^very strange." 
 
 And then he fell to wondering a little uneasily 
 whether he had looked as foolish as he felt while 
 Antonina Brunowska had been uttering her re- 
 proaches. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Late that night Radford, lying awake in the dark, 
 was suddenly visited by an idea. So strong was 
 the hold which the unexpected thought took upon 
 him, that instinctively he sat up in bed and began 
 to grope about for the matches. This required to 
 be thought out immediately, and in order to think 
 more clearly he must have light. 
 
 The idea was but an outcome — the climax, as it 
 were, of reflections entertained during his home- 
 ward ride. Antonina Brunowska took an interest 
 in Milnovics; might not this interest possibly de- 
 velop into affection? This was what the idea 
 amounted to. Probably she only felt pity as yet; 
 but the pity of a woman towards a man had often 
 been known to develop into love, and in that 
 case 
 
 " O my God! in that case," said Radford, speak- 
 ing aloud under the pressure of this new excite- 
 ment, "all may yet be well!" 
 
 In every inspiration there is an element of in- 
 toxication, and it was with the force of an inspira- 
 12 173 
 
174 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 tion that this idea had come upon him. A mar- 
 riage between Antonina Brunowska and Stepan 
 Milnovics would, at one blow, put everything right 
 again that had been wrong before. As the rich and 
 happy husband of the Pani, Stepan would scarcely ' 
 miss his right arm — would, in fact, have no real 
 use for it. He would therefore cease to belong 
 to the unfortunates, which for Alfred Radford 
 meant the blotting out of that terrible day in April 
 from which dated this unbearable burden of self- 
 reproach. To have this brought about would be 
 almost the same as washing from his forehead the 
 mark which, in his own imagination, burned as 
 redly as the mark of Cain. From that moment for- 
 ward it would again become possible to live for 
 other things, — possible and permissible to enjoy all 
 that his own good fortune was pressing upon him, 
 and that the animal side of his nature, unknown 
 to the spiritual side, was longing to enjoy, but 
 whose taste in the mouth had for months past been 
 bitter. 
 
 " It must be brought about ; it shall be brought 
 about! " 
 
 As he spoke the words he was thinking only of 
 Stepan. He could not be aware that not the in- 
 terest of Stepan Milnovics alone, but also to some 
 degree that of Alfred Radford, was pushing him to 
 the decision; just as little as he knew that in the 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 175 
 
 very movement with which he threw up his head, 
 there lay not only the resolution of saving his 
 friend, but also the instinctive desire to throw off 
 a burden which had begun to grow irksome to 
 himself. 
 
 It was probable that there might be difficulties 
 in the way. For Antonina Brunowska to marry 
 the son of a village priest would undoubtedly be 
 considered a mesalliance; but to judge from what 
 Radford had seen of her, Antonina was not gov- 
 erned by conventional ideas, and besides, difficul- 
 ties can be overcome; and in this case of course 
 he, Alfred Radford, was the proper person to over- 
 come them. Here at last was the moment for 
 which he had lain in wait all summer — the oppor- 
 tunity of rendering to Milnovics a valuable and 
 lasting service. All his efforts, whether direct or 
 indirect, must tend in this direction. 
 
 But how about Stepan himself? How would 
 he think of the matter? It always was hard to find 
 out what Stepan thought of any matter; neverthe- 
 less, Radford resolved to make the attempt, and 
 at their very next meeting actually made it. Of 
 course he had no idea of being indiscreet; but he 
 felt that he could not rest without sounding Stepan, 
 and therefore took the earliest opportunity of sug- 
 gesting to him, en passant, that the Pani seemed 
 to take a more than ordinary interest in his welfare. 
 
176 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 The effect of this harmless remark was very dif- 
 ferent from what he had calculated. At the men- 
 tion of Antonina Brunowska's name Stepan rose 
 abruptly from his seat, with a flush on his face, and 
 stood looking at his comrade, almost in the same 
 way in which he had looked at him on the day 
 when, starting from his pillows, he had refused 
 the proffered friendship. 
 
 " It is a ridiculous idea," he said angrily; " I 
 cannot imagine what could put such folly into your 
 head. Antonina Brunowska has a good heart; she 
 pities all unfortunate people, and I am unfortunate 
 —that is all." 
 
 " But it seems to me more than ordinary pity," 
 remarked Alfred, somewhat taken aback. 
 
 " It is a ridiculous idea," repeated Stepan. 
 " Never speak to me about it again, and mind you 
 never speak to any one else about it either. Do 
 you understand me, Radford?" 
 
 " I understand," said the crestfallen Alfred. 
 
 This short interview had quite put him out of 
 his calculations. Stepan was evidently unapproach- 
 able on this subject; but what could be the cause 
 of this? Could it be that his fancy had already 
 been taken captive elsewhere? But by whom? The 
 only two women. in the village who were not peas- 
 ants were the two schoolmistresses. Radford called 
 up in memory the figures both of the big and of 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 177 
 
 the little schoolmistress, and instinctively shook his 
 head. 
 
 " They can neither of them stand beside Anto- 
 nina Brunowska," was his inward reflection. " Just 
 look at her eyes and theirs! I suppose both those 
 girls have got eyes, because I did not notice that 
 either of them was blind, though that is all I 
 know about it; but no one surely could forget that 
 he had seen Antonina Brunowska's eyes. They 
 are something beyond mere organs of sight. No, 
 it is not possible that Stepan should be so blind ! " 
 
 The failure of this first attempt had convinced 
 Radford that it would be advisable to further mat- 
 ters in a somewhat less direct fashion; and having 
 for several days reflected upon the various ways 
 and means that stood at his command, he ended hy 
 resolving to begin with a call at the Berenow house. 
 
 Considering the circumstances of his last inter- 
 view with Antonina, the resolve was a bold one, 
 comparable almost to the temerity of bearding a 
 lion in his den; but the very alarm which he dis- 
 tinctly felt at the prospect of being again taken to 
 task, only served to strengthen his resolution. His 
 own sensations could be of no consequence so long 
 as he was serving Stepan's cause; and it was clear 
 that, in order to serve that cause, even indirectly, 
 he must become a little better acquainted with the 
 second of the chief personages in this affair. 
 
178 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 Nevertheless Radford was not entirely free from 
 nervousness when one afternoon, early in October, 
 he was ushered into the big drawing-room at Bere- 
 now. It was a very big drawing-room indeed, and 
 to the visitor's Anglo-Austrian eyes it seemed 
 strangely empty. Half-a-dozen large mirrors in 
 tarnished gold frames, a set of yellow damask 
 chairs, a couple of small sofas without cushions, 
 a couple of large tables without drapings, an an- 
 cient-looking pianoforte — this was the sum of the 
 furniture which stood about in islands on a sea of 
 carpetless floor. Everything was solid, even costly; 
 but everything too was faded, fly-blown, uncared 
 for, with the double neglect of disuse and of true 
 Polish unthriftiness. The corner of the room where 
 stood the big stove alone bore a physiognomy of 
 its own; for Baroness Mielecka had lost no time 
 in covering at least a few yards of wall with her 
 Japanese fans and her peacocks' feathers, without 
 which she never moved from home. 
 
 " It takes away a little of this awful ancien re- 
 gime look under which the rest of the room 
 labours," had been her remark to Antonina — and 
 Antonina had readily acquiesed, for this was a point 
 on which aunt and niece agreed, just as the ancien 
 regime was one of the few fragments of her aunt's 
 talk which Antonina had unconsciously assimilated. 
 
 Both ladies were very busy to-day, as Radford 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 179 
 
 became aware on entering. Not with the Japan- 
 ese fans, however, but with what looked Hke sev- 
 eral bales of white and of red cotton stuff that were 
 lying about upon the chairs, as well as spread upon 
 the piano. Baroness Mielecka, with a yard-meas- 
 ure in her hand, was discussing some question with 
 animation, while Antonina stood by, impatiently 
 clicking a large pair of scissors. On one of the 
 tables lay hanks of red cotton and open boxes con- 
 taining big glass beads of every imaginable colour. 
 
 " I hope I am not disturbing you," began Rad- 
 ford, slightly disconcerted. 
 
 At sight of the visitor the Baroness had broken 
 off her harangue, and Antonina turned round 
 quickly with the scissors still in her hand. 
 
 " Oh, it is you," she said, after a moment of as- 
 tonishment. She looked at Radford as though she 
 were hesitating what to do. 
 
 " Is she going to have me turned out of the 
 house?" it passed through Radford's mind to ask 
 himself. 
 
 All she did, however, was to give him a some- 
 what ungracious little nod, and to say briefly to 
 her aunt: " Lieutenant Radford, whom I met at 
 the plebanija.'' 
 
 This was as much as to say that he was accepted 
 as a visitor. Evidently the sense of hospitality had 
 triumphed over other feelings. 
 
l8o THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 " This is a most unceremonious reception," said 
 the ex-dame d'honneur, with a gesture of distress 
 indicating the various piles on the chairs. " I trust 
 you will excuse us." 
 
 " Please do not let me disturb you," said Rad- 
 ford, with a touch of shyness. 
 
 " I am not dreaming of letting you disturb me," 
 replied Antonina in place of her aunt. " If you 
 want to sit down I suppose you can clear a chair 
 for yourself; I cannot possibly interrupt my cut- 
 ting-out. There, this will be long enough for the 
 skirt, will it not. Aunt Pawlina? " 
 
 " Wait one second more, Antusia ; have you cal- 
 culated the hem?" asked the Baroness, darting 
 back to the piano. " There is nothing so unbecom- 
 ing as too short a skirt." 
 
 " But the peasants all show their ankles," ob- 
 jected Antonina. 
 
 " Is it a peasant dress which you are making? " 
 inquired Radford, somewhat puzzled. 
 
 Baroness Mielecka sighed, as though at the 
 mention of a painful subject. Despite that sigh, 
 this had been the happiest day she had known since 
 the beginning of her banishment. To a true lover 
 of chiffons, the combination of a bale of stuff, even 
 though it be only cotton, of a yard-measure, and 
 of a pair of scissors is always irresistible, and how- 
 ever bitterly she might disapprove of the ultimate 
 
THE WRONG MAN. l8l 
 
 destination of this particular chiffon, the Baroness 
 could not help being cheered up in spite of herself 
 by so congenial an occupation. 
 
 " Yes; it is a peasant dress which we have been 
 planning," she said, in answer to Radford's ques- 
 tion. " I do believe it is going to turn out almost 
 pretty." She sighed a second time, and, with a 
 glance towards Antonina, added, regretfully : 
 " These things are frightfully clumsy, of course, but 
 the dress suits her wonderfully well; for a costume- 
 ball, for instance, it might have been quite pass- 
 able." 
 
 "You know very well that I shall never go 
 either to a costume-ball or to any other sort of 
 ball," said Antonina's voice severely from the other 
 side of the room, where she was still operating with 
 the scissors. " It is for earnest work that I require 
 the dress, not for mere frivolity. It will help me 
 to get nearer the people, by making me more like 
 them."' 
 
 The Baroness shook her head. " You know 
 what I think of the experiment, Antusia; it is risque 
 in the extreme. My niece believes," she added, 
 turning again to the visitor, " that by wearing the 
 costume of the villagers she will gain more influ- 
 ence over them; while I believe that she will only 
 4ose their respect, and probably also spoil the shape 
 of her waist." 
 
l82 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 "Tolstoi goes about as a peasant," remarked 
 Antonina. 
 
 " Tolstoi has got no waist to spoil, neither is 
 he burdened by feminine responsibilities. It is my 
 belief. Lieutenant Radford,— and no doubt you will 
 agree with me, — it is my firm belief that every 
 woman is bound in conscience to dress as well as 
 her means will allow her, until the very verge of 
 her grave. If my niece's principles were the same 
 as mine, you may be certain that all this cotton 
 stuiif would not be littering the room, while three 
 gems of autumn costumes, with the basting-threads 
 scarcely out of them, are hanging unused in her 
 wardrobe." 
 
 With a gesture of almost dramatic resignation, 
 the Baroness took a strip of embroidery from the 
 table and began to fill in the red and black stitches. 
 Sitting there, with the folds of a rich blue-grey 
 cashmere falling softly around her meagre Hmbs, 
 and a morsel of costly lace crowning the bleached 
 and spare but none the less carefully dressed hair, 
 the former lady of honour might well be taken for 
 a living illustration of the principle she had just 
 enunciated. 
 
 " May I ask why you do not go to balls? " asked 
 Radford, looking at Antonina. 
 
 " Because it is against my principles," replied 
 Antonina briefly. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 183 
 
 "Are your principles so severe? I thought 
 young ladies never fixed their principles until they 
 were of age." 
 
 " Antonina's principles have been lying all ready 
 ever since she was fifteen," murmured the Baroness 
 despondently. 
 
 " But what do you see wrong in balls? " began 
 Radford, and then quickly pulled himself up. It 
 had occurred to him that it was not to talk about 
 Antonina's principles that he had come here, but 
 in order to drop favourable remarks about Stepan. 
 By some means or other Stepan's name had got 
 to be introduced. 
 
 " And what does Father Floryan say to the new 
 experiment? " he inquired, a little hastily. " Have 
 you asked his advice, or that of his son, the school- 
 master? " 
 
 He reddened slightly at his own words, feehng 
 that it was awkwardly done, and yet glad that he 
 had done it. 
 
 " I am not very fond of asking for advice," re- 
 plied Antonina. 
 
 She had finished her cutting-out now, and had 
 ensconced herself on the sofa, where she sat stitch- 
 ing away eagerly, half buried in white and scarlet 
 billows. 
 
 " I wish Stepan were here to see her now," re- 
 flected Radford. " That red colour sets oflf her hair 
 
1 84 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 wonderfully. Is it black or brown, by the by? I 
 wonder what she looks like to Stepan's eyes. Sure- 
 ly the man cannot be made of wood. I remember 
 that I found some faults about her the first time; 
 but of course one gets accustomed to faults, or per- 
 haps they were only imperfections. Let me see — 
 what were they? I seem to have lost sight of them 
 somehow." 
 
 " But in a question of this sort," he began aloud, 
 clearing his throat anew, " surely the opinion of 
 an old man like Father Floryan ought to have some 
 weight, or even that of his son, for I assure you that 
 Stepan is not like other young men; he is only a 
 few years older than I am, but he is far more sensi- 
 ble, far " 
 
 " Far less imprudent," supplemented Antonina, 
 glancing up for one second from her work. 
 
 Radford bit his lip, for he understood quite well 
 what she meant. 
 
 " Exactly, far less imprudent," he repeated 
 steadily. " I have known him for a good many 
 months now, and I can assure you that he is not 
 only a very noble-minded man, but also a man 
 whose counsel can be relied on, a most deep thinker 
 — in one word, altogether an exceptional person." 
 
 Antonina looked up again, and this time her 
 hands dropped for a moment in her lap. 
 
 " I don't need your assurance. Lieutenant Rad- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 185 
 
 ford," she said, with dawning surprise in her eyes. 
 " I am quite convinced already that Lieutenant 
 Milnovics is an exception in every way. But what 
 astonishes me is that " 
 
 " / should be the person to talk about this; that 
 is what astonishes you, is it not? I know that in 
 your eyes I am a — murderer, his murderer; you 
 have told me so plainly enough." 
 
 He spoke with a certain soreness in his tone, 
 of which he himself was not aware. 
 
 " You had better not speak so loud unless you 
 want my aunt, too, to know what you are," replied 
 Antonina frigidly, while glancing towards Baroness 
 Mielecka, who was busy at a little distance pour- 
 ing out tea, for the inevitable samovar had by this 
 time made its appearance. 
 
 " At least she has not betrayed me to her aunt," 
 reflected Radford, with a curious thrill of satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 His cup of tea was brought to him at this mo- 
 ment, and he took it gratefully from the Baroness's 
 hands. This was better certainly than being or- 
 dered out of the house. Outside, the leaves were 
 falling fast in the chilly autumn twilight; while 
 here the steam of the samovar, the crackle of the 
 ■ wood fire in the big porcelain stove, as well as 
 those small, busily stitching fingers which he 
 watched across the table — all combined to give a 
 
1 86 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 pleasant and home-like aspect to the scene. It may 
 have been this consciousness, almost as much as 
 the reflection that the first step on his mission had 
 been successfully taken, that served to spread with- 
 in him an unexpected sense of ease and comfort. 
 
 " Does it not seem natural to you," he asked, in 
 a somewhat lower voice, as soon as the Baroness 
 was back beside the tea-table, " that exactly / 
 should wish to speak well of Stepan?" 
 
 " You mean probably as an atonement? " said 
 Antonina, a little contemptuously. " You seem to 
 belong to the sort of people who think that black 
 deeds can be mended by pleasant words." 
 
 Her needle was moving in and out of the cotton 
 stuff with an almost vicious rapidity, and the 
 brighter colour in her cheek betrayed that her emo- 
 tion had again caught fire at the subject thus 
 brought up anew. 
 
 " Antusia, my love," the Baroness's voice was 
 heard at this "moment, " pray attend to whether 
 Lieutenant Radford has got sugar enough in his 
 tea. I must ask Jozefa whether she has seen my 
 silver thimble, the one I got from the Duchess; 
 this one does not fit me." 
 
 As the door closed, Antonina let her work drop 
 in her lap, and looked up straight at Radford. In 
 both pairs of eyes there was a challenge written. 
 
 " This is the right moment, there need be no 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 187 
 
 pretences now," it passed through both their minds 
 to say. 
 
 " How do you know that I belong to that sort 
 of people?" asked Radford, before Antonina had 
 time to speak. 
 
 " I do not know it, but I suspect it. Oh, how I 
 wish that I could awake you to a sense of the ter- 
 rible injustice you have committed! " 
 
 " And what proof have you that I am not awake 
 to it? " 
 
 " For an Englishman the guih is all the heavi- 
 er," she went on, unheeding. "For the Enghsh 
 are the only people who have had the sense to abol- 
 ish the duel. And you are a sort of EngUshman, 
 are you not? " 
 
 " I don't quite know what I am. My father is 
 an Englishman, and I do all my thinking in Eng- 
 lish; but I have not been in England since my 
 babyhood." 
 
 " No matter; that is enough to make, you an 
 Englishman." 
 
 " But I am also an Austrian officer." 
 
 "Well, and what of that?" 
 
 " As long as I am an Austrian officer I shall 
 have to take the possibility of duels into my calcu- 
 lations. Duelling may be nonsense, but do you 
 think it is quite fair to put down the guilt to me 
 rather than to public opinion? As matters now 
 
1 88 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 stand, a man has no other means of defending his 
 honour. This was my predicament: my honour 
 had been attacked, or at least I considered that the 
 remarks which had been made " 
 
 He broke off abruptly, and stared at Antonina 
 with wide eyes which were full of something that 
 resembled horror. To his consternation he had 
 discovered that he was actually defending himself, 
 attempting to justify his own action, which yet in 
 his heart of hearts he so utterly condemned. How 
 had this come about? How had it begun? Had 
 he not come here in order to speak well of Stepan? 
 By what combination of circumstances had he 
 drifted into speaking well of himself? , In his sud- 
 den confusion he could not exactly remember. 
 Had he not himself desired to be a criminal in 
 the eyes of mankind? and if in the eyes of man- 
 kind, then why not in those of Antonina Bru- 
 no wska? 
 
 "What is the matter with you?" inquired An- 
 tonina, a little startled; "are you ill?" 
 
 "No, no; it was only an idea. Please forget 
 what I said just now. It is not true that I was in 
 any predicament. I know quite, well that I alone 
 was to blame, and I know also that words do not 
 cure blows. I have sworn to myself to atone to 
 Stepan for the harm I have done him." 
 
 "And in what way do you mean to atone?" 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 189 
 
 asked Antonina, looking at him still doubtfully, 
 yet with a beginning of approval in her eyes. 
 
 " That I cannot say for certain yet," answered 
 Radford hurriedly, for the Baroness's step was 
 heard just outside the door. " But some way of 
 atonement I shall certainly discover." 
 
 " I have found my silver thimble," said the 
 Baroness, entering. " It would most infallibly have 
 broken my heart to lose the dear Duchess's sou- 
 venir." 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 With the new hope which he had in view Radford 
 began to find it more and more difficult to keep 
 away from Berenow. When he was not there in 
 person he was there in thought, mentally watching 
 the progress of his scheme. All seemed to be going 
 well; even this was well that he had at length suc- 
 ceeded in convincing Antonina of the reality of his 
 repentance, for if he was to further Stepan's inter- 
 ests he must not be regarded with animosity by the 
 Pani. 
 
 Before the end of the month he had ventured 
 to repeat his visit at the Berenow house, and meet- 
 ing with a distinctly warm reception on the part of 
 the Baroness Mielecka, though only with a neu- 
 trally coloured one on the part of her niece, had 
 grown bold enough to call again after only a week's 
 interval. His visits to the plebanija did not become 
 less frequent, but the plebanija was now no longer 
 the sole object of that eight miles' ride. 
 
 " It is gayer up there at the big house, is it 
 
 not? " Father Floryan remarked, with his uncom- 
 190 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 191 
 
 plaining smile, on an occasion on which Radford 
 had cut short his visit in order to inquire after the 
 health of the Baroness, who was suffering from a 
 cold in her head. " You are right to go up there, 
 my son. Here in our home it is not gay." He 
 sighed softly but deeply, and laying his hand within 
 Radford's arm, added in a hurried whisper, " It is 
 not music that I long for, or many voices talking, 
 but I will tell you what is the matter with our 
 house: it is too still. If it had pleased Him above 
 to have put only one baby into the house, then my 
 life would have been full. If Agniecka, for in- 
 stance But it has not pleased Him, and that 
 
 is enough. 
 
 This was not the first time that Radford had 
 caught a glimpse of the Popa's secret standing 
 grief, jealously guarded from the eyes of his own 
 children. For this old priest with the toothless 
 smile and the unsteady knees had a secret in his 
 life. Few of his friends suspected that, far down 
 in the depths of his much-tried and well-nigh spot- 
 less soul, Father Floryan cherished a hidden and 
 devouring passion, — the passion for children, for 
 small children, the smaller the better, the more 
 squalling and the more obstreperous the more 
 warmly welcome to this embodiment of human 
 peace. It could only be the laws of contrast that 
 were here at work, for the fact itself was incontest- 
 
ig3 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 able. Different people have got different sorts of 
 ideals: some dream of reaching the North Pole, 
 others of shooting a sixteen-antler stag, others 
 again of having their novels favourably reviewed 
 in the weeklies. Father Floryan's ideal .was to rock 
 a cradle, dandle a baby on his knee, work its rattle 
 for it and dry its nose — in other words, to be a 
 grandfather; and Fate having so far withheld 
 grandchildren, the position was so trying that even 
 the quintessence of resignation as practised by the 
 Popa could not always suppress a momentary half- 
 rebellious upheaval of the soul, though invariably 
 and speedily repented of with much self-accusa- 
 tion. 
 
 " If Stepan marries Antonina," reflected Rad- 
 ford, " he may be made happy yet." 
 
 " I am talking foolishly ; be certain never to 
 repeat my words to anybody," said Father Floryan 
 in his ear, and then unexpectedly dropped his vis- 
 itor's arm. 
 
 " That is Stepan at the gate," he said, in a dif- 
 ferent tone, and, niurmuring something incoherent, 
 moved rapidly towards the house. 
 
 For some time past the Popa had been very 
 careful not to be seen alone with Radford — that is 
 to say, not to be so seen by Stepan's eyes. The 
 truth was that he had never quite got over the 
 fright of the short scene which had taken place be- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 193 
 
 tween him and his son on the occasion of the fifty- 
 florin note which had been ofifered and almost ac- 
 cepted. He had not been able to forget the words 
 which Stepan had then said, and he still trembled 
 at the bare idea of that threat — for it was a threat 
 which had been spoken — being carried into eiifect. 
 A break between Stepan and his comrade would 
 be the final destruction of an indefinite and scarce- 
 ly acknowledged hope; for in Radford, Father 
 Floryan still vaguely believed he saw a saving 
 agent, the one individual in the world through 
 whom some sort of good might still possibly come 
 to his poor unfortunate boy, the one link which still 
 conriected him with the luckier portion of mankind. 
 
 It was almost invariably at the schoolhouse 
 that Radford now met Antonina, and consequently 
 almost invariably in Stepan's company. Would the 
 school-work interest her so much if the schoolmas- 
 ter were uninteresting to her? This was a question 
 which he put to himself very frequently in these 
 days, and which he invariably ended by answering 
 with No. If certainty on this point was still awant- 
 ing, this certainty was brought to him by a con- 
 versation which he had with Antonina early in No- 
 vember. 
 
 He had met her in the sitting-room of the ple- 
 banija, and for the moment they were en tete-a-tete. 
 Antonina was waiting for the return of Stepan, who 
 
IQ4 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 had gone to the schoolhouse to collect certain items 
 of information, and Radford meanwhile was keep- 
 ing her company. Antonina, as was not unusual 
 with her, had been talking about her idol, Tolstoi. 
 
 " He is a giant. I cannot tell you what miser- 
 able pigmies most other men appear to me beside 
 him. That is a life with an object in it. And it is 
 the same with the heroes in his stories; they all 
 know what they are living for; each has got some 
 distinct end held before his eyes, and the end is al- 
 ways good to mankind in some shape. That is 
 why I love him; he cannot even conceive a life 
 without an object." 
 
 " And to make those that stand nearest you 
 happy, is that no object in your eyes? " 
 
 Antonina frowned throughtfully at the bare 
 boards of the floor. 
 
 " I know what you want to say — the usual talk 
 about woman's proper sphere, and so on. I have 
 thought about that, and I won't say that I quite re- 
 ject the idea, but I could never be satisfied with that 
 alone; I should require something more. There 
 are so many other things to be done in the world, 
 so many unfortunates to be helped." 
 
 " And to save one of these unfortunates from 
 his destiny," said Radford, upon some sudden im- 
 pulse, " would that be an object? " 
 
 " Yes, that would be an object," said Antonina, 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 1 95 
 
 looking past him towards the dome of the little 
 wooden church, which, from where she sat, was 
 visible between the almost bare branches of the 
 limes and birches. Her eyes seemed to him to 
 kindle as she spoke. 
 
 " Yes, that would be a real object; to take one 
 of these unfortunates out of the hands of Fate, to 
 cover him with a shield, to heal his wounds and 
 Hve for him — die for him if it must be; that would 
 be something to make life noble and great, some- 
 thing to let one feel that one has not uselessly come 
 into the world and left it." 
 
 " Hjippy unfortunate ! " 
 
 Radford did not know that he had said the 
 words aloud until Antonina, turning sharply from 
 the window, gave him a startled glance. " Have 
 you dared to guess my secret?" the proud eyes 
 seemed to him to say quite distinctly, while the 
 delicate cheeks were suffused by a deep colour, 
 which might have arisen either from displeasure or 
 from embarrassment. 
 
 From this moment forward Radford could no 
 longer doubt that matters were progressing exactly 
 as they ought. To his anxiously watching eyes it 
 seemed as though even in his comrade there was 
 a distinct and significant change. As autumn slow- 
 ly faded into winter, Stepan appeared to him to be 
 visibly altering. Sometimes he was seen to smile, 
 
igg THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 and at other moments his eyes would light up sud- 
 denly without any apparent cause. He had grown 
 younger within these last months, more talkative, 
 " more like other people," as Radford put it to him- 
 self. 
 
 The symptoms on all sides were so good that 
 this anxious observation of their development 
 seemed to have become superfluous. And yet Rad- 
 ford's attention showed no signs of relaxing. Ob- 
 servation, a close and constant observation, had 
 become for him an occupation so absorbing that, 
 for some reason as yet unknown to himself, he was 
 unable to break himself of the habit. To watch 
 intently every shade of expression on either of the 
 two faces when Stepan and Antonina were together, 
 to catch the exact tone in which they replied to each 
 other, and then to analyse and draw conclusions, 
 — this was now a necessity for Radford. But why 
 these conclusions, being ever the same, should re- 
 quire to be drawn over and over again, or why, 
 though eminently favourable to his project, they 
 should fail to bring to him a final feeling of satis- 
 faction, — this he was unable to explain, and indeed 
 never stopped to analyse. 
 
 It was a day near the middle of November 
 which, by placing him face to face with the truth, 
 brought the solution of these various riddles. 
 
 On the afternoon of that day the Baroness Mie- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 197 
 
 lecka was sitting alone in the big yellow drawing^ 
 room awaiting the return of her niece, who was 
 at the schoolhouse. For half an hour past the 
 samovar had been steaming away uselessly on the 
 table. The Baroness was tenderly attached to her 
 afternoon tea, a habit which she had learned from 
 an EngUsh princess whom the uncrowned queen 
 used occasionally to visit; but a certain ingrained 
 habit of etiquette would not allow her to enjoy her 
 own cup before Antonina's arrival. Antonina might 
 be a child, and a very trying child too, but the 
 pensioned-off lady of honour could not forget 
 that she was the mistress of the house, and there- 
 fore had the right — nay, the duty — to claim prece- 
 dence. 
 
 "This cannot go on," she commented, as with 
 anxious eyes she scanned the double row of pop- 
 lars, on whose leafless tops the crows' nests had 
 become suddenly conspicuous as great, unwieldy, 
 black lumps. " I must really speak to Anto- 
 nina." 
 
 She had been telling herself this for at least 
 three weeks past, but had as yet found countless 
 pretexts for putting off the dreaded moment. In- 
 deed, had it not been for the irritation of that post- 
 poned cup of tea, it is quite possible that Antonina 
 might not have been " spoken to " yet for several 
 more weeks to come. But the cup of tea had done 
 
igg THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 it. The very moment that the door at length 
 opened, the Baroness, feeling probably that delay 
 would not strengthen her courage, rushed blindly 
 into the battle. 
 
 " This is enough," she began excitedly, before 
 her niece had closed the door behind her. " This 
 sort of thing cannot go on, Antonina; I tell you 
 so positively." 
 
 " What sort of thing? " asked Antonina, stand- 
 ing still in sheer astonishment just inside the 
 door. 
 
 She was dressed in the white, red-embroidered 
 shirt and scarlet skirt of a Ruthenian peasant. 
 Beads were round her neck, and a brilliant cotton 
 handkerchief bound her dark hair. Her eyes shone 
 brightly, and she had entered the room still hum- 
 ming a gay tune, for this had been her first public 
 appearance in peasant dress, and the success of her 
 debict had elated her. 
 
 " This way of going on; this running about in 
 the village by yourself at all hours of the day and 
 almost of the night; and now this ridiculous dress 
 into the bargain! You forget my responsibilities. 
 I have come to the conclusion that I cannot suffer 
 such doings to continue." 
 
 Antonina looked at her very quietly, and did 
 not reply until she had, with ostentatious leisure, 
 ensconced herself upon a sofa. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 199 
 
 "Ah! so that is the conclusion you have come 
 to, is it? " she asked, while settling her head upon 
 the sofa-back in an attitude which afforded her a 
 good full view of her aunt. " And now please tell 
 me what means you have decided to adopt in order 
 to act upon your conclusion? For I suppose you 
 mean to act upon it, do you not? " 
 
 The Baroness's false courage began suddenly to 
 give way. She knew that all too measured tone, 
 just as she knew that peculiar brilliancy of the 
 pupils fixed full upon her. They were old acquaint- 
 ances, dating from the days when she had first un- 
 dertaken to tame this wild bird — symptoms which 
 never failed to appear the very moment that the 
 faintest shade of opposition was scented in the 
 air. 
 
 She was still as angry as ever, but, unconscious- 
 ly, she began to temporise. 
 
 " It is my duty to act upon it, Antonina; you 
 cannot but admit that fact, surely. You must not 
 forget that it was your father's wishes which con- 
 fided you to my care. I have experience, while 
 ; you " 
 
 "You have not told me yet what you mean 
 to do," interrupted Antonina, in that same hard 
 voice. 
 
 " But I am doing it now, am I not? I am tell- 
 ing you my opinion." 
 
200 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 " And if I prefer to be guided by my own opin- 
 ions? " 
 
 " I should have to— well, I suppose I should be 
 forced to appeal to your guardian." 
 
 " Would you really? " The brown eyes grew a 
 little more dangerously bright. 
 
 " I should have no choice, Antusia." 
 
 The Baroness had grown almost deprecating. 
 The memory of a hundred such struggles, in each 
 of which her side had been the losing one, had 
 arisen to damp her ardour. Inwardly she was ask- 
 ing herself why she had been mad enough to utter 
 this challenge; but it was too late to beat a com- 
 plete retreat. 
 
 " I should really have no choice. How can I 
 reconcile it with my duties to look on passively 
 while you are harming yourself unawares? Do 
 you not know how ill-natured the world is? — ^what 
 sharp eyes it has? what poisonous tongues? And 
 do you not know that you, in your position, are 
 ten times more conspicuous than the majority of 
 young girls? " 
 
 " And what has the world got to do with my 
 actions, pray?" 
 
 She was sitting up straight now, and the colour 
 in her cheek showed that she was beginning to 
 grow excited. 
 
 " It sees them, and that is enough. Do you not 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 20I 
 
 understand that in all that has been going on in 
 these last weeks the gossips of Lemberg will find 
 food for talking all winter? " 
 
 " What do you mean by what has been going 
 on in these last weeks? " 
 
 " These doings in the school, and this — this 
 constant intercourse with the schoolmaster." 
 
 The Baroness stopped, with a sort of gulp. The 
 thing was done at last. This was the point towards 
 which she had been nervously steering all along, 
 and which now, for good or for evil, she had actually 
 reached. 
 
 " So that is it," said Antonina harshly, without 
 lowering her eyes. " I begin to understand." 
 
 " He may be a very worthy young man," the 
 Baroness went on hastily, " and even very excel- 
 lent; but surely you must know that tete-a-tetes be- 
 tween even excellent young men and irreproach- 
 able young girls are quite unusual in good so- 
 ciety." 
 
 " Used to be quite unusual," corrected Antonina, 
 in a voice which rung with infinite scorn. " The 
 ancien regime has, of course, all sorts of ridiculous 
 restrictions; but since when have you become an 
 advocate of the ancien regime, Aunt Pawlina? Do 
 you know that, to hear you talk, nobody could 
 possibly guess that you had ever advocated Wo- 
 men's Rights? It would have been only fair to 
 
202 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 warn me that you had renounced your convic- 
 tions." 
 
 " I never said that I had renounced them," al- 
 most stammered the Baroness., Her own weapons 
 were being turned against her, and she had no. 
 shield for her defence. " It is not that I have 
 altered my personal opinions, but some cases are 
 exceptional; and don't you see that I really can- 
 not reconcile it with my conscience — that is to say, 
 with my social responsibility," corrected the Baron- 
 ess, aware that the first term had an anything but 
 ■Hn-de-siecle sound about it — " to let things go on 
 like this? And besides," she talked on, feeling that 
 the ground was slipping further and further from 
 under her feet, and with a desperate efifort to gain 
 a surer footing, " it would be a different matter 
 altogether if the man in question were a dififerent 
 one. I am far from being so narrow-minded as to 
 object to a reasonably free intercourse between 
 young people; but when there is a danger of other 
 sentiments intervening, then there should at least 
 be a prospect of — of — well, of a final understand- 
 ing." 
 
 " And why should there not be a prospect of a 
 final understanding, as you call it, between Lieu- 
 tenant Milnovics and myself? " 
 
 " Good gracious, Antusia! " said Baroness Miel- 
 ecka, below her breath. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 203 
 
 It was not so much the fact of Antonina admit- 
 ting the possibility of marriage for herself which 
 dumbfounded her, for of late various remarks 
 dropped at random had led the Baroness to sup- 
 pose that her niece seemed inclined to reconsider 
 her resolution of leading a single life; rather it was 
 a vivid and depressing vision of this marriage in 
 particular. 
 
 " No, no, it cannot be! " she went on, recover- 
 ing a little of her volubility under the influence of 
 this new terror; " you do not know what you are 
 talking about. You, who will have the nobles of 
 the land at your feet, and he the son of a simple 
 village priest! Why, it is a quite impossible parti! 
 And even as a man I cannot imagine what you see 
 about that morose, unfriendly creature. And then 
 those coats he wears! No, Antonina, you cannot 
 seriously think of marrying a man who wears those 
 awful coats! If it had been the other one, for in- 
 stance, his friend with the blue eyes, who talks so 
 nicely when he comes here, and whose uniform 
 fits so beautifully, then a la bonheur. That would 
 be a different matter altogether. His name may 
 not be very great, but it is evident that he is well 
 connected on his mother's side, and his fortune is 
 said to be considerable." 
 
 " I thought you were talking of Lieutenant Mil- 
 novics," put in Antonina sharply. " What on earth 
 
204 THE WROJNCi MAJN. 
 
 has the other lieutenant got to do with the ques- 
 tion?" 
 
 " Nothing,'' admitted the Baroness, with a quick 
 sigh ; while to herself she added, " Nothing as yet, 
 but who knows what may yet come? " 
 
 " I only meant to bring home to you more forci- 
 bly the utter preposterousness of such — such an 
 idea as the one we have just been discussing with 
 regard to that — schoolmaster, for, after all, he is 
 nothing but that, and to get you to acknowledge 
 that to go on meeting him as you have been doing 
 lately would only be an unnecessary challenge to 
 public opinion." 
 
 Antonina looked steadily at her aunt for a few 
 seconds; then, without speaking, she rose deliber- 
 ately from the sofa, and, stepping up to a large 
 clumsy piece of furniture which had been her 
 father's writing-table, opened a drawer, from which 
 she took out a small box. With this box in her 
 hand, and still without a word, she went towards 
 the door, settling the cotton handkerchief on her 
 head as she went. 
 
 " Antusia! what do you mean? Where are you 
 going? " asked the Baroness in a terrified whis- 
 per. 
 
 Antonina turned round just before reaching the 
 door. The angry colour had gone from her face, 
 leaving her almost pale, and when she spoke it 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 205 
 
 seemed as though she had some difficulty in un- 
 locking her teeth. 
 
 " I have just remembered that they require new 
 steel pens at the school to-morrow. I promised 
 the schoolmaster " — she pronounced the word with 
 a certain spiteful distinctness — " to let him have a 
 box in good time. I am therefore going to him — 
 to the schoolmaster — to take him the pens. Do 
 you understand me, Aunt Pawlina?" 
 
 " But, in God's name! — Antusia, you must be 
 mad; it is almost dark! Why can you not send 
 • the pens? " 
 
 " Because I choose to take them myself, and 
 because '' — she came a step nearer, and her nos- 
 trils slowly dilated — " I consider myself quite old 
 enough and quite sensible enough to regulate my 
 own actions without any assistance from my friends 
 and relations, and without any regard to what the 
 world may amuse itself by saying about me. You 
 can tell my guardian when you write to him that I 
 mean to go on visiting the schoolhouse exactly as 
 often as I have hitherto done. If he or you want 
 to prevent me, then either he or you will have to 
 lock me into my room — if you can get me there — 
 and will have to take care that there is no ladder 
 under the windows. Don't you think, by the by, 
 that the Lemberg gossips will find more to talk 
 
 about in this than in my visits to the school? And 
 14 
 
2o6 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 I will tell you more than this still — I will tell you 
 that this young man, whom you stigmatise as a 
 schoolmaster, and who wears baggy linen coats — 
 I quite admit their bagginess — is far superior to all 
 the young men whom I met in your drawing-room 
 at Lemberg, and who, in spite of their lovely coats 
 and boots, are fools beside him, one and all. He is 
 a schoolmaster, you say; but in my eyes it is no 
 disgrace to be a schoolmaster. I thought we had 
 done with these musty old distinctions. A man 
 has only got to be the right sort of man; and Ste- 
 pan Milnovics is the right sort. He is high-minded, 
 and he is highly gifted, and he is also very unfor- 
 tunate. Is it because he is unfortunate, not through 
 his own fault, that he is to be condemned — put aside 
 as something which it is not worth while to stop 
 and consider? Those are not my principles. Aunt 
 Pawlina, as you very well know; but I have no 
 more time to discuss principles now. I have told 
 you that I am going to take these pens to the 
 schoolhouse." 
 
 " Antusia, listen for one moment!" cried the 
 Baroness, starting from her seat, only to sink back 
 helplessly against the cushions, for the door had 
 already closed. Darting to the window, she was 
 just in time to see the slender figure disappearing 
 into the twilight between the bare poplars. When 
 it had quite vanished. Baroness Mielecka sat down 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 207 
 
 on the nearest chair, and, overcome with a sense 
 of utter powerlessness, burst into a flood of tears 
 so copious as within a minute to reduce her deli- 
 cately embroidered handkerchief to a limp, moist 
 rag. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Arrived at the end of the poplar avenue, Antonina 
 turned straight towards the village. There was 
 still daylight enough to show her the familiar way 
 plainly; but the shadows were gathering from min- 
 ute to minute, and the piece of road which led from 
 the gate of the park to the first houses of the village 
 was deserted. Had she been less excited, Antonina 
 might probably have felt frightened, for, in point 
 of fact, she had never been out so late alone; but 
 at this moment there was no room in her soul for 
 anything but anger, the rebellious anger of a spirit 
 which had never learnt to submit, and which, by 
 nature as well as by habit, was peculiarly unable 
 to bear even the semblance of control. As she 
 walked rapidly, with her head held high and her 
 teeth tightly closed, her pulses were still tingling 
 with the irritation of the interview just past. Only 
 vaguely she noticed that a fine rain had begun to 
 fall, and once, in the semi-darkness, she stumbled 
 over a cart-rut; but all this was of no consequence, 
 
 so long as by her action she asserted her independ- 
 208 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 209 
 
 ence, her perfect right to go where she pleased, 
 and at what ever hour she pleased. 
 
 In less than ten minutes the schoolhouse was 
 reached. A light burned already in its window, 
 for here, among the houses, it was darker than in 
 the open. Just outside the curtainless window 
 Antonina stood still, arrested by a feeling of curi- 
 osity. Milnovics, with an open copy-book before 
 him, whose contents he was supposed to be cor- 
 recting, was sitting at the table. But he was not 
 correcting the copy-book. With his chin upon his 
 left hand and his elbow on the table, he sat quite 
 still, gazing straight into the dull flame of the small 
 petroleum- lamp before him. His eyes looked deep 
 and dreamy, and his whole attitude was one of pro- 
 found abstraction. There was something so pa- 
 thetic about the youthful figure, with the rigid right 
 arm and the ill-fitting coat, with the lines of energy 
 about the mouth and the undercurrent of sadness 
 in the black eyes, that Antonina felt her heart con- 
 tract with the pain of an acute pity. The instinct 
 of rebellion was as wide awake as ever, but a softer, 
 warmer emotion was beginning to mingle with it. 
 
 She paused for only a few seconds, and then 
 rapidly entered the schoolhouse. 
 
 At the sound of the opening door Milnovics 
 started from his abstraction, and impatiently turned 
 round. He did not immediately rjse, for, owing 
 
2IO THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 partly to the dully burning lamp and partly to the 
 peasant dress, he had not at once recognised the 
 Pant. 
 
 " It is I," said Antonina breathlessly ; " why are 
 you looking so astonished? " 
 
 Milnovics rose with a look of confusion quite 
 unusual to him. 
 
 " Pani Antonina! It is you! At this hour of 
 the night, and alone? What has made you do 
 this? " 
 
 Antonina put her hands over her ears. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, don't you begin also," she 
 said, with a petulant laugh. " I have heard enough 
 about the proprieties for to-day. I tell you that I 
 had to come." 
 
 " You had to come! But what for?" 
 
 " Yes ; I had to come, and it had to be this min- 
 ute. . I had to speak to you." 
 
 "You had to speak to me?" repeated Stepan, 
 slowly, and as he spoke his face underwent a grad- 
 ual transformation. An incredulous and yet joyful 
 astonishment began to show itself, crossed by sharp 
 spasms of doubt that were discernible in a moment- 
 ary contracting of the pupils. The eyes lit up with 
 hope, then darkened with an instinctive suspicion, 
 and finally lit up again. The lines about the mouth 
 relaxed. It was evident that, for the moment at 
 least, hope had conquered. 
 
The wrong man. 211 
 
 "What had you to speak to me about?" he 
 asked, in a voice which betrayed that he had great 
 difficulty in speaking calmly. 
 
 At the sight of his radiant eyes, Antonina hesi- 
 tated for the first time. . 
 
 " I was talking with my aunt, and she said some- 
 thing unkind about you, and it suddenly occurred 
 to me that you might think my sentiments are the 
 same as hers, that perhaps you have been thinking 
 so all along. I couldn't have slept to-night with 
 that thought, and as it was not quite dark yet, I 
 thought I had better come and tell you this at 
 once." 
 
 " Your aunt is welcome to say of me whatever 
 she chooses," said Stepan, his face hardening again 
 for one moment. 
 
 " It was nothing very bad," went on Antonina, 
 tripping over her words in her eagerness. " Only 
 that she is so completely a woman of the world, 
 and views everything from a worldly point of view, 
 and those sort of people are apt to be unmerciful — 
 yes, unmerciful to any one in bad luck. But what 
 I want you to beUeve is that I think quite differ- 
 ently. A person in misfortune seems to me to be 
 a sort of martyr; to me he appears to have a dig- 
 nity which puts him quite above the ordinary run 
 of lucky men. You believe me, do you not? " Her 
 eyes began to grow moist and her lips to quiver. 
 
212 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 as in a lower, more earnest tone she added, " And 
 you believe that each time I see your stiff arm it 
 hurts me as much as though I myself were suffer- 
 ing physically? " 
 
 Stepan looked intently into the eager child's 
 face before him; there was a keen question in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " I believe you," he said at length, drawing a 
 deep breath. " And it was to tell me this that you 
 came here to-day ? " 
 
 " To tell you this, and " she opened the 
 
 tightly closed fingers of her right hand, and looked 
 in surprise at the small hard object which she had 
 unconsciously been grasping. " I do believe I came 
 here also to bring you this box of pens," she said 
 in a different tone, and feeling almost inclined to 
 laugh through the very midst of the tears that were 
 still glistening in her eyes, now that her mind was 
 relieved of the weight which had pressed upon it. 
 " At least, if I remember right, that is what I told 
 my aunt." 
 
 In one instant the tension expressed on her feat- 
 ures had given way to a look of almost roguish 
 amusement. 
 
 " Poor Aunt Pawlina! What a fright I must 
 have given her! I fancy she will not be in a hurry 
 to meddle with me again. By the by, I ought to be 
 looking after her, for I don't want to kill her quite. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 213 
 
 you know, and she has got regular ftn-de-siecle 
 nerves. I suppose I ought to be going." 
 
 " But it is impossible that you should go back 
 alone," said Stepan, recovering himself with an 
 effort from what had been one of the moments of 
 strongest emotion in his life. " I will send a boy 
 for the carriage." 
 
 " I don't want the carriage. Since I came alone, 
 why can't I go back alone? " 
 
 " It is not to be thought of," said Stepan de- 
 cisively. " If you will not have the carriage, then 
 you must have an escort." 
 
 " That is absurd," Antonina was beginning, al- 
 most angrily, when suddenly another idea occurred 
 to her. 
 
 " Let it be an escort, then," she corrected her- 
 self, " and you can be the escort." 
 
 Stepan looked again into her face quickly and 
 keenly. For a moment he appeared to be hesi- 
 tating. 
 
 " Perhaps it would be better not. Your aunt 
 might not like me to accompany you." 
 
 "That is just why," burst out Antonina, in 
 whom the mutinous child had again regained the 
 upper hand. " You don't suppose, do you, that I 
 am bound by the orders of my aunt? Oh, it will 
 be too delicious to see her face! Or perhaps you 
 do not want to accompany me?" she added, with 
 
214 '^^^ WRONG MAN. 
 
 a swift but significant change of tone, and one of 
 those half-shy, half-coquettish glances with which 
 all but the most frigid of young women begin at 
 this age almost unconsciously to make experiments 
 of their power. 
 
 Stepan thrilled beneath the look as though he 
 had not been himself, but some emotional boy. 
 
 " You know that I am your servant," he said 
 in a low tone. 
 
 " I do not want you for a servant, but for a 
 knight," she replied gaily, almost joyfully, and, still 
 smiling, gave him her hand. 
 
 At the moment that he raised it to his lips, it 
 seemed to his excited nerves that there was a sound 
 at the window. Antonina likewise must have heard 
 it, for she too turned her head in that direction. 
 The small square was quite dark, and apparently 
 quite still; most probably it had been an illusion. 
 
 But it had been no illusion. The deserted vil- 
 lage street was after all not quite deserted. 
 
 Owing to the extra work entailed by the arrival 
 of the recruits, Radford had this afternoon reached 
 the village a good deal later than usual. As he 
 made his way along the muddy street, lighted only 
 by the occasional glow of a hearth-fire, he almost 
 regretted having come at all, for it was evidently 
 closing in for a wet evening, and the late hour 
 seemed to preclude every prospect but that of an 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 215 
 
 hour's chat with Father Floryan. Somehow he 
 did not feel particularly inclined for that chat. 
 Should he not rather turn his horse's head and 
 go back the way he had come without discovering 
 himself? He was considering the question in his 
 mind when from somewhere behind him, far down 
 the silent village street, he heard a voice calling 
 eagerly, " Pan Lieutenant! Pan Lieutenant! " 
 
 It was a woman's voice, but apparently quite un- 
 known to him. 
 
 Reining in his horse, he turned in his saddle 
 and peered into the darkness that by this time was 
 almost complete. He could hear the footsteps of 
 some one running, and presently a short, broad- 
 shouldered figure detached itself from the shad- 
 ows. 
 
 " Jusia, is that you? " he asked in astonishment, 
 for by the mere outUne of the figure he had im- 
 mediately recognised Stepan's idiot sister. 
 
 " Come with me," panted Jusia, still quite out 
 of breath; "there is something beautiful in the 
 school. Come, I will show you. I have run, oh so 
 fast! I saw you. Come quickly!" 
 
 Her full-cheeked face was radiant with some 
 evidently strong delight, and in her usually 
 drowsy eyes something like drunkenness shone. 
 She did not seem to notice that the rain was be- 
 gining to fall fast upon her uncovered head. 
 
2i6 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 " But, Jusia, it is raining; I do not want to go 
 to the school, I want to go home," said Radford, 
 still in astonishment. It was only about the third 
 or the fourth time that he had heard Jusia's voice, 
 and each time it surprised him over again almost 
 as much as though a person born dumb had begun 
 suddenly to speak. He had never before seen her 
 either so excited or so voluble as to-day. 
 
 " Come, come quick ! " Jusia obstinately re- 
 peated. " Such beautiful beads like sugar, so big, 
 and all colours. I want to have beads like that, 
 sugar beads ; you must bring Jusia beads like that. 
 Poor Jusia has no beads at all ! " and quite un- 
 expectedly she broke into a long-drawn whim- 
 per. 
 
 " Very well, I will come with you," said Rad- 
 ford soothingly, well knowing that in her obstinate 
 fits there was nothing for it but to humour her, and 
 being afraid of risking an accident; for if he did 
 not go of his own free will, she would probably 
 attempt to pull the horse round. " Take me to the 
 schoolhouse." And turning the chestnut's head, 
 he followed Jusia, now running joyfully before him. 
 As they approached the schoolhouse, she relaxed 
 her pace ; and having turned towards Radford, with 
 her forefinger laid upon her broadly grinning 
 mouth, almost slunk up to the window. Radford 
 stopped at a few paces from the house, and, with- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 217 
 
 out having any idea of what he was to expect, bent 
 down in the saddle and looked through the lighted 
 window into the class-room within. 
 
 The petroleum-lamp was not burning very 
 brightly, yet, compared to the darkness outside, the 
 room looked almost brilliant, and every detail with- 
 in showed with conspicuous distinctness. Anto- 
 nina, in full peasant dress, her breast half-covered 
 with brilliant blue and yellow glass beads, was 
 standing opposite to Stepan. They were alone in 
 the room, and she was smiling at him — all this Rad- 
 ford could see quite clearly. While he was still 
 looking, Antonina put out her hand, and Stepan, 
 his dark face full of emotion, raised it and pressed 
 his lips upon it. This too Radford saw quite clear- 
 ly, and in the instant that he saw it there sounded 
 a groan in his ear. He started, and looked around 
 him; Jusia was still grinning and tittering at the 
 window, and no one else was visible in the street. 
 Was it possible that that groan had been uttered 
 by himself? But it had been most unmistakably 
 a groan of pain, and what had he seen that could 
 cause him pain? Stepan kissing Antonina's hand? 
 But that was merely a Polish custom, it did not 
 mean much more than an English handshake. And 
 besides, he had seen that before, and it had not hurt 
 him then ; why then, in the name of common-sense, 
 should it hurt him now? For the pain was there > 
 
2i8 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 yes, he felt it most plainly, like a sharp point in a 
 fresh wound. 
 
 These thoughts and others darted through his 
 mind during the few seconds that he sat there up- 
 right and rigid upon his horse, staring before him 
 at the walls of the schoolhouse with horror-stricken 
 eyes. 
 
 " You will bring big beads for Jusia? " said the 
 voice of the imbecile girl beside him in a whisper. 
 
 He looked at her upturned face without becom- 
 ing aware of who she was, then pulling his horse 
 round, rode off rapidly down the street. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The two days that followed on his return from 
 Berenow were spent by Radford in a state of 
 consternation bordering almost on stupefaction. 
 Everything that for weeks past had been indis- 
 tinctly puzzling him was now explained, fully and 
 unmistakably. In the moment that he had seen 
 Stepan kissing Antonina's hand he had known that 
 he loved this woman, as certainly as though an 
 angel with a trumpet had made him the announce- 
 ment. And he knew also that he had loved her 
 almost from the first. Those brown, shadowy eyes 
 had wounded him, while he still believed himself 
 cool enough to criticise what had begun by striking 
 him as imperfections in the half-grown girl. He 
 had not suspected the truth before, but it had been 
 there all along, waiting only for the moment to 
 break forth, like the ember hidden under the ashes, 
 like the germinating seed just below the earth. 
 Yes, everything was explained; but out of this 
 
 very explanation a darkness far darker than the 
 319 
 
220 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 one just cleared away threatened to arise. His care- 
 fully devised, assiduously cultivated plan seemed to 
 him to be lying in a miserable heap on the ground. 
 In the first alarm of his discovery he had lost his 
 hold upon it. 
 
 After two days he began partially to recover 
 from the mere feeling of consternation, and grad- 
 ually to understand that everything was not yet lost. 
 The plan and the possibility of carrying it out were 
 still there, exactly the same as before; the only 
 difference now was, that in order to carry it out 
 he himself would have to be sacrificed. 
 
 When he had clearly grasped this point, his 
 first instinctive sensation was not one of suffering 
 but of an immense relief. His brow cleared, for 
 the first time for two days. Yes, this might possi- 
 bly be the end of self-reproach; this might suffice 
 to satisfy that craving for atonement which had 
 been his torment for so long. The more painful 
 from a merely human point of view, the more sat- 
 isfying would it be from a moral one. Yes, it was 
 even better so than it had been before; probably 
 nothing less than this would have finally pacified 
 that small voice within him. And who could for- 
 bid him to sacrifice himself? 
 
 By this time he was pacing his room with a 
 firm step and eyes that shone brightly. Already 
 with a sort of rapture he had accepted the role which 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 221 
 
 Fate seemed to be offering him. As yet he was 
 suffering just as little as an Indian dervish suffers 
 when in his fanatic ardour he runs nails into his 
 flesh. The suffering would come later when his 
 nerves began to settle down. 
 
 His duty seemed to him perfectly clear. Neither 
 hesitation nor reflection was here wanted. The 
 resolution to extirpate his love at any price had 
 been instantly and instinctively taken. Any at- 
 tempt to rob that other man of his happiness, as 
 he had already robbed him of his career, seemed 
 to him so contemptible beyond words that the 
 thought could not at present take the form of a 
 temptation. No doubt if Stepan had still been a 
 soldier like himself, and with unimpaired limbs like 
 himself, there could have been no reasonable ob- 
 jection to trying his strength against that of his 
 coinrade upon a fair field. But would Stepan 
 under those circumstances have been so favoured 
 as he now was? thus Radford's reflections led him 
 on; was it not rather to his misfortune itself that 
 he owed this great good fortune of being loved 
 by Antonina? A conversation returned to his mind 
 which he had had with her quite lately, and which 
 greatly supported this theory. 
 
 The Deacon had been the original subject of 
 discussion. Radford was accompanying Antonina 
 from the schoolhouse to the plebanija when Bogu- 
 
222 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 mil Meezek, in a limp straw hat, had hastily slunE 
 past them. There is something peculiarly depress- 
 ing about a straw hat in November, and when the 
 hat is battered and the face beneath it expressive 
 of nothing but a passive dejection, the effect is 
 greatly enhanced. Antonina returned his nervous 
 salute with a quick little frown of displeasure. The 
 Deacon was far too passive to be a favourite of 
 hers. 
 
 " That man always acts on my nerves like an 
 irritant," she remarked to Radford. " I suppose 
 it is unkind of me to say so, but I cannot help it. 
 Perhaps one ought rather to pity him, since he has 
 had a good deal to suffer. There is something 
 really pathetic about his position, when you come 
 to think of it; but it is his attitude which spoils 
 everything. How is it possible to feel real pity for 
 a man who is so crushed by self-pity as to become 
 absurd? To excite true pity a misfortune should 
 be bravely borne." 
 
 " In the way, for instance, in which Lieutenant 
 Milnqvics bears his,'' Radford put in, espying an 
 opportunity of the sort which he required. 
 
 " Yes," she agreed readily, " in that way. That 
 is true courage. A manly, noble spirit. Lieuten- 
 ant Milnovics does not want to make those around 
 him suffer by the sight of his despair, — nor to in- 
 crease the self-reproach of any one beside him," 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 223 
 
 she added as an afterthought, and with a quick 
 glance into her companion's face. 
 
 Remembering this talk to-day, Radford could 
 not doubt that pity had indeed been the root of this 
 affection. But supposing that the cause for this 
 pity had not been, would Stepan's personality alone 
 have been sufhcient to arouse Antonina's interest? 
 Such speculations were idle, yet they could not 
 fail to be interesting. And supposing, to go one 
 step further — there could be no harm in taking a 
 completely hypothetic case — supposing that he, 
 Radford, had not been a sinner in Antonina's eyes, 
 would he then also have compared as unfavour- 
 ably with Stepan as he now evidently did? In what 
 was Stepan so immensely superior to himself? He 
 put the question not with any discontent, not even 
 with jealousy, but only with a very natural curi- 
 osity. In intellectual gifts his comrade stood un- 
 doubtedly above him, as he had always freely ad- 
 mitted; but he could not help being aware that 
 physical advantages were on his own side. 
 
 " She is too noble-minded to be taken by the 
 mere shell, as the more common sort of women 
 are," he decided within himself. " And she is 
 right, too; yes, she is right to love Stepan. Those 
 two are worthy of each other. Whatever I may 
 suffer in the process, they must be brought to- 
 gether." 
 
224 "^^^ WRONG MAN. 
 
 It was in a state bordering on elation that he 
 next went out to Berenow. The intoxication of his 
 self-chosen martyrdom was still at work. Visions 
 of himself blessing the newly-wedded couple, in 
 a character that was a mixture of that of Best Man 
 and Guardian Angel, floated before his mind's eye 
 and agreeably flattered the childish element which 
 .still remained in his nature. He was anxious to 
 test his own strength, to stretch himself on the rack 
 which he knew was waiting for him over there, and 
 to probe his own capacity for suffering. Instead 
 of relaxing his efforts on Stepan's behalf he would 
 redouble them — redouble them with his eyes now 
 wide open to the truth, and revelling with a grim 
 delight in the knowledge that he was working not 
 only for the other's gain, but also for his own 
 loss. 
 
 And, in point of fact, so long as the first glow 
 of enthusiasm lasted, for exactly so long was the 
 pain of the rack almost imperceptible. By degrees 
 only, as week followed week, and the meetings with 
 Antonina became more continual, did he grow 
 aware that to sacrifice oneself does not necessarily 
 mean to be at peace. A feeling that almost resem- 
 bled rebellion would sometimes stir faintly within 
 him. There could be no question as to what he 
 was bound in honour to do under present circum- 
 stances, but why need exactly these circumstances 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 225 
 
 have arisen? More and more frequently he now 
 caught himself drawing mental comparisons be- 
 tween himself and his comrade, and once, almost 
 to his consternation, he discovered that he was 
 standing in front of his toilet-glass and approvingly 
 scanning his own features. He was alone in the 
 room, of course; but with his mind's eye he had 
 seen a second set of features reflected beside his 
 own, and he had acknowledged to himself that, if 
 asked to decide between the two, few women would 
 hesitate. But these were only passing moments 
 of weakness, never actually yielded to. 
 
 Antonina's attitude towards himself had never 
 quite ceased to be tinged with that hostility under 
 whose influence their acquaintance had begun. She 
 was never tired of throwing out passing remarks, 
 which were to remind him that though he might 
 be a pleasant enough companion for conversational 
 purposes, it would not do to lose sight of the fact 
 that he was also an evil-doer; but she no longer 
 avoided him as she had done at first, and the dis- 
 cussions as to the nature and extent of his guilt, 
 to which she was fond of returning, seemed to in- 
 terest instead of irritating her. Whether she quite 
 believed in his repentance or not, it was clearly 
 evident that she had not yet utterly condemned 
 the criminal, since she still found it worth while 
 to work at his conversion. 
 
226 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 On one occasion fate was provoking enough to 
 force her, probably against her will, to have re- 
 course to this same criminal. 
 
 The incident occurred towards the end of No- 
 vember, when the cold was beginning to grow 
 severe. Radford had put up his horse at the ple- 
 banija, and was on his way on foot to the school- 
 house, where he had been told that Stepan was still 
 occupied. The dusk was falling fast, and the hard- 
 frozen village street was empty of all sign of life. 
 Suddenly, from round a corner, a woman's figure 
 came flying towards him, and immediately behind 
 her a second figure, that of a man, whose clumsy 
 boots tramped heavily through the snow. There 
 was no cry heard — nothing but the crackling of the 
 hard snow and the heavy breathing both of the 
 man and of the woman. She was running straight 
 towards Radford, and, having reached his side, 
 grasped blindly at his arm. 
 
 " Stand still, you dog! " shouted Radford at 
 the man in his best Ruthenian, while instinctively 
 putting his arm around the trembling and breath- 
 less figure beside him. " If you come one step 
 nearer, you will have to give an account of your- 
 self." 
 
 At sight of Radford, and more particularly of 
 his uniform, the peasant had suddenly relaxed his 
 pace. He now stood still and made an instinctive 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 227 
 
 grab at his cap. Then, grumbling something be- 
 tween his teeth, he began slowly to move away. 
 
 " Is he gone yet? " asked an unsteady voice 
 beside him. 
 
 Radford started, and abruptly withdrew his arm. 
 In the slender figure draped in the scarlet petticoat 
 and short yellow sheepskin fur worn by the Ru- 
 thenian peasant women at this season he had be- 
 lieved himself to be supporting one of the village 
 maidens ; but those words had not been spoken in 
 Ruthenian, and the sound of the voice was unmis- 
 takable. 
 
 " Pani Antonina," he almost stammered, " is 
 that you?" 
 
 Instead of replying to his question, she raised 
 her head and looked at him with affrighted 
 eyes. 
 
 " And is that you? " she asked in her turn. " I 
 had not even recognised you; I suppose I was too 
 frightened." 
 
 " Yes, it is I," answered Radford, who had de- 
 tected or imagined that he detected symptoms of 
 disappointment in the sound of her voice. " It is 
 I," he added, with unusual bitterness, "not Lieu- 
 tenant Milnovics." 
 
 Antonina looked at him wonderingly, evidently 
 astonished by his tone. 
 
 " Even a murderer can come in usefully at mo- 
 
228 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 ments," some irresistible impulse pushed him to 
 add. 
 
 " A murderer? " she repeated, still in wonder. 
 
 " You told me, did you not, that in your eyes I 
 was nearly a murderer? " 
 
 " Did I? I don't think I used quite so strong 
 an expression. I think I said criminal." 
 
 " It is kind of you to make so great a conces- 
 sion," said Radford, astonished at his own sharp- 
 ness, and yet not able to overcome the dark and 
 bitter feeling within him. " And now, may I in- 
 quire whether you consider a criminal to be a safe 
 escort? For I presume that you will prefer not to 
 walk home alone? " 
 
 " Good gracious, no ! " whispered Antonina, 
 once more instinctively clutching at his arm. 
 " Please do not leave me alone. You cannot imag- 
 ine what a fright I have had. Is that wretch really 
 gone? Do you know that he actually tried to — to 
 kiss me? I suppose he thought I was a peasant, 
 and he does not belong to Berenow either, or else 
 of course he would have known me. I really don't 
 know whether I shall ever have the courage to wear 
 this dress again. Oh, it was horrible, I tell you, 
 horrible, — and he smelt so odiously of vodki! " 
 
 She shuddered and actually shook herself, in a 
 sort of ecstacy of disgust. 
 
 " But you must promise me one thing," she 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 229 
 
 went on in another tone — " nobody must know of 
 this. My aunt would probably die of it, and I, too, 
 would die of rage if there were jokes made about 
 it; people are so stupid, you know. You will prom- 
 ise to keep this adventure secret, will you not? " 
 
 " Yes, I promise," said Radford, in a milder tone 
 of voice, for the mere consciousness of sharing any 
 sort of secret with her had about it a charm not to 
 be resisted. 
 
 And the details of the adventure actually did 
 remain secret, although the fact of Lieutenant Rad- 
 ford having accompanied the Pani from the village 
 to the house could not be entirely hidden. 
 
 At his next meeting with Stepan, Radford was 
 astonished to observe a heavy cloud upon his brow. 
 Perhaps he might have overlooked the cloud had 
 not Stepan himself drawn his attention to the cause. 
 
 " Is it actually true that you accompanied Pani 
 Antonina home on Tuesday evening? " he had in- 
 quired of Radford, the very moment that they were 
 left alone. 
 
 " Yes, it is true," replied Radford, astonished at 
 something almost inimical in the tone of the ques- 
 tion. The mere fact of Stepan so distinctly tak- 
 ing the initiative was in itself sufiSciently aston- 
 ishing. 
 
 " But it must have been almost dark," persisted 
 Stepan, still in that tone of disturbance, which was 
 
230 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 so unlike his usual severely restrained mode of talk- 
 ing; " what put such a strange idea into your head 
 as to walk home with her? " 
 
 " Of course it was almost dark; that was exactly 
 why she could not possibly have walked home 
 alone." 
 
 " Did she ask you to accompany her? " 
 
 " Yes; that is to say, I asked whether she would 
 allow me to do so. What other choice had I, see- 
 ing that there was no other escort at hand? " 
 
 Stepan looked at his comrade fiercely, as though 
 he were about to ask something more; but he put 
 no other question, and said only, as he tvirned away 
 abruptly, " There, must be an end of this sort of 
 thing; it is not right to let her be talked about in 
 this way." 
 
 Radford was too entirely astonished to make 
 any further remark. What could Stepan mean by 
 this extraordinary irritation? What could mean 
 that fierce question in his eyes, which had remained 
 unspoken ? The more he thought of that look — and 
 it pursued him for days to come — the more puzzled 
 did he grow. Could it — no; it surely could not 
 mean that Stepan was jealous, — ^jealous of him? 
 Could any one be so blind to his own good luck? 
 It was scarcely conceivable. It remained possible 
 of course that Stepan had guessed Radford's own 
 secret, and that this instinctive feeling of enmity 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 231 
 
 was the result. He must guard his secret better 
 in future, and yet it was exactly now that the task 
 was growing hard. 
 
 Hitherto the absolute suppression of his passion 
 had been Radford's object, the first of the tasks 
 he had set himself; but, after his meeting with An- 
 tonina in the dusk, he had conceded so far as to 
 allow himself to believe that, so long as he con- 
 tinued loyally to work on his comrade's behalf, 
 there could be no harm in allowing himself to love 
 this same woman. Since he looked for no return 
 and asked for no return, what wrong was he doing 
 Stepan in this? It was not even as though he had 
 any choice in the matter, for since the moment 
 when she had leant against his arm, and he had felt 
 her quick breath upon his cheek, he knew quite 
 well that his passion would never be killed. Of 
 course, by giving it rein, he would be incalculably 
 increasing his own sufferings; — but what of that? 
 Had he not the right to torture himself, so long 
 as it was only himself, to any extent he thought 
 fit? 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The long Polish winter had now set in in all its 
 severity, and, as annually at this season, the village 
 gradually assumed a look of desertion. The inhabi- 
 tants, big and little, had disappeared behind their 
 mud walls, and were busy either in doing nothing 
 or in spinning flax, in an atmosphere calculated 
 to stifle any one but a Ruthenian peasant; for the 
 fissures of the small square windows had been care- 
 fully filled up with clay in autumn, and no one 
 would dream of removing it before May at the 
 earliest. Except to go to school or to church, or 
 to the Jew who sold vodki (brandy) at the corner, 
 or else to bring firewood from the forest, it rarely 
 occurred to any one to cross the threshold of his 
 winter prison — the result being that there were 
 days and hours in which, but for the blue smoke 
 which crept slowly through the straw thatching of 
 the long rows of huts,' Berenow might have been 
 taken for a village of the dead. 
 
 At the plcbanija, too, the season had brought the 
 
 usual changes of habits. Madame Serpow read her 
 232 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 233 
 
 newspapers more assiduously, and the Deacon tor- 
 tured the ears of his relatives more frequently with 
 his flute ; while Father Floryan now wore a woollen 
 handkerchief over his head instead of a silk one, 
 and said Mass with a shawl under his vestment 
 and a pair of felt slippers upon his feet. Except 
 for Sunday Mass, the Popa rarely left his corner 
 beside the big brick stove in the sitting-room, for 
 it was Andrei's especial care to confine the number 
 of unavoidable sick calls only to the most entirely 
 unavoidable. This many-sided individual consid- 
 ered it as much his business to watch over the 
 Papa's health as it was to economise in the matter 
 of wax-candles and incense; and if a certain per- 
 centage of those who were buried at Berenow be- 
 tween November and April died without receiving 
 the sacraments, it was not Father Floryan's fault, 
 but entirely that of his sacristan, who, before al- 
 lowing a summons to reach the Popa, never failed 
 personally to convince himself that the patient was 
 actually at his second-last gasp. Rather than risk 
 a sore throat for Father Floryan, the conscientious 
 and deeply religious Andrei cheerfully loaded his 
 conscience with what he perfectly well knew to be 
 a frightfully heavy responsibility. 
 
 It was in a miniature sledge, with room for no 
 one but the driver and the passenger in one person, 
 that Radford now undertook his visits to Berenow. 
 
234 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 The road there had become shorter than in summer, 
 for the river which serpentined across the plain, 
 and which the highroad made several corners to 
 avoid, was now hard-frozen, and could securely 
 be crossed. It was the first winter which he had 
 passed in Galicia, and these solitary sledge-drives 
 soon became his favourite entertainment. Of other 
 amusements he had virtually none; for although 
 the advent of the Carnival was felt even at Lohatyn 
 in the shape of frequent social gatherings in the 
 " dancing-room " of the " Black Eagle," and al- 
 though, as a member of the regiment, it was im- 
 possible for him entirely to absent himself from 
 these, yet he was aware of not feeling in the least 
 entertained. With his back against the wall, he 
 would stand for half an hour at a time dreamily 
 scanning the crowd of dancers, always on the look- 
 out for one face which he knew he would not find 
 there; for, despite the entreaties of her aunt, Anto- 
 nina had declined to take any part in the Carnival, 
 which, however, did not prevent her displaying a 
 species of scornful curiosity as to the details of such 
 foolish things as balls. Radford soon perceived 
 that, while avoiding putting direct questions, she 
 yet seemed by no means sorry when her aunt fired 
 ofif a set of inquiries as to the last dance at Lohatyn. 
 Sometimes, when the Baroness was keeping the 
 talk too exclusively confined to the subject of 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 235 
 
 ruches and volants, Antonina, losing sight of her 
 principles for a moment, would interrupt the very 
 lame description of toilettes, which was all the 
 chronicler could achieve, with some impatient ques- 
 tion of her own. 
 
 " Never mind what they wore, but tell us what 
 they did," she exclaimed on one of these occasions. 
 " They always begin with a Mazur, don't they? I 
 do love the music of a Masur. Can you dance it. 
 Lieutenant Radford?" 
 
 Radford replied that he had not yet learned the 
 Mazur step. 
 
 " You should learn it, then ; it is an intoxicating 
 dance. It used to intoxicate me, even at my danc- 
 ing-lessons." 
 
 " And yet you never go to balls? " 
 
 " That is a different thing," replied Antonina, 
 evidently displeased. " I can dance my Mazur quite 
 as well at home, to my aunt's accompaniment. And, 
 by the by, tell me what sort of figures do they have 
 at the cotillon? " 
 
 With the progress of the Carnival Radford's 
 visits at the Berenow house became more frequent. 
 Since Antonina liked to hear about the Lohatyn 
 balls, why should she not have her wish? The win- 
 ter was very long and very dull, and the subjects 
 of conversation naturally scarce. At this season 
 there was nothing to be done on the estate, and all 
 
236 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 the reforms at the school that lay within the Pani's 
 power were already carried through, which acr 
 counted for the fact that the schoolhouse had lately 
 figured less in her conversation than formerly. As 
 for the unlucky peasant costume, it was never 
 mentioned now. Ever since the adventure in 
 the village street, it had been put aside in dis- 
 grace. It was a toy which had quickly lost its 
 first gloss. 
 
 Although he could never hope to be more than a 
 friend in this house, these frequent talks were to 
 Radford a bitter pleasure. The running of sharp 
 points into his own wound was an occupation ex- 
 citing enough to support him. That Antonina 
 should likewise incline to these talks appeared to 
 him very natural. Stepan was anything but a con- 
 versationalist; however truly she might love him, 
 she was yet too young and too lively not occasion- 
 ally to require a change of society. The situation 
 seemed to Radford to be very easy of explana- 
 tion. 
 
 All the same, his reception was not invariably 
 gracious. There were days when Antonina would 
 be absolutely talkative, and others when, without 
 any apparent cause, she had scarcely a word or a 
 glance for him. Could this be mere caprice? There 
 was no doubt that she had of late been even more 
 capricious, more headstrong than usual. That hot 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 237 
 
 hunger for work, that radiant love of it, seemed 
 to have been dimmed by some cause known only 
 to herself. She had long fits of sullen silence and 
 quick movements of anger. It was evident that 
 something either in her surroundings or in herself 
 displeased her. This inequality of manner showed 
 itself even towards Stepan, as Radford could not 
 fail to observe. He had seen her distinguish him 
 by marks of favour which he took to be unmistak- 
 able, and within the same hour conspicuousljr avoid 
 him. 
 
 Having puzzled for long over the matter, Rad- 
 ford arrived at the following conclusion, which to 
 some degree explained her changes of mood. It 
 was always in her aunt's presence that Antonina 
 showed herself ungracious towards him, and always 
 in her absence that she became her natural and 
 friendly self. That the Baroness would have been 
 charmed to see him come forward as a suitor for 
 Antonina's hand had from the first been as patent 
 to Radford as it was clear to him that Stepan's 
 candidature was in this quarter thoroughly disap- 
 proved of. Was it not possible that Antonina's 
 innate spirit of contradiction was here at work? 
 That would mean, therefore, that her occasional 
 coldness towards him need not be taken at its ap- 
 parent value. And her occasional warmth towards 
 
 Stepan — was it possible that the same rule might 
 16 
 
238 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 rightly be applied to it? Radford preferred to pur- 
 sue the thought no further, but rather turned from 
 it as from something vaguely disturbing. 
 
 As the winter advanced he began to tell himself 
 that surely it was time for the crisis to be reached. 
 There were moments at which the so much wished 
 for and so much dreaded event appeared to him 
 to be imminent. On leaving Berenow he would 
 tell himself that on his next visit there the en- 
 gagement of Antonina ^nd Stepan could not fail 
 to be proclaimed, and when he next approached 
 the village in his sledge the mere sight of any mem- 
 ber of the Milnovics family, even from afar, would 
 cause his heart to beat violently in expectation of 
 the news which he had steeled himself to listen to. 
 Sometimes, when these continual false alarms grew 
 insupportable, Radford would stay away from Bere- 
 now for a week or ten days, persuaded that on his 
 next coming there everything would be over. But 
 when he came again nothing was over yet, and the 
 only result of the sacrifice he had made was a re- 
 proachful question of Baroness Mielecka as to why 
 he had stayed away so long? 
 
 What was it that made this stage drag so terri- 
 bly? he impatiently asked himself. Could it be that . 
 Stepan had missed some favourable moment? It 
 would be much easier to take his position finally 
 when those two were irrevocably betrothed. This 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 239 
 
 delay was no mercy, but only an unnecessary tor- 
 ment. 
 
 It was at this stage of the development of af- 
 fairs that, to his consternation, he discovered that 
 his visits to the plebanija were beginning to lose 
 their interest in his eyes. Quite suddenly it oc- 
 curred to him that for weeks past he had forgotten 
 to supply Madame Serpow with even the smallest 
 British delicacy, and was there not a parcel of Turk- 
 ish tobacco for the Popa lying somewhere in his 
 lodging? With a qualm of remorse he remembered 
 that it was a long time since he had seen Father 
 Floryan with his chibouk in his hand. 
 
 But these discoveries were not all. More than 
 once, when leaving the Berenow house, he was 
 sorely distressed on realising that during the whole 
 of his visit Stepan's name had not once been men- 
 tioned. Could this be called working in his com- 
 rade's interest? Next time he would arrive still 
 penitent, and seize the first opportunity, whether 
 appropriate or not, for dragging in some mention 
 — laudatory of course — of Milnovics. 
 
 On one of these occasions he overdid his part so 
 completely that Antonina lost patience. 
 
 " I do wish you would talk of something else! " 
 she exclaimed sharply, with one of those swift 
 changes of complexion which in her were so com- 
 mon. " Why will you always keep ringing Lieu- 
 
240 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 tenant Milnovics's virtues in my ears? Don't you 
 think I am able to discover them for myself? " 
 
 Radford turned pale, while stammering some 
 incoherent excuse. 
 
 " It must have been my awkwardness," he ac- 
 cused himself in thought. " It can only have been 
 my awkwardness which provoked her to speak so." 
 
 Nevertheless the idea that Antonina did possi- 
 bly, after all, not love Stepan, had from that mo- 
 ment forward, though unknown to himself, begun 
 to take root within him. But it was not until some 
 weeks later that he became conscious of his own 
 thought, while at the same time seeing it supported 
 by what looked like direct evidence. 
 
 On a wild stormy day in February — one of those 
 days that bring it home to the mind that, though 
 snow and ice still reign supreme, winter will not 
 last for ever — Radford found Antonina alone in the 
 drawing-room, evidently just returned from some 
 excursion, for her boots still showed marks of fresh 
 snow, while her hat and gloves had been flung on 
 the table beside her. She had pressed herself into 
 one corner of the sofa, against whose back her face 
 was hidden. 
 
 " Has anything happened? " asked Radford in 
 some alarm, for as she turned round at his entrance 
 he saw that her expression was highly disturbed, 
 and even that there were tears in her eyes. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 24 1 
 
 " A great deal has happened," replied Anto- 
 nina, in a voice which shook with agitation. 
 " You know, don't you, that this is the day- 
 fixed for the first examinations in the agricultural 
 class?" 
 
 " I don't think I knew that. Well, and have 
 they not taken place? " 
 
 " They have taken place," said Antonina between 
 her teeth; "but I almost wish they hadn't! It has 
 been the bitterest day in my life." 
 
 Then as Radford, taken aback by her vehe- 
 mence, stood there, looking at her inquiringly and 
 yet not venturing to frame a direct question, she 
 went on talking breathlessly — 
 
 " It was simply too absurd; I don't think I shall 
 be able to get over it. I am rather glad you have 
 come, it is a relief to be able to talk about it to 
 somebody. Just listen! It was Lieutenant Mil- 
 novics who was examining, of course: I was only 
 supposed to be attending; but he was taking such 
 a terrible time over the hay-stacks and the barns, 
 so I thought I would hurry up matters by putting 
 in a question of my own. I asked a small boy on 
 the first bench which was preferable for cattle, 
 hemp or flax? But he only seemed to be petrified 
 by my question. Then, in the middle of a dead 
 silence in the class-room, and while I caught sight 
 of rows of open mouths, and was beginning to 
 
242 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 wonder whether I had made any mistake, another 
 boy on the last bench stood up and said, with 
 the most offensive grin I have ever seen, ' He can't 
 tell you that, Pani, because his father's cow doesn't 
 wear a shirt.' And then the grin spread all round 
 the school, and I remembered with a sort of jerk 
 that hemp and flax is the stuff you make linen of. 
 I didn't wait for the end of the examination, but 
 left the school with as much dignity as I could, and 
 now probably they are all giggling together over 
 it, the wretches! Just as if I could be expected to 
 keep all these things properly labelled in my head. 
 The story will go the round of the village, perhaps 
 of the country-side. Isn't it cruel? Please tell me 
 that you sympathise with me. If you are going 
 to laugh too, I shall hate you as much as I hate 
 that boy." 
 
 But Radford was not in the least inclined to 
 laugh. While she was telling her tale, Antonina, 
 too agitated to sit still, had risen from the sofa, 
 and was walking quickly to and fro upon the pol- 
 ished floor. In passing she snatched one of her 
 gloves from the table, and seemed to find a certain 
 relief to her irritation in twisting it backwards and 
 forwards between her fingers. Radford heard what 
 she was saying, without taking any especial interest 
 in it, for his attention was absorbed in watching 
 Antonina herself. For the first time it occurred 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 243 
 
 to him that she had changed a good deal, physically, 
 during the half-year which had passed since he saw 
 her first. Meeting her as frequently as he had done, 
 he had overlooked the small stages by which the 
 immature girl was gradually approaching the per- 
 fect development of womanhood. To-day some 
 combination of circumstances, too subtle to be real- 
 ised, caused him all at once to catch sight of the 
 great step which had been made. There was still 
 some work left for Nature to do: the gestures 
 were almost childish in their abruptness, but the 
 glance was maturer and deeper; the angular line 
 of the shoulders, which had disturbed him at first 
 sight, had now melted into a softer curve; and the 
 black eyebrows had lost their too great conspicu- 
 ousiless by harmonising perfectly with the more 
 fully developed features. 
 
 Yes, she was growing beautiful, Radford said 
 within himself, more beautiful every day — but not 
 for him. His eyes followed her with a yearning 
 gaze; and when at her last words she stood still 
 before him, with lips that quivered with mortifica- 
 tion and eyes that were bright with tears of rage, 
 there came over him so terrible a moment of weak- 
 ness that he was forced hastily to look away, for 
 fear of her reading his secret in his eyes. 
 
 - It took some seconds before he could regain his 
 outjivard composure. 
 
244 "^^^ WRONG MAN. 
 
 " Do you sympathise or not? " inquired Anto- 
 nina imperiously, surprised by his silence. 
 
 " Of course I sympathise," he murmured, still 
 with lowered eyes. 
 
 Fortunately Antonina was too much taken up 
 with the subject in hand to notice his agitation. 
 
 " This sort of thing could not happen," she 
 went, on, while resuming her walk about the room, 
 " if the class was properly conducted. Just imagine 
 the impertinence of that child! I will tell you in 
 confidence-^quite in confidence — that I do not 
 think Lieutenant Milnovics has got the right way 
 of managing the scholars. In some ways he is too 
 hard with them, and in others he allows them too 
 much Hcence. What happened to-day is really his 
 fault." 
 
 Radford said nothing, but there came a vivid 
 gleam into his downcast eyes. The joy of hear- 
 ing his rival spoken of thus was so great that he 
 was forced to close his lips more tightly for fear 
 of smiling. 
 
 " I think I shall give up the agricultural class," 
 he heard Antonina's voice saying; " the people here 
 are not enough enlightened for it, and there will 
 be plenty of other things for me to do on the estate." 
 
 " Yes, there is always work enough on the es- 
 tate," said Radford, finding his voice again. He felt 
 suddenly light-hearted, like one from whose shoiil- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 245 
 
 ders some pressing weight has been lifted. The 
 idea that perhaps Antonina did not love Stepan 
 had now taken full possession of him. Why, he 
 now questioned himself, had he taken the exist- 
 ence of this love for granted? Supposing that, after 
 all, pity had just remained pity, and nothing more, 
 and that the desire to provoke her aunt had done 
 the rest in shaping her actions? In that case his 
 theory was undermined. 
 
 And this new feeling of light-heartedness, he 
 soon began to take himself to task, was there any 
 sense in it? What reason had he for feeling glad, 
 since this discovery, or quasi-discovery, meant only 
 that the work which he had sworn to do, instead 
 of approaching completion, was still to be done 
 from the very beginning? In what was his duty 
 altered? " In nothing," he replied within himself, 
 still sincerely unaware of the crisis which had been 
 slowly approaching all winter, and towards which 
 every chance occurrence seemed to be pushing him 
 without any choice of his own. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 It was not many weeks after the conversation last 
 recorded that there occurred another incident, 
 seemingly trivial, but which later on proved its im- 
 portance in the chain of small but irresistible daily 
 events which was drawing him on. 
 
 It happened about the middle of March, on a 
 day which, looked at superficially, still appeared 
 to be a winter's day, but on which, nevertheless, 
 the ice-king was lying at his last gasp. Radford, 
 who had started for Berenow in his sledge, spent 
 most of the journey in regretting that he had not 
 gone on horseback instead. He had struck into 
 the usual track which he had followed all winter, 
 and it was not until he was straight opposite the 
 village that it occurred to him to wonder whether 
 the ice on the river would still bear him. Just as 
 he was putting this question to himself he came 
 in sight of the river, and immediately perceived 
 that a small crowd was collected on the opposite 
 bank, while,' at about the middle of the stream, a 
 
 34:6 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 247 
 
 cart laden with two huge logs was stuck fast, at an 
 angle which showed that the ice was giving way. 
 It was an incident familiar to the inhabitants of 
 Berenow, for the short cut across the river Was too 
 convenient to be abandoned without positive neces- 
 sity. The collapse of the first cart was the signal 
 invariably waited for. But despite their familiarity, 
 an element of panic always accompanied these ac- 
 cidents — ^for, once roused from his usual apathy, 
 the Ruthenian peasant has a fatal propensity for 
 losing his head — like the drivers of the cart at pres- 
 ent in question, who, instead of fetching ropes, were 
 saying their prayers aloud. A few of the more 
 energetic of the helpers tugged ineffectually at the 
 embedded wheel, while others lashed mercilessly at 
 the jaded horses, whose feet slipped on the ice, and 
 whose poor, meagre knees shook while they strained 
 in vain at their rope-harness; but the very num- 
 ber of the rescuers only made the situation more 
 precarious, for the ice, unable to bear the surcharge 
 of weight, was giving way in all directions. Advice 
 and encouragement, generally unintelligible, were 
 being liberally shouted from all sides. Foremost 
 among the group of spectators on the opposite 
 bank Radford caught sight of the figure of Anto- 
 nina. The Milnovics family was likewise there as- 
 sembled, with the exception of Stepan, who stood 
 in mid-stream beside the foundered cart, up to his 
 
248 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 knees in water, and endeavouring to induce the be- 
 wildered peasants to follow his directions. 
 
 As soon as he understood what was going on, 
 Radford did what seemed to him the only natural 
 thing — that is to say, he left his sledge on the 
 bank, and began to cross the ice, walking more 
 cautiously as he approached the cart. He was 
 only a few paces off when, with the report of a 
 gunshot, another piece of ice gave way, and 
 Stepan, impatiently pushing aside one of the men, 
 made an attempt with his left arm to move the 
 wheel. 
 
 " Don't do that, Stepan," said Radford, reach- 
 ing his side at the same moment. " It is impossi- 
 ble to lift this weight with one arm alone ; you will 
 hurt yourself. Let me see if I can do it." 
 
 He bent down and clasped his two hands to- 
 gether under one of the spokes of the wheel; then, 
 setting his teeth, with one supreme efifort he suc- 
 ceeded in lifting the sinking wheel so far that the 
 men dragging at the horses' heads could free the 
 cart from the broken ice, and gain less dangerous 
 ground. 
 
 There was a shout on the bank, and a murmur 
 near at hand. Radford, still breathless from his 
 exertion, had to defend himself from half-a-dozen 
 peasants who seemed determined to kiss his hand, 
 then and there, in the middle of the river. On the 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 249 
 
 faces turned towards him there was a look that 
 resembled awe. 
 
 Something of this same look was discernible on 
 the countenance of the Popa, as well as of his sister 
 and daughter, when Radford at length reached the 
 opposite bank, and it was with shining eyes that 
 Antonina received him. 
 
 " You have not hurt yourself? " were her first 
 words. " I really never knew that you were so 
 strong." 
 
 Radford laughed awkwardly, ashamed of the 
 glow of satisfaction which he felt at her words. 
 
 " It is only a question of muscles," he answered 
 conscientiously; "and British muscles, you know, 
 generally have the advantage over foreign ones. 
 Those fellows are underfed, and I am not; that is 
 all." 
 
 Then, by way of punishing himself for that glow 
 of satisfaction, which would not let itself be quite 
 suppressed, he added deliberately — 
 
 " If Milnovics had had his right arm, he would 
 have done it too." 
 
 " I don't know whether Lieutenant Milnovics, 
 even with his right arm, would be quite as strong 
 as that," said Antonina doubtfully. 
 
 Though he did not see it, would not see it, and 
 scarcely even suspected it, he was very near now 
 to what was to be the chief crisis of his life, so near, 
 
250 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 indeed, that it wanted but the chance of a word or 
 a look to open his eyes to his danger. 
 
 When several more weeks had passed without 
 bringing this chance word, it came at last upon 
 a sunshiny day of early May, and in the incalcula- 
 ble shape in which such chances always do present 
 themselves. 
 
 The circumstances, in themselves, were simple 
 enough. An officer in Radford's regiment had re- 
 cently been killed by a fall from his horse, and, as 
 was natural in a small neighbourhood, the interest 
 of the sad event had spread beyond military circles. 
 It was Radford who had first spoken of the inci- 
 dent at Berenow, and he had likewise mentioned 
 that this was the second man who had been sacri- 
 ficed to the vicious temper of this brute, who, al- 
 though a splendid thoroughbred, was known to 
 be a dangerous rearer. 
 
 When next he came out to Berenow, he ap- 
 peared to have shaken off the depression of the 
 event. 
 
 " I have made a famous acquisition," he an- 
 nounced to Antonina. " My stables have doubled 
 in value since the beginning of the week. Do you 
 remember my telling you about poor Konitzki's 
 brown mare? Well, I bought her yesterday." 
 
 "Do you mean the horse that killed him?" 
 asked Antonina quickly. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 25 1 
 
 " Yes. But I flatter myself that she won't man- 
 age to kill me." 
 
 " And didn't you say that her former possessor 
 had also been killed? " 
 
 " So he was; but that may have been a mere 
 chance. You can break your neck falling off a 
 bench, you know, if you're unlucky." 
 
 " I must say I think it is an absurd piece of 
 bravoure to buy a beast with a reputation of that 
 sort," said Antonina, with her chin- in the air, and 
 symptoms of strong displeasure on her face. 
 
 " I didn't mean it as bravoure," replied Radford 
 humbly. " I really was on the look-out for a horse, 
 and this chance was too good to let pass." 
 
 " Do as you like," said Antonina, somewhat 
 irritably; " of course it is no business of mine." 
 
 The horse was not spoken of any more that 
 day; but at his next visit Antonina accosted him 
 with the question as to whether he had yet tried 
 his new purchase. 
 
 " Yes; we have had our first difference of opin- 
 ion," replied Radford; "it was a question of a 
 choice of two roads, but I am glad to say that I 
 bore off the palm." 
 
 Antonina shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 
 
 " Surely it would be wiser of you to sell this 
 beast and buy a safer animal," she remarked, speak- 
 ing in the sdmewhat brusque tone of voice into 
 
252 
 
 THE WRuNG MAN, 
 
 which she usually slipped when in any degree ex- 
 cited; " I don't think it is quite fair towards your 
 parents to go in for these sorts of risks." Then, 
 meeting Radford's astonished gaze, she added im- 
 mediately, " But let's talk of something else, by all 
 means. I am dead sick of that horse." 
 
 And Radford talked of other things in perfect 
 good faith, a little surprised at her persistency on 
 this one point, but not yet understanding what was 
 so close at hand. 
 
 When next he came out to Berenow, even the 
 memory of winter was gone, and the May sunshine 
 was pouring as radiantly upon the straw-thatched 
 roofs as it had done on the day of his first entry 
 here, just a year -ago. To-day, as then, the birch 
 and willow branches which mark the " green festi- 
 val " were making the village gay, and, as on that 
 day, the apple and cherry trees took the excuse of 
 each breath of air to snow their blossoms upon the 
 horseman. 
 
 Antonina was in the garden to-day, busy on 
 one of the walks, with a rake in her hands. They 
 were sadly in want of raking, these poor deserted 
 walks, which for so long had been untrodden, and 
 in whose more distant nooks the leaves of summers 
 past lay drifted as thickly as in any woodland dell. 
 It was on one of these neglected spots, where haw- 
 thorn and bramble bushes, growing in great un- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 253 
 
 checked tangles, had usurped the place of more cul- 
 tivated shrubs, that Radford found Antonina, stand- 
 ing ankle-deep in half-decayed leaves, and vigor- 
 ously at work upon the moist brown heaps which 
 all winter long had peacefully slept under their 
 counterpane of snow. Such occupations were even 
 more congenial to her than the organisation of agri- 
 cultural classes, for her bodily vigour required an 
 outlet quite as much as did her mental activity. 
 
 She was standing bare-headed and bare-handed, 
 for her hat-brim had proved itself to be incon- 
 veniently wide, and her gloves prevented her get- 
 ting a proper grasp of the rake. Her hair, passing 
 from light into shadow, and from shadow back into 
 light, seemed at moments to be intensely black, 
 while at other moments the thick coils caught a 
 warm brown reflection along their edges. 
 
 " You are not going to give a garden-party, are 
 you?" asked Radford, when the first greetings 
 were over. " This looks terribly like it. Are all 
 the paths to be put into such wonderful order? " 
 
 " No, I am not going to give a garden-party," 
 said Antonina, without looking at her visitor; " but 
 I am going to do something else. Can you guess 
 what it is?" 
 
 She spoke with a touch of nervousness in her 
 manner which with her was quite unusual, and, 
 though she had returned to the raking of the leaves, 
 17 
 
254 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 her attention was evidently no longer fixed on her 
 occupation. 
 
 " It is always impossible to guess what you will 
 do next," said Radford, in a tone of conviction. 
 
 " I am going to buy a horse." 
 
 "Ahorse! What for?" 
 
 " Yes ; a horse," she repeated, with a certain 
 obstinate emphasis. " Is there any reason why I 
 should not buy a horse? " and she glanced up with 
 defiance in her eyes. 
 
 " I suppose not," said Radford. " And have 
 you found a horse to suit you? " 
 
 " Yes, I have. I have found a horse to suit me 
 perfectly." 
 
 " And where is the beast at this moment? I 
 think you had better let me have a look at it first, 
 before you close the bargain." 
 
 " At this moment it is at Lohatyn, and you 
 don't need to take a look at it because you know 
 it already. It is your horse I want to buy, Lieu- 
 tenant Radford." 
 
 "My horse! Satanella? But, Pani Antonina, I 
 am not thinking of selling her! " 
 
 " You can begin to think of it now, can't you? " 
 said Antonina, with a laugh that was as nervous 
 as her voice had been, and as little like herself. 
 "You surely couldn't be so unchivalrous as to re- 
 fuse me a favour, and I have fallen in love with 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 255 
 
 Satanella, I really have. On Tuesday I was in Lo- 
 hatyn with my aunt, and I saw her. She is just 
 lovely, and, in short, I feel that I must have hei% 
 You will sell her to me, won't you? " 
 
 " Were you in Lohatyn on Tuesday? " said 
 Radford, following another train of thought. " How 
 could I miss seeing you? Ah, I remember, I was 
 out with the squadron; but so was Satanella, so 
 how could you have seen her? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps it was Monday or Wednesday, 
 never mind which. But say only that you will sell 
 me that horse? " 
 
 " But, Pani Antonina, you couldn't possibly ride 
 her." 
 
 " I never said that I meant to ride her." 
 
 " And as for putting her in harness, you would 
 be far safer with a couple of fiery dragons to draw 
 your carriage." 
 
 " I don't mean to put her in harness," said An- 
 tonina, working her rake more and more rapidly, 
 although there was not a single leaf left on that 
 particular spot. " I do wish you were not so in- 
 quisitorial! What can it matter what I want the 
 horse for? I want it; isn't that enough?" 
 
 " I should like to understand," remarked Rad- 
 ford doubtfully. " It is rather a responsibility to 
 sell a horse with that sort of temper, and really I 
 cannot see what you could do with her." 
 
256 THE WRONG MAN, 
 
 " I shall shoot her if I choose! " said Antonina, 
 suddenly putting up her head. " I would much 
 rather shoot her than that you — I mean that any- 
 body should ever ride her again." 
 
 Radford's eyes happened to be fixed on her un- 
 gloved hands wfhile she spoke, and, to his astonish- 
 ment, he saw that they were trembling. While he 
 was still wondering what this meant, her last words 
 struck upon his ear, and at the same moment the 
 rake slipped from her fingers to the ground. As 
 she stooped to pick it up he saw that her cheek 
 was burning, while with her left hand she made an 
 impatient movement, as though to brush away 
 something which might have been an importunate 
 midge trying to settle on her lashes. 
 
 Suddenly, without preparation or warning, the 
 hawthorn and bramble bushes seemed to Radford 
 to have joined hands and to be whirling round and 
 round him in a giddily reeling circle. It was some- 
 thing of the same sensation he had felt when the 
 tile had fallen upon his ten-year-old head, mingled 
 with the consternation which had followed upon 
 the duel. 
 
 " I don't think I can stay much longer to-day," 
 he succeeded in saying, quite intelligibly. " And 
 besides I haven't paid my respects to your aunt." 
 
 And without waiting for an answer, he turned 
 and left her, knowing only that he must get away 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 257 
 
 at any price, and taking care as he walked to keep 
 well in the middle of the path, after the manner of 
 a man who is just sober enough not to wish to 
 appear drunk. 
 
 It had taken a long time, but at last he under- 
 stood. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Radford's homeward ride on that day had about 
 it some of the characteristics of that species of mer- 
 ciful deHrium which for a short space of time kills - 
 pain. Even the glare of the May sunshine upon 
 the road, and even the cherry blossoms which 
 floated downwards to die in the dust, seemed to 
 be part of a happy dream. 
 
 " She loves me, — she loves me! " the newly re- 
 turned swallows were twittering to each other, as 
 an echo to his own thoughts. 
 
 "And I love her!" a beetle hummed into his 
 ear as it skimmed past. 
 
 "We love each other!" a crooked old apple- 
 tree seemed to be summing up the matter, while 
 nodding its misshapen head at the rider. 
 
 But spells of delirium generally are brief, and 
 even the most unimaginative amongst us are in- 
 tensely dependent upon our surroundings. So long 
 as he was among the flowers and the fields Rad- 
 ford continued blissfully to dream: from the mo- 
 ment that he found himself in the sordid streets 
 358 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 259 
 
 of Lohatyn, with the well-known prosaic details 
 of everyday life about him, the perfection of the 
 dream began to grow disturbed. The sight of 
 fresh grass and of birds on the wing had caused 
 him to fall from one trance into another, but the 
 very first Jew whose tattered kaftan caught his eye, 
 and even the scent of garlic wafted towards him, 
 made him feel uneasily conscious that somewhere 
 in the background of his trance, and casting a cold 
 shadow across its radiancy, there stood a dark fig- 
 ure, indistinct as yet, but ever present, and ever 
 growing a little more palpable. As yet he did not 
 want to look that way: he wanted only to revel in 
 his newly discovered happiness, and to examine this 
 shadow more closely might mean a danger to his 
 happiness; so much he already understood. 
 
 "Who would have thought it! Who would 
 have thought it! " he kept repeating to himself 
 when in the solitude of his own room. " How blind 
 I must have been! O Antonina! Antonina! what 
 will our next meeting bring? " 
 
 He had begun by flinging himself on a chair, 
 but had immediately sprung up again, and was 
 moving restlessly about the room, not pacing it 
 regularly, but continually changing his direction, 
 and standing still after every few steps. 
 
 " Does she love me already, love me conscious- 
 ly? I do not know; but she cannot help coming 
 
26o THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 to do SO,— I saw that in her eyes to-day. It will 
 want but my own declaration to reveal her heart 
 to herself. I must take the earliest opportunity of 
 speaking, in justice to her I must do so, for is it 
 not possible that she knows that she has betrayed 
 herself, and is waiting for me to speak? Yes," he 
 said aloud, as though to convince himself by the 
 sound of his own words, " I shall go there to-mor- 
 row and tell her the whole truth, and meanwhile 
 I shall drink her health." 
 
 Quite abruptly he took his cap from the wall, 
 and left his lodging, humming a waltz-tune, a thing 
 which was not generally a habit of his. He did 
 not stop to ask himself why he was so glad to run 
 against a comrade, two steps from the door, nor 
 why he was so inventive in excuses for prolonging 
 the after-supper chat with which the evening was 
 generally wound up. He was not yet calm enough 
 to understand that he was afraid of his lonely room, 
 afraid of the long night hours before him, and of 
 that which he knew they must infallibly bring. 
 
 Having reached his lodging again and struck a 
 light, he sat down on the nearest chair. There was 
 something of a surrender in the movement. He 
 had drunk more than any of his comrades ; but the 
 wine had not gone to his head, as he had calculated 
 that it would do, and, faihng this hope, it had come 
 over him that there was no more escape for him. 
 
THl WRUNG MAN. 261 
 
 That shadow would not be thrust aside, must be 
 looked at in the face, that doubt or scruple, which- 
 ever it was, which was pressing upon him would 
 not be ignored, but must be weighed and analysed 
 and overcome — if it was to be overcome. 
 
 He began by looking at the immovable shadow; 
 inquiringly and defiantly he looked. Little by little 
 it disclosed its features; and, yes, they were the 
 features of Stepan, as he had known all along that 
 they were, just as /he had known that he was not 
 happy, even while pretending to hug his joy to his 
 heart, and that he would not declare his love to 
 Antonina on the morrow, though settling in his 
 mind the very hour at which he meant to start for 
 B erenow. He had been playing a comedy with 
 himself all evening, and even at this moment of 
 desperate surrender there was a certain relief in 
 throwing ofif the mask. This was the moment at 
 which the real struggle began. 
 
 It was unavoidable that this second crisis of the 
 soul should be incomparably more violent, incom- 
 parably harder to bring to an issue, than had been 
 the first. If he had been called upon to renounce 
 anything then, it had been to renounce a chance, 
 while now he held in his hand the very thing, or 
 at least the certainty of attaining it, and it was ex- 
 pected of him that he should cast it aside. It did 
 not at first seem possible that he should do it. Who 
 
262 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 even expected it of him? Could any living man, 
 whatever his wrongs, be empowered to demand of 
 him this unbearable sacrifice? According to the 
 voice of Nature and to all human traditions he had 
 a right to his happiness — could even that shadow 
 with the features of Stepan forbid him to be happy? 
 " And I have done no wrong," said Radford to 
 himself; " I did not look for this happiness — it 
 came to me. I have not been false to him. It 
 is enough, I have done enough. God must do the 
 rest. Why should I fling away the treasure that 
 has been given to me? I, too, am a man — I, too, 
 want my share of joy in this world." 
 
 Even while he said it he covered his face with his 
 hands. Why was it that his own words would not 
 convince himself? Was it because in his heart of 
 hearts he knew that there are other voices besides 
 that of Nature, other traditions beyond those that 
 are purely human? His happiness was being of- 
 fered him, but at the price of another's misery, and 
 that other the man to whom he owed the sacred 
 duty of atonement. Even supposing that for Ste- 
 pan there never could be any chance, had he the 
 right to be happy, so long as his comrade was un- 
 happy? 
 
 But supposing that Stepan did not love her? 
 The thought had slunk into his mind, rather than 
 flashed across it, and in his despair he grasped at 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 263 
 
 it as though at a forlorn-hope. What a deUver- 
 ance that would be! But it was only the respite 
 of a minute. The next already he had let go his 
 hold of the thought. His nature was too truthful 
 to allow itself to be thus barefacedly duped. He 
 knew quite well that Stepan loved Antonina: by 
 the other's voice, by his eyes, he knew it, by his 
 own sufferings, and by the fellow-feeling which 
 such suffering engenders. To take refuge behind 
 this make-believe screen would be an act of cow- 
 ardice of which he felt himself incapable. The 
 truth, such as it was, must be reckoned with. 
 
 It was a reckoning which could not be closed in 
 an hour. Two o'clock struck, and Radford still 
 sat on the same spot, and not even the heat of the 
 battle had diminished. At moments it seemed to 
 him that had any other man's happiness been in 
 question, he could have wrecked it with a light 
 heart; but not this one's — no, not this one's. Did 
 that then mean that he was going to renounce her? 
 And he felt his forehead growing cold as he put 
 to himself the question. 
 
 Again there came intervals when self-reproach 
 would take the upper hand. At these times he even 
 lost sight of his own innocence. His conduct for 
 months past struck him as unjustifiable; his sup- 
 posed zeal for Stepan's cause as one long chain of 
 hypocrisy. 
 
264 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 " It is not true that I did not seek my happi- 
 ness," he told himself; " it is for myself I have been 
 working all winter, not for Stepan, and Stepan 
 knows it." 
 
 Only now it occurred to him that for months 
 past his comrade had been almost imperceptibly 
 drawing back from him. He was not aware of 
 noticing this at the moment, for latterly he had 
 in a sort of way lost sight of Stepan, as of many 
 other things as well ; but the impression had never- 
 theless been there, and wanted only the right light 
 to be turned upon it. It was evident that Stepan 
 had understood what was coming long before he 
 had understood it himself. Stepan had understood 
 and mistrusted, probably despised him. 
 
 "And he has every right to despise me," groaned 
 Radford. " O my God! what a failure I have been! 
 How much I meant to do, and how little I have 
 done!" 
 
 And, overpowered by an acute sense of disap- 
 pointment, the worn-out watcher laid his arms upon 
 the table, and, with his head upon them, burst into 
 the first tears he had shed since childhood. At this 
 moment he had not yet formulated any distinct 
 resolution; but he knew already, and had known 
 for some minutes past, how the struggle was going 
 to end. It was his happiness that he was weeping 
 for, quite as much as for his failure. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 265 
 
 When, after barely an hour's sleep, Radford 
 awoke in broad daylight, he was conscious only 
 of a deep exhaustion, which was almost as much 
 physical as mental. The battle was over, and he 
 had conquered; but his mood was subdued rather 
 than triumphant, for this sort of victory drains the 
 strength of the victor. The boyish enthusiasm 
 which had supported him six months ago did not 
 come to his aid to-day. No flattering pictures arose 
 to make the idea of martyrdom alluring. The se- 
 rene spirit of self-sacrifice was gone; it was in a 
 hard, sober mood that he had made up his mind 
 to do that which he beheved to be his duty, and 
 which he believed that he would be able to do. 
 
 Did there still remain a chance for Stepan, or 
 did there not? This was the first point to be con- 
 sidered. Was it not possible, just barely possible, 
 that' this inclining of Antonina towards himself 
 might be no more than a fancy, one of the many 
 fancies in which this spoilt child was always indulg- 
 ing, and which, missing encouragement, might well 
 die a natural death? It was a possibility, and upon 
 this possibility he resolved once more to take up 
 his task. 
 
 " He is so immeasurably my superior in so many 
 ways," he told himself, with bitter satisfaction, " so 
 much more gifted intellectually; and then, see how 
 noble-minded, how forgiving, he has been towards 
 
266 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 me! No, it is impossible that she should not get to 
 love him in time; but she must first understand that 
 I mean to be nothing but a friend." 
 
 To make this clear would be both difficult and 
 delicate, yet Radford did not despair of success. 
 Should he see the danger for himself increasing, 
 there was still one means of killing his own hopes. 
 He had only got to tell Antonina the whole truth 
 with regard to the duel, and, by thus stirring her 
 indignation to its depths, cut himself ofif definitively 
 from her, possibly even lose her regard. It would 
 be bitter; he hoped he would not have to do it, 
 but should the necessity arise he must not hesi- 
 tate. 
 
 He waited a few days longer, in order to steady 
 himself, and then went out to Berenow. 'There, 
 should be no outward difference in his conduct, he 
 told himself, no interruption in his visits, nothing 
 which could betray that that last meeting had in 
 any way been an epoch. This visit was to be a 
 trial of his own strength, and was to give him a 
 clue as to what possibilities the future still held. 
 
 " I think I can do it," he told himself, as at a 
 footpace he rode along between the double row of 
 ancient poplars, whose nakedness not even the 
 month of May had been able completely to cloak, 
 and on whose shabby crowns the crows had built 
 their nests. " Yes ; I think I can do it." 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 267 
 
 But even the sight of the house-door appear- 
 ing in perspective at the end of the avenue set his 
 heart beating against his ribs. 
 
 " I can do it, if only I do not find her alone 
 like last time." 
 
 The ladies were in the park, he was told at the 
 door. 
 
 " The ladies ! " That meant that her aunt was 
 with her. 
 
 He had not very far to go before finding the 
 Baroness, sitting in an attitude of great discomfort 
 upon a very low and very massive stone bench, and 
 with her skirts carefully gathered up from possible 
 contact with the gravel. 
 
 " I have begged Antusia to order basket- 
 chairs,'' she explained to Radford in the same 
 breath with her greeting. " These things are sim- 
 ply ruin to one's clothes. If one has to sit out of 
 doors, basket-chairs at least help to diminish the 
 suffering." 
 
 Radford drew a breath of relief. A glance cast 
 furtively around him had shown him that Antonina 
 was nowhere within sight. He was thanking 
 heaven for this respite, which would give him time 
 to steady his nerves, but the Baroness was too quick 
 for him. 
 
 " You are wondering where Antusia is," she 
 remarked benevolently. " It is terrible to have to 
 
268 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 confess it, but she has gone oflf bird-nesting at the 
 other side of the park. Those old habits of hers 
 are much more difficult to eradicate than any sort 
 of weeds." And the Baroness sighed despondently. 
 Then her face lighted up with the reflection of some 
 new idea. 
 
 " You have come most opportunely, Lieutenant 
 Radford; would it be asking too much of you to 
 go after her and bring her back? She must have 
 ransacked dozens of nests by this time, and I am 
 sure she is tearing her frock to tatters upon those 
 dreadful thorns." 
 
 " But I do not know where to look for her," 
 said Radford, with a curious sensation of alarm. 
 " This park is so huge, I should probably only lose 
 my way and not find Pani Antonina." 
 
 " Oh no, you will not lose your way," smilingly 
 persisted the Baroness. " She went off over there 
 to the right. I cannot possibly go myself, because 
 those walks would be the ruin of my shoes." 
 
 " Had I not better tell one of the servants to 
 look for her? They know their way about." 
 
 "No, no, no; the servants are all busy. You 
 will oblige me greatly by going. I daresay she 
 is not far ofif, and I shall wait for you here." 
 
 Radford turned without another word and went 
 of? in the direction indicated. Evidently he was 
 going to be let oflf nothing. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 269 
 
 The path he was following was the same he had 
 followed on his last visit, and would in time lead 
 him to the spot on which he had seen her last. She 
 would be there again to-day, he told himself, among 
 the hawthorn and bramble blossoms, waiting for 
 him to come to speak. 
 
 He moved along slowl}^, almost reluctantly. 
 These distant paths were occasionally obstructed 
 by some mighty tree-branch lying across the pass- 
 age, while ever and again he had to make his way 
 through the untrimmed lilac and syringa bushes, 
 whose perfumed boughs, still wet with morning 
 dew, brushed his neck and ears. At another time 
 these obstacles would have irritated him, to-day 
 he was glad of them, since they gave him an excuse 
 for lingering. Was it not possible that he might 
 yet miss her, and, after all, escape the dreaded tete- 
 a-tete? 
 
 Now and then he stood still and listened intent- 
 ly. But no sound betrayed her presence. There 
 was nothing to be heard but a continual chirping 
 and twittering close at hand, and in the distance 
 the cuckoo screaming from the hills. Sometimes 
 a woodpecker's beak tapped against a tree stem, 
 and sometimes a bird flew up so close to him as 
 to touch his sleeve. 
 
 The spot where Antonina had been raking 
 
 leaves last time was deserted to-day. Radford 
 
 18 
 
270 THE WRONG MAM. 
 
 walked on a little faster. On other spots he looked 
 for her, in shady nooks where the brackens were 
 beginning to uncurl their brown rings, and on open 
 places on which the spring flowers stood as thick 
 as the grass. But she was on none of these. Quite 
 half an hour had passed before he emerged by 
 the side of a sheet of water, on which, in former 
 days, swans had sailed, and an ornamental boat 
 been tethered, but now likewise fallen into neglect. 
 The remains of the boat were indeed still rotting 
 by the water's edge; but the swans had long since 
 fallen a prey to foxes, and slimy duckweed disfig- 
 ured the face of the little lake. 
 
 Suddenly, by the side of the water, Radford 
 caught sight of Antonina standing with her back 
 against a tree-stem, and her arms folded across 
 her breast. Her head was somewhat bent, and 
 her eyes were fixed upon a newly sprouting fern 
 which with the point of her foot she was idly stir- 
 ring. The passive attitude was so unlike anything 
 he had ever seen in her that Radford instinctively 
 stood still, feeling almost as though he had no right 
 to obtrude himself upon her in this moment of 
 abstraction. And as he looked his courage faltered 
 a little. His task was going to be more difficult 
 than he had supposed. 
 
 The next moment a twig snapped beside him, 
 and she looked up. Perceiving him, she coloured 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 27 1 
 
 vividly, and then, quickly stooping, gathered the 
 fern at her feet. 
 
 " We have lovely ferns here, have we not? " she 
 said, not waiting for him to speak, and with only 
 one swift, sharp glance of inquiry into his face. 
 
 " Yes, lovely ferns," agreed Radford, summon- 
 ing his resolutions to his aid. " Your aunt sent 
 me to look for you," he added immediately. " I 
 think she is growing anxious at your absence." 
 
 Antonina looked at him again with keen eyes. 
 
 " Ah, yes, I daresay," she said quickly, and in 
 a tone which might have meant either relief or dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 " I must have done it very well," said Radford 
 to himself. " When she looked at me the first 
 time she was asking whether she had betrayed her- 
 self the other day, and now she believes that she 
 has not." 
 
 " Baroness Mielecka is rather anxious about 
 your tearing your dress," he remarked aloud. " By 
 the by, I suppose you have found a great many 
 birds' nests by this time? " 
 
 " Not many," said Antonina, with a little con- 
 fusion. " There are so many things to look at just 
 now and to listen to, that I rather forgot about the 
 nests. But we had better be going back to my aunt, 
 had we not? " 
 
 "There seem to be a great many birds here," 
 
272 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 said Radford, for the sake of keeping up the con- 
 versation, as they turned into a path. 
 
 " Thousands of them. You see they have had 
 the park to themselves for years past. Even now 
 I cannot bear to turn them out. Unluckily those 
 horrid cuckoos destroy so many of the singing 
 birds. It was cuckoos' eggs that I was looking 
 for this morning, for I always take a pleasure in 
 turning them out — that is, I was meaning to look 
 for them." 
 
 " A great many birds and a great many flowers ; 
 why, I don't know what half of these things are 
 called." 
 
 They were crossing a bit of meadow sprinkled 
 with blue and white and yellow stars. 
 
 " I don't know many of their names either, but 
 I know all their faces. I have been on nodding 
 terms with every flower in the park ever since my 
 babyhood. Where did you say my aunt is waiting 
 for us? " 
 
 " Somewhere over there. I think we are in the 
 right direction, unless we have lost our way." 
 
 And, indeed, among those thick-grown trees and 
 numerous turns it was almost easier to lose one's 
 way than to find it. Radford had begun by walk- 
 ing fast, but gradually, and without his knowing 
 it, his pace relaxed. This green shade was so de- 
 licious that it seemed a pity to hurry through it. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 273 
 
 Even the profusion of flowers on all sides, though 
 he was not distinctly aware of their presence, the 
 scents in the air, the twittering in the branches, 
 helped to excite him pleasantly. Well might he 
 not know the names of half of the blossoms around 
 him, for owing to the mixture of common weeds 
 and of garden flowers run wild, and more still of 
 the half-breeds produced by this contact, the flora 
 of the Berenow park was calculated to puzzle even 
 a botanist. Here the wall-flower and the lily of the 
 valley stood cheek-by-jowl with the field daisy; and 
 only by an occasional patch of degenerate sweet- 
 william or dwarfed pansy was it possible to trace 
 the spots which in. days long passed had been 
 decked with symmetrical flower-beds. 
 
 The charm of the moment seemed to have im- 
 parted itself to Antonina as well, for she also had 
 ceased to hurry. Thus for many minutes they 
 walked on, occasionally speaking, but often falling 
 into silence; and every word that was said was ac- 
 companied by the scent of the lilac blossoms, and 
 every silence was filled with the cry of the cuckoo. 
 
 As the minutes passed, the silences grew longer, 
 and Radford began to be aware of an increasing 
 oppression. He had thought he had quite steeled 
 himself for this meeting with Antonina, but Anto- 
 nina to-day was not quite the same Antonina whom 
 he had hitherto known. Since last they met some- 
 
274 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 thing had softened her usual brusguerie, and this 
 unusual gentleness, both in tone and manner, made 
 him all the more fearful for his resolution. 
 
 It was when, on turning a corner, another long 
 walk was entered, a close, shady walk that was as 
 dim as a bower, that Radford became aware that 
 something must immediately be done to avert the 
 danger that was close at hand. He could not go 
 on thus for many more minutes without succumb- 
 ing; of this he felt certain. 
 
 This, then, was the moment for doing that 
 which, in case of necessity, he had resolved to do. 
 The necessity had come much quicker than he had 
 supposed, and the thing must be done now, immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 " Pani Antonina," he began, without any prep- 
 aration, " I have a confession to make to you." 
 
 At the abruptly spoken words Antonina started 
 just perceptibly, then quickly recovered herself. 
 
 " Do you remember telHng me your bad opin- 
 ion of me last year, when we first met? " 
 
 Radford spoke hurriedly, for he had seen the 
 start. 
 
 " Yes, I remember," she said, in some disturb- 
 ance. 
 
 " Since that day I have often been on the point 
 of telling you that there is even more in that mat- 
 ter of the duel than you suppose." 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 275 
 
 " What more can there be? Of course it was 
 very wrong of you to send the challenge." 
 
 " The challenge would have been nothing if 
 Milnovics had ever done me any wrong, but he 
 never did so." 
 
 " Then why did you challenge him?" 
 
 " Because I did not take the trouble to identify 
 the right man. Listen, I beg of you." And in a 
 few breathless sentences he gave her the outline 
 of the unhappy episode. When he had done she 
 looked into his face. 
 
 "Why do you tell me this?" she asked, in a 
 tone of surprise. 
 
 " In order that you should know what sort of 
 a man you have admitted to your house. I feel as 
 though, until now, I had been accepted on false 
 pretences. You were scarcely able to forgive me 
 for the mere fact of the duel, what will you say now 
 that you know the cause of this duel to have been 
 utterly unjust? " 
 
 She did not speak at once, and began pulling 
 some leaves oS the twigs that were nearest at 
 hand. As she walked slowly by his side there was 
 a frown of perplexity and disturbance upon her 
 face. 
 
 " I wish you would say something," said Rad- 
 ford impatiently. 
 
 Antonina opened her hand and watched the 
 
276 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 leaves which she had gathered flutter slowly to the 
 ground. 
 
 " Of course it was very wrong of you," she said, 
 without any excitement. " And its being a mis- 
 take makes it all the sadder for poor Lieutenant 
 Milnovics. But, really, when you come to think of 
 it, it was quite as wrong of him to accept your chal- 
 lenge. Yes; very wrong and foolish of him," she 
 continued, with more vivacity. " If he had spoken 
 out then, everything would have been cleared up 
 and all sorts of complications saved." 
 
 As she spoke, the bench on which Baroness 
 Mielecka was still patiently waiting had come in 
 sight, and Radford was glad that it was so. He 
 had said nothing in answer to Antonina's words. 
 He understood that his last desperate remedy had 
 failed, and that since, after all, he was too weak to 
 do that which he had intended to do, his only safety 
 must now be that which lies in flight. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 It was a dull summer at the plebanija this year. 
 The small excitements caused by Lieutenant Rad- 
 ford's visits had ceased, for in the middle of May 
 the lieutenant had quite abruptly, and without any 
 especially visible cause, taken leave of absence for 
 several months, and was spending the summer with 
 his parents. It was strange what a difference the 
 presence or absence of this one man, whom not 
 even his most ardent flatterers had ever ventured 
 to call a brilliant conversationalist, made for quite 
 half-a-dozen people. Outwardly, indeed, the every- 
 day routine was the same as ever: the Popa said 
 Mass in his tattered vestments, and surreptitiously 
 patted the head of every baby he met in the village 
 — he could not do so openly, for fear of hurting 
 the feelings of any one at home; Madame Serpow 
 made large stores of raspberry jam (which cost 
 nothing, since the berries grew wild on the hillock), 
 and Jusia stole as much of it as she could lay hands 
 on; Agniecka continued to wait for her Ladislas; 
 
 and the Deacon crept on his way, with his back 
 
 277 
 
278 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 bowed under the load of his troubles, as far from 
 the peaceful resignation of the Popa as from the 
 sham cheerfulness of his sister-in-law ; but although 
 some sense of soreness, or possibly pride, made 
 most of these people shy of mentioning Radford's 
 name, yet each was aware of missing him in his or 
 her own particular way. It would happen that even 
 Andrei, while herding his one cow by the river- 
 side, with a stick in one hand and a book of church 
 songs in the other — for Andrei was church-singer 
 as well as everything else, and economised his 
 time just as carefully as his wax-candles — would 
 look keenly at any stray horseman that appeared 
 on the road, and think sadly of the silver coin he 
 was wont to get for holding the Pan Lieutenant's 
 horse; while by the urchins, who had grown ac- 
 customed to scramble for handfuls of coppers in 
 the ditch, Radford's absence was considered as 
 nothing less than a public calamity. 
 
 To the Popa it seemed evident that Stepan, too, 
 was pining for the companionship of his comrade. 
 What else could mean this curious irritability and 
 occasional shortness of temper, which in him was 
 quite new? and why otherwise should his natural 
 reticence, which for a time had seemed almost to 
 be melting, have within the last month or two be- 
 come so strangely aggravated? Possibly the want 
 of companionship was enhanced by the want of 
 
THE WRONG MAN. , 279 
 
 interest in his occupation. So long as the Pani 
 had been busy with the school, her eagerness had 
 doubtless imparted itself to Stepan; but it was 
 evident that she had now grown a little tired of 
 the school. Indeed, other people besides Father 
 J*"loryan had noticed that the Pani was becoming 
 ever more restless, ever more difficult to please. 
 To all appearances the beautiful summer months 
 hung more heavily on her hands than the dismal 
 winter months had done. Upon spurts of feverish 
 activity there followed intervals of apparent apathy. 
 Plans were made and dropped, reforms begun and 
 left standing midway. She wanted to introduce a 
 new costume into the village; to experiment upon 
 the cultivation of the vine in Poland; to do a whole 
 list of other things, of which the mere mention of 
 each was a shock to B erenow traditions; and then 
 when a dozen bales of striped cotton had arrived, 
 and hundreds of young vine-plants been imported 
 at a cost which set her guardian's hair on end, she 
 changed her mind about the costumes, and forgot 
 about the vines, which decayed slowly in an out- 
 house, while furnishing an excellent retreat for 
 families of young rats, as well as for any stray snake 
 that might wander in. Baroness Mielecka was be- 
 ginning to find herself at the end of her not very 
 profuse wits. A husband seemed to her the only 
 remedy for the present state of things; but where 
 
28o THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 was a husband to be found, here at B erenow, since 
 Lieutenant Radford had apparently failed? 
 
 " And yet she would only have to show herself 
 in society," the Baroness would regretfully reflect. 
 It had been impossible to watch her charge as 
 nervously as she had been doing all summer, with- 
 out noting that there were other changes in her 
 besides an increase of eccentricity. Month by 
 month she was growing more capricious, but 
 month by month also she was growing more mel- 
 lowed in colouring, more perfectly proportioned 
 in form, better calculated to dazzle society and to 
 turn the heads of men, and, if need be, break their 
 hearts. 
 
 " But what is the good of it all, since she will 
 not even enter a drawing- rooin?" the Baroness 
 would almost sob in many a solitary hour. " I do 
 believe she will end in being an old maid, unless, 
 indeed, Lieutenant Radford comes back." 
 
 But it was long before Lieutenant Radford came 
 back. He was not to see B erenow again until all 
 the flowers that had bloomed upon that beautiful 
 day in May when last he walked in the park had 
 been reduced to brown stalks, and all the birds that 
 had then filled his ears with their songs were either 
 gone to warmer climates, or else sitting shivering 
 and silent upon the bare branches. He had hoped 
 not to see it for longer yet, even though his leave 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 28 1 
 
 was now definitely at an end; the fault of his com- 
 ing now was not his own, but Father Floryan's. 
 
 " Only imagine what Andrei tells me," the Popa 
 announced on returning from a baptism one dreary 
 November afternoon. " He says that on Wednes- 
 day, when he was in Lohatyn in order to have the 
 censer mended, he spoke to Lieutenant Radford's 
 servant, and learnt that the lieutenant has been 
 back for nearly a fortnight, and without coming 
 near us! I wonder what can be the cause? " 
 
 The Popa spoke with a touch of agitation. He 
 was always just a trifle disturbed after having 
 poured the baptismal water on the head of one of 
 his new-born parishioners, whose puckered face and 
 hairless skull was wont for a short space to render 
 acute his latent yearnings after possible grandchil- 
 dren; and the piece of news imparted by Andrei 
 had not tended to lessen his disturbance. 
 
 " The cause is probably," remarked Madame 
 Serpow, in her driest tone, " that the books and 
 the tobacco and the eatables which he has brought 
 us have ended by satisfying his conscience, and 
 that the poor young man is tired of our society. 
 It was bound to happen sooner or later." 
 
 Father Floryan shook his head incredulously. 
 
 " No, no, Jadwiga ; I do not believe that of 
 Lieutenant Radford: he is not like other young 
 men. Most likely he has heard of poor Jusia's sick- 
 
282 THE WROJNli MAJN. 
 
 ness and is afraid of intruding, but Andrei has to 
 go in again on Monday to fetch the censer, and I 
 shall send him a message then to say that we ex- 
 pect him." 
 
 Ever since the beginning of the autumn Jusia 
 had been suffering from what appeared to be a 
 severe fit of indigestion, produced, no doubt, by 
 the accumulation of sweet stuffs in the stomach. 
 The raspberries, which had been particularly plen- 
 tiful this year, probably deserved a large share of 
 the blame. 
 
 It was in consequence of the Popa's message 
 that Radford, seeing that there was no further 
 chance of lying concealed, came out to Berenow 
 in the course of the following week. His visit was 
 to be confined to the plebanija. 
 
 There was no one but Agniecka at home, watch- 
 ing over Jusia. Stepan, he was told, was busy at 
 the schoolhouse, and both the Popa and his sister 
 had gone up to the old church. There was a service 
 going on there at this moment, for this chanced 
 to be the All Souls' Day of the Ruthenians. 
 
 Radford went up the hill, rather than to the 
 schoolhouse. Thoirgh it was little past the middle 
 of the day, a low-hanging mist, which had not lifted 
 since morning, made the dusk appear close at hand. 
 The sound of monotonous chants reached him 
 long before he had gained the top, and through 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 283 
 
 the open door he could see lights dimly burning. 
 He stood still and looked in curiously. The com- 
 bined smell of incense, hot wax, and compressed 
 humanity met him with the abruptness of a slap 
 on the face. The bareheaded peasants were kneel- 
 ing in closely packed rows, their eyes all turned 
 towards the altar. Huge guttering candles of dark 
 yellow wax, held by many a work-worn right hand, 
 shone like torches in the interior of the dim church, 
 for even here the mist seemed to have penetrated. 
 Over the heads of kneeling men and women 
 Radford could catch sight of Father Floryan, in 
 mourning vestments, reading the service, as well as 
 of Andrei assisting him in an old uniform coat of 
 Stepan's, minus the facings; and being possessed 
 of excellent eyesight, he could even distinguish the 
 empty mustard-pots and pickle-jars that were 
 doing duty for flower-vases on the altar, and which 
 doubtless were the same he had himself brought to 
 Berenow, in the days when he had still expended 
 his ingenuity in inventing excuses for such small 
 gifts as could not be refused. His eyesight only 
 required to be a little more excellent still to enable 
 him to decipher the inscription of " Coleman's 
 Mustard " below the bouquets of artificial roses, and 
 to ascertain that the paper lilies on the Virgin's 
 altar had taken the place of " Batty's Curry Pow- 
 der." 
 
284 "^^^ WRONG MAN. 
 
 " Andrei is a genius," it passed through his mind 
 to say, as his glance moved on. 
 
 It was a darkly-clad, black-veiled figure kneel- 
 ing alone beside the one bench which the church 
 contained, that caught his eye this time. Though 
 half-screened by the peasants, Radford did not 
 think he had mistaken her. No, he decided, he 
 would not go into the church, after all; this was 
 a danger of which he had not thought. 
 
 The graveyard outside was almost deserted. 
 Here and there only a solitary figure was kneeling 
 beside one of the mounds. Great, ragged shreds 
 of mist, caught in the bare tree branches, floated 
 above the poor graves, rudely decorated with scar- 
 let berries and frost-bitten ferns, with here and 
 there a penny candle flickering faintly, all that the 
 season as well as the leisure of the hard-worked 
 mourners could afiford. 
 
 Radford had not gone many steps when one of 
 the figures rose, and he recognised Madame Ser- 
 pow. Perceiving him, she stufifed a large cotton 
 handkerchief into her pocket, and bent down to 
 give the finishing touches to a wreath of snowber- 
 ries that was lying upon the mound beside her. 
 At sight of the pocket-handkerchief Radford re- 
 membered that one of her children was buried here. 
 He was always aware of a feeling of surprise when- 
 ever any chance circumstance brought it home to 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 285 
 
 him that this parchment-like old woman was not 
 an old maid. 
 
 It had been his intention to 'return straight to 
 the plebanija, but it was impossible to pass with- 
 out a word. 
 
 "Ah! so you have actually come," Madame 
 Serpow observed, while still busy with her snow- 
 berries. " I- think it is very hard upon you to be 
 sent for in this fashion. This sort of thing is folly," 
 she added, more abruptly. 
 
 " What sort of thing? " 
 
 " This dressing up of the graves. I do it be- 
 cause I have fallen into the habit, but really it is 
 folly. Do you believe my Stasiu will sleep better 
 because of this compound of twigs and berries 
 above his head? I do not believe it. My last boy 
 is buried here, you know," she went on, a little more 
 quickly. " He survived his father by a few weeks, 
 though he was doomed before then, and I brought 
 him with me here. Change of air was to do him 
 good, but it didn't; it was just ordained, I sup- 
 pose, that it shouldn't do him good, or else," went 
 on Madame Serpow, according to her habit of shift- 
 ing the blame for everything backwards and for- 
 wards between Providence and her fellow-crea- 
 tures, " maybe it was those cold baths, which that 
 fool of a Lohatyn doctor prescribed, which finished 
 him ofif. Anyway, he zvas finished ofif, and here 
 19 
 
286 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 he lies. I know the place by this crooked birch 
 beside it." 
 
 Her long bony fingers went on picking nerv- 
 ously at the white berries while she spoke. Rad- 
 ford looked on in silence. It was the first time that 
 he had heard Madame Serpow speak of that long- 
 buried married life which must seem to herself al- 
 most like a dream. 
 
 At last she stood up straight, unbending her 
 long back, and beginning to draw on a pair of shab- 
 by cloth gloves richly encrusted with the droppings 
 of blest candles. 
 
 As she raised her head she looked Radford full 
 in the face, and there were no tears in her eyes now, 
 whatever there may have been before. 
 
 " You have grown older this summer," she re- 
 marked sharply. 
 
 " Of course I have grown older," he answered, 
 with a constrained laugh. " Six months older." 
 
 " Not six months, rather six years. You have 
 lost something since you went away, and also you 
 have gained something. Tell me, by the way, have 
 you been up to the house yet? " 
 
 "No; not yet." 
 
 "That will be thought strange of you. No 
 doubt you are expected. Let me see — is not that 
 the Pani herself coming from the church?" 
 
 Following the direction of her eyes, Radford. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 287 
 
 turned and saw Antonina slowly walking among 
 the graves, standing still now and then to look at 
 one of the decorated mounds. She had evidently 
 not yet perceived the two people standing beside 
 the small grave with the big wreath of snowber- 
 ries, but the direction she was following would 
 probably lead her past the spot. 
 
 " You will excuse me, will you not? " said Rad- 
 ford, turning back to Madame Serpow, and speak- 
 ing in a tone of sudden disturbance; "but I am 
 afraid I cannot stay here any longer. I must go 
 to the schoolhouse; I believe Stepan is there." 
 
 Madame Serpow fixed her grey eyes upon his 
 face; they looked more penetrating than ever 
 under their slightly reddened lids. 
 
 " Why are you in such a hurry? I thought you 
 wanted to visit the Popaf " 
 
 " Yes ; but the Popa is occupied. I shall wait 
 for him at the plebanija." 
 
 " You had better stay where you are," said 
 Madame Serpow, and unexpectedly she laid her 
 hand upon his arm, lowering her voice a little as 
 she spoke. " Running away will make no differ- 
 ence in the end." 
 
 Radford flushed with surprise. " What do you 
 mean?" he asked, almost roughly. 
 
 " You know quite well what I mean. At this 
 moment you want to run away, and I think I know 
 
288 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 from what. ■ I am not quite blind yet, you see, even 
 though I am an old woman. You mustn't forget 
 that I, too, have been young once upon a time, and 
 have also wanted to be happy." 
 
 With a sort of gulp she interrupted herself, and 
 again stooped for one second, and almost impa- 
 tiently pushed the wreath into another position. 
 
 " You are only losing your strength with these 
 would-be flights, and, whether you fly or not, every- 
 thing will happen exactly as it is ordained. You 
 think I saw nothing all last winter? You want to 
 be generous, but that is all folly, my friend. Take 
 my advice and make no more plans for the other 
 one. Beside you he simply isn't in the running; 
 and even putting you out of the calculation," she 
 added, with cold-blooded distinctness, " you ought 
 to have learnt by this time that a black man hardly 
 ever has a chance with a black woman. Why, they 
 even have the same eyebrows, and people don't 
 fall in love with what they see daily in the glass. 
 Don't you know that you are mapped out to be a 
 brunette's hero? All yellow-haired men are." 
 
 Radford listened in amazement. How had this 
 withered old woman come to read his secret with 
 such ridiculous ease? 
 
 But there was no time to answer or to ask, for 
 Antonina was already close at hand. On perceiv- 
 ing the two figures she coloured vividly, and for 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 289 
 
 one second stood still, then came quickly towards 
 the group. 
 
 " You are back," she said with undisguised de- 
 light. " I am so glad to see you ! " 
 
 In the first impulse of surprise she had held 
 out her hand to Radford in the old friendly fash- 
 ion, and even her brown eyes were laughing with 
 a frankly childish pleasure. 
 
 Radford never even saw her hand, he was too 
 busy peering fiercely through her black lace veil. 
 She was more beautiful; yes, certainly she was 
 more beautiful than she had been in spring. The 
 costly fur which touched her flushed cheek set off 
 her warm colouring to perfection. 
 
 " Are you not going to shake hands with Pani 
 Antonin'a? " said Madame Serpow's grating voice 
 close beside him. 
 
 Then, only, he perceived his negligence and 
 would have repaired it, but at that moment An- 
 tonina quickly withdrew her hand into her muflf. 
 Something about his face or manner had evidently 
 helped her to recover herself. The childish joy 
 faded out of 'her face, together with the bright 
 colour. 
 
 " You have been a long time away," she said 
 in a soberer tone, though the delight of the meet- 
 ing was still reflected in her eyes. " I suppose this 
 is your first visit to Berenow? " 
 
290 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 " My first, yes; and probably my last for some 
 time," said Radford, looking not at Antonina but 
 at Madame Serpow. " I am very busy this winter, 
 far busier than last winter. Even to-day I have no 
 time. You will excuse me, will you not? I told 
 you that I must look for Stepan." 
 
 He was too excited to know how harshly he 
 was speaking, or to understand that the abruptness 
 with which he turned away came near to being 
 openly rude. 
 
 Madame Serpow looked after his retreating 
 figure with astonishment and disapproval painted 
 upon her stern features. When the grey mist had 
 swallowed him up, she shook her head once delib- 
 erately, and turned again towards Antonina. 
 
 The girl, too, was staring into the mist, and 
 on her face, too, astonishment was written; she 
 had grown somewhat pale, and tears of mortified 
 pride stood in her widely opened eyes. 
 
 " Let him go," said the old woman, with her 
 hard smile, " it won't alter anything in the end." 
 
 And at that moment a chorus of many voices 
 rose upon the air, and from out of the open church- 
 door dark figures came pouring tumultuously, each 
 jostling the other with hard elbows in the race for 
 some especial green mound. The indoor service 
 was at an end, and the blessing of the graves about 
 to begin. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Antusia, do you really mean it? " 
 
 It was Baroness Mielecka who spoke, and her 
 expression was that of a person who has just heard 
 a piece of news which seems too good to be true. 
 
 " I always mean what I say," was Antonina'& 
 reply as, without looking at her aunt, she left the 
 room. 
 
 The Baroness remained seated alone at the 
 breakfast-table, plunged in a sort of ecstatic be- 
 wilderment. Truly it was high time that some- 
 thing should intervene to save her from despair. 
 The months of November and December had 
 trailed past in one long ennui, scarcely lightened 
 by a few very brief visits of Lieutenant Radford, 
 whose military duties, according to his own ac- 
 count, were very much more pressing this winter 
 than they had been last year. January promised 
 to be no better, since the prospect of the Carnival 
 was calculated only to raise pangs of regret in the 
 would-be chaperon's bosom. What was the good 
 
 of knowing that there was to be a ball at Lohatyn 
 291 
 
202 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 on the loth, since she would in all probability not 
 even have a chance of knowing who had worn what 
 on the occasion? 
 
 As a last desperate means of killing the winter, 
 the Baroness was beginning seriously to think of 
 reading up the questions of Women's Rights and 
 of Free Education, both of which she had been 
 enthusiastically defending for thirty years past, and 
 had for this purpose actually paid one visit to the 
 Berenow library, when the face of the situation 
 was completely changed by Antonina quietly an- 
 nouncing one morning that she had made up her 
 mind to go to the ball on the loth. 
 
 She made the announcement deliberately and 
 a trifle defiantly, as though she was quite aware 
 of the astonishment about to be produced, and 
 prepared to challerige any criticism of her ac- 
 tions. 
 
 But the Baroness was far too happy either to 
 criticise or to question. Having realised that this 
 was a fact, not a dream, she rushed straight into 
 preparations. Time was terribly short, seeing that 
 Antonina had not said a word until the 4th, and 
 it was impossible to avoid regretting that the de- 
 lightful preliminaries to the loth, instead of being 
 lovingly spun out from week to week, had neces- 
 sarily to be reduced to a few bald telegrams ad- 
 dressed to Lemberg dressmakers. But even as it 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 293 
 
 was, her joy in the new turn of events was equalled 
 only by her terror lest any obstacle should inter- 
 vene. Since Antonina had changed her mind once, 
 might she not change it again? The thought kept 
 the Baroness in a state of suppressed panic. It 
 was only when on the afternoon of the loth she 
 found herself seated beside her niece in the sledge 
 that was to convey them to Lohatyn, with a trunk 
 containing two ball-dresses safely strapped on at 
 the back, that the anxious chaperon drew her first 
 deep breath of relief. 
 
 There were various strange sledges to be seen 
 at Lohatyn to-day, and the spare rooms in the 
 " Black Eagle " were very fully occupied, for the 
 first ball of the Carnival was always well attended. 
 Almost every name known in the neighbourhood 
 was to be represented here to-night, and not one 
 officer in Lohatyn would, of his own free will, miss 
 appearing. 
 
 Radford was among the first who reached the 
 ballroom. Even though the preparations might 
 not be complete, it would be_ more amusing to 
 watch the Jewish waiters climbing on the chairs 
 to light the candles, than to sit alone in his lodg- 
 ing. He was getting to hate that small room as 
 an animal may hate its cage. He meant for the 
 future to spend as little time in it as necessity per- 
 mitted. To him, almost more than to any of his 
 
294 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 comrades, the Carnival was welcome, since it gave 
 him an opportunity of escape. For weeks past he 
 had been thinking of it, and had come to distinct 
 resolutions. Last winter he had been a looker-on, 
 but this winter he meant to be a partaker, a dancer, 
 a Lothario, if need be; anything that could help 
 him to think of other things and to draw a veil over 
 one persistent recollection. Outward distraction 
 was a remedy which he had not yet tried; he had 
 heard that it could be of good service at times, and 
 he had determined to give it a chance. 
 
 It was in accordance with his new principles 
 that he arrived at the " Black Eagle " as early as 
 the eagerest of young dancers. The scene scarcely 
 looked very festive as yet, for Frau Apfelgriin, the 
 proprietress, would never have dreamt of having 
 the lights lit even one minute before the arrival 
 of the -first guest, and was as yet occupied in super- 
 intending the waxing of the floor. Young Na- 
 thaniel Apfelgriin assisted his mother by passing 
 the legs of the cane chairs in review, and skilfully 
 contriving to prop against the wall those whose 
 supports struck him as not being equal to an in- 
 dependent position, occasionally, in extreme cases, 
 doing a little doctoring with ends of twine. Only 
 one fiddler had arrived, and was laboriously tuning 
 his instrument. As yet the scene was illuminated 
 principally by the brilliant moonlight, which, re- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 295 
 
 fleeted from the brilliant snow, poured in unchecked 
 through the three curtainless windows. 
 
 Another half-hour passed before the room be- 
 gan gradually to fill. Almost all the figures and all 
 the faces with which Radford had been familiar 
 last Carnival followed each other through the open 
 doorway, at longer or shorter intervals. There 
 was scarcely one awanting, and there had as yet 
 been nothing new. He turned away with a feeling 
 of weariness. And yet he must make up his mind 
 to choose a partner for the first quadrille. While 
 he was consulting his programme, there was an ex- 
 clamation close to him, and turning round, he saw 
 Baroness Mielecka just crossing the threshold of 
 the dancing-room, and immediately behind her An- 
 tonina, dressed in a cloudy white gown, and with 
 a wreath of white flowers in her hair. As he looked 
 he felt the blood retreating to his heart, and the 
 next moment mounting again to his face with al- 
 most unbearable heat. But even now he did not 
 quite trust his eyes. The thing was too utterly 
 unexpected to be believed on the instant. When 
 he had looked at her hard for a minute longer, he 
 turned to the comrade who was beside him. 
 
 " Can you tell me, Pribnoff," he asked, " who 
 that lady in white is who has just conle in?" 
 
 "That? Why, that is the Bruno wska girl, of 
 course. Didn't you know they were coming? Frau 
 
296 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 Apfelgrun told me yesterday that the rooms were 
 engaged. And, by the by, she must be an ac- 
 quaintance of yours; she Hves at Berenow, you 
 know. Surely I have heard you mention her?" 
 
 "Yes, I have seen her," said Radford lamely; 
 " but people look so different in ball-dress." 
 
 He had heard the name now and could no 
 longer doubt. Antonina was really here, but how 
 could he explain her presence? Was it a sudden 
 craving for gaiety which had brought her? But 
 why should one to whom the world stood open 
 seek this gaiety in Frau Apfelgriin's Hotel rather 
 than in Lemberg salons? The question set his 
 heart beating faster. Across the breadth of the 
 room he attempted to study her face. There was 
 a remarkable contrast between that of the chaperon 
 and her charge. It was on the elder face, rather 
 than on the younger one, that joyful expectation 
 was written. The Baroness, in her mauve brocade, 
 looked simply radiant, while Antonina appeared 
 indeed to be excited, but to judge from the ex- 
 pression of her black eyebrows and the restless- 
 ness of her hands, it was not entirely a pleasurable 
 excitement. Her aunt alone knew that this dis- 
 turbance had been growing for some days past, 
 and had been alarmed by the obstinate silence 
 which the girl had maintained during the last few 
 hours. Was it possible that, after all, she regretted 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 297 
 
 her resolution? Well, thank heaven, it was too 
 late now for complete retractation. 
 
 The music struck up while Radford still stood 
 watching, and at the same moment he was roused 
 by the voice of Lieutenant Berger, of his own 
 squadron. 
 
 " Look here, Radford," he was eagerly saying, 
 " I am told that you know the Pani Brunowska ; 
 you will introduce me, won't you? It would be 
 nonsense not to dance with a girl like that, and 
 scarcely anybody else seems to know her. Come 
 along, I beg of you, while the waltz is still on.'' 
 
 It was a request which could not in common 
 politeness be refused. Radford led his comrade 
 across the room and introduced him to the two 
 ladies. 
 
 It was with an almost prim little nod that An- 
 tonina replied to his address. To-day she did not 
 hold out her hand, as she had done when she met 
 him in the old graveyard on All Souls' Day, neither 
 was there any smile upon her lips. Without a word 
 she straightway rose and accepted Lieutenant Ber- 
 ger's invitation to a waltz tour. 
 
 While she was whirling round the room on his 
 comrade's arm, Radford stood and followed the 
 pair with his eyes. When he brought up Lieuten- 
 ant Berger it had been his intention to do no more 
 than introduce the other and then retire. But An- 
 
2q8 the wrong man. 
 
 tonina's gesture of greeting had given his thoughts 
 another direction. Though she had not spoken, he 
 was instantly aware of some acute change in her 
 manner. How was this? Could it be possible that 
 he was alarming himself uselessly? The supposi- 
 tion that Antonina had come to this ball on his 
 account, though in one sense almost terrifying, 
 had, in another, been unavoidably agreeable, and 
 the discovery that possibly he had been mistaken 
 in this supposition was just as unavoidably morti- 
 fying. He began to wonder how it would be possi- 
 ble to test this point a little further. Should the 
 danger still be present, he would naturally have to 
 resume his flight; but first he would like to satisfy 
 himself that the danger actually existed. There 
 was a touch of absurdity in running away from a 
 mere phantom. 
 
 Thus he told himself as he watched the figure 
 in white being claimed by one partner after another. 
 An ever-growing uneasiness took possession of him 
 AS he stood thus inactive among so many moving 
 figures. Whenever he left his post, it was only to 
 lead up another of his comrades to Antonina, for 
 it was to him that everybody insisted on coming 
 for an introduction; and each of them in turn laid 
 his arm round her waist and carried her oflf with 
 him to the tune of the Blue Danube, and only he 
 alone was to stand as though in disgrace and look. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 299 
 
 on at their enjoyment. Why he alone? The ques- 
 tion came oftener and oftener. Had not he as 
 good a right as they to feel her fingers between 
 his own, and her arm upon his shoulder? As with 
 strained eyes he followed her, his pulses were be- 
 ginning to fly. The instinctive dread of approach- 
 ing her which at first had held him back had not 
 been conquered, it had melted away in the heat of 
 desire. Without being aware of having formulated 
 any resolution, Radford stepped up to Antonina's 
 side and asked her to dance. 
 
 She looked at him in surprise, still breathless 
 from her last round, then after what looked like 
 a moment of hesitation, quickly sat down. 
 
 " I am too tired," she said shortly. " I cannot 
 dance any more just now." 
 
 The waltz music came to an end as she spoke, 
 and the couples began to disperse. 
 
 There was a vacant chair beside Antonina, and 
 Lieutenant Berger, with an expectant smile upon 
 his face, was at that moment approaching. Rad- 
 ford boldly sat down. Berger had danced with 
 Antonina; there was no reason for granting him 
 the additional pleasure of sitting beside her. 
 
 " Do you know that I scarcely believed my 
 eyes, Pani Antonina, when I first saw you in the 
 ballroom to-night? " he remarked, fixing his eyes 
 upon her face. 
 
30O THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 " That is very natural," said Antonina, noisily 
 opening her fan. " Considering how seldom you 
 have seen my face lately, your having recognised 
 me at all shows that you have a most excellent 
 memory." 
 
 Her voice shook with badly suppressed spite, 
 and she kept her eyes obstinately fixed upon 
 her fan. 
 
 " It was not you that I found difficult to recog- 
 nise, but your principles. I thought that going to 
 balls was against all your theories of life." 
 
 He felt astonished at his own temerity. It was 
 wonderful what the atmosphere of a ballroom 
 could do. Was it the music and the lights around 
 him, or was it the unexpectedness of this meeting 
 which had put to flight all the small timidities and 
 scruples which on an ordinary occasion would have 
 been certain to beset him? He saw the ominous 
 fold between Antonina's black eyebrows, he saw the 
 flush of anger on her face; but, instead of feeling 
 alarmed, he was conscious of enjoying these signs 
 of displeasure. 
 
 " What do you know about my principles? " she 
 asked quickly. " I don't think I ever talked to you 
 about such things as that." 
 
 "Oh yes, you did — in the days when I still 
 counted as a friend. It is your memory which ap- 
 pears to be bad." 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 301 
 
 He felt aware that he was beginning to lose his 
 hold on himself, but as yet there was no alarm in 
 the thought. Her near vicinity was acting too di- 
 rectly on his senses. In her glistening white dra- 
 peries she appeared to him like a bride ready dressed 
 for the altar. The white hawthorn flowers which 
 she wore in her hair supplied the place of orange 
 blossoms. In some indistinct way they reminded 
 him of the park at Berenow, and of the spring day 
 when he had first guessed her secret. There was 
 something in that flowery, thorny wreath crown- 
 ing the wide childish brow which peculiarly suited 
 her vivid style of beauty, the proud poise of the 
 head, the fiercely pure gaze. There were fair blos- 
 soms in that wreath, but there were also sharp 
 thorns. To Radford it seemed as though they were 
 weaving a prickly barrier between him and her. 
 His excited imagination almost let him feel the 
 points of those thorns in his fingers. It even oc- 
 curred to him to compare himself in his own mind 
 with the prince in the fairy tale who, in order to 
 reach the sleeping Beauty, has to break his way 
 through the thickets of a century. But the very 
 pain acted as an incentive; he would not yet 
 give in. 
 
 At his last words Antonina's face had darkened 
 by another shade, but she made no reply. 
 
 " No doubt you had good grounds for altering 
 
302 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 your resolution," he remarked, in the sharpest tone 
 of sarcasm which he was able to assume. " Most 
 likely it was in order to please your aunt that you 
 visited the ball to-day." 
 
 " Yes, it was in order to please my aunt," said 
 Antonina, raising her eyes at last from her fan. 
 Her head was held high; and though she blushed 
 scarlet at the barefacedness of her own lie, she was 
 now looking him in the face, full and defiantly. 
 
 "Yes, it was to please my aunt; but I wish 
 I had chosen some other way of doing so. It 
 doesn't seem worth while to break with one's ideals 
 for the sake of this sort of thing." 
 
 She cast what was meant to be a contemptuous 
 glance round the room as she spoke, and yet her 
 eyes belied her, for she could not quite disguise 
 their sparkle. What she saw was a poor show in- 
 deed; but it served its end, seeing that in her mem- 
 ory there were no more brilliant pictures stored, 
 to which the present scene might have been un- 
 favourably compared. It was her first glimpse of 
 gaiety, her first taste of power, and, however bit- 
 terly she might reproach herself with the weakness 
 of having come at all, it was difficult to remain 
 quite sober, now that she actually was here. 
 
 " Of course one need not stay to the end," she 
 remarked aloUd, ostentatiously, as a conclusion to 
 her reflections. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 303 
 
 "You are disappointed already?" said Radford 
 quickly, panic-stricken at the bare vision of the 
 idea suggested. " Surely you cannot be thinking 
 of going yet? Wait till the first Masur; it is that 
 which puts the thing en train." 
 
 " I thought you didn't dance the Mazur," was 
 Antonina's apparently irrelevant reply. 
 
 " I have been taking lessons lately — indeed I 
 have. I am not perfect yet, but I am progressing." 
 
 " Ah, really? I had no notion that you had 
 been making such elaborate preparations for the 
 Carnival. You should have mentioned your danc- 
 ing-lessons to Aunt Pawlina, and then, perhaps, 
 she would have left oflf bothering you about com- 
 ing out to Berenow." 
 
 " What have I to look for at Berenow? " asked 
 Radford, in sudden irritation. " Who is likely to 
 miss my presence there? " 
 
 The sharpness of her tone, which had begun 
 by amusing him, had ended by hurting him acute- 
 ly. Just at present he was not calm enough to 
 analyse its ground, and felt only aware of the pain. 
 And yet he must overcome the barrier at any price, 
 even though he had to tear his fingers till they bled 
 upon the prickly thorns. He must know what lay 
 beyond. All summer he had lived in the belief that 
 the power of making himself loved by this woman 
 lay in his hand ; and even although he did not want 
 
304 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 to use that power, he wished to be convinced that 
 he still possessed it. 
 
 Up to a minute ago it was he who had kept the 
 upper hand in the tacit struggle; now it was she 
 who had regained it, as in the long-run the woman 
 unavoidably does wherever a game of comedy is 
 being played. By this time she had recovered from 
 her first flurry, whereas the idea of her leaving 
 the ballroom — flimsy subterfuge though it was 
 — had frightened him out of his assumed self-pos- 
 session. 
 
 " What have you to look for at Berenow? " re- 
 peated Antonina coolly. " Why, nothing of course, 
 since, unfortunately, we have no dancing-master in 
 the village, unless, indeed. Lieutenant Milnovics 
 would be kind enough to instruct you. He looks 
 as though he must be a perfect dancer." 
 
 Radford looked at her keenly, trying to meet 
 her glance. That name dragged in so unnecessar- 
 ily at this moment was like another sharp thorn. 
 He wanted to see her eyes as she pronounced it; 
 but she was again studying her fan, and only at the 
 corners of her mouth was the flicker of an almost 
 cruel smile to be seen. He said to himself that he 
 would get up and leave her; but at that moment 
 she broached a new subject by some irrelevant in- 
 quiry, and ten minutes later he was still in his place, 
 and she was still amusing herself with alternately 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 305 
 
 enraging and soothing him, speaking or sitting 
 silent, meeting his glance or avoiding it, according 
 as it best suited her at the moment. 
 
 They were sitting thus when the fiddles struck 
 up the first bars of a new melody. 
 
 Antonina's face suddenly changed. 
 
 " Is that the Mazur beginning? " she asked 
 quickly. " That music seems to get into my blood." 
 
 "Yes, it is the Mazur. Who do you dance it 
 with? " 
 
 "With nobody; I don't think I am engaged." 
 
 " I suppose you would not have the courage to 
 dance it with me? " asked Radford, a little sulkily. 
 " I believe I can manage the step." 
 
 " With you? " She looked at him and hesitated. 
 " I think I had better look on," she added, more 
 coldly. 
 
 The couples were being placed by the Ar- 
 rangeur. Antonina said nothing more, but sat 
 watching intently. The signal was given, and the 
 Mazur began. She still did not move, but her eyes 
 dilated,^ and with her fan she was unconsciously 
 following the rhythm of the most entrainant of all 
 dance-music. As the string of dancing couples 
 passed them for the second time, she started from 
 her seat. 
 
 " Come, we , will try," she said impetuously to 
 Radford. " It is impossible to sit still." 
 
3o6 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 And they quickly took their places as the last of 
 the string. 
 
 Twenty minutes later the Masur was over, and 
 the heated couples thronged round the buffet. Rad- 
 ford and Antonina were among them. 
 
 " After all, this is more intoxicating than danc- 
 ing at home to my aunt's accompaniment," Anto- 
 nina was saying radiantly to her partner as she 
 sipped her lemonade. " And really you dance quite 
 beautifully." 
 
 In the glow of music and movement the last of 
 her reserve had melted. Displeasure, self-reproach, 
 everything had given way to the enjoyment of the 
 moment, and as over the edge of her glass she 
 smiled into his face, Radford felt himself thrill under 
 the fire of her glance. 
 
 From this point onwards the details of the even- 
 ing were lost in one long sensation of delight. Rad- 
 ford gave himself no account of what he was doing. 
 He did not know to what this was to lead. He 
 knew only that the scene around him breathed 
 gaiety and gladness, that Antonina was smiling at 
 him at last with lips and eyes, that at last he had 
 broken his way through the thorns and had reached 
 the flowers. 
 
 " Yes, he is a very distinguished young man," 
 Baroness Mielecka remarked later on in the even- 
 ing to a Lemberg acquaintance who had unex- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 307 
 
 pectedly turned up here. " But, of course, I should 
 never dream of influencing Antonina's choice, how- 
 ever much I may desire the marriage." 
 
 " But I thought you were just saying that mar- 
 riage as an institution has outlived itself," remarked 
 her neighbour, a mild, motherly woman, whom for 
 an hour past the Baroness had been bewildering 
 with an array of opinions, whose Hfirde-siecle colour- 
 ing harmonised strangely with the indefinable, yet 
 unmistakable Court flavour which seemed for ever 
 to hang about the person of the former lady of 
 honour. 
 
 " So it has," replied the Baroness, recollecting 
 her role. " But we have to make concessions to the 
 weakness of others." 
 
 In face of such utterances as these how could 
 the excellent Madame Kruzecka have a chance of 
 guessing that she was talking to a woman who was 
 to the full as mild and to the full as motherly as 
 she was herself? 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The Carnival of this year happened to be one of 
 the shortest in the calendar; but, possibly on this 
 very account, it made up in liveliness for what it 
 lacked in length. Every one seemed to feel that 
 the briefer the dancing season the better use must 
 be made of it, for it is a short life that is generally 
 considered bound to be a merry one; and the con- 
 sequence was that Frau Apfelgriin barely had time 
 to renew the burnt-out candles in the candelebra 
 and to clear the floor of the scraps of coloured tulle 
 and crushed artificial flowers which strewed it, be- 
 fore -the room was again wanted. 
 
 At each of these balls Radford was present, and 
 at each he met Antonina, not by any preconcerted 
 arrangement, but by what appeared to be the un- 
 avoidable course of events. Having taken the first 
 step, the girl seemed to have been seized by an 
 ever-growing desire for gaiety, for enjoyment, or 
 else for something that lay beyond the mere en- 
 joyment. 
 
 808 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 309 
 
 Radford had ceased to make any attempt to 
 justify himself in his own eyes, neither did he, in 
 general, accuse himself. In face of Antonina's 
 frankly shown preference, he had simply lost ac- 
 count of his own actions. His sensations were 
 those of a person who, without any doing of his 
 own, has drifted into the very heart of a current 
 against which he knows it would be useless to fight. 
 " Whatever you do, it will have to be,"' Madame 
 Serpow had said on the day when she stood beside 
 her child's grave. Sometimes, with a thrill of min- 
 gled delight and alarm, he would remember the 
 words, and once more the hopelessness of fighting 
 against the current would be borne in upon him. 
 He had held out for long; but the very length and 
 rigour of his abstinence had but served to sharpen 
 his hunger for happiness. The wishes which for 
 wellnigh a year had been accumulating would no 
 longer be repressed. With the vehemence of a 
 half-starved man he put out his hand towards that 
 which he desired. Before the middle of the Carni- 
 val was reached, Radford was talked of openly as 
 the suitor of Antonina Brunowska. 
 
 The frosty weeks flew past with the brilliancy 
 of a dream. Radford's visits to the plebanija had 
 almost ceased. To play the comforter there any 
 longer appeared to him too absurd a farce to be 
 kept up, and the mere thought of meeting Stepan 
 
310 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 was growing daily more distasteful. Lately, also, 
 he had been at moments aware of a new feeling in 
 his comrade's presence, a feeling of inexplicable 
 yet unmistakable irritation. The sight of the dis- 
 abled arm, which formerly had never failed to stir 
 his pity, now came near to moving his anger. It 
 was a standing reproach which for ever was being 
 obtruded upon his notice. On the day when he 
 had made his final confession to Antonina, her un- 
 expected condemnation of Stepan's part in the af- 
 fair of the duel had begun by outraging his sense 
 of justice; but by degrees he had grown so well 
 used to this new view of the case that, unconscious- 
 ly, he came near to adopting it himself. The more 
 he considered the matter the more distinctly did he 
 perceive that the guilt of that unhappy episode had 
 been quite as much on Stepan's side as on his own. 
 Yes, it was true, one word only, one question on 
 the other's part, would have cleared away the en- 
 tire misunderstanding, and saved not only himself 
 from misfortune but also his comrade from the 
 burden of self-reproach. And meeting Milnovics 
 again on the back of these reflections, Radford 
 would look at him almost revengefully, as at the 
 cause of his own mental discomfort. 
 
 But, for the present at least, the mental discom- 
 fort had ceased. So cleverly did he manage mat- 
 ters at this time that once only in the course of these 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 3II 
 
 weeks he found himself alone with his old comrade. 
 Neither spoke immediately. 
 
 " I suppose you are very busy at the school? " 
 Radford remarked at random, when the silence 
 was becoming unbearable. The emptiness of the 
 conventional question disgusted himself, but it was 
 better than this terrible silence. 
 
 " I am about as busy as usual/' was Stepan's 
 indifferent reply. 
 
 And again a minute passed without a word 
 being spoken. 
 
 " Why do you never come in to the Lohatyn 
 balls?" said Radford abruptly. "Surely you are 
 able to take a holiday at times? " 
 
 His own words surprised him. He had not 
 been conscious of having formulated the thought. 
 It was one of the rare moments in which some- 
 thing within him still awoke to make a half-hearted 
 effort against the almighty current. 
 - " I cannot go to Lohatyn," said Stepan, " be- 
 cause I have sold my uniform coat. And besides," 
 he added, with a listless smile, " what should I do 
 in a ballroom without a right arm? " 
 
 There was nothing intentionally pointed in the 
 words. He spoke of his arm in the same impartial' 
 tone in which he spoke of his coat, but Radford 
 felt that after this he could say no more. A sense 
 of oppression had fallen upon him and held him so 
 
312 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 long as he was in Stepan's presence. Once in the 
 open air it left him again, and it wanted only one of 
 Antonina's innocently seductive smiles to draw him 
 back gladly and joyfully into the heart of the current. 
 
 It was not until the last day but one of the Car- 
 nival that the rude awakening came. On the fol- 
 lowing evening the final dance was to take place, 
 a costume-ball, as had been settled among the 
 young people at the last moment. Radford started 
 for Berenow early in the afternoon, in order to ac- 
 quaint Antonina with the alteration in to-morrow's 
 programme. 
 
 He had just reached the beginning of the poplar 
 avenue when he perceived the Pani's sledge going 
 rapidly towards the village. There was nothing for 
 it but to follow her; but her horses were quicker 
 than his, and it was only at the moment when she 
 stopped before the plebanija that he succeeded in 
 overtaking her. 
 
 " Have you also come to inquire? " were Anto- 
 nina's first words on perceiving Radford. " Poor 
 Jusia is said to be worse, you know." 
 
 " No, I did not know it. Is she worse? That 
 is very distressing," said Radford, conscious of the 
 indifiference of his tone, yet unable to feign a deeper 
 interest. " It was to bring you a message from the 
 ball committee that I came out to-day." And he 
 told her of the plan for to-morrow. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 313 
 
 " A costume-ball ! " said Antonina in a livelier 
 tone. " Oh, that would indeed be fun ! But what 
 on earth am I to wear? I have nothing but my 
 peasant-dress which I could put on at such short 
 notice as this. As soon as I know how Jusia is, I 
 shall give my mind to the matter. Poor Father 
 Floryan! I wonder how he would bear to lose 
 Jusia?" 
 
 " Yes, poor Father Floryan," repeated Radford, 
 and for a moment he attempted, not very success- 
 fully, to concentrate his attention on this new sub- 
 ject. Such things as these harmonised badly with 
 his present state of mind. He turned from them 
 impatiently, as from an unwelcome interruption, 
 to other, far pleasanter sensations. 
 
 " It would be a great blow to him of course. 
 But you are surely not thinking of staying away 
 from the ball to-morrow on that account?" he 
 added uneasily. " After all, you cannot do any 
 good here." 
 
 " I suppose I shall go," said Antonina, a little 
 doubtfully. Her radiant joyousness of the past 
 weeks was sobered to-day by just one shade; but 
 this quieter mood became her dangerously well. 
 " It does seem rather heartless, does it not, to 
 think of one's amusement when our friends here 
 are in such distress. But, after all, as you say, 
 we could do no good, — and besides, it is the 
 
314 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 very last ball, you know. Yes; I think I shall 
 
 go." 
 
 " So shall I," said Radford, and they looked at 
 each other almost a little guiltily. 
 
 " By the by," began Antonina again, " will the 
 gentlemen also be in costume? and what are you 
 going to wear? " 
 
 " My choice is as limited as yours. I have noth- 
 ing but an English hunting-coat to put on." 
 
 " Splendid ! That will make you quite into an 
 English squire." 
 
 Antonina laughed, and then checked herself, 
 remembering that she might possibly be seen from 
 the windows. She had left her sledge by this time, 
 and was standing beside Radford in front of the 
 closed door of the house. Neither of them seemed 
 in a hurry to go in. 
 
 " It is possible that I may soon turn into an 
 English squire in reality," said Radford. " I don't 
 think I have told you yet that a relation of my 
 father's has lately left him an estate in Sussex. He 
 is very anxious for me to undertake the manage- 
 ment of it, and become an Englishman again." 
 
 " And will you go?" asked Antonina in a star- 
 tled tone. 
 
 " I don't know. I cannot think of anything until 
 the Carnival is over. It will be over the day after to- 
 morrow," he remarked, more to himself than to her. 
 
•THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 315 
 
 " Yes, the day after to-morrow," said Antonina, 
 with a quick Httle sigh. 
 
 " But we ought to be going in," she added im- 
 mediately, for she had caught sight of a figure at 
 the window, and had remembered what it was that 
 had brought her here. 
 
 Signs of disturbance were visible within the 
 house. On the very threshold Antonina almost 
 ran against Andrei, just s'tarting on some urgent 
 errand. Through the open door of the kitchen both 
 the big and the little schoolmistresses could be seen 
 making tisanes under Madame Serpow's directions, 
 and in the parlour, where half-a-dozen small oil- 
 lamps were burning dimly before the Virgin's pic- 
 ture in the corner, Father Floryan was sitting alone 
 with a face which shone with a ghastly pallor 
 through the early winter dusk, and with his burnt- 
 out chibouk held between his unsteady fingers. 
 
 " They say she is going to be taken from us," he 
 said to Antonina in his weak, tearful voice. " This 
 will be the second that it has pleased the Almighty 
 to take; there will only be Stepan and Agniecka 
 left now. My poor little Jusia ! She was not clever, 
 not like other girls; but she was content, and we 
 were content to see her so. How is she now, 
 Agniecka? " he anxiously inquired, as his elder 
 daughter came in behind the visitors. 
 
 " Much quieter, I think," replied Agniecka, 
 
3 id THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 smiling convulsively. She was dressed in ail un- 
 tidy dressing-gown, and her disordered hair and 
 haggard eyes made it clear that she had been up 
 all night. " I am almost certain that she will be 
 better to-morrow." 
 
 " That is not what the doctor says," remarked 
 the Popa sadly. 
 
 " No, not exactly," Agniecka admitted with a 
 sort of gulp. " I don't ^ay that the doctor may not 
 possibly be right; but even supposing he is right," 
 she went on feverishly, " we — we must not forget 
 how much harder the blow might have been. If 
 one of us has to go, surely it is Jusia who can best 
 be spared. And she suffers nothing, she knows 
 nothing; there is no pain, no pain at all. But just 
 imagine, father, try and imagine what you would 
 have felt if the lot had fallen upon Stepan ! That 
 indeed would have been cruel ! " 
 
 " And if it had fallen upon Stepan? " said Ste- 
 pan's own voice from the open doorway. " I want 
 to hear the end of your argument, Agniecka. Why 
 would that have been cruel indeed? " 
 
 He did not look towards the visitors, whom 
 in the fast-falling dusk he had evidently not per- 
 ceived. 
 
 " Because that would have left such an empty 
 place, such a terribly empty place," said Agniecka, 
 beginning suddenly to sob. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 317 
 
 " There are plenty of people at hand to fill my 
 place," answered Stepan, coldly and bitterly. 
 
 " But, my dearest brother " 
 
 " Be quiet ! " he said with unexpected vivacity. 
 " I know what you want ; you want to prove that 
 Jusia's death will not be a sorrow, but a blessing. 
 This is not a moment for playing comedy. For 
 God's sake let us call things by their names. Jusia 
 is dying, and we all know that she is dying, and 
 we wish we could keep her, since we loved her and 
 needed her — such as she was. What we have to 
 bear let us at least bear without disguise. I en- 
 treat of you to be quiet! You tell lies to yourself, 
 but you do not beHeve them." 
 
 He had spoken loud and sharply, and at the last 
 word he stepped up to the window and stood star- 
 ing out into the yard, his back turned towards 
 the room. His sister and his father looked at 
 him anxiously but in silence. These outbreaks 
 of irritation had lately shown themselves fre- 
 quently, but none had been as pronounced as this 
 one. 
 
 " May I not go to Jusia for one minute? " An- 
 tonina's voice said, a little unsteadily in the midst 
 of the silence. 
 
 Stepan turned quickly from the window, for the 
 first time aware of her presence in the room. 
 
 " If you think you will not mind " Agniecka 
 
3i8 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 was beginning doubtfully, when her brother inter- 
 vened. 
 
 " There is no sense in your going and no use," 
 he said decisively, stepping forward as he spoke, 
 as though to bar Antonina's passage. "A new 
 face would only disturb her." 
 
 " But I should be very quiet. Lieutenant Mil- 
 novics; you can trust me." 
 
 " No," he said, in the same tone, " it must not 
 be. What is to be seen there is not cheering. There 
 is no reason why you too should be distressed. 
 You do not yet know what pain is; why should 
 you go to meet it? It will come to you also in 
 time, never fear! " 
 
 " But I think I can bear the sight of pain," said 
 Antonina almost timidly, and she looked at him 
 across the dusky room earnestly, with beseeching 
 eyes. 
 
 " No, it must not be," he said again, in a tone 
 of rough command. " I ask of you not to go." 
 
 She gazed at him in astonishment. For a mo- 
 ment it seemed as though the opposition to her 
 will was about to rouse her to anger; but instead 
 of speaking she sat down again in silence. Per- 
 haps she had remembered that her guilt towards 
 this man was great enough already. 
 
 Stepan was still standing in the middle of the 
 room. His glowing eyes and heightened colour 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 319 
 
 were enough to show how far moved he was out 
 of his habitual reserve. In the moment when An- 
 tonina yielded to his wish, he threw one long glance 
 towards her, and then turned and went out into the 
 passage, as though aware that he was losing his 
 self-control. 
 
 Radford had been near enough to read that 
 one long look. There had been gratitude in the 
 glance, but there had also been so passionate a 
 pain that the sight took him suddenly aback. He 
 had perfectly understood and perfectly approved 
 of Stepan's objection to Antonina entering the sick- 
 room; his rival's anxiety to spare her even a pain- 
 ful sight had been entirely appreciated by him. It 
 must be so, since he loved her, and that Stepan 
 loved her he had known for long; but what he had 
 not known, and had not reckoned with, was the in- 
 tensity of the passion revealed to him in that one 
 unguarded moment when the burning black eyes, 
 looking out of the thin, dark face, told their story 
 aloud. It was as though a gulf had been unveiled 
 at his feet. And how thin the face was, he told him- 
 self with a stab at his heart, how sharp in outline 
 it had become within the last months! Now that 
 his eyes were opened, he could see even this. 
 
 " Can I love like this?" he asked himself al- 
 most in awe. It was not that he doubted his own 
 capacity for love; but perhaps he darkly felt that 
 
320 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 the passion of the man who possesses other things 
 besides his love will always be a different thing 
 from the passion of him who, in the whole wide 
 world, has nothing but this love to live for. 
 
 He took his leave hurriedly and early, for there 
 had come over him the necessity for being alone. 
 
 When he passed by the kitchen-door this time, 
 the pot with the tisane was boiling over on the 
 stove, and both schoolmistresses were looking wist- 
 fully out of the window towards the village street, 
 up which the schoolmaster's tall figure could be 
 seen disappearing. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Radford rose next morning with the thought that 
 an event was going to take place that day. For 
 the first time for many weeks past he was men- 
 tally sober. One moment had sufficed to shake 
 him out of his delicious drowsiness, and to open 
 his eyes to the sense of his own treachery. He 
 trembled at the thought that he had stopped short 
 of the danger barely in time. Without the chance 
 of yesterday, what would to-night have brought? 
 The result of the last ball of the Carnival appeared 
 almost inevitable. 
 
 But now it should bring something quite dif- 
 ferent. He did not mean to avoid the meeting with 
 Antonina, but he meant to make use of it for a 
 new purpose. An idea had come into his mind, and 
 he had immediately resolved to act upon it. He 
 was quite clear as to what he wanted to do, and 
 quite deliberate in his contemplation of the means 
 most likely to lead him to his end. It happened 
 that he was unusually busy that day; but what- 
 ever his occupation, whether he stood in the riding- 
 821 
 
-22 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 school or walked the barrack-room, he never once 
 lost sight of this end. All day long it stood before 
 his eyes, and he looked at it steadily, and did not 
 flinch at the sight. 
 
 His duties kept him tied for so long that, having 
 hurried home to exchange his Uhlanka for a scarlet' 
 hunting-coat, he found the windows of the " Black 
 Eagle " already brightly illuminated, and a group 
 of lookers-on, with chattering teeth but eager eyes, 
 watching the moving figures within. 
 
 Despite the improvise character of most of the 
 costumes, the dancing-room was a pleasant sight 
 to any but the most incorrigibly blase eyes, and of 
 such there were not many here to-night. The 
 notice had been too short to allow one to do more 
 than powder one's hair and loop up one's dress a 
 la rococo, or else to put on a straw hat, and, with 
 a staff in one's hand, call oneself a bergere; but the 
 effect of the gay medley was, all things considered, 
 surprisingly good. People whose hair was long 
 and fair had let it down their backs, under the wel- 
 come pretext of representing an Undine, and people 
 who possessed black dresses and black eyes had 
 strewn scarlet bows on their skirts, and thus easily 
 transformed themselves into a sort of primitive 
 Satanellas. 
 
 Radford looked about him in the crowd in 
 search of Antonina. After a few minutes he per- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 323 
 
 ceived her standing beside her aunt in her Rutheni- 
 an peasant dress. It occurred to him that he had 
 not seen her in this dress since the evening, more 
 than a year ago, on which he had met her in the 
 village street, flying from the drunken peasant. 
 Baroness Mielecka, her mauve brocade decked with 
 roses and her meagre hair poudre, was looking 
 strangely at home in this fashion of an age which" 
 she loved to stigmatise as the ancien regime. 
 
 Radford soon perceived that Antonina also was 
 looking about her as though in search of some- 
 thing. The next moment their eyes met,- and she 
 smiled at him across the room. In face of that 
 smile and of the gladness upon her face, Radford 
 set his teeth, and once more repeated to himself 
 his resolve. He had felt hard and strong all day — 
 it would not do to let himself be softened orweak- 
 ened at the last moment. 
 
 He was already engaged to Antonina for several" 
 dances, and the moment the music for the first of 
 these struck up he went up punctually and claimed 
 it. She received him with a radiant look, and' 
 talked gaily during the quadrille. The impromptu 
 costume-ball evidently caused her a genuinely 
 childish pleasure. It was only towards the end of 
 that first dance that she appeared to become aware 
 of something peculiar in her partner's manner. Her 
 gaiety found no response in him; her laughter was 
 
224 ^"^ WKUJNU MAIS. 
 
 not echoed. He was strangely quiet for so lively 
 a scene, and his face looked graver than she had 
 ever seen it. What could this change signify? 
 What was it that was impending? By degrees her 
 own talk and laughter died out, and at moments 
 she glanced at him with frightened, questioning 
 eyes, in expectation of something which she felt 
 to be close at hand. 
 
 As supper-time approached, the dancers began 
 to pair off towards the neighbouring room. It had 
 lately become Radford's acknowledged privilege to 
 escort Antonina to the supper-table, but to-night 
 he was not so quick as usual in claiming his right. 
 Antonina, sitting almost alone, looked at him with 
 astonishment and mortification on her face; for 
 the room was emptying fast, and in face of the 
 events of the Carnival, no comrade of Radford's 
 would have considered it permissible to offer his 
 arm to Antonina. 
 
 The Baroness, who was deep in the description 
 of a fancy-ball with which her royal patron of forty 
 years ago had sought to enliven her exile, was 
 aroused by her neighbour to the urgency of the 
 situation. 
 
 " But they are nearly all gone," said this lady 
 suddenly. "What is the matter with Lieutenant 
 Radford to-night? " 
 
 Baroness Mielecka looked round and saw Rad- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 325 
 
 ford standing at the other side of the room, ap- 
 parently absorbed in searching for a possible speck 
 of dusk upon the sleeve of his scarlet hunting-coat. 
 
 " You are going to take in my niece, are you 
 not? " said the Baroness sweetly, and without 
 either hesitation or scruple. She could not see that 
 there was anything to hesitate about. All young 
 men had moments of diffidence, and it was the 
 chaperon's duty to encourage them — so long as 
 they were eligible. 
 
 In reply, Radford could do no less than step 
 forward. He did so immediately, and with the air 
 of a man who has come to a decision. 
 
 " Maybe it will be better so," was the thought 
 in his mind as he offered his arm to Antonina. 
 
 " What a magnificent fellow that Englishman 
 is ! " said Madame Kruzecka, as, together with the 
 Baroness, she followed the two young people to 
 the supper-room. " He looks as though he had 
 been born in that coat! " 
 
 " Yes, he is a very agreeable young man," re- 
 plied the Baroness, with just a touch of reserve in 
 her tone. Now that the matter seemed so near its 
 happy conclusion, she considered it due to her dig- 
 nity to speak with more restraint. " But, to return 
 to what I was telling you, — the dear Queen, as I 
 say, looked magnificent in her EHzabethan ruff; 
 the pearls on her spencer alone cost " 
 
326 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 And from this point onward, the conversation 
 became fit to be printed in a fashion-journal only. 
 
 Supper was being gaily but hastily eaten in Frau 
 Apfelgriin's supper-room, for it was well known 
 that the cotillon was to follow immediately, and must 
 be closed on. the stroke of midnight. Half-a-dozen 
 distracted waiters in second- or third-hand dress- 
 coats were hopping about between the tables, doing 
 their best to respond to the hurried and impatiently 
 spoken demands. After a much shorter interval 
 than usual, chairs began to be pushed back' and 
 gloves to be put on. The more impatient of the 
 dancers moved out again, leaving their plates and 
 glasses almost full. In less than twenty minutes 
 the room was once more half empty. Presently 
 also the Baroness rose. 
 
 " Do not let yourself be hurried," she said to 
 her niece, who was playing with a piece of cold 
 ham on: her plate. " I shall see that you get good 
 places in the dancing-room. Lieutenant Radford 
 will take care of you in the meantime, but be sure 
 to eat your ham." 
 
 Antonina made no reply to her aunt. So long 
 as the Baroness was in the room she went on 
 slowly cutting up her ham; the moment that the 
 mauve train had disappeared through the doorway 
 she laid down her knife and fork, but still she made 
 no movement as though to rise. Neither did Rad- 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 327 
 
 ford move. He looked impatiently at the few peo- 
 ple who were still sitting, as though their presence 
 were inconvenient to him. In a few minutes more 
 even the last of these was gone, and but for a 
 couple of waiters clearing away the glasses from 
 one of the distant tables, Radford was alone with 
 Antonina. If he had anything to say to her, this 
 was the moment to begin, but he did not immedi- 
 ately speak; he looked at her in silence for some 
 moments longer, as she sat before him with lowered 
 eyes, playing with the fringes on her costume. Her 
 lips were parted expectantly, and the coloured 
 beads upon her bosom rose and fell with her quick, 
 short breaths. Fifteen months ago Radford had 
 seen these same beads being threaded; they had 
 seemed to him then what in truth they were — 
 coarse, though brilliant glass beads. To-day they 
 appeared to him like living jewels, full of a fire of 
 many colours that had been lit especially for his 
 torment. Not one of the ball-dresses which she 
 had worn since the beginning of the Carnival, how- 
 ever'carefuUy planned by the Baroness, had shown 
 off Antonina's glowing and perfected beauty as did 
 the white and scarlet richly embroidered peasant 
 dress which for so long had not seen daylight. 
 
 Radford shook his head and turned his eyes 
 resolutely to the window. Out there on the Plats 
 he could distinguish the dark mass of lookers-on, 
 
328 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 Still huddled together, and still staring at the lighted 
 windows. He made up his mind to keep that 
 group in his eye while he spoke, so as to have an 
 excuse for not looking at Antonina; but still he let 
 some seconds pass in silence. 
 
 In a minute more the cotillon music struck up. 
 Neither he nor she seemed to hear it. The two 
 remaining waiters disappeared, having exhausted 
 all the dregs in the beer-glasses, and probably 
 anxious not to miss any of the spectacle in the 
 dancing-room. 
 
 Radford gathered all his strength together. 
 
 " I have something to say to you," he began, in 
 a harsh, unamiable voice, and keeping his eyes 
 fixed upon the crowd outside. 
 
 Antonina started, although she had been expect- 
 ing almost these words. With lowered head she 
 went on pulling faster at her fringes. 
 
 " Yes," he went on slowly, " I have had it on 
 my mind for a long time past. Perhaps you can 
 guess what it is." He fetched one deep, short 
 breath before going on. " It is about my friend 
 that I want to speak to you — Stepan Milnovics. 
 He loves you, and you know that he loves you; 
 he has loved you for long. Most probably it is 
 the consciousness of the difference of position be- 
 tween you which keeps him from pleading his own 
 cause. But I have made up my mind to do it for 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 329 
 
 him. This cannot astonish you, for you know his 
 history and mine. He is a man worthy of you in 
 every way." 
 
 Radford spoke without embarrassment or haste. 
 It seemed almost as though he were reading his 
 sentences from off the dark surface of the Platz 
 outside, upon which his eyes were still steadily 
 fixed through the half-frozen window-pane. 
 
 When he paused there was no answer; and, 
 glancing quickly towards her, he met her eyes fixed 
 upon him, full of a broadly written and reproach- 
 ful astonishment. Immediately he looked away, 
 and pressing his hands tightly together, he went on 
 speaking. He had foreseen that it would be so. 
 This was the penance which he had prescribed to 
 himself for having been too happy all the Carnival. 
 
 " Worthy of you in every way," he obstinately 
 repeated. " With him you would certainly be 
 happy, — happier, most likely, than — with others: 
 You have only got to know him better in order 
 to " 
 
 He stopped short, for Antonina had abruptly 
 risen. 
 
 " Is this all you have to say to me? " she asked, 
 in a voice which shook with ill-concealed passion. 
 Her cheeks were burning, and her eyes, as she 
 looked down upon him, shone with a proud, re- 
 vengeful light. 
 
330 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 Without waiting for his answer, she turned and 
 went towards the door. But on the very threshold 
 she faltered, and, standing still, threw one more 
 look backwards, — a different look already, — soft- 
 ened, questioning, almost pleading. Then she 
 turned again and was gone. 
 
 Radford started from his seat, — until that mo- 
 ment he had not moved. He knew that no word 
 was wanted, that he only had to follow her. He 
 made a step forward, and half stretched out his 
 arms after the retreating figure. But in the same 
 instant he stood still, staring in front of him, fixedly 
 and fearfully, as people stare at some object of 
 sudden alarm, as Macbeth at the supper-table may 
 have stared at the ghost of Banquo. 
 
 " No; I have no right to be happy," he said, 
 and his arms sank to his sides. " I may not be 
 happy unless he allows me." 
 
 He sat down again and, without knowing what 
 he did, took hold of the two sides of his chair, per- 
 haps because he felt both physically and mentally 
 giddy, perhaps in order to keep himself more cer- 
 tainly from rising again and following her. It was 
 only with a supreme effort that he had succeeded in 
 mastering himself. 
 
 Early in the forenoon of Ash- Wednesday Rad- 
 ford was on his way to Berenow. To-day he went 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 331 
 
 straight to the plebanija. There was only one 
 thought in his mind: that the present situation 
 was unbearable, and must be ended by any means. 
 Close to the village he met Antonina's sledge re- 
 turning towards the house; she, too, apparently, 
 had been at the plebanija; but it did not occur to 
 him to wonder what she had been doing there at 
 so early an hour. So closely was she wrapped in 
 her furs that all he could see of her was the upper 
 portion of her face, neither could he be sure whether 
 she had noticed him. 
 
 It had been snowing since morning, and the 
 outline of the familiar house was blurred with the 
 flying flakes. The courtyard lay there silent as a 
 cemetery, all its deficiencies temporarily white- 
 washed by an even coating of snow. An open 
 barn-door, hanging precariously on one hinge, was 
 half-snowed up, and a vagabond dog, in search of 
 morsels, came slinking hungrily round the corner, 
 pressing its lean sides against the walls. 
 
 As Radford got out of the sledge he was asking 
 himself where he would be most likely to find 
 Stepan, here, or at the schoolhouse? He was bent 
 only on speaking to Stepan, without another hour's 
 delay. At this time he would probably be at the 
 schoolhouse, and while he was saying this to him- 
 self he perceived that some one was standing under 
 the ash-trees at the far end of the courtyard, and 
 
332 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 even through the falHng snow he immediately 
 recognised his comrade. This was a better oppor- 
 tunity than he had hoped for. He crossed the 
 courtyard, with his eyes upon the figure, as though 
 he feared it might melt into the snowflakes and' 
 escape him, and so busy was he with this thought' 
 that he felt no surprise at finding Stepan here at 
 this moment, not even when he drew near enough 
 to perceive that the other was bare-headed. Noth- 
 ing seemed to astonish him to-day. Stepan's back 
 was towards him; he stood without moving under 
 one of the trees, apparently doing nothing but 
 watching the flakes. 
 
 In the new-fallen snow Radford's steps were 
 unheard until he stood close beside Stepan. 
 
 " Stepan," he said, in a deeply moved voice, and 
 he laid his hand upon his comrade's shoulder. " I 
 have come to tell you everything. I want to put 
 everything into your hands. You know all already. 
 Have I a right to my happiness, or have I not? 
 It is you who must pronounce my sentence." 
 
 And in hurried, badly connected words he told 
 him of what had passed last night. 
 
 As Radford's hand touched him Stepan shud- 
 dered, but did not immediately turn his head. 
 
 " Do you hear me, Stepan? " asked Radford, 
 with a new feeling of timidity, when, after a minute 
 of silence, he had not yet seen the other's face. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 333 
 
 Then, quite suddenly, Stepan turned round, and, 
 at sight of the look which met his own, Radford 
 instinctively withdrew his hand and made a step 
 backwards. 
 
 " Yes ; I hear you," said Stepan, with undis- 
 guised fury in his black eyes, unrestrained passion 
 in his halting voice, and in the sickly pallor which 
 steeped him to the lips. " I hear you, and I have 
 heard you and seen of you more than my strength 
 is able to bear. Do you dare to come near me to- 
 day, you who have been my misfortune from the 
 first? Without you all would have been well. Why 
 had you to come my way? Was not the world 
 wide enough both for you and for me? Have you 
 not everything you can want without robbing me? 
 You have taken everything from me — everything; 
 first you took my career and broke it in two as 
 though it had been a toy, — my career and all my 
 hopes and all my joy in life, and now you want to 
 take from me also my love; the one thing that 
 might have been mine. You have taken it already. 
 If you had not come she might have loved me. 
 She almost said so now. Why did you not leave 
 us in peace? It is you who have spoilt everything. 
 We cannot go on living near each other. Go 
 quickly, and leave me alone." 
 
 He spoke almost without drawing breath, 
 hoarsely and eagerly, and with his burning eyes 
 
334 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 fixed savagely upon the other's face. There was 
 such a vehemence of hatred both in those eyes and 
 in the nervous movements of the lips, so overpow- 
 ering an evidence of the pent-up bitterness of two 
 years past, that Radford's own gaze fell before 
 that of his comrade. The complete surprise of this 
 outburst would alone have been enough to keep 
 him silent; but as he listened he understood also 
 that there was nothing which he could say in reply. 
 It was all true what Stepan was now saying — lit- 
 erally true. . No one, surely, could be more con- 
 vinced than he was of the utter injustice of the ar- 
 rangement which had brought Stepan to this point. 
 In spirit he found himself agreeing to every single 
 sentence pronounced by his comrade. Yes, he 
 had everything; health, prospects, money, and 
 now love, while Stepan had nothing. Stepan was 
 right; in every sense of the word he had been his 
 misfortune. But was this really his own fault alone? 
 
 " Stepan," he attempted to say, " if I could only 
 get you to understand " 
 
 "Leave me alone!" said Stepan, with white 
 lips. " I can bear nothing more. Go away quickly 
 -go!" 
 
 He spoke as he had been used to speak when 
 still in command of his troop, and with his left 
 hand raised to point the way. And, without an- 
 other word, Radford turned and with lowered head 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 335 
 
 obeyed, merely because he felt as he had always 
 felt — that that other will was stronger than his own. 
 
 On the doorstep Pater Floryan was awaiting 
 him. 
 
 " Would you like to see her? " he asked, smil- 
 ing at Radford through his tears. " We have made 
 her as pretty as we could with paper roses, and 
 Agniecka found five snowdrops in the garden. She 
 went to sleep quite quietly, without pain. The Pani 
 has probably told you already. She was here half 
 an hour ago, and so kind, so sympathetic! She 
 talked quite a long time with Stepan. You will 
 come with me now, will you not? " 
 
 " Yes, I will come," said Radford, understand- 
 ing at last that he was being invited to look at 
 the laid-out body of Jusia, who had fulfilled the 
 doctor's expectations by dying during the past 
 night. 
 
CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 Before the evening of that same day Radford had 
 sent in a petition for leave of absence, and had 
 begun to pack up his belongings. His way seemed 
 to him quite simple now. He could do nothing 
 but give up Antonina and disappear henceforward 
 from out of her life. In one point Fate seemed 
 inclined to make his task easy. For months past 
 his father had been trying to persuade him to give 
 up the army and undertake the management of the 
 English estate recently inherited from a distant 
 relative. He would only have to accede to the pa- 
 ternal wishes in order to break with the past. Per- 
 haps when he was gone everything might be 
 changed — everything, including Antonina's heart 
 and Stepan's fate. 
 
 That same evening he completed his arrange- 
 ments and looked up his train. The nearest rail- 
 way-station was at. several miles' distance from 
 Lohatyn, and he would have to leave his lodging 
 before daylight. By five o'clock next morning the 
 
 hired sledge was standing at the door. With a 
 336 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 337 
 
 candle on the table beside him, Radford was oc- 
 cupied in putting the last things into the portman- 
 teau, which lay open before him on the floor, when 
 a second sledge was heard to come down the street 
 at a sharp pace. He was too busy to notice that it, 
 too, stopped before the house. A minute later there 
 was a sharp knock, and before he had replied, the 
 door opened, and Stepan Milnovics entered. 
 
 Radford rose from his knees and stood looking 
 at his comrade without speaking, but with an al- 
 most humble inquiry in his eyes. Just one minute 
 before he had been telling himself that he should 
 never again in this world see Stepan's features. 
 
 The other's face was like that of a man who has 
 been ill to the point of death. About the eyes and 
 at the corners of the mouth there were marks which 
 had not been there yesterday. Yet, in spite of his 
 pallor, it was evident that he was quiet now. Single 
 flakes of snow hung upon his shabby overcoat, and 
 the morning frost had stififened his moustache and 
 turned his black hair almost as white as the thin 
 locks of his father. 
 
 Having closed the door behind him, he stood 
 still and peered keenly round him at the disman- 
 tled room, at the disordered bed and open box, 
 all uncertainly illuminated by the one candle. 
 
 " Yes," he said at last, " I thought it would be 
 so. I am barely in time." 
 
338 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 Then only he turned towards Radford. 
 
 " I have come to ask you to forgive me for my 
 words of yesterday," he said, without any visible 
 effort. 
 
 " Stepan! " said Radford, and put out his hand. 
 He could not say more, because already the tears 
 had risen to his eyes. 
 
 "Wait a little!" replied Stepan, not immedi- 
 ately touching Radford's fingers. " We must have 
 no emotions yet. I am not finished. What I have 
 come to do is not easy. I have been looking for 
 the right thing all night, and now I have found 
 what I believe to be the only straight road, and 
 I mean to tread it; but there must be no emotions 
 yet. I must first explain my excitement of yester- 
 day; it must have greatly astonished you. You 
 will scarcely believe it — I can scarcely believe it 
 myself — ^but' it is the truth that in the ten minutes 
 before you came I had been mad enough to speak 
 to her of my love. Not that I hoped for anything, 
 of course, and not that I had not sworn to myself 
 a hundred times that no word of this sort should 
 ever cross my lips, but only that I was taken un- 
 awares. It was when she came out of Jusia's room, 
 with her eyes full of tears and her face full of beau- 
 tiful sympathy, looking so gentle, so easily to be 
 gained, holding out her hands to me so warmly. 
 Then it was that, quite suddenly, I lost my hold 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 339 
 
 upon myself. I suppose the strain of the last days 
 had told upon my nerves; and there, at that mo- 
 ment, with my dead sister lying in the room beside 
 us, I told her all that I had suffered for her sake, 
 and asked her in desperate words whether it was 
 indeed certain that she never, never could make 
 up her mind to belong to me. I knew what she 
 would say; but when I heard it said, it was a much 
 greater pain than I had expected. I was still suf- 
 fering the first smart of that pain when I felt your 
 hand upon my shoulder. You will understand 
 everything now. But all that is over. I have come 
 to my senses again. Alfred, you must not go. I 
 knew quite well that you would be on the point 
 of starting, and I have come here to tell you that 
 you have no right to go away, because you have no 
 right to make her unhappy." 
 
 " She need not be unhappy for ever. When I 
 am gone, why should she not learn to forget me? " 
 
 "And to love me?" said Stepan, with a faint 
 smile. " It is that you meant to say, is it not? But 
 you are wasting your pains ; she will never love me 
 now. I am the wrong man here, as I was the 
 wrong man in our duel last year. It is the fate of 
 some men never to be in the right place. Let us 
 have no superfluous words, pray; do not force me 
 to listen to your regrets. I have learnt long ago 
 that he who has one good thing generally gets an- 
 
340 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 Other, and he who has none will remain empty- 
 handed until the end. That is only the order of 
 the world. Happiness attracts happiness, just as 
 one swallow builds where another has already made 
 her nest. Under my roof they will not build. It 
 was a lie when I said to you yesterday that you 
 had robbed me of everything; you could not rob 
 me, because I never possessed anything." 
 
 " You might have possessed it if I had not 
 come," said Radford, in a broken voice. " You 
 yourself said so yesterday." 
 
 Stepan shook his head. "That also was a lie; 
 I was not in my senses yesterday. Such things 
 are not for such men as me." 
 
 Until this moment they had both been stand- 
 ing opposite to each other in the middle of the 
 room. Now Stepan sat down on the chair beside 
 him and, leaning his left elbow on the table, shaded 
 his eyes with his hand, perhaps in order to shield 
 himself from the glare of the candle. His own 
 shadow and that of Radford, grotesquely large, 
 half covered the walls of the room and shifted at 
 each movement of the flame. 
 
 " Listen, Alfred," he said after a minute; " you 
 have been making mistakes all along. You have 
 seen things only from one point of view, but there 
 are others. During the night I have been looking 
 at the past two years. I believe with you that there 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 341 
 
 was a time — ^not when she loved me — but when she 
 meant to marry me. But that is easily explained. 
 A young girl, enthusiastic by nature to the point 
 of fanaticism, constantly on the look-out for a mis- 
 sion to fulfil, meets a man pursued by Fate, and 
 thinks she has found what she needs. To save me 
 from misfortune struck her as a vocation worthy 
 of herself, and with all the fearlessness of child- 
 hood she embraced the task. She did her best, 
 poor child, but she failed. I cannot reproach her 
 with anything. She has reproached herself already, 
 but without ground. The instincts of pity and of 
 rebelliousness are the two most strongly developed 
 elements in her nature, and exactly these two ele- 
 ments combined to push her towards me — pity for 
 my misfortune, and rebelliousness against the will 
 of her aunt. Then, when she saw that she could 
 not honestly love me, there came the recoil. I 
 have watched all her childish struggles — my God! 
 it was all so easy to follow! — the remorse at dis- 
 covering how she had tortured me unawares, the 
 abrupt drawing back, the dissatisfaction with her- 
 self, — and I have sufifered with her and for her. 
 At times I have been tempted to go up to her and 
 to say, ' Do not reproach yourself because of me, 
 for it is not true that I love you ! ' But the lie 
 would not be spoken." 
 
 Radford still stood in the middle of the floor, 
 
342 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 listening intently to every word. What Stepan 
 was saying seemed to him like the solution of 
 many, many riddles. In the passage outside his 
 soldier-servant could be heard disputing loudly 
 with the Jewish driver, and in front of the house 
 the sledge-bells of the waiting horses jingled mo- 
 notonously whenever one of them moved its head. 
 
 " I shall never understand why she did not love 
 you," said Radford slowly. 
 
 " Shall you not? Surely that is simple enough. 
 There are all sorts of reasons why you should be 
 preferred to me. You are rich and I am poor, you 
 are prosperous and I " 
 
 " Stepan ! " interrupted Radford, colouring with 
 indignation. " As if she ever took that into ac- 
 count!" 
 
 Stepan put up his hand. "Wait a minute! 
 You do not quite understand me. Of course she 
 did not take that into account; but is it her fault 
 if she should be susceptible to an atmosphere, if, 
 Hke others, she should be attracted by what is 
 bright, rather than by what is dark? No, certainly, 
 — ^just as little as it is wrong in a woman to love a 
 strong man rather than a feeble one; one who can 
 manage a horse or lift a weight, rather than one 
 who cannot. These things lie deep in the law of 
 human nature — of the animal side, if you wrill — 
 but of all the more immovable a law, for we become 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 343 
 
 flesh before we become spirit. And this, too, she 
 has done. She loves you for your noble qualities, 
 for your real goodness; but she loves you also for 
 your golden curls and your blue eyes and for your 
 iron muscles. Yes; you can glare at me as you 
 like, but it is so. You did not know what a .stride 
 you had made in your own cause at the moment 
 when you lifted that wheel out of the ice last year, 
 but I knew it. Do you think I could not see quite 
 plainly how I sank in her estimation beside you 
 because I could not do it, had no right arm to do 
 it with, while you, the same man who had disabled 
 my arm, rose by another step? Even at the mo- 
 ment I found this quite natural. It is illogical, if 
 you will, but it is unavoidable. Your physical 
 strength alone would not have made her love you; 
 but the proof of it gave the last touch that was still 
 needed to inflame her imagination. Does it aston- 
 ish you that I should be able to play the analyst 
 at this moment? Probably it does, and yet it is 
 very simple. Men on their death-bed often see 
 much more clearly than they have ever seen be- 
 fore, and I am on my death-bed to-day, — the death- 
 bed of my former life and of all its wishes. Believe 
 me, my analysis is correct." 
 
 " I don't believe it. There are other things, 
 surely, besides physical strength. There are your 
 intellectual qualities, — and, Stepan, I have never 
 
344 
 
 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 lost an opportunity of bringing these under her 
 notice. You must believe me in this; I have never 
 spoken otherwise than in praise of you." 
 
 Stepan looked at him and nearly laughed. 
 " And you never saw that exactly by upholding me 
 and reviling yourself, as of course you found it 
 your duty to do, you were unavoidably rising in 
 her eyes? You forget that the underlying motive 
 was clear to her; to every woman with a head and 
 a heart, no, only with a heart, she does not need 
 a head — it could not help being clear. Knowing, 
 as she did, of your dream of atonement, the more 
 earnestly you worked for me the more certainly 
 must she become convinced of your unselfishness 
 and generosity. No, Alfred, I tell you again; there 
 is no other alternative. We are both pursued; you 
 can as little escape from your good-fortune as I from 
 my ill-luck. It is time for us both to surrender. 
 Possibly it may be cruel, but neither of us can 
 change the order of the world. As I said to you at 
 first, you have no right to sacrifice her happiness. 
 I cannot say to you, ' Take her! ' because never 
 even with one thought has she belonged to me; 
 but if you believe that I love her, you will also be- 
 lieve that I cannot want her to be wretched." 
 
 There was another long pause. Stepan had 
 again shaded his eyes with his hand. " Whether 
 you fly or not everything will happen exactly as 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 345 
 
 it is ordained." Once more Madame Serpow's 
 words came back to Radford's memory. Was not 
 that almost the same thing that he was hearing 
 now? 
 
 " And you, Stepan? " he said at last, with a sort 
 of dififidence. 
 
 "I?" Stepan laughed again, a little wearily. 
 " You want to know what I will do? Why, go on 
 teaching, of course, and very likely take a wife 
 some day soon." 
 
 " Take a wife? " repeated Radford incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 " Yes. I am told that either of the two teachers 
 in the school — either the big mistress or the little 
 mistress — would be ready to have me, and they 
 are both respectable girls. I would rather stay 
 single; but a schoolmaster needs a wife, and my 
 father wants grandchildren, and since my sisters 
 have given him none I shall have to do what is 
 expected of me. I have disappointed him in my 
 career; I do not want to disappoint him in this 
 matter as well." 
 
 " Tell me, Stepan," asked Radford, coming a 
 step nearer, " are you certain that you do not hate 
 me?" 
 
 The other lowered his hand and looked at him 
 musingly for a few moments. 
 
 "Yes; I think I am certain of that. I have 
 
346 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 tried to hate you, and — it is almost absurd to say 
 so — I have failed. It was after I had reached the 
 first stage of resignation and had been roused from 
 out of it, that I came nearest to that danger. I 
 had tried my strength against that of the giant, and 
 had satisfied myself that it was not to be over- 
 come. I might have found it possible to sit still 
 now, if it had not been for her and for you. Visions 
 of another sort of happiness began to tantalise me ; 
 I was wide awake again. When I began to under- 
 stand that I was not loved I began also to hate you 
 and everything besides, even my very life, — so I 
 beheved then; but I have seen since that even that 
 was a mistake. Alfred, do you remember the day 
 when you declared to my face that you knew you 
 would -conquer, that you would certainly gain my 
 friendship? I thought Of it as folly then, but it 
 has nevertheless happened. You have conquered, 
 you have gained me, in spite of everything I could 
 do. My nature is hard and unforgiving, I know 
 well that it is so, and yet you have forced me to 
 do much more than forgive you. Probably this is 
 the last time that we shall ever speak together, and 
 it is better that you should know all. I owe to you 
 more than to any one else in the world. I will not 
 say that I am yet entirely resigned; but if ever I 
 find that ' perfect peace,' which to my father sup- 
 - plies the place of happiness, it will only be because 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 347 
 
 I have known you — ^yes, you, the same man who, 
 humanly speaking, has been my misfortune. There 
 must be a God, and He must be good if He makes 
 such men as you. You have thrown me down, but 
 you have also lifted me up again higher than be- 
 fore, for you have saved my faith for me. I do not 
 know whether my words sound bitter, but I do not 
 feel them so. Since I have quite understood you, 
 the bitterness has gone out of me. I am suffering 
 still, of course; but I know that the crisis of the 
 struggle is over, and I can even conceive it possible 
 that I may one day be contented." 
 
 While still speaking Stepan had risen and ap- 
 proached the door. 
 
 " Good-bye," he said, in a voice that had sud- 
 denly grown unsteady. Then, turning once more 
 with^his fingers on the handle, he appeared to be 
 hesitating. 
 
 " Only one more word. I have never asked you 
 for any favour, but I should like to ask for one 
 now. I have heard that your father wishes you to 
 return to England; if you could find it possible to 
 do as he desires, you would make many things 
 simpler for me. She will be happy wherever you 
 take her, and when we are all a little older the 
 meeting will be easier." 
 
 He spoke without looking at Radford, and went 
 out before the other had replied. 
 
348 THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 When his steps were no longer heard, Radford 
 sat down and covered his face with his two hands. 
 A mixture of the most opposite emotions over- 
 powered him. Just at first it was a sense of pity 
 which had the upper hand — an aching pity that 
 was almost like a physical pain. But other sen- 
 sations were awaiting their turn. 
 
 When he had sat for several minutes quite still, 
 he looked up quickly, like a man who has remem- 
 bered something. There were tears on his cheeks; 
 but with a rapid gesture he brushed them away, 
 and already an irrepressible smile was beginning 
 to move his half-unwilling lips. 
 
 " You had no right to make her unhappy," 
 Stepan had said. From all the words that had been 
 spoken within the last half-hour these stood out 
 with a distinctness of their own. In the tumult 
 of feelings in which he had been living lately he had 
 overlooked this one vital point. He might sacri- 
 fice himself, but what could justify him in sacri- 
 ficing her? 
 
 " No; I have no right to make her unhappy! " 
 he said, aloud and joyously ; and rising quickly 
 from his chair, he blew out the candle beside him 
 and pulled up the blind of the window. In the east, 
 over the house-tops, the sun was just becoming 
 visible. The shadows in the street were gone; 
 night was over, and day about to begin. 
 
THE WRONG MAN. 
 
 349 
 
 At that moment Radford's servant put his head 
 in by the door. 
 
 " If you please, Herr Lieutenant," he breathlessly 
 announced, " the Jew says that we shall certainly 
 miss the train if we do not start immediately." 
 
 Radford stared at him for a moment, uncom- 
 prehending. 
 
 " Tell the Jew to go home again to his garlic- 
 soup," he said at last, almost laughing into the 
 man's astonished face. " I am not going to start 
 on my travels to-day." 
 
 Then, making a long stride forward, he knelt 
 down once more before his open portmanteau, and 
 began tumultuously pulling out the things which 
 half ail hour ago he had packed so carefully and 
 so soberly. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 23 
 
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