“It was not merely to tell you of my sufferings, Natalushka,” the mother said at once, gently and anxiously; “they are over.  I am happy to be beside you; if you are happy.  But when a little time ago you told me of Mr. Brand being ordered away to this duty, and of the fate likely to befall him, I said to myself, ’Ah, no; surely it cannot be the story told twice over.  He would not dare to do that again.’”

The girl turned deadly pale.

“My child, that is why I asked you.  Mr. Brand disappointed your father, I can see, about the money affair.  Then, when he might have been got out of the way by being sent to America, you make matters worse than ever by threatening to go with him.”

The girl did not speak, but her eyes were terrified.

“Natalie,” the mother said gently, “have I done wrong to put these suspicions into your mind?  Have I done wrong to put you into antagonism with your father?  My child I cannot see you suffer without revealing to you what I imagine may be the cause—­even if it were impossible to fight against it—­even if one can only shudder at the cruelty of which some are capable:  we can pray God to give us resignation.”

Natalie Lind was not listening at all; her face was white, her lips firm, her eyes fixed.

“Mother,” she said at length, in a low voice, and speaking as if she were weighing each word, “if you think the story is being told again, why should it not be carried out?  You appealed, to save the life of one who loved you.  And I—­why may not I also?”

“Oh, child, child!” the mother cried in terror, laying hold of her arm.  “Do not think of it:  anything but that!  You do not know how terrible your father is when his anger is aroused:  look at what I have suffered.  Natalushka, I will not have you lead the life that I have led; you must not, you dare not, interfere!”

The girl put her hand aside, and sprung to her feet.  No longer was she white of face.  The blood of the Berezolyis was in her cheeks; her eyes were dilated; her voice was proud and indignant.

“And I,” she said, “if this is true—­if this is possible—­Oh, do you think I am going to see a brave man sent to his death, shamelessly, cruelly, and not do what I can to save him?  It is not for you, mother, it is not for one who bears the name that you bear to tell me to be afraid.  What I did fear was to live, with him dead.  Now—­”

The mother had risen quickly to her feet also, and sought to hold her daughter’s hands.

“For the sake of Heaven, Natalushka!” she pleaded.  “You are running into a terrible danger—­”

“Do I care, mother?  Do I look as if I cared?” she said, proudly.

“And for no purpose, Natalushka; you will only bring down on yourself the fury of your father, and he will make your life as miserable as he has made mine.  And what can you do, child? what can you do but bring ruin on yourself?  You are powerless:  you have no influence with those in authority as I at one time had.  You do not know them:  how can you reach them?”