Natalie.”

The next was easier to write.

“Dearest,—­My mother and I leave England to-night.  Do not ask why we go, or why I have not sent for you to come and say good-bye.  We shall be away perhaps only a few days; in any case you must not go until we return.  Do not forget that I must see you again.”

  Natalie.”

She felt happier when she had written these two notes.  She rose from the table and went over to her mother.

“Now, mother, tell me how much money you have,” she said, with a highly practical air.  “What, have I startled you, poor little mother?  I believe your head is full of all kinds of strange forebodings; and yet they used to say that the Berezolyis were all of them very courageous.”

“Natalushka, you do not know what danger you are rushing into,” the mother said, absently.

“I again ask you, mother, a simple question:  how much money have you?”

“I?  I have thirty pounds or thereabout, Natalie; that is my capital, as it were; but next month my cousins will send me—­”

“Never mind about next month, mother dear.  You must let me rob you of all your thirty pounds; and, just to make sure, I will go and borrow ten pounds more from Madame Potecki.  Madame is not so very poor; she has savings; she would give me every farthing if I asked her.  And do you think, little mother, if we come back successful—­do you think there will be a great difficulty about paying back the loan to Madame Potecki?”

She was quite gay, to give her mother courage; and she refused to leave her alone, a prey to these gloomy forebodings.  She carried her off with her in the cab to Curzon Street, and left her in the cab while she entered the house with Anneli.  Anneli cried a little when she was receiving her mistress’s last instructions.

“Am I never to see you again, Fraulein?” she sobbed.  “Are you never coming back to the house any more?”

“Of course you will see me again, you foolish girl, even if I do not come back here.  Now you will be careful, Anneli, to have the wine a little warmed before dinner, and see that your master’s slippers are in the study by the fire; and the coffee—­you must make the coffee yourself, Anneli—­”

“Oh yes, indeed, Fraulein, I will make the coffee,” said Anneli, with a fresh flowing of tears.  “But—­but may not I go with you, Fraulein?—­if you are not coming back here any more, why may I not go with you?  I am not anxious for wages, Fraulein—­I do not want any wages at all; but if you will take me with you—­”

“Now, do not be foolish, Anneli.  Have you not a whole house to look after?  There, take these keys; you will have to show that you can be a good house-mistress, and sensible, and not childish.”

At the door she shook hands with the sobbing maid, and bade her a cheerful good-bye.  Then she got into the cab and drove away to Madame Potecki’s lodgings.  Finally, by dexterous management, she succeeded in getting her mother and herself to Charing Cross Station in time to catch the afternoon express to Dover.