The Playground of Satan Part 15

"I was hoping you would come," he said. "Tell me all that's happened since this awful war started."

"I won't sit. I've work downstairs."

Joseph gave him a keen look; the tone was ominous.

"You want to know what I was doing on Ruvno soil yesterday."

"Vanda told me your explanation."

"Explanation! It was the truth."

Ian's gray eyes were bright with hostility as he said:

"She has just told me you want to get married at once. I don't approve."

"Indeed!" this sarcastically. "Why?"

Ian paused for a moment. It was getting harder and harder for him to say what he wanted without saying too much, without betraying himself.

He took up the open book that lay on the table, glanced at its t.i.tle, laid it down again. Joseph made no attempt to help him out. The air was full of tension. The least unguarded word would start a quarrel.

And neither of them wanted that.

"For one reason," he began at length, "I don't like her to leave home without a rag to her back." He remembered the sables and fine linen he had seen at Warsaw for her, and Joseph wondered why he frowned.

"The date was fixed for the end of this month," the bridegroom reminded him.

"I know. If not for the war, mother would have had the things ready for her. But you know what sort of life we've been leading since you were here last."

Joseph nodded. He noticed for the first time that his cousin had aged in those few weeks; there were lines on his face and gray hairs round the temples that ought not to have been there.

"And then there's her dowry," he went on. "Mother talked it over with you, before."

"She said something about it. I said I wanted nothing. She gave me to understand that you insisted."

"I did. I had planned for sixty thousand roubles ... _then_. I haven't got it, now."

He took up a paper-knife, inspected it, balanced it on the palm of his hand, put it down again, and sought his words. It had been so easy and so comforting to talk to Roman last night, to tell details of his losses, discuss possibilities, hopes and fears for the future. And to Roman's brother he could scarcely open his lips for bare business. Not only did his animosity grow with every thought; but all the while he was cursing his folly, and Vanda's words of an hour ago, her: "Why do you step in _now_?" rang in his ears. He was burning to mar this marriage, had one pretext, at least, on his side. Yet, he must be fair, honest with himself and with them. Joseph noticed his embarra.s.sment and misinterpreted it. He thought: "He was always a bit close-fisted, now he's mad with the grief of losing his forest and crops." Joseph, too, had his troubles. Last night, when death had been near, he promised to fight against Prussia with a light heart. He did not regret it. He was prepared to do his duty, to atone for blind obedience to the Kaiser's call of two months back. He had been miserable ever since the scales fell from his eyes, showing him the real issues of the war. But this step meant beggary. Everything he possessed was invested within the limits of the German Empire. Prussia would very soon hear of him, would set a price upon his head, seize his estates and his money. After the war, he would perhaps get them back. That depended on how things went, on which side won. During the evening, thinking over his position, he remembered his aunt's talk of Vanda's dowry with relief. At the time, he had pooh-poohed the idea of taking anything from Ruvno. It had pleased his vanity to marry a portionless maid and give her all. But things were different now. He had counted on Vanda having enough to live upon until the war ended. He knew broadly what Ruvno was worth in peace time, and Ian's news shocked him.

"My dear Ian, I'd no idea you'd suffered so heavily. From the little I saw of Ruvno yesterday things looked pretty bad, especially the forests.

But I comforted myself that you could fall back on your investments," he said warmly.

"The Vulcan Sugar Refinery, where I was heavily involved, went the first week of the war," Ian explained stiffly. He wanted none of this man's sympathy. "It was in the Kalisz Province, and you know what happened there. I've a certain amount in a hardware factory in Warsaw, now making field kitchens for the Russian Government. It's paying fifteen per cent. I can't sell out or make over all that stock, much as I'd like to for Vanda's sake. There's Mother to think of, if we have to bolt, and food to buy if we don't. I've a lot of starving peasants on my hands."

"Of course, of course," Joseph rejoined, "I shouldn't think of letting you do any such thing."

"I can manage fifteen thousand roubles. It would have seemed nothing, for Vanda, two months back. It means two thousand, seven hundred and fifty roubles a year. But it would keep the wolf from the door if--if anything happened to either of us. But if the Prussians get to Warsaw, that goes, too."

"Sell out in time."

"I'd lose half the capital--and where to invest the remainder? The rouble is dropping, foreign investments are out of the question."

Joseph was silent. Ian went on:

"But nowadays we've got to take chances. And Vanda will never want for what I--I mean Mother and I can share with her. But there's the other reason against your marriage, now."

"What's that?" His handsome face grew cold again. Ian did not answer at once; the old struggle between honesty and hatred was going on within his heart. He decided to let his foe decide.

"Put yourself in my place," he began huskily. "You come here, a prisoner, in a German uniform. You're all but shot as a spy. Let's not go into the whys and wherefores. But would you, in my place, let Vanda marry Roman, if the things happened that have happened to you, till he had redeemed his promise to fight on the right side?"

Joseph got up and faced his cousin.

"You're the head of the family, I'll not go against your decision," he said quietly.

"I don't want to decide."

"But why?"

"I'd rather not say."

Joseph gave a little laugh. "We may as well be frank with each other and have it out."

Ian made a gesture of dissent.

"Frankness is brutal," he said hastily. "It leaves rancor ... and I want to be fair."

"I suppose you despise me for letting Roman take my place, last night,"

said Joseph bitterly.

Ian was silent. The other watched his face, but could read little there; his own had flushed.

"It's easy to talk here." He glanced round the comfortable room. "But it was infernally hard to die, like that, and so easy for Roman to get past. He had brought tools with him."

"Yes," said Ian. "He unpicked the lock.... But there was..."

"There was what?"

"Oh, nothing." A sudden wave of pa.s.sion was coming over him. He could trust himself no longer. He felt that, unless he escaped from the room he would hurl all the bitterness of his soul against Joseph, expose his deep wound to that cold gaze. He made for the door.

"Stop!" said the other peremptorily. He looked back, his hand on the door.

"Sleep on it," he muttered and would have pa.s.sed out, but Joseph was beside him, his sound hand grasping his shoulder.

"I have made up my mind."

"Ah--and what----?"

"You're right. After the war--if I'm alive."

"No need for that. In six months."