All this while Tamara, seated by the saloon stove, was almost growing
uneasy at being left so long alone. What could Olga be doing to stay
such a time?
Then the door opened, and the Prince came in.
"We must start now," he said, in a coldly polite tone. "The storm is
coming, and four persons made too heavy a load; so Lord Courtray and
Olga have gone on."
Tamara's heart gave a great bound, but his face expressed nothing, and
her sudden fear calmed.
He was ceremoniously polite as he helped her in. Nor did he sit too
near her or change his manner one atom as they went along. He hardly
spoke; indeed they both had to crouch down in the furs to shelter from
the blinding snow. And if Tamara had not been so preoccupied with
keeping her woollen scarf tight over her head she would have noticed
that when they left the park gate they turned to the right, in the full
storm, not to the left, where it was clearer and which was the way they
had come.
At last the Prince said something to the coachman in Russian, and the
man shook his head--the going was terribly heavy. They seemed to be
making tracks for themselves through untrodden snow.
"Stépan says we cannot possibly go much further, and we must shelter
in the shooting hut," Gritzko announced, gravely; and again Tamara
felt a twinge of fear.
"But what has become of the others?" she asked. "Why do we not see
their tracks?"
"They are obliterated in five minutes. You do not understand the
Russian storm," he said.
Tamara's heart now began to beat again rather wildly, but she reasoned
with herself; she was no coward, and indeed why had she any cause for
alarm? No one could be more aloof than her companion seemed. She was
already numb with cold too, and her common sense told her shelter of
any sort would be acceptable.
They had turned into the forest by now, and the road--if road it could
be called--was rather more distinct.
It was a weird scene. The great giant pine trees, and the fine falling
flakes penetrating through, the quickly vanishing daylight, and the
mist rising from the steaming horses as they galloped along; while
Stépan stood there urging them on like some northern pirate at a ship's
prow.
At last the view showed the white frozen lake, and by it a rough log
hut. They came upon it suddenly, so that Tamara could only realize it
was not large and rather low, when they drew up at the porch.