His Hour

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.