His Hour

Tamara never stirred, and the strain of keeping the pistol to her head

made her wrist ache.

For a long time there was silence, and the great heat caused a mist to

swim before her eyes, and an overpowering drowsiness--Oh, heaven!--if

unconsciousness should come upon her!

Then the daylight faded quite, and the Prince got up and lit a small

oil lamp and set it on the shelf. He opened the stove and let the glow

from the door flood through the room.

Then he sat down again.

A benumbing agony crept over Tamara; her brain grew confused in the

hot, airless room. It seemed as if everything swam round her. All she

saw clearly were Gritzko's eyes.

There was a deathly silence, but for an occasional moan of the wind in

the pine trees. The drift of snow without showed white as it gradually

blocked the window.

Were they buried here--under the snow? Ah! she must fight against this

horrible lethargy.

It was a strange picture. The rough hut room with its skins and

antlers; the fair, civilized woman, delicate and dainty in her soft

silk blouse, sitting there with the grim Cossack pistol at her

head--and opposite her, still as marble, the conquering savage man,

handsome and splendid in his picturesque uniform; and just the dull

glow of the stove and the one oil lamp, and outside the moaning wind

and the snow.

Presently Tamara's elbow slipped and the pistol jerked forward. In a

second the Prince had sprung into an alert position, but she

straightened herself, and put it back in its place, and he relaxed the

tension, and once more reclined on the couch.

And now there floated through Tamara's confused brain the thought that

perhaps it would be better to shoot in any case--shoot and have done

with it. But the instinct of her youth stopped her--suicide was a sin,

and while she did not reason, the habit of this belief kept its hold

upon her.

So an hour passed in silence, then the agonizing certainty came upon

her that there must be an end. Her arm had grown numb.

Strange lights seemed to flash before her eyes--Yes,--surely--that was

Gritzko coming toward her--!

She gave a gasping cry and tried to pull the trigger, but it was

stiff, her fingers had gone to sleep and refused to obey her. The

pistol dropped from her nerveless grasp.

So this was the end! He would win.

She gave one moan--and fell forward unconscious upon the table.

With a bound Gritzko leaped up, and seizing her in his arms carried her

into the middle of the room. Then he paused a moment to exult in his

triumph.