Renditch was a Dalmatian, a sailor, with whom Insarov had become acquainted during his wanderings in his own country, and whom he had sought out in Venice. He was a dry, gruff man, full of daring and devoted to the Slavonic cause. He despised the Turks and hated the Austrians.
“How long must you remain at Venice?” Elena asked him in Italian. And her voice was as lifeless as her face.
“One day for freighting and not to rouse suspicions, and then straight to Zara. I shall have sad news for our countrymen. They have long been expecting him; they rested their hopes on him.”
“They rested their hopes on him,” Elena repeated mechanically.
“When will you bury him?” asked Renditch.
Elena not at once replied, “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I will stop; I should like to throw a handful of earth into his grave. And you will want help. But it would have been better for him to lie in Slavonic earth.”
Elena looked at Renditch.
“Captain,” she said, “take me and him and carry us across to the other side of the sea, away from here. Isn’t that possible?”
Renditch considered: “Possible certainly, but difficult. We shall have to come into collision with the damned authorities here. But supposing we arrange all that and bury him there, how am I to bring you back?”
“You need not bring me back.”
“What? where will you stop?”
“I shall find some place for myself; only take us, take me.”
Renditch scratched the back of his head.
“You know best; but it’s all very difficult. I will, I will try; and you expect me here in two hours’ time.”
He went away. Elena passed into the next room, leaned against the wall, and for a long time stood there as though turned to stone. Then she dropped on her knees, but she could not pray. There was no reproach in her heart; she did not dare to question God’s will, to ask why He had not spared, pitied, saved, why He had punished her beyond her guilt, if she were guilty. Each of us is guilty by the fact that he lives; and there is no one so great a thinker, so great a benefactor of mankind that he might hope to have a right to live for the service he has done. … Still Elena could not pray; she was a stone.
The same night a broad-bottomed boat put off from the hotel where the Insarovs lived. In the boat sat Elena with Renditch and beside them stood a long box covered with a black cloth. They rowed for about an hour, and at last reached a small two-masted ship, which was riding at anchor at the very entrance of the harbour. Elena and Renditch got into the ship; the sailors carried in the box. At midnight a storm had arisen, but early in the morning the ship had passed out of the Lido. During the day the storm raged with fearful violence, and experienced seamen in Lloyd’s offices shook their heads and prophesied no good. The Adriatic Sea between Venice, Trieste, and the Dalmatian coast is particularly dangerous.
Three weeks after Elena’s departure from Vienna, Anna Vassilyevna received the following letter in Moscow:—
“My Dear Parents.—I am saying goodbye to you forever. You will never see me again. Dmitri died yesterday. Everything is over for me. Today I am setting off with his body to Zara. I will bury him, and what will become of me, I don’t know. But now I have no country but Dmitri’s country. There, they are preparing for revolution, they are getting ready for war. I will join the Sisters of Mercy; I will tend the sick and the wounded. I don’t know what will become of me, but even after Dmitri’s death, I will be faithful to his memory, to the work of his whole life. I have learnt Bulgarian and Serbian. Very likely, I shall not have strength to live through it all for long—so much the better. I have been brought to the edge of the precipice and I must fall over. Fate did not bring us together for nothing; who knows?—perhaps I killed him; now it is his turn to draw me after him. I sought happiness, and I shall find—perhaps death. It seems it was to be thus: it seems it was a sin. … But death covers all and reconciles all; does it not? Forgive me all the suffering I have caused you; it was not under my control. But how could I return to Russia; What have I to do in Russia?
“Accept my last kisses and blessings, and do not condemn me.
Nearly five years have passed since then, and no further news of Elena has come. All letters and inquiries were fruitless; in vain did Nikolai Artemyevitch himself make a journey to Venice and to Zara after peace was concluded. In Venice he learnt what is already known to the reader, but in Zara no one could give him any positive information about Renditch and the ship he had taken. There were dark rumours that some years back, after a great storm, the sea had thrown up on shore a coffin in which had been found a man’s body … But according to other more trustworthy accounts this coffin had not been thrown up by the sea at all, but had been carried over and buried near the shore by a foreign lady, coming from Venice; some added that they had seen this lady afterwards in Herzegovina, with the forces which were there assembled; they even described her dress, black from head to foot. However
