Only gradually did he realise the new dangers that were gathering on his horizon. Pride in his past as a soldier, afforded him the one prop and stay in his present ruined life, and he felt that slipping from under his feet. He stood defenceless in face of imminent peril. It would need only a little _malice prepense_ to make him out a deserter from the flag, and the fact of his having borne a false name would go far to establish his guilt.
The son of Baron von Schranden had no reason to hope that justice would be tempered with mercy in his case. He would also have no reason to complain of harsh measures, if he were put under arrest on the spot, and brought before a court-martial of the standing branch of his regiment.
For a moment he entertained thoughts of flight, but afterwards thrust the idea from him in scorn. He had too often valued his life cheaply, to now think seriously of stealing into Poland to end his wretched career in safety.
At the thought of her, his heart smote him. She had no suspicion of the new troubles with which he was encompassed. Since Christmas night he had not addressed a single word to her that was not absolutely necessary, and even then his voice had been imperious and severe. The thought of her now seemed interwoven with a presentiment of coming calamity, which oppressed him like a nightmare.
At night he tossed about restlessly among his pillows. She never stirred in her corner. Apparently she fell asleep the moment she lay down. But her soft, quick, regular breathing was sometimes broken by a sigh. Perhaps, after all, she was not sleeping, but watching, listening, as he listened....
And then the day dawned on which Boleslav's fate was to be decided. Towards morning he had fallen into an uneasy sleep, and was first awakened by the smoke that poured into the room from the vestibule, where he had erected a temporary fireplace, which would have to do as a makeshift till milder weather made the repairing of the glass root practicable. It was a clear, frosty morning. The sunshine jewelled the hoar-frost on the twigs, and dark purple shadows crept along the dazzling sheets of snow.
He spent the morning in arranging his papers. All that was compromising to his father's memory should be destroyed, for were he put under arrest, as seemed likely, strangers' hands would meddle in this vortex. He held the sorted letters in his hand ready to burn in the stove, when he thought better of it. If he really were serious in his intentions of bearing his father's guilt, he ought to conceal or destroy nothing in order to lighten the burden. It was not worth while purchasing truth with falsehood. Rather die in disgrace, than live in honour founded on lies and deceit.