His impassivity was a marvel to Vronsky, who worshiped at the shrine of Nadia with the hopeless intensity of disparity of years and rank intervening to prevent his love from ever descending from the clouds into an atmosphere of practical reality. He adored her as a saint is adored by her votary. He loved her, but would have rejoiced to see her beloved and possessed by his dearly cherished adopted son, Felix. It was, to him, an inexplicable thing that young Vanston should remain constant to the memory of a girl who was apparently far from reciprocating his devotion. Vronsky was working, slaving, that Felix might be wealthy. He knew that his birth was good. Why should he not become suitor for this lovely young lady? What a couple they would make! He had, however, the good sense not to confide his desires to Felix, who was himself, as a rule, most reserved upon the subject in which all his heart was involved. The door opened, and the Governor came in, with cordial greeting. "Where is my friend Vronsky?" he cried, wringing the young man's hand. Felix explained. "I have brought a message from him," he continued, bringing out the papers from his coat pocket. "These documents, sir, are of the very gravest importance. They contain the evidence upon which Vronsky wishes you to order the arrest of Gregor Cravatz." The Governor, instantly full of attention, sat down by the table. "The man whom he suspected of Nihilism?" "The same. The justification is here. Not merely Nihilism, but murder; and that not once nor twice. But now, sir, comes a point at which I wish to be perfectly frank with you. There are two strong reasons why Vronsky would urge you to have this man put out of the way. The first will, I believe, seem enough to you. It is simply that the society to which he belongs has determined to remove you from your Governorship. In other words, while he lives your own life is in danger----" He broke off short, and both men turned towards the garden with a simultaneous movement; for there was a cry of horror. And they saw, too late, that Nadia stood in the open window, in her white dress and straw hat, her lovely face blanched with apprehension. CHAPTER XVII "I WAS THE MAN SELECTED" O thou young man, the air of Heaven is soft, And warm and pleasant; but the grave is cold! Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave. --MATTHEW ARNOLD.