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It is the Slavic temperament and not the Anglo-Saxon that best expresses itself in music and literature. Nona's errand this afternoon was a curious and puzzling one, fraught with unnecessary mystery. Four days before, a Russian boy about twelve years old had appeared at the gate of the fortress at Grovno, bearing a note addressed to Miss Nona Davis.
She confessed to Nona that her own position in Russian society had been difficult to attain. Not for worlds would she be suspected of having anything to do with a Socialist, or an Anarchist, or whatever dreadful character Nona's friend might be!
She was wearing a black dress of some rough material, but it seemed to Nona Davis that she had never seen a more beautiful woman. Sonya was like a white lily found growing in some underground dungeon. She put her hands through the bars and took hold of Nona's cold ones. "This is wonderfully kind of you, Nona?" she said with the simplicity of manner that had always distinguished her.
Once, I said for her Mother Goose's "Cushy cow bonny, let down your milk!" and after hearing the whole verse several times she began to repeat it to herself, but said, "Tushy tow bonny, let down Nona's milk!" And she always corrects me if I omit her name. She often says, "Bobby Shafto's done to sea; tome back, marry Nona!" with a very facetious expression.
"Don't talk nonsense," Barbara protested, in answer to the first part of her friend's speech. "Of course, I am not going to let you wander off and live in a strange family by yourself." Then Barbara sighed. She was sitting on a small stool beside Nona's couch, resting her chin on her hand and looking very childish and homesick.
Fortunately for her she was near the one person who might be able to answer them. Sonya Valesky had never said why she had not sought to find her friend's daughter until their accidental meeting on shipboard. Even then she had not recognized Nona's connection with the past. Was it because she was too engrossed in her own life and her own mysterious mission?
For the horses had become weary of their heavy loads and yet were to have no rest of any length until daylight. On the farther side of the river there were other small encampments. But by and by Barbara Meade fell asleep with her head pressed against Nona's shoulder. Occasionally Nona drowsed, but not often. She was torn between two worries.
It was more than possible that she might let Sonya know of her disapproval. Moreover, she might object to Nona's own championship of Sonya and to her purpose to return with her to the United States and there make their future home together. Of course, no views of Eugenia's would interfere with this intention of Nona's.
But ever since their first acquaintance Nona had realized that the horror of it went deeper into Sonya's consciousness than any person she had yet seen. It must be the war that had aged her so in the past year. So the Russian woman and the American girl spoke of everything else. Sonya told of her own life and of Nona's mother when they were little girls.
Nona did not go with them, as Sonya did not appear to be well and she did not wish to leave her. So she sent a message of explanation to the Countess Amélie, saying that she hoped to be able to call upon her very soon. It chanced that Sonya did not know of Nona's decision. She was lying down when the girls went away and believed she had the little house to herself.
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