114
March 1931
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
“I admit, Miss Constance’s friend with the barbaric name is clever! Her plan, too, is clever, though intricate. She evidently knows her Cheka! No loophole has been left open in it.” “It’s a water-tight scheme, as an American said last summer at Interlaken,” the Princeling commented. “You get in touch at once with this unfortunate, near here, who was drawn into the Soviet program a while back by the misrepresentations of the Reds. Then he can get into immediate communication with the anti-Reds still left in Russia, unknown to the Soviet. No wonder they’re disgusted! Talk about the tyranny of the Czars! How about the infamies perpetrated under this man of steel?” * * * Nikolai had finally gone to sleep in the dark of his dungeon. Dreams of wings hovering over him! Pro tective wings! “In the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast,” he had whispered to One he knew, e’er sleeping. He had thought long of Russia before he slept. Rus sia’s past! What a background of infamy! The land of the serf and the knout and the barbaric people of the Steppes! Russia with its Peter and its Catherine and its regents following one another in perilous succession! Russia’s plaintive folk songs and sad harmonies that told of her people’s hopelessness! Count Ivan Dolgorouky broken upon the wheel! His brothers beheaded to please Munnich, Czarina Anna’s favorite! Evil so overpowering that when the throne-crash came, and the surgical operation of removing Russia’s rulers took place, the patient was found to be too infected with the character of her great men to sustain a healthy reaction! The patient was ill, decidedly, seriously ill—- and out of her mind with a fever that threatened her life. “Under thy wings,” Nikolai had murmured. Wings over Nikolai! And wings of another, who came in his own name, over Russia! One could hear their terrible beating in the dark. Would no one bring the light and lead these helpless souls to sheltering pinions ? “The light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.” And finally it was dawn again and Nikolai was awak ened by the rattle of the iron bar as it fell from before his door. “Come forth, Prisoner Orloff.” He started from his bench. ,rTake all you possess with you,” was the command. '“This way to the Chamber.” The Chamber was known as the last step on the way to execution. Nikolai entered it with exaltation. It was -evident to all that something his soul Within him knew would carry him triumphantly through. “Right forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne.”
He dropped into a seat beside a gentle, pallid Russian. Very fearful he was— a student, or an artist, or perhaps a musician. “What is your crime?” the pale one asked Nikolai. “Preaching the glad news that Jesus saves. And yours ?” “My hands!” He lifted them sadly—slender, sensi tive hands, with thoughtful fingers. “They showed no sign of manual labor.” “This is your crime ?” in astonishment. “This alone,” despairingly. , “Do you know Christ?” “No. Who is He?” “He is the way of life, the truth.” “Ah! What is truth?” “That is what Pilate asked Him.” “Who was Pilate?” “The official who delivered Him up to His death.” “There is the official over there who delivered me up.” Nikolai looked across the room at a bearded man in a bluish blouse who was talking with two important-look ing Russians. “You are about to enter a new life,” Nikolai said quietly. “You are not prepared. Have you ever done wrong ?” “O ften! I called it self-expression, freedom of soul, and so on,” bitterly, sombrely. “Can you undo or wipe out the sin ?” • “Never.” “Should you like it wiped out?” “Yes—so much! More than much! I am in agony.” The cold dew on his forehead bespoke this. “Here is relief. He bore your sin.” “Who?” ' “Jesus Christ, on the cross.” “How can I know that?” “You have His Word. He "died declaring it. Men do not die declaring untruths.” “No.” “But Christ was the Son of God. Will you accept what He has done ?” “Gladly.” “Will you confess Him?” “As I go to die I will do so. I vow to you.” A soul saved just in time! The official approached Nikolai. He arose. He was ready to meet his hour. “Good-by, my brother.” A clasped hand, and Nikolai was walking away. The two important men advanced. “Nikolai Orloff?” “It is.” “You answer the description.” Nikolai, in a daze, was led to a motor car of some proportions. “It is. stored with food and supplies for a long jour ney,” he was told. He was whirled away, whirled out of Moscow. In
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