Olga Romanoff | Page 7

to
nine, and he is not due until the hour."
"No; I remember. I don't suppose he can be here much before.
Meanwhile get me the draught ready, so that I shall have strength to do
what has to be done before "--
"Are you sure it is necessary for you to take that terrible drug? Why
should you sacrifice what may be months or even years of life, to gain a
few hours' renewed youth?"
The girl's voice trembled as she spoke, and her eyes melted in a sudden
rush of tears. The one being that she loved in all the world was this old
man, and he had just told her to prepare his death-draught.
"Do as I bid you, child," he said, raising his voice to a querulous cry,
"and do it quickly, while there is yet time. Why do you talk to me of a
few more months of life -- to me, whose eyes have seen the snows of a
hundred winters whitening the earth ? I tell you that, drug or no drug, I
shall not see the setting of to-morrow's sun. As I slept, I heard the rush
of the death-angel's wings through the night, and the wind of them was
cold upon my brow. Do as I bid you, quick -- there is the
door-telephone. Serge is here!"
As he spoke, a ring sounded in the lower part of the house. Accustomed
to blind obedience from her infancy, the girl choked back her rising
tears and went to a little cupboard let into the wall, out of which she
took two small vials, each containing about a fluid ounce of colourless
liquid. She placed a tumbler in the old man's hand, and emptied the
vials into it simultaneously.

There was a slight effervescence, and the two colourless liquids
instantly changed to deep red. The moment that they did so, the dying
man put the glass to his lips and emptied it at a gulp. Then he threw
himself back upon his pillows, and let the glass fall from his hand upon
the floor. At the same moment a little disc of silver flew out at right
angles to the wall near the door, and a voice said--
"Serge Nicholaivitch is here to command."
"Serge Nicholaivitch is welcome. Let him ascend!" said the girl,
walking towards the transmitter, and replacing the disc as she ceased
speaking.
A few moments later there was a tap on the door. The girl opened it and
admitted a tall, splendidly-built young fellow of about twenty-two,
dressed, according to the winter costume of the time, in a close-fitting
suit of dark-blue velvet, long boots of soft, brown leather that came a
little higher than the knee, and a long, fur-lined, hooded cloak, which
was now thrown back, and hung in graceful folds from his broad
shoulders.
As he entered, the girl held out her hand to him in silence. A bright
flush rose to her clear, pale cheeks as he instantly dropped on one knee
and kissed it, as in the old days a favoured subject would have kissed
the hand of a queen.
"Welcome, Serge Nicholaivitch, Prince of the House of Romanoff!
Your bride and your crown are waiting for you!"
The words came clear and strong from the lips which, but a few
minutes before, had barely been able to frame a coherent sentence. The
strange drug had wrought a miracle of restoration. Fifty years seemed
to have been lifted from the shoulders of the man who would never see
another sunrise
The light of youth shone in his eyes, and the flush of health on his
cheeks. The deep furrows of age and care had vanished from his face,
and, saving only for his long, white hair, if one who had seen

Alexander Romanoff, the last of the Tsars of Russia, on the battlefield
of Muswell Hill could have come back to earth, he would have believed
that he saw him once more in the flesh.
Without any assistance he rose from the couch, and drew himself up to
the full of his majestic height. As he did so the young man dropped on
his knee before him, as he had done before the girl, and said in
Russian--
"The honour is too great for my unworthiness. May heaven make me
worthy of it!"
"Worthy you are now, and shall remain so long as you shall keep
undefiled the faith and honour of the Imperial House from which you
are sprung," replied the old man in the same language, raising him from
his knee as he spoke. Then he laid his hands on the young man's
shoulders, and, looking him straight in the eyes, went on--
"Serge Nicholaivitch, you know why I have bidden you come here