very probable.

"I remember well the distress of Mr. and Mrs. Pendennis,--Anthony's
parents,--when he wrote and announced his engagement to the young
countess. He was their only child, and they had all the old-fashioned
English prejudice against 'foreigners' of every description. Still they
did not withhold their consent; it would have been useless to do so, for
Anthony was of age, and had ample means of his own. He did not bring his
wife home, however, after their marriage; they remained in Russia for
nearly a year, but at last, soon after the murder of the Tzar, they came
to England,--to Pencarrow.

"They did not stay many weeks; but during that period I saw a good deal
of them. Anthony and I had always been good friends, though he was
several years my junior, and we were of entirely different temperaments;
his was, and is, I have no doubt, a restless, romantic disposition. His
people ought to have made a soldier or sailor of him, instead of
expecting him to settle down to the humdrum life of a country gentleman!
While as for his wife--"

He paused and stared hard at the ruddy glow of the firelight, as if he
could see something pictured therein, something that brought a strange
wistfulness to his fine old face.

"She was the loveliest and most charming woman I've ever seen!" he
resumed emphatically. "As witty as she was beautiful; a gracious
wit,--not the wit that wounds, no, no! 'A perfect woman nobly
planned'--that was Anna Pendennis; to see her, to know her, was to love
her! Did I say just now that she misused her influence at the Russian
Court in the attempt to further what she believed to be a right and holy
cause--the cause of freedom for an oppressed people? God forgive me if I
did! At least she had no share in the diabolical plot that succeeded all
too well,--the assassination of the only broad-minded and humane
autocrat Russia has ever known. I'm a man of peace, sir, but I'd
horsewhip any man who dared to say to my face that Anna Pendennis was a
woman who lent herself to that devilry, or any other of the kind--yes,
I'd do that even now, after the lapse of twenty-five years!"

"I know," I said huskily. "That's just how I feel about Anne. She must
be very like her mother!"

CHAPTER XXX

A BYGONE TRAGEDY

He sat so long silent after that outburst that I feared he might not be
willing to tell me any more of what I was painfully eager to hear.

"Did she--the Countess Anna--die here, sir?" I aske