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About Washington County news. (Forest Grove, Washington County, Or.) 1903-1911 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 9, 1905)
By Order of the Czar A Story of Russian Power By M ARCUS C H A P T E R V. "Vladim ir, thou art feeling stronger? Is It not so?” says Ivan, putting a hand ou each of my shoulders and looking down anxiously in my face. “ Csrtainly 1 am— much stronger than when I came to thee a week ago,” I reply with a smile. "Because thou wilt have to make a move again,” resumes Ivan. " I t (s no longer safe for thee here. To-day my landlord met me as I left the house, and asked me who I had staying with me; though I know not how he has discov ered thy presence here. I said: ‘A cous in, who la merely passing through the town en route to Novgorod.’ H e asked ybur name. I was taken aback, but for tunately the first lie led up to the second, and the name of an actual cousin came to me and I pronounced it. So now thou art Waldemar Nicolaivitch Alikanoff! I have thought, Vladimir,” he resumes, "that it were well to make known thy existence to our section. Thou knowest they are to be trusted to a man. W hat Joy there will be amongst them when thej know thou are alive! They will all be ready to die for thee! And amongst us we can easily conceal thee. Thou canst pass from one to the other until thou art able to venture on flight.” “ I have always advised it,” I respond. “ Long since I would have shown my self to them but for Maruscha. She thinks there Is risk in so many knowing it whilst I am still in the country.” Ivan shrugs his shoulders. “ I see no alternative. Something we must risk,” he says. “ There is strength in uuity, and are we not ns one man in purpose? The sooner thou art away from here the better. What thinkest thou o f going first to Pavel Yegorevitch?” he asks. " I would trust Pavel as my own soul!” I reply, fervently, for I like the man. H e Is a silent, deep nature— I always mistrust the glib tongue— a man who makes no professions, slow and delib erate both In speech and action, but hav ing once chosen a course is not to be turned from it. “ Thou wilt lock thyself In,” says Ivan. “ And If any one, snve Maruscha, should come and knock for admittance thou w ilt keep silent as a shade until they depart. Adieu, I will not be long." As I lie, with my hands clasped above meir my head, my eyes fixed on the bit o f sky glenmiug gray, through the small dormer window, the being of all others I most long for stands at the other side o f the door. I know well Maruscha’s particu lar rap, and it is her voice that whispers my name: “ Vladimir!” I ««rin g to my feet and hasten to ad mit her. For some minutes, holding the beloved form In my arms, I forget all else, realising only the rapture of the present. Only when she releases her self and looks round for Ivan, I remem ber how much I have to tell her. She turns white when she hears about the landlord's questions, and I tell her that Ivan has gone to see Pavel Yego revitch to make arrangements for my re moval there to-night. A t this she clasps her hands. “ Is It well— oh, is It well that others should know about thee? Pavel Is sileut and trustworthy. It Is true; but still I fear me. It will break out. One by one they will be told— they will be flocking to see thee. The attention o f the police be at trncted. I wish, I wish Ivan had come to me! Surely we two could have man aged to conceal thee somewhere— some where!” “ Thou art too fearful, my Maruscha,” I reply soothingly, “ And thou seest It has become imperative to seek the aid of others. I only wish 1 had insisted ou doing so before I drew this danger on Ivan. Ami ns to my safety, there is not a roan of them who would not render up his life rather than betray me!” “ Not willingly, not willfully, I know. Vladimir, but what matters It when they have by their coming and going, at tracted those bloodhounds to thy hiding place? It Is a mistake, l tell thee!" per sists Maruscha. For n while she stares straight before her, and I see the anguish of terrible possibilities growing 111 her eves until the tears begin to gather, her features to work, and she casts herself on my breast. "Vladim ir! Vladim ir!" she cries, " I f they tear thee from me now 1 shall die!” I say what I can to reassure her, stroking her bright head and pressing my lips to It, for her hat— that sweet little hat that I have watched her trim— has •lipped to her shoulders. And she sobs out her woe with tears abundant, at which I rejoice, because experience has taught me that after Maruscha has wept much, she is wont to be very calm. "H o w long w ilt thou stay with Pavel Yegorevitch ?” she asks. "A s short a time as possible," I re si ply. “ I am quite strong now, and the sooner I begin to make for the frontier ch the better. By remaining I only en sel danger my friends. Moreover, Maruscha. as I explained to thee before, hnving pu censed to approve of the methods o f the party to which I have hitherto belong P* ed. my wisest plan is to escape from it. f quietly and silently. I have thought It out. and to attempt any explanation would be madness. I could not make mj self understood.” Maruscha sighs as If she would excuse me to herself. . "Surely thou hast done enough,” she i murmurs. “ By no meana!" I cry vehemently. "No man can ever aay: I have done enough. In a good cause! Once Its true dieciple, his liabilities to it end only with his Ilfs, and my watchword la now as heretofore, ‘liberty.’ And It la for liberty that I will fight to my last breath! No longer, therefore, can I be the slave of a party whose tyranny la as great as the Coar himself! It la Nthtltam I have served— •lavishly, sbjectedly. What It has de- rreed I have done, silencing my con science— smothering the dictate of the Divine voice within my heart which would have whispered: ‘Thou shalt not take God-given life, even though it be that of thine enemy!*” "W hat wilt thou do whsn then hast left us?” she a aka, with quivering 11 pa. “ Thou apeakeet as If I seuld choose/' BAS TLA KB I reply, with a touch o f bitterness. “ A stranger and an alien In a foreign land, should I reach It, my prospecta are nil.” Theu noting the effect o f my gloomy ob servations in her downcast features, I hasten to add more cheerfully: "N e ve r theless, Maruscha, I have my hands and my head, and being willing to make use of either as opportunity offers, I shall surely find work to do.” “ Could I but have gone with thee!" •he cries, with a heaven of tenderness in her voice. “ Could not I? ” “ It were Impossible, my heart of hearts! Thou wouldst but retard my flight. Increase my danger, and, more than all, run a terrible risk thyself. Nor rouldst .thou endure the hardships I may have to encounter. Alone thou canst follow me by rail, In perfect safety, and we will trust in my lucky star that soon I may bid thee come. Meanwhile, keep a brave heart, and avoid getting embroil ed with the Nihilists. W ilt thou do this for love o f me, my Maruscha?” In re ply she takes my hand in both of bers aud presses it to her lips. C H A P T E R VI. Whilst we have been talking the shades o f night have been closing In, until now, leaning together as we sit, we can barely see each other’s faces. Maruscha rises to light the lamp, and in the silenew I hear how the wind,' which has been blowing a gale all day, is rattling the window in its frame and howling wildly round the house. From a gale it has developed' to a tempest. “ Ivan will see thee home. Maruscha,” I observed. “ It is a wild night.” Suddenly flying steps startle ua as cending the stairs! The handle o f the door is shaken, and a breathless whisper, which is not Ivan's, comes to us: “ Open— open quickly! I t is I — P a v e l!” Maruscha, pale of a sudden to the lips, is at the door before I, in my surprise and consternation, find the power to stir. I sit gating and expectant of I know not what, but something of ill— and Pavel is before me. H e must have sped quickly, for he puts his hand to his heaving side, and with wild eyes darting at me, gasps forth : "H id e ! Hide for thy life! They are upon us!” Maruscha wrings her hands. “ F ly ! fly! stand not thus, Vladimir!” I am beginning to make blindly for the noor, when I ’avel's voice arrests me. “ No— no time; they will meet thee— thou must hide!” I look around at the four walla and laugh stupidly. "T h e window— It is dark!” It is Ma- ruscht who speaks, pointing upward. “ I t is a chance!” gasps Pavel. The window rises from the roof. It Is high. Already Maruscha is dragging for ward a chair for me to mount. “ My shoulders— better,” gasps Pavel again, Instantly turning to me his hack and lowering his body. Something of their anxious energy Is lent to me in this supreme moment. I spring with marvelous agility to the prof fered shoulders— I open the window, and with a rush of wind comes to me the tramp, tramp of gendarmes! The wind compasses me about— It tears, It roars at me. I clutch the window frame— ray feet are on the sloping roof, which seems to move away under them. P a v e l’s head shoots up for a moment through the window. I see the wind seine his black hair and toss It about in wanton fury ere it disappears and the wii dow is shut. I have now got a firm grip of the projecting slates that edge the dormer roof. Fortunately, I am shod with soft slippers, so that my feet can bend with them and get a certaiu purchase on the slates. I move cau tiously sideways, until I can extend my left arm over a corner of the projection. Thus by bending my body forward I can see into the room, myself unseen. Maruscha is sitting at the table. H er eyes are turned to the door, as if in startled surprise. Pavel is at the door, holding it open to admit four police officers, two of whom have Ivan in cus tody. Pavel's manner Is perfect. His eyebrows are raised. He looks astonish ment personified. With a polite gesture he seems to invite the intruders to en ter, search, examine— anything they like, so that they are satisfied. • There is an air o f baffled mystification on the faces of all the officers as their glances travel about the room. One of them, a superior, locks the door and puts the key in his pocket. Ivan, standing apart, with gyved wrists, wears n look of sullen Indiffer ence. Only once I catch him dart a swift glance at Maruscha, who has risen to her feet and stands with proud, up lifted head In mute protest at the un seemly interruption. The superior officer steps forward in front o f Pavel, and holding him with a stern eve, evidently commences to question him. I strain every nerve to hear what is being said, but what with the swish of the wind ami the interven ing glass, I cannot distinguish a single won!. I can only guess what is trans piring by a close observation of the dumb show. Pavel fixes steadfast, unflinching eyes on his examiner. Occasionally he smiles slightly. His lips move as if in prompt reply. Presently he takes out his pock etbook, provinces a card from it, which he hands to the officer. Then Ma- ruscha'a turn comes. My brave girl! She hfikrs herself like an enraged queen. I can see that her manner impresses the officer— Russian officer« are particularly Impressionable! —«h e would impress the Osar himself! The fellow bows courteously at every reply of hers. H e takes dowu her ad dress and name on tha bark o f Pavsl'a card, and makes her a profound bow ers he turn« from her. (the sits quietly down aod speaks not •gain, but silently watches every move ment of the officers, who havs now got orders to prooeenta a March. They poll out drawer aftsr drawer, upsetting tha contents on tha floor, whlla their su perior stands by, looking on. Tha bottom drawer la tbs only one that la locked, aad Ivan la commanded ta gtva op tha kay. With perfect un concern ha directs one of the officers to hla waistcoat pocket, aad— ah, at last here are papers! I note the gleam of exultation with which they are clutched and the eagerness with which they are unfolded; glanced over with increasing disappointment, one by one. and laid aside. I could almost chuckle at their discomfiture, knowing as I do, that Ivan has another hiding place, and one that they are not likely to stumble on for his secret papers. They leave no corner uninvestigated, and it occupies s considerable time. F i nal!} they give up the search and leave the bouse. The tramp o f the police offi cers below in the street gradually grows fainter until it dies in the distance. 1 breathe a prayer of thanksgiving. It is Maruscha's small head, blown about by ringed wavelets of hair, which next starts up against the sky, and her voice gasping out my name in an intense, awful whisper: “ Vladim ir!” Bhs cannot see me. her gsse sets out en a distracted, dubious search. I raise my head. She utters a low cry o f joy. “ I am here, Maruscha,” 1 call to her. “ Oh, Vladimir, be careful! Hold fast! Take tim e!” She stretches out her hand toward me, though she cannot help me, while I slow ly and painfully descend. Once my foot slips forward and she utters a scream of terror. I reassure her. “ F ear not for me, Maruscha. I keep a firm hold, and hold ing, I cannot fall.” And once more I stand in the room, and Maruscha's arms are clasping my nsek. C H A P T E R V I I. Around me is a chaos of confusion. Ivan's belongings strew the floor like the leaves on the strand after a tem pest. His open desk, with its contents scattered broadcast, is at my feet; his bedclothes lie a twisted heap, with the mattress beside the bed. The table, too, is littered with old letters, manu scripts, note scraps relative to his law studies; but where is their owner? Where is Tavel Yegorevitch? “ They have been taken,” I groan, a huge wave o f bitterest remorse rising and sweeping over my soul. H ave I re turned to this miserable world only to bring misfortune to those who are dear est to me? Am I ever to be doomed to blast like a thunderbolt all I come in contact with? T o prove a curse where I most would bless? Maruscha, who now that the fierce strain has been removed from hei nerves, is sobbing hysterically, with her head on my breast, lifts her tear-stained face at my words, anxiety for me bring ing her sobs to an immediate check. “ Yes, they have both had to go, but U Is a mere form. To-morrow they will be released. Nothing was found, noth ing can be proved against them,” she hastens to inform me. I laugh harshly. “ Hast thou forgotten Vera Sassulitch?” I say. “ There was nothing found against her—-nothing but the faintest shadow of a suspicion rested on her, yet that hindered them not from keeping her two long years of her girl’s life In the fortress without trial! And she was scarcely eighteen! Mamscha hangs her head and sighs drearily. She replies not. W hat can •he reply to this cruel fate? “ I ueed scarcely ask o f what they accuse our brothers,” I observe at length, with bitterness. “ It Is not the manner of the Russian authorities to prefer an accusation when they arrest a subject. It Is enough that they have decided to drag him to prison, and well for him if he is not left to rot there!” * “ They made no accusation, It is true; but, from their questions I could guess that they expected to find that some one was hiding— being hidden.” “ It is as I thought,” I interrupt. “ That malignant demon, Isnjeff, the furrier, is at the bottom o f it!” Then instantly, with a shock o f dis may, I recollect that it was from .Ma ruscha’ s lodging Isajeff had followed us! Yet she is here— she has not been ar rested with the others. H e has spared her: it is due to his reticence that she is not now in a prison cell! W hy has he spared her? My brain reels as I con template the only possible reason this wretch can have for acting as he has done—to have her in his power. And I am powerless to protect her from him! Nay, I must fly from her— hasten to put miles between us, for ev ery moment that I remain at her side I imperil her very life! (T o bs continued.! W h e r e T im e la N oth in g. Miss Mary E. Dunham has made an entertaining book out o f her travels through the Balkan States. She found that the idea o f women traveling with out a male escort in those countries struck the people whom she met as moat singular. A Montenegrin was also astonished at an expenditure of money upon travel which seemed to him without an adequate purpose. The English, he had been told, want ed to see and know everything; they traveled everywhere. It must be a very expensive habit. It had perhaps cost me eight pounds, he suggested, to come this distance. I admitted that it had. and he expressed great astonish ment at the lavish expenditure. "And It takes not only money, but time,” said m y' companion. He iaughed merrily. “ Tim e! What Is time? Time Is nothing. You live, and then you die.” "Tim e," said a Hungarian, who was o f the party. In order to show his su perior knowledge, "Is thought very much o f by the English. I have been told that they have a proverb which says, “ Tim e Is money.” W e corroborated this report to the astonishment o f both men, for eveu the Hungarian thought this was going rather far. The Montenegrin thought It one of the wildest statements he had ever met with, and shook his pus- sled head. The American firm of Clarkson A Co.. In Vladivostok, have substituted Russian laborers for Chinamen In their coal mine*. The RuMlans are working coop«retlrely, by the Job. and produce coal for 3 cents a ton. With Chlneee cheap labor the cost was B cents a torn Don't be too embltlone; the canker of an overvaultlng ambition has eaten up the happIneM o f many a Ufa and shortened its yesurn. ' ! j By Order of the Czar A Story of Russian Power By M A R C U S B A S T L A KB me in etupld bewilderment. The eaet is glimmering in cold, silver sheen, throw ing an uncertain, mystic light on the faintly denned landscape. I look hack along she straight, white road, with its tall telegraph posts starting up at regu- Itfr intervals. A sudden flash like a golden needle pierces the dim distance. A ball o f gold begins to burn lower down on the horison. They are the spire of the Adm iralty and the dome of St. tank's In 8t. Petersburg, which I have left behind me. Can it be possible that I have come so far? It has been weary work trudging along that road! I take out my handkerchief and wipe the drop« from my face, with a woful stab of dolorous recollection of the touch o f Maruscha’s little fluttering, solicitous hands as she put the handkerchief into my pocket. In returning it my hand comes in contact with a parcel o f sand wiches. Again Maruscha! I draw tiiem forth, for I am ravenously hungry. I eat with a vision o f her as she stood at the table in Ivan’s room, forgetful for the moment o f her grief in minis tering to'ray needs, her sweet, pale face dcwncaat find absorbed. A t last I am treadmg the margin of the wood— am entering its stately aisles. And now that effort is no longer Imper ative, my limba begin to yield under me. I stagger rather than walk, catching at the boles of the trees for support. Yet a few steps farther into the shade— a mlsf rises before my eyes. I lurch for ward— prone on the ground, and become instnntly oblivious. An incessant tapping over my head is the first thing I am aware of. I open my eyes in vague curiosity and see the dark, Interlacing branches of a pine tree above me, and lower down on the red stem a green woodpecker diligently at work. From force o f habit I Insert my fore finger and thumb in the watch pocket which was wont to contain a watch, and am withdrawing it with a foolish, baffled laugh, when my finger comes in contact with some small object. I dhre for It and pull up a watch key; but that is not all— it is tied with a bit o f blue ribbon which Is attached to something else. Another pull and I bring to light Maruscha’ s tiuy watch! It la there in the palm of my hand— the little toy of a thing she has worn at her girdle ever since I have known her. I gaze at it with such a mighty rush of emotion that my whole body thrills with a sharp shock o f electricity. I perceive that the tiny monitor I am gazing at points to the hour of live. I wind it up, and returning it to where the tender, subtle fingers had placed it in preparation o f a surprise for me, scram ble to my feet. A long, profound sleep in the Invigor ating atmosphere o f the sun-steeped pines has put new life Into me. It is only my feet that are swollen and pain ful. and I hobble, rather than walk, to the margin o f the wood. I f I can but get a lift of any kind, I think I will take a bad at an ran for this one night to give my feet a chance of recovering. I stand and look up and down the inter minable road. In advauoe there Is a long cavalcails o f carts laden with firewood winding slowly into the distance, each with its attendant Mujik trudging beside it or seated on a shaft of his cart. Toward me a peddler's wagon lumbers on creak ing wheels. Its owner sits nodding cn ths box, framed in the opening o f the canvas tent that arches above him. The two little nags crawl along with droop ing heads, as if they, too, were indulging in a nap. I take a good look at the peddler. H e is a middle-aged man, with a strong, grizzled beard and broad, Slav countenance. The nose in it is like a potato. There are good-natured creases about the corners of the eyes, so I take courage. “ Good day! God assist you!” I ex claim amicably. The peddler instantly removes his cap, while a slow smile gradually spreads over and broadens his heavy features. "God be with you. Gentle,” he replies. "W hith er are you bound?” I question. "M y destination is Kovno, but to-night I m*ke halt at the village of Little K o lg e ." “ Ah, fe e t !a tiy way. Would you ob ject to jiv e ru* a lift for a compensa tion ?” “ T%e Gq.™-c will honor me!” The peddler leaps down from his seat with as much alacrity as his lumbering body aud enormous boots will permit. “ Would the Gentle liks a sent on the front of the wngen, or would he prefer to recline on the merchandise?” “ W ith your permission, little father, I will get inside,” I say. As I advance to mount the wagon he remarks 6n the Itoneness o f my gait. "T h e Gentle has hurt himself?” he ob serves. “ M y boots cripple me somewhat,” I reply carelessly. “ That is bad. It riie Gentle has so far to go.” '1 go to Lugs. I am a student and have been sitting rather ciosriy over my books, so I thought tha walk through the country would clear ray brains s lit tle," 1 laugh. “ The Gentle is right," agrees the ped dler. "There it nothiug like the country sir for bracing tbs wits, or helping one to think out • weighty matter. I make aU my calculations in the open. The Gentle will feel the benefit of It even though he should bs obliged to continue his journey by post from Little Kolga. H o w ill still Inhsls the fresh sir.” A fte r thle he relapses into silence and whips up his horses. When noontime comee I there hi* frugal repaet and fall into a dome until at nightfall we reach the village o f Littlo Kolga. "H aa th* Gentle ever been to a hang ing r I feel the blood rush tnmnltnonsly to my smooth-shaven, tell-tale face. “A hanging? I — hem— no, I have never seen a thing o f tha kind,” I stammer. "Perhaps the Gentle likes not each spectacle«? I never miee • chance. 1 like to tee perish the enemiee of our fath er. th# Caar.” C H A P T E R T ill. Th* peddler lifts hla cap. Where ess I? I halt and gaaa art»«ad C H A P T E R V I I.— (Continued.) I grind my teeth in an excess of Impo tent fury. I clutch the sir with a wolfish hunger to fly at the throat aud crush the life out of this insignificaut yet nox ious reptile. "Maruscha," I begin, "this Isajeif— has he ever accosted thee?” Bha bends her loi/cs to the ground, snd I, Intent on every sigfi her face may disclose, observe the vivid color rise, d}eing her neck, her cheeks, her brow. “ I like not the man, Vladimir. H e is an impudent fe llo w "— «h e hesitates. I grasp her arm almost savagely. "H as he dared to speak to thee?” I gasp. "T e ll me— tell me. what has he aald? I f he has Insulted thee by so much as a look— a word— I will go now, at once, and tear the tongue from his throat!” M y vehement words are scarcely ut tered ere I am regretting them, for I see the fear spring to her eyes. Ahd now she will uot tell me the truth. She laughs uneasily. "N o w see how thou takest tilings up!” she says. “ For indeed there ib none to tell. The man has always been civil to me, only giving me ‘good-day’ as I went and came, or passing n remark on the weather. It is only that I have taken an unreasonable antipathy to him— a quite unreasonable and unjustifiable an tipathy, Vladimir. Thou knowest my strange temper! And thou art wrong.” she continues, in nervous haste. “ A s suredly thou art wrong that Isajeff has informed the police. W hy should he? And how should he suspect------” "H e watched us leaving the lodging. H e ftdlowed us along the colonnade. W e both saw him as we mounted the droski to come here. H e has driven after us— spied on us------” “ I will tell thee what I will do only — only give me time, Vladimir.” She presses her hand to her side. I am subdued. T o soothe her, calm her, undo the mischief I hare done is now my only thought. “ M y sweet love, forgive m e!" I beg. " I have frightened thee!” She smothers bravely a storm o f rising ■obs, still holding me with both her email hands until she has sufficiently controlled herself to speak. “ I need never go back to my lodging— he need never see me again,” she begins, watch ing the effect of her words with wide eyes fastened on my face. "G o back,” I repeat, thrilling with apprehension at th emere suggestion. “ Thou w ilt go from here to Olga Petrov na's, and quit not her lodging save to go to the station and take train for thy home! St. Petersburg is no place for thee. Maruscha. Promise me that thou wilt leave it to-morrow never to return.” “ I promian—but— but— I owe a week's lodging— I must give notice— my clothes!” “ And theu wouldst take Into consid eration such paltry matters where so •ouch is at itak e!” I cry, beside my self. “ Listen to reason, V ladim ir," she fa l ters. “ I f I pay not my landlord he will hare an excuse for instituting s search for me. Thou art so violent that I can not get in a word. I will go to Olga, and she will pay the money for me, and bring away my things.” “ So that he can follow her and find thee! No, that will not do! And yet,” I say, qioderatiug my tone, “ thou art per haps right about the money” — I muse a moment, "theu Oiga must find someone else to pay It, and invent some lie. l i e must be led to expect my return. Say that thou hast been called away sudden ly— to a dying relative!” I laugh grim ly et the glibnass o f my inventions. “ She line been commissioned to take part of thy wardrobe to send after thee. Thou canst give her a line for the scoundrel to that effect.” “ Yes, yes,” Maruscha agrees eagerly. “ That is well planned. And as proof that I am returning everything will be left standing in th* room— my stove and all my belongings." “ Thou w ilt be strong now ns thou hast ever been, my brave one!” I say encour agingly. “ Something tells me our part ing will be brief. And I will write to thee as soon as I am over the frontier. Olga will forward my letters.” In a moment her features begin to work, and ere I am aware she has caat herself at my feet, end ie clasping my knees. "Thou caust not mean it, Vladim ir!” •he gasps. "Thou wouldst not drive me from thee before— before the last! And whither wouldst thou go to-night? Where Wilt thou hide? Oh, leave me not ip ignorance, or I shall go mad!” “ I will write whenever I can. But, Maruscha, I must also hear from thee. I will make for Luza first, write to ms from thy home to the postoffloe there.” "H o w shall I address thee?” “ Ah, yes. I forgot that I am nnmelese! I will keep the name that Ivan gave me to the landlord— It will do as well as any : "W aldem ar Nicolaivitch Alikan off. Thou wilt remember?” "W aldem ar Nicolaivitch Alikanoff,” repeats Mamscha, slowly. "A n d for heaven's sake, word thy let ter carefully, so that i f it reaches me not, and the officials open It they will see nothing to make them snspect anght. 1 will observe the same caution in w rit ing to thee, and will sign my assumed name.” “ I will be careful," she murmurs, with another heart-broken sigh. "A n d now, my own Maruscha. fare- wel' until our next meeting— our joyful meeting to part never again! Think of th a t only that, my lore, and tha time will seem short.” Her arm* are about my neck. I hear her laboring heart throb agaiust mine. A long, last klsa. My anguished tool la- vokee the blessing on her that my quiv ering lips refuM to utter, and I tear my- M lf away. One look back I take to tee her toftar a few etepe after me with arms out stretched. and stop. I wave my hand and flee as if lathed by furlee from the sight of her agony— forw ard—-ow- ward— Into darkness and uncertainty “ When I last visited the city I went to see a hanging. There were five of them— five gallows In a row. and a man for each. Ah, that was a sight! There were thousands went to see It, aud I went early and secured a good ftlace. There is courage in us Russians eveu in the worst o f us. W e know how to meet death. They were traitors all, but they died Hke brave men. 1 assure you, rascals ss they were, my heart glowed' to witness how they died! There was . one— what limbs the fellow had! Ho | was nobly built, the dog, and he had a face as handsome as a saint. Such a , beard! Such eyes, dark aud burning! j I could not take my eyes off the fellow. I saw only him all threugh the hanging. I And when he spoke his words were like arrows; ‘ I repent not,’ he said, the sin ner, yet he was a brave one." H e looks straight before him as If conjuring up the scene aud continues: “ And what an affair that was! Shall I ever forget it? The rope broke ere he was finished. I was carried off my feet, for the populace in their rage rushed for ward to effect a rescue. Surely the Noble must have heard of it?” “ Ah, well, I doubtless heard it spoken of at the time, but I take little Interest in such things.” “ No? Y et there are always students at the hangings. There were many at this one. There was oue close to me went clean mad at the breaking o f the rope, and made a rush, but the soldiers drove him back. H e had bis sweetheart with him, and she fainted. It in abom inable that delicate women will go to see these sights! They scream and faint, and yet they like it. They will not stay • way.” I answer nothing. I have an unpleas ant feeling as o f a rope being tightened about my neck, checking the free course o f my breath. 1 take out ray handker chief and mop my face with it. “ The Gentle fxels it warm under the cover,” observes the peddler. “ W ill he not sit awhile in the front o f the wagon for change o f position?” I gladly scramble to the front o f the vehicle, where I alt crouched like a grasshopper, because o f my height. The peddler regards me from head to foot with twinkling eyes, and at length breaks into a laugh. “ I crave pardon,” he says, “ but just such a frame had that sturdy rascal who perished on the gallows. Just such length o f limb and breadth o f shoulders; yet methinks lie was stouter,” still obserriug me critically. Then doubtless perceiving how I color under his fixed gaze he adda quickly: “ The Noble has a splendid body, and so had the fellow I j<penk of, but there the resemblance ceases. God for bid that I should give offense!” A fte r this he relapses into silence and whips up his horses, for the light is fad ing from the sky in which the evening stnr is brightening. W e soon be;in to pass a smoke-stained cabin here and there by the roadside, and then a long, low wooden building, with benches and tables before the door, where we make halt. The peddler throws the reins on the horses' backs. “ I put up here,” he says, “ and I thank the Noble for his good company; there is good accommodation at the post sta tion, not five minutes' walk from here.” I thank him for his kindness and slip a rouble into his hand. H e begins to expostulate, but with a “ good-night” aud a wave o f my hat, I turn from him to asceud the unpaved, straggling street which constitutes Little Kolga. (T o be con tinned, i * A i v F a m ily less N ew Y o r k . Walking up Fifth avenue and out through Central Park the Sunday that I landed In New York, among all the varying and sad impressions made upon uie, I was especially moved to inquire. Where are American families? What In the world Is the matter with American men, and who taught Amer ican girls their manners? I saw men and women promenading, together and I saw not a few children ■Á romping unattended by their elders or else in the company o f nurses. 1 saw nowhere what makes the chief beauty of all Paris avenues and parks Sunday afternoons— innumerable family par ties— fathers aud mothers with their children, small and big. often the grandparents, too, gayljr going along, glad of the sunshine, the fresh air, the exercise, aud, most of all, glad to be Y together In their pleasure. Then the girls I saw ou Fifth av enue, promenading in paiqs or in groups, with swinging stride, laugh ing loud, and talking louder. Where do they get their manners? In Paris, the home of the grisette, les petite* > femme«, It Is the rarest possible thing to see s girl of Immodest hearing on the street— myself, during two years’ residence here, I have never seen it. ♦ This, I think, results largely from the subtllely refining Influence o f schools tanght by religeuses.— Harper’s Ba zar. X C o n v in c in g th o B a ro m e te r. Sir Archibald Geikie tells a story In his book, "Scottish Reminiscences,” which he says is characteristic of the simplicity of some of the Boots. It concerns a farmer in the Cheviot Hill* m who had been told that It would be useful to have a barometer In the house, for It would let him know whether tlse weather would be good or bad. A fter he had been persuaded to buy an aneroid barometer, which has a large round dial, he hung It up In hla hall, and duly consulted It each day, but without much edification. A t last there came a spell of wet weather. The barometer continued to record, "set fair." The rain continued to fall heavily, and still the dial made no sign o f truth. Then the farm er'* temper rose. He took the Instrument from th *^ . nail and marched with It to the bot tom of the garden, where a brook, y swollen with the drainage from the up per slopes, was rushing along, brew * and muddy. He plunged the baro meter Into the flood. “ Will yon believe your aln een now, then!” be cried, angrily. Throw aside your dignity, and romp and play with children; make them lov* yon by loving them, and yon wUl add years to your Ufa. a t A