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