smothered by the cloak over my head, I rather lay
than sat in the place into which I had been
pushed, while by the bounding motion of the
kibitka I knew that the speed of our progress
was great.

Presently the woollen wrapper that muffled
my head, was removed, and I could see the true
state of the case. The sledge was traversing a
snow-covered road, marked out by painted posts
at frequent intervals. To right and left lay
hillocky mounds of snow, covering the peat
morass through which the causeway passed.
Overhead, was a wrack of hurrying lead-coloured
cloud, with the pale winter moon peeping out
sufficiently to show the horsemen of the escort,
a party of dragoons of the Guard, who rode to
right and left of the sledge, their burnished
helmets and long white cloaks looming ghostly
through the dim light. Besides myself, there
were two persons in the kibitka, the driver and
a sturdy figure in the uniform of a sergeant.
The latter held a pistol in his gloved right hand;
an excess of precaution, for I was bound and
helpless.

I closed my eyes for a minute or two, and
calmed my nerves by a strong effort. Then
I looked again. Yes, nothing had changed.
Snowy road, lashing whip, bounding horses,
painted posts to mark the way, the mantled
horsemen riding on either flank, the threatening
attitude of the armed man at my side—all were
real. And all these objects had but one significance
—one which my soul shrank from. The
Guards, the haste, the chains, the desolate wastes
through which we were speeding, reminded me
of many a dismal tale of exile to the gloomy
deserts of Northern Asia. Either I was actually
on my way to Siberia, or I was mad.

My courage revived. It was impossible that
an Englishman, and an Englishman in government
employ, should be amenable to such a
punishment, even had his offences against the
czar been flagrant, whereas I was utterly
unconcerned in Russian politics. Even the barbarian
caprice of absolute power could not have
taken umbrage at any act of mine, and then the
idea that my arrest was some cruel blunder
flashed upon me. I tried the sergeant with
French and German, but in vain. He knew
only one language, and in answer to my few
awkward words of Russian he merely growled
out the words "Polish dog!" and pressed
the cold muzzle of the pistol-barrel between
my eyes, as a hint to keep quiet. I spoke no
more.

Soon after this, the wind veered round to the
north, the moon vanished, the night grew
piercing cold, and then the heavy flakes of
snow came whirling down, and the horses could
hardly struggle through the drift. Then all
sensations were gradually and surely merged
in one—the numbing effects of the intense
cold.

Hours passed; post stations were reached,
horses changed, fresh troopers took the place of
the former escort; but I only grew colder and
feebler, and the blood in my veins seemed freezing
into solid ice, and there were shooting pains
through every joint, and I remember moaning like
a child in agony, and then I seemed to faint with
suffering, the last thing I remember being a
flash of ruddy torchlight.

When I recovered, I was in a warm bed,
and beside it stood two men: one dressed
in black—a doctor; the other, a tall officer
in a long military cloak, wet with half melted
snow. In the corner of the room was an
Ingrian peasant woman, heating some water in
a samovar.

"He'll do well, now," said the doctor in
French; "mortification had not really begun.
It's only a slight case of frostbite, with extreme
debility."

"I'm glad to hear it!" said the officer, in
whom I recognised a certain Major Orloff, one
of the imperial aides-de-camp. "The emperor
is truly distressed that the mistake should have
occurred. But how this Englishman came to
wear the yellow knot of ribbon by which Gliska
was to be recognised by the other conspirators,
had the plot really come to a head, and had the
czar's person been seized on, is a puzzle to us
all. I'd lay my life there's a woman's hand
in it,"

"Very likely," said the doctor, with a smile;
"perhaps Mademoiselle Sophie Leczinzka
contrived the exchange when Gliska found out that
all was lost, and his arrest imminent. The
runaway couple have not been caught, I
believe?"

I groaned.

"Come away, doctor," whispered the good-
natured aide-de-camp; "the poor fellow may
wake and overhear us. And he will know quite
soon enough that his fiancée deceived him from
the first, and that she will be Madame Gliska
when they get in safety across the Prussian
frontier, of which the police prefect admits there
is no doubt—so artfully were the chevalier's
projects laid, to provide the means of escape,
in case of the failure of the conspiracy. Allons!
Bad news flies fast."

On the 1st of September will be published, bound in cloth,
                               price 5s. 6d.,
                      THE NINTH VOLUME.