Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 40, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 28 March 1885 — Page 6

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLEJP

BT HX7QH OONW.\Y./

CHAPTKR II.

A HELL UPON EARTH

It was midsummer when Petersburg. The beat waa

and quite disturbed my idea or the Russian climate. I went by rail to Moscow, by the iron road which runs straight as line from the one large city to the other. The Czar ordered it to be sc made, without curves or deviations When the engineers asked him what popular places they should takaontheu way, his Imperial Majesty took a ruler and on the map ruled a straight line from St. Petersburg to Moscow. "Make it so," were his commands, and so it was made, as rigid and careless of the convenience of other persons as hisowr despotism—a railway for some foui hundred miles running simply to ite destination, not daring, however much tempted, to swerve aside and, disobey tte autocrat's commands.

At Moscow the colossal I lingered a eouple of days. It was there I had settfed to engage a guide and interpreter. As I spoke two or three languages heaides my own. I was able to pick and choose, and at last selected a pleasantmannered, sharp-looking young fellow who averred that he knew every inch of the great post road to the east. Then "bidding farewell to the mighty Kremlin with its churches, watch towers and battlements, I started with my new companion for Nijnei Novgorod at Which place we must bid adieu to the tail way.

Wepassed the old picturesque but decaying town of Vladimir, and after duly admiring its five-domed cathedral I found nothmg more to distract my attention until we reached Nijnei. My companion was very anxious that we ahould linger for a day or two at this eity. The great fair was on, and he aslured me it was a sight not to be missed. I had not come to Russia to look at fairs or festivities, so commanded kim to make instant preparations for continuing the journey.

We now changed our mode of conveyance. Being summer the rivers were open and navigation practicable. We took the steamer and went down the broad Volga till we passed Kasan and reached the River Kama. Up this tortuous stream we went until we landed at the large important town of Perm.

We were live days on the water—I think the five longest days I ever spent. The winding river, the slow-going steamer, made me long for the land again tnero one seemed to be making progress. This road there was straight, not running into a hundred bends.

We were now nearly at the end of Europe. A hundred miles further and we shall cross the Ural mountains and be in Asiatic Russia.

At Perm we made our final preparations. From now we must depend on post horses. Ivan, my guide, after the proper amount of haggling, bought a farantass—a sort of phaeton. The lugaage was stowed into it we took our Beats: our first relay of horses were engaged—throe in number and harnessed £1 the peculiar Russian fashion—the yemschik started them with the words •f encouragement and endearment which in Russia are supposed to be more efficacious than the thong, and away we wont on our long, long drive.

We crossed the Urals, which after all are not so very high. We passed the atone obelisk erected, Ivan told me, in honor of a Cossack chief named Yermak. We read the word "Europe" 011 the side winch first met our eyes, and turning round saw "Asia" written on the back. I spent my first night in Asia at Ekatermeburg and lay awake the best part •f it trying to calculate how many miles strotched between Pauline and myself. For days and days have passed since I left St. Petersburg and I have traveled at all possible speed yet the journey seems scarcely begun. Indeed, I can it

not even guess at Its length until I sk. to Tobolsk

A tritle of some four

get

hundred miles

from Ekaterineburg to Tiumed, another of two hundred from Tiumen to Tobolsk, and I shall await the pleasure •f the Governor-General and what information he may choose to give me.

The carriage and ourselves are ferried across the broad yellow Irtuish—thai river, the crossing of which by a Russian olllcer at once raises him a step in rank for such is the inducement held eut to serve in Siberia and at the east bank of the Irtuish Siberish Siberia proper begins.

Tobolsk at last! The sight or mypas» ports renders the Governor civility it•elf. lie invited me to dine with nim. and, as for prudential reasons I thought

41 KAFIAM 4-A NAAANF Kta {NWLFNTTIMI

jL better to accept his invitation, heated me royally. Ilis register told tne all I wanted to know about Ceneri. He had been sent to the very extreme of the {fear's dominions, as hto was a case which called for special severity. Where be would finish his journey was cot setfled, but that made little difference to me. As he would travel the greater part of the way on foot, and as there was but one road I must overtake him, although he left Tobolsk months Ago. The escort which accompanied that particular gang of prisoners was under iho command of Captain Varlamoff, to whom his Exoellency would write a few Ines which I should take with me—he would also give me a supplementary passport signed by himself. "Where do you think I shall overtake tboparty?" I asked.

The governor made a calculation. •Somewhere about Irkutsk he thought. And Irkutsk two thousand miles, sore or tajM^roin Tobolsk!

I badetlflMcreat man a grateful adieu aud spurred on at such speed that even die good r: io-i-ed Ivan began to grumble. Mau. a Russian, was but mortal, he and I could not expect to find Arab M*vda among government post-horn^ wh ^h the postmasters were compelled to furnish at about twopence a mile a horse. I left the yemschik and himself no t!rr^ for refreshment. Their tea had not »wn cool enough to swallow before 1 was insisting on a fresh •tart. And as for a proper night'srest!

Tea! Until 1 made that journey I sever knew th«» amount of tea a mortal stomach could hold. One and all tta*f drank it by the gallon. They carried ft about compressed into bricks, cement*

I beard with a shudder, by sheep's •r some ot

luuuuatj vj aucoji aalmalf blp& 1#

draiiK. it morn, noon and night. Wiieu-f ever there was a stoppage and boiling water could be obtained bucketfuls of tea were made and poured down their throats.

traversing tne country iorinesase 01 writing a Dook of travels, or to observe the manner and customs of the people. My great object was to overtake Ceneri as quickly aspossible, and my endeavors were directed to passmg from one posting station to another as swiftly as I could. We sped over vast steppes, wild marshes, through forests of birch, tall pines, oak, ash, and other trees we were ferried over broad rivers. On and on we went as straight to our destination as the great post road would take us. When nature forced us to rest we had to put up with such pitiful accommodation as we could get. Unless the place at which we stopped Was of some importance, inns were unknown. By dint of practice, I at last contrived to obtain almost enough sleep, if not to satisfy me, to serve my needs, whilst jolting along in the tarantass.

was a monotonous journey. I turned aside to visit no objects or interest spoken of by travelers, From morn to night and generally through the greater part of the night our wheels roiled along the road. And at every posting station I read on the wooden post which stands in front of it the number of miles we were from St. Petersburg, until, as the days and weeks passed, I began to feel appalled at the distance I had come ana the distance I must return. Should I ever see Pauline again? Who can say what may have happened before I return to England? At times I grew quite dispirit

before I return to EngL quite dispirited. __ think what made me realize the length of the journey even more than days or measured miles was to see, as we went on, the country people gradually changing their costume and dialect. The yemschiks who drove us changed in appearance and in nationality Jth* very breed of the horses varied. Bui let man or cattle be of what kind they may, we were well and skillfully conducted. 1

The weather was glorious, almost toe glorious. The cultivated country we passed through looked thriving .and productive. Siberia was very different in appearance from what is usually as sociated with its name. The air wher not too warm was simply delicious Never have I breathed a more invigorating and bracing atmosphere. There were days when the breeze seemed tc send new life through every vein.

The people I thought fairly honest, and whenever I found a need 9f producing my papers the word civility will scarcely express the treatment I received. How I should have been treated without these potent talismans I cannot say.

The whole country-side inmostplaces was busy with the nay-harvest a matter of such importance to the community at large that convicts are told off for some six weeks to assist in the work of saving the crops. The wild flowers, many of them very beautiful, grew freely the people looked well and contented. Altogether my impressions of Siberia in summer were pleasant ones.

Yet I wished it had been the dead of winter. Then it is that, in spite of the cold, one travels more pleasantly. Ivan assured me that when a good snow road Is formed and a tarantass may be exchanged for a sledge, the amount of ground passed over in a day is something marvelous. I am arraid from memory to say how many miles may be covered in twenty-four hours when the smooth-going runners take the place of wlipols

We had. of course,

Yariouff

small ao-

cidents and delays on the road. How-, ever strongly built a tarantass may be it is but mortal. Wheels broke, axletrees gave way, shafts snapped, twice we were overturned, but as no evil except delay ensued I need not relate the history or these misfortunes.

Nor need I enumerate the towns and villages through which we passed unless

mage

I wished to make my story as interestgenealogy—Tara, Tomsk, Achinsk,

ing as a scriptural Kainsk, Kolinvan, Krasnovarsh, Nijni

may not

Udinsk, may or

be familiar to the reader, ac-

11 «v

cording to the depth of his geographical studies but most of the others, even if I knew how to spell their names, would be nothing more than vain sounds. Perhaps, when we trace the march of the Russian army destined to invade our Indian Empire we may become better acquainted with the Czar's Asiatic dominions.

Yet at the entrance to each of these little towns or villages, the very names of which I have forgotten, so surely as you found the well-appointed posting

gates of Which were barred, bolted and sentried—these buildings were the ostrogs, or prisons.

Here it was that the wretched convicts were housed as they halted on their long march. In these places they were packed like sardines in a box. Prisons ouilt to hold two hundred were often called upon to accommodate at least twice that number of luckless wretches. I was told that when ice was breaking up in the rivers when the floods were out: when in fact the progress must perforce be delayed, the scenes at these

Sion.

risons or depots beggared descripMen, sometimes unsexed women with them, huddled into rooms reeking with filth, the floors throwing out poisonous emanations—rooms built to give but scanty space to a small number, crowded to suffocation. The mortalitv at times was fearful. The trials of the march were as nothing when compared with the horrors or the so called rest. And it was in one of these ostrogs I should find Ceneri.

We passed many gangs of convicts plodding along to their fate. Ivan told me that most of them were in chains. This I should not have noticed, as the irons are only on the legs and worn under the trousers. Poor wretched beings, my heart ached for them! Felons

kindly treated by the soldiers and ticers, but terrible tales were told me about their sufferings at the hands at Inhuman jailers and commandants of

Sion

risooa. There, for the slightest infracof rules, the rod, the dark cell and a variety of other punishments were called into nlay. 1 always felt relieved when we had passed out of sight of a gang like this. The contrast between my own position and that of such a number of my fellow men was too painful to oontemplate— and yet if Ceneri did not clear away every shadow of doubt from my mind I might retrace my steps a race miser able wretch than either of those footsore convicts.

Soae^ttk tea dafs after leavtaf

.* A

ISii

S A I

Tobolsk began to make inquiries at every ostrog as to when' Captain VarlamofFs gang passed, and when I might expect to overtake it. The answers I received to the latter question corresponded with that given me by the governor—all agreed at Irkutsk, or just beyond. Day after day I found we were gaining rapidly upon the party, and when at last we reached the large handsome town of Irkutsk I rightly reckoned that I had reached the end, or nearly the end of my journey:

On inquiry I found Captain Varlamoff had not yet arrived. At the place where I had last inquired I had been told he had passed through a day before, so it was evident we nad overlooked and outstripped them. The best thing to be done was to wait in Irkutsk the arrival of the party.

I was not at all sorry to take a couple of days' rest after my fatigues. I wa? not sorry to indulge once more in the comforts of comparative civilization yet nearly everynourl was sending down to inquire if the convicts had arrived. More ardently than I had longed to reached Irkutsk, I loneed to turn the horses' heads westward and start on the return journey.

I had heard no news from home since I left St. Petersburg. Indeed, I could not expect a letter, as, after my departure from Nijni Novgorod, I had positively outstripped the post. On the road home I hoped to find letters waiting me.

After I had kicked my heels in Irkutsk for two days I received the welcome news that Captain Varlamoff had marched his prisoners to the ostrog at four o'clock that afternoon. I rose from my dinner and went with all speed to the prison. ...

A man in plain clothes—a civiliandemanding to be conducted to the presence of a Russian captain who had just arrived from along march, seemed almost too great a joke for the sentries to bear in a soldier-like manner. Their stolid faces broke into scornful smiles as they asked Ivan if "the little father" had gone quite mad. It required much firmness, much persuasion and a gratuity, which to the simple military mind represented an unlimited quantity of "vodka," and consequently many happy drinking bouts, before I was allowed ro pass through the gates of the high palisade, and, with many misgivings on the part of my guide, was conducted to the

{ooking

resence

of the captain. A finefierceyoung soldier, who glared at me

for disturbing him for having, by advice, adopted the Russian costume, which by now was stained and frayed by travel, there was nothing to show him I was not a civilian whom any soldier might kick at his pleasure.

It was delightful to seethe change the perusal of the Tobolsk governors letter made in the captain's appearance. He rose, and with the greatest courtesy offered me a chair, and asked me in French if I spoke that language.

I assured him on that point, and finding I could dispense with Ivan's services sent him outside to wait for me.

Varlamoff would not hear of commencing business until wine and cigarettes made their appearance—then he was at my service in anything and

'Ttold him what I desired. "To speak in private with one of my convicts. Certainly—this letter places me at your commands. But which convict?"

I gave him the true name. He shook his head. "I know none of them by that name. Most of the names the political prisoners pass under are false ones. When they leave me they will become numbers, so it doesn't matter."

I suggested Ceneri. He shook his. head again. "I know the man I want is with you, I said. "How shall I find himV" .. "You kuow him well by sight?" "Yes—well." "Then you had better come with me and try and pick him out among my unfortunates. Light another cigarette —you will want it," he added, with meaning.

He lea the way, and soon we stood before a heaVy door. At his command a jailer, armed with mighty keys, appeared. The grinding locks were turned, and the door was opened. "Follow me," saia Varlamoff, with a long pull at his cigarette. I obeyed, and standing on the threshold had much ado to keep from fainting.

From the stench which rushed through it, that open door might have been entrance to some pestilential cavern at the bottom of which all the impurities of the world were rotting aud putrefying. As it passed you, you felt that the thick air was poisonous with disease and death.

I recovered myself as best I could, and followed my guide into the grim interior. The door closed behind us.

Had I the power to describe the sight I saw when my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I should not be l»elieved. The prisqn was spacious, but, when the number of the prisoners was considered, it should have been three times the size. It was thronged with wretched beings. They were standing, sitting and lying about. Men of all ages, and, it seemed, of all nationalities. Men with features of the lowest human type. They were huddled in groups—many were quarreling, cursing and swearing. Moved by curiosity they pressed around us as closely as tney dared, laughing and jabbering in their barbarous dialects. I was in a hell, an obscene, unclean hell! a hell made by men for their fellow-men.

Filth! the place was one mass of it. Filth under foot—filth on the walls, the rafters and beams—filth floating about in the hot, heavy, pestiferous air. Each man seemed to be a moving mass of filth. Zola would revel in a minute description of the horrors of that place, but! must leave them to the imagination, although I know and even trust that no one's imagination can come near the reality.

The only thing I could think Of was this. Why did not these men rush out, overpower the guards, and escape from this reeking den? I put the question to Varlamoff. "They never attempt to escape whilst on march," he said. "It is a point of honor among them. If one escapes those left are treated with much greater severity."

"Do none ever get away?" "Yes, manv do when they are sent to the works. But it does them no good. They must pass through the towns on their flight or they would starve. Then they are always caught and sent back.* 1 was peering into all the feces about, trying to find the one I sought. My inspection was received with looks sullen, suspicious, defiant or careless. Remarks were made In undertones, but VariamofFs dreaded presence kept me from insult. I exam mod many groups without success, then 1 made a tour the prison.

All along the wall w* a slanting platform aponwhiobmen lay in various*

TRR

titudes.' Being the most comfortable station every inch of it was covered by recumbent forms. In the angle formed by the prison walls I saw a man reclining. as if utterly worn out. His head sank down upon his breast, his eyes were closed. There was something in his figure which struck me as familiar. I walked to him and laid my hand upon his shoulder. He opened his weary eyes us Ms

He looked at me with an expression in his eyes which passed at once from hopelessness to bewilderment. He seemed to be uncertain whether it was a phantom or a man he was looking at. He rose to his feet in a dazed, stupefied way, and stood face to face with me, whilst his wretched fellow-prisoners crowded curiously around us. "Mr. Vaughan! Here! In Siberia I" he Baid,as onenotbelievinghis own senses. "I came from England to see vou. This is the prisoner I am looking for," I said, turning to the officer who stood at my side, mitigating to some extent the noxiousness of the atmosphere by the cigarette he puffed vigorously. "I am glad you have found him," he said politely. "Now the sooner we get outside thd better the air here is unhealthy."

Unhealthy! It was fetid! I was filled with wonder, as I looked at*the bland French-speaking captain at my side, at the state of mind to which a man must bring himself before he could calmly stand in the midst of his fellow-crea-tures and see such misery unconcernedly—could even think he was but doing his duty. Perhaps he was. It may be the crimes of the prisoners forbade sympathy. But, oh! to stand there in the midst of those poor wretches, turned for the time into little more than animals! I may be wrong, but it seems to me that the jailer must have a harder heart than the worst of his captives! "I can see him—talk to him alone?" I asked. "Certainly so you are authorized to do. I am a soldier you in this matter are my superior officer." "May I take him to the inn?" "I think not. I will find you a room here. Please follow me. Phew! that is a relief."

We were now outside the prison door and breathing fresh air once more. The captain led me to a kind of office, dirty and furnished barely enough, but a paradise compared to the scene we had just quitted. "Wait here I will send the prisoner to you."

As he turned to leave me, I thought of the miserable, dejected appearance Ceneri had presented. Let him be the greatest villain in the world, I could not keep from wishing to do some little thing to benefit him. "I may give him fool and drink?" I ftsk6dt

The captain shrugged his shoulders and laughed good-temperedly. "He ought not to be nungry, He has the rations which the government says are sufficient. But then you may be hungry and thirsty. If so, I do not see how I can stop you sending for wine and food—of course for yourself."

I thanked him and forthwith dispatched my guido in quest of the best wine and meat he could get. Wine, when ordered by a gentleman, means in Russia but one thing—champagne. At an inn of any standing champagne, or at least its substitute, wine of the Don, may be procured. My messenger soon returned with a bottle of the real beverage and a good supply of cold meat and white bread. As soon as it was placed on the.rough table, a tall soldier fed in my expected guest

I placed a chair for Ceneri, into which he sank wearily. As he did so, I heard the jingle of the irons on his legs. Then I told my interpreter to leave us. The soldier, who no doubt had received his orders, saluted me gravely and followed his example. The door closed behind him, and Ceneri and I were alone.

He had somewhat recovered from his stupefaction, and as he looked at me, I saw an eager, wistful expression on his face. Drowning as he was, no doubt he caught at the straw of my unexpected appearance, thinking it might assist him to freedom. Perhaps it was to enjoy a moment or two brightened by the faintest or wildest gleam of hope, made him pause before he spoke to me. "I nave come a long, long way to see you, Dr. Ceneri," I began. "If the way seemed long to you, what has it been to me? You at least.qatf return when you like to freedom and happiness."

He spoke in the quiet tone of despair. I had been unable to prevent ray words sounding cold and my voice being stern. If my coming had raised any hope in his heart, my manner now dispelled it. He knew I had not made the journey for his sake. "Whether I can go back to happiness or not depends on what you tell me. You may imagine it is no light matter which has brought me so far to see you for a few minutes."

He looked at me curiously, but not suspiciously. I could do him no harm —for him the outer world was at an end. If I accused him of fifty murders, and brought each one home to him, his fate would be no worse. He was blottod out, erased nothing now could matter to him, except more or less bodily discomfort. I shuddered as I realized what his sentence meant, and, in spite of myself, a compassionate feeling stole over "me. "1 have much of importance to say, but first let me give you some wine and food." "Thank yon," he said, almost humbly. •'You would scarcely believe, Mr. Yanghan, that a man may be reduced to such a state that he can hardly restrain himself at the sight of decent meat and drink."

I could believe anything after the interior of the ostrog. I opened the win€ and placed it before him. As he ate and drank, I had leisure to observe him attentively.

His sufferings had wrought a great change in him. Every feature wa» sharpened, every limb seemed lighterhe looked at least ton years older, ne wore the Russian peasant's ordinary Kim.

rments, and these tiung in rags about His feet, swathed in fragments of some woolen material, showed ic places through his boots. The long, weary marches were telling their tale upon his frame. He had never given 'me the idea of being a robust man, and as I looked at him thought that whatever work he might be put to, it would sot pay the Russian Government foi his sorry keep. But the probabilities were, they would not have to keep him Ions.

He ate, not voraciously, bat with keen appetite. The wine he used sparingly. His meal being finished, b« glanced aroaad miX in tnest ofsomo-

MAIL.

lanuel

and raised his sad face. It was Ceneri!.

CHAPTER XII.

THE NAME OF THE MAN.

thing. I guessed wnat hb -wanted and massed him my cigar-case and a light ~e thanked me and began to smoke with an air of enjoyment.

For awhile I had not the heart to in-

1 poor wretcii. When he left

me it'must De to return to that hell peopled by human beings. But time was slipping by. Outside the door 1 could hear the "monotonous step of the sentry, and I did not know what period of grace the polite captain might allow to las prisoner.

Ceneri was leaning back in his chaii with a kind of dreamy look on his face, smoking slowly and placidly, taking as it were, everything he could out of the luxury of a good cigar. I asked him to drink some more wine. He shook his head, then turned and looked at me. "Mr. Vaughan," he

Baid

I shook my head. "I would do all I could to make your lot easier, but 1 come with a selfish motive to ask some questions which you alone can answer." "Ask them. You have given me an hour's relief from misery, I am gratoful.-' "You will answer truly?"

Ceneri sprang to his feet. The name of Macari seemed to bring him back to the world. He looked no longer a decrepit man. His voice was fierce and stern. "A traitor! a traitor I" he cried. "But for him I should have succeeded and escaped. If he were only standing in your place! Weak as I am, I could find strength enough to cling to his throat till the vile breatH was out of his accursed body!"

He walked up and down the room, clinching and unclincliing his hands. "Try and be calm, Dr. Ceneri," I said. "I have nothing to do with his plots and political treasons. Who is hei* What is his parentage? Is Macari his name?" "The only name I ever knew him by. His father was a renegade Italian who sent his son to live in England for fear his precious blood should be spilt in freeing his country. I found him a young man and made him one of us. His perfect knowledge of your tongue was of great service and he fought—yes, once lie fought like a man. Why did he turn traitor now? Why do you ask these questions?" "He has been to me and asserts that he is Pauline's brother."

Ceneri's face, as he heard this intelligence, was enough to banish lie number one from my mind. My heart leaped as I guessed that number two would be disposed of as easily. But there was a terrible revelation to be made when came to ask about that. "Pauline's brother 1" stammered Cen eri. "Her brother! Shehasnone." 1 A sickly look crept over his feature: as he spoke—a look the meaning 0' which I could not read. "He says he is Anthony March, he* brother.*' "Anthony March!" gttspod Ceneri fThere is no such person. What did h« want—his object? he continued fever ishly. "That I should join himinamemoria to the Italian Government, asking foi a return of some portion of the fortune you spent."

Ceneri laughed a bitter laugh. "A1 grows clear," he said. "He betrayed 1 plot which might have changed a gov ernment for the sake of getting me oul of the way. Coward! Why not hav« killed me and only me? Why hav« made others suffer with me? Antlionj March! My God! that man is a villainr "You are sure that Macari betrayed vou?" "Sure! yes. I was sure when the mar in the cell next to mine rapped it or the wall. He had means of lcnowii "I don't understand you." "Prisoners can sometimes talk to eact other by taps on the wall which divides their cells! The man next me was on« of us. Long before he went raving mad from the months of solitary confinement, he rapped out, over and ovei again, 'Betrayed by Macari.' I believed him. He was too true a man to mak« the accusation without proof. But until now I could not see the object of th« tr68son»"

The easiest part of my task was over Macari's assumed relationship to Pauline was disposed of. Now, if Ceneri would tell me, I must learn who wa* the victim of that crime committed years ago, and what was the reason foi the foul deed. I must learn that Macar lanation was an utter falsehood

xpiai Dted

rrs

LY wonaer tnat my HPS I endeavored to approach the subjects "Now, Dr. Cenen." I said, "I have question of weightier import to ask Had Pauline a lover before I married her?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Surely you have not come here to ask that question —to have a fit of jealousy cured?" "No," I said "you will hear my meaning later on. Meanwhile answer me.'

s8he

had a lover, for Macari profess

ed to love her, and swore she should be his wife. But I can most certainly say she never returned his love." "Nor loved any one else?" "Not to my knowledge. Bat your manner, your words are strange. Why do you ask? I may have wronged you Mr. Vaughan, but save for the one thing, her mind, Pauline was fit to b# your wife." "You did wrong me—yon know It. What right had you to let me marry woman whose senses were disarranged? It wis cruel to both."

I felt stern and spoke sternly. Ceneri shifted in his chair uneasily. If I had wished revenge it was here. Gazing on this wretched, ragged, broken-down man, and knowing what awaited him when he left me, would have filled the measure desired by the most vengeful heart.

I wanted no revenge on the man. tils manner told me he spoke the truth when he denied that Pauline had ever been in love. As, when last I gazed on her fair face, I knew it would, Macari's black lie had been scouted. Pauline, was innocent as an angel. But I must know who was the man whose death had for awhile deprived her of reason.

Ceneri was glancing at me nervously. Did be guess what I bad to ask him? .. name of the

mt why he was killed

Macari in

presence 01 Pauline teU

His face grew ashen. He seemed t» collapse—to sink back into his chair a helpless heap, without the power of speech or movement, without the power turning his eyes from my face. "Tell me," I repeated—"Stay, 1 will recall the scene to you, and you wilt know I am well informed. Here is th» table here is Macari, standing over tho man he has stabbed here are you, and behind you is another man with a scar on his cheek. In the back room, at the siano, is Pauline. She is singing, but iersong stops as the murdered maa tails dead. Do I dfscribe the scene uly?"

Lestures

"yes it is Mr.

Vaughan. But who and what am I? Where are we? Is it in London,Geneva, or elsewhere? Shall I awake and find 1 have dreamed of what I have suffered?" "I am afraid it is no dream. We are in Siberia." "And you are not come to bear me goodnews? You are not one of us—a friend trying at the peril of your life to set me free?"

1 1

"Why not? I have nothing to fear, nothing to gain, nothing to hope. Falsehood is forced on people by circumstances a man in my state has no noed of it." "The first question I have to ask is— who and what is that man Macari?"

I nad spoken excitedly. I had used and words, Ceneri's ears had. unk in every syllable his eyes had followed every gesture. As I pointed to the supposed position of Pauline, he had looked there with a quick, startle* glance, as if expecting to see her entet the door. He made no attempt to denf. the accuracy of my representation.

I waited for him to recover. He wa» looking ghastly. His breath came i* spasmodic gasps. For a moment I fear he was about to die then and then I poured out a glass of wine he took in his trembling hand and gulped down.

Tell me his name?" I repeated. "Tel me what he had to do with Pauline?" Then he found his voice. "Why dc you come here to ask me? Paulin? could have told you. She must be wed or vou could not have learned this."

She has told me nothing." "You are wrong. She must have tol# you. No one else saw the crime—thr murder for a murder it was."

There was another presentbeside th# actors I have named." Ceneri started and looked at me. "Yes, there was another there by a» accident. A man who could hear but not see. A man whose life I pleaded for as for my own." "I thank you for having saved it.* "Foti thank me. Why should yot thank me?" "If you saved any one's life it ww mine. I was that man." "You that man!" He looked at me

more attentively—"yes now the features come back to me. I always wondered that your face seemed so familiarYes. I can understand—I am a doctee —your eyes were operated upon?"

Yes—most successfully."

"You can see well now—but thent $ could not be mistaken, you were blind* —you saw nothing."

I saw nothing, but I heard everything." "And now Pauline has told yon what happened?" ^Pauline has not spoken.* .Ceneri rose, and in great agitatloa walked up and down the room. His chains rattling as he moved. "I knew it," he muttered, in Italian. "I knew ii —such a crime cannot be hidden."

Then he turned to me. "Tell me bow you have learned this? Teresa would die before she spoke. Petroff is deaddied, as I told you, raving mad."

From his last words I presumed that Petroff was the third man I had seetL and also the fellow-prisoner who had denounced Macari. "Was it Macari—that double-dyed traitor? No—he was the murderersuch an avowal would defeat his ends. Tell me how you know?" "I would tell you, but I suspect yow would not believe me." "Believe you!" he cried, excitedly. 1 would believe anything connected with that night—it has never left my thoughtar —Mr. Vaughan, the truth has come to me in my captivity. I am not condemned to this life for a political crime. My sentence is God's indirect vengeance for the deed you witnessed."

It was clear that Ceneri was not such a hardened ruffian as Macari. He, at least, had a conscience. Moreover, as ho appeared to be superstitious, he: would perhaps believe me when I told him how my accurate knowledge had been obtained. "I will tell you," I said, "provided you pledge your honor to give me the full history of that fearful crime and answer my questions, fully and truthfully-"

He smiled bitterly. You forget my position, Mr. Vaughan, when you speak of 'honor.' Yet I promise all you ask."

So I told him, as shortly and simply as

could, all that had occurred all 1 had seen. He shuddered as I again described the terrible vision. "Spare me," he said, "I know it allThousands of times I have seen it or have dreamed it—it will never leave meButwhy come to me? Pauline, yon say, is recovering her senses—shewonld have told you all." "I would not ask her until I saw you. She is herself again, but lam a stranger to her—and unless your answer is the*. shall never meet

one I hope for, we again." "If anything I can do to aton began, eagerly. *You can only speak the truth. Listen. I taxed the murderer, your accomplice, with the crime. Like you he could not deny it, but he justified it." "How—tell me," panted Ceneri.

h®

For a moment I paused. I fixed my eyes upon him to catch every change of feature—to read the truth in more than words. "He vowed to me that the young ma« was killed by your instructions— that no was—oh, Goa. how can I repeat it!—thfc lover of Pauline, who, having dishonored her. refused to repair his fault. The truth! TeU me the truth!"

I almost shouted the last words--mf calmness vanished as I thought of tne villain who had, with a mocking smile* coupled Pauline's name with shame.

Ceneri, on the other hand, grew calmer as he grasped the purport of my question. Bad as the man might be, eve® stained with innocent blood, I could have clasped him in mv arms as I read in liis wondering ev» 1..0 baselessness of the foul accusation. "That young man—the boy strnca down bv Macari's dagger—was Pauline's brother—my sister's child—Anthony Marchl"

[T0 bi Otmtimtui.)

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