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LoM 0'-^ ^ ci ^ C V C V. ^ ' ■• ' 





VOL. 4051. 


By the same Author, 

LADY BABY ...... 

2 vols. 

RECHA^ ...... 

X vol. 




I vol. 


I vol. 


I vol. 


X vol* 


. X vol. 


. I vol. 


X vol. 


. X vol. 


. X vol. 


. X vol. 

I vol. 


. I vol. 


2 vols. 


. X vol. 











i... AIR Hi., 6 ?i5 'Oe 



Chapter I. The Procession 7 

— IL "The Lost Ones" 19 



Chapter I. "In Rightful Possession" 35 

— II. Eloquent Walls 43 

— III. The Post-Card 50 

— IV. A Servant of the Czar's 60 

— V. What the Winter brought 68 

— VI. The Passport 79 



Chapter I. Between Brothers 90 

— II. "The Princess Birbantine" loo 


Chapter m. 

— IV. 

— V. 

— VL 

— VII. 

— vm, 

— IX. 















"The Prince Narcissus" io8 

''Moji Zdrowief* 122 

The Week-End 130 

The Morskie Oho 138 

The Banns 150 

In a Summer-House 162 

A Rendezvous 177 



The Next Thing 187 

A Transference 196 

A Morning Call 200 

The "Pawiak" 208 

"Justice" 216 

The Hearing of the New 227 

Ten or Eleven? 234 

In the Restaurant 243 

Timosh 250 

On the Vantage Ground 261 

The Comedy: Act 1 266 

The Comedy: Act II 276 

The Comedy: Act HI. and last ... . 285 




Teie I2th of August, 1861, rose fair and radiant over 
the plains of Lithuania. From the vast forest swamps 
soft vapours arose like veils, soon to be torn to shreds by 
the touch of the victorious sun. Summer peace breathed 
from the landscape. 

But it was not peace that was preparing in the river- 
side town of Kowno. Eaily though the hour was the place 
aheady teemed with a strange, subdued, but no less in- 
tense, life. From every side street leading to the wide 
central square in the heart of the town crowds were pour- 
ing in festive attire. The white gowns of the women 
mixed gaily with the long, dark tunics and flower-decked 
hats of the men. Yet upon the lips of these ever-gather- 
ing masses, smart enough for wedding guests, no smile 
was to be seen; while their eyes were brilliant with some- 
thing quite distinct from the promise of pleasure. In a 


Stem silence they came, and as the comer of the street 
was tumed each pair of eyes went instinctively towards 
the southem egress of the square. Here the August sun- 
light glinted back from the points of many arms and the 
bits of many horses. A sotnie of Cossacks stood in double 
file across the road leading to the river. At their head, 
with drawn sword, was a squat, black-browed captain. 
The opening of a street close by was alive with the toss- 
ing of more horses' heads, and all a twinkle with the points 
of lances, for here the Uhlans had been posted as a re- 
serve in case of need. A much-decorated general, with 
several adjutants beside him, sat his horse in face of the 
troops, and in expectation of the coming action nervously 
pulled at his shaggy grey moustache. 

Each newcomer could take in the picture at a glance 
as open space was gained; but no alarm, not even surprise 
was visible upon any one face, as men and women alike, 
with tight-set lips and heads held high, pursued their way 
towards the weather-beaten church from behind whose 
walls the muffled soimd of organ tones was pouring. 

What was there here to surprise them?. It was weeks 
now since the Russian authorities had published a formal 
prohibition of the manifestation planned. August 12th, 
as anniversary of the final union of the Duchy of Lithuania 
to the Kingdom of Poland — a union held to faithfully for 
three centuries — is a day great in the national annals. 
No day more fitting to prove to the Polish brothers that 
in the struggle already preparing, and soon to overshadow 
the country, Lithuania's heart was with them. Already, 
when over there in Warsaw the first blood had flowed, 
Lithuania had wrapped itself in the national mouming. 
It was black gowns which these white-clad women had 
laid aside — for one day only. 


The celebration had been planned on a large scale. 
After the ceremony in the church, the procession would 
cross the river Niemen and advance to meet a sister pro- 
cession coming firom the kingdonL The official announce- 
ment that, should the cortege attempt to form, it would 
be mercilessly fired upon, had served only to stifien reso- 
lution. No one doubted that the threat would be carried 
out, but no one thought of yielding. No calmer people in 
Europe than the Lithuanians, but also none more tena- 
cious. For days before the 12th every confessional for 
miles around had been besieged by crowds eager to make 
their peace with heaven. If all these men and women, 
flocking in from the neighbouring towns, and many of 
whom had passed the night on the roads, looked so con- 
temptuously at the troops, it was because one and all 
had come here prepared to die. 

In front of the church the mass was growing denser 
with every minute. It was not one-twentieth of the crowd 
which its walls could attempt to hold. Yet the restless 
gendarmes, prowling around, could see no occasion for 
action. Presently, by a movement as orderly as the 
former quiet had been, it became clear to the spectators 
that the critical moment was close. From the steps of 
the church, and as though obeying a word of command 
which had yet not been spoken, the crowd fell away to 
the right and to the left, leaving dear a broad passage. 
The gendarmes looked across at their mounted com- 
mander, planted straight opposite to the church door and 
watching intently. The Cossack captain's impatient eyes 
went over to the general, his hand the while grasping his 
drawn sword a little tighter. When would the command 
to charge be given? His shaggy little horse shook its 
mane, as though as anxious as its master to be at the crowd. 


But the general was, obi^ously, not quite up to his 
mark. A charge seemed to him superfluous. Surely that 
wall of Cossacks, even passive, would be enough to stop a 
mob aimed only with prayer-books and rosaries! So he 
sat still upon his horse, while down the steps of the church 
the first figures of the procession came at a measured 
pace: at the head a tall old peasant with a wooden cross 
upheld between his homy hands, close behind him several 
pairs of young girls in white muslin gowns, and crowned 
with white flowers, each two pairs bearing between them 
a miniature platform upon which throned a wooden figure 
of the Holy Virgin, or of some patron Saint There were 
peasants among these, too, but so were there daughters of 
noblemen, for this post of honour and of danger had been 
hotly contested. After these the banner-bearers, followed 
by a troop of scarlet-robed, white-surpliced acolytes with 
bells and censers; at last the group of priests, in gold- 
embroidered vestments. 

As steadily a^d as methodically as though this were 
a show well rehearsed, without a trace of confusion or 
of flurry, the mighty column of people came on, with blue 
and red banners playing in the light breeze sprung up, 
with bells tinkling and censers swinging out their clouds 
of perfume into the crisp air. The bearer of the cross 
was heading straight, though slowly, for the wall of troops 
barring the passage to the river — as unfaltering as though 
he did not see them — and behind him the white-dad 
girls came as unfaltering as he. 

The squat, black-browed captain looked more urgently 
towards the general, but the general was again pulling at 
his moustache. All that he could do upon his own respon^ 
sibility was to draw his ranks closer; and this was already 
done, one rough horse-flank actually touching the other. 


Yet the old man with the cross came on as though 
they had not been, and behind him the unbroken pro- 

The general, staring, could not believe his eyes when 
he saw the piloting cross reach the first line of Cossacks 
and still moving on, apparently unchecked. Between the 
close-set horses the old peasant was cafaniy shouldering 
his way, and through the narrow passage thus gained the 
girls pressed close. Quickly it widened, as the wild little 
horses, alarmed at the banners, the bells, the white dresses, 
shied aside, backing in a sort of panic against those be- 
hind, which in their turn were disorganised by the alarm* 

At sight of the broken ranks the general could hesitate 
no longer. The concerted sign was given, and simultane- 
ously from the impatient lips of the Cossack captain, 
loosened at last, came the shouted command: — 

"At them with your swords!" 

It was upon the head of the cross-bearer that the first 
stroke fell, bringing him to his knees. There, between the 
horses, on the ground, with cross still uplifted, he raised 
his bleeding face, together with his quavering voice: — 

"Holy God! Holy Strong One!" 

"Holy and immortal!" 

"Show us mercy!" 

The first tones were barely uttered when the girls be- 
hind him, likewise upon their knees and with the sword- 
strokes raining upon them, joined their young voices to 
his cracked old one in the intonation of the popular hymn. 
In another minute the chant had been taken up by the 
whole of the mighty column. From twenty thousand 
throats the prayer for help rose to heaven: — 

"Holy God! Holy Strong One!" 

"Holy and immortal!" 


"Show US mercy!" 

A moment followed never to be forgotten by either 
friends or enemies. 

At the first note of the heart-searching air familiar to 
them since childhood — since to the same melody the 
Cossacks had set their own words, appealing to the same 
throne of mercy — a strange flurry had come over the 
mounted troops. As though at a word of command the 
hands grasping the swords went up to their heads; almost 
automatically they uncovered. And — oh, bewildering 
sight! — the general's cap was in his hand too, and the lips 
junder the shaggy moustache were moving. It was clear 
that he had lost his head. 

But, fortunately for Russia's reputation, the gendarme 
commander was made of sterner stuff. He spurred to 
the general's side. 

"Your duty, general! Do not forget your duty!" 

At the incisive tones of warning, the general gave a 
rapid shake to his old shoulders, quickly and shame- 
facedly he put on his cap. 

"Yes, my duty," he murmured, turning a still dazed 
look upon the colonel, while around him the air vibrated 
with the melody of the hymn. 

"The Cossacks are evidently not to be relied upon. 
Would it not be time for the Uhlans to charge?" 

"Yes, it would be time." 

Pulling himself together the general turned to his ad- 
jutant and gave a hurried order. 

Within a minute the adjutant's horse had cleared the 
breadth of the square, and almost as he reached the side of 
the lieutenant in command the long, shining lances were 
lowered to the saddles. In the space of another breath 


those murderous points would be let loose upon the help- 
less mass of people. 

But it would seem, after all, as though the prayer for 
mercy had reached the throne of heaven. The lieutenant's 
lips had not yet opened for the decisive word when another 
figure on foot, but in full uniform, strode out into the 
centre of the square with prohibitory arm upUfted. 

At the sight the lieutenant's sword lowered instantly; 
for the figure in the middle of the square — appeared from 
no one quite knew where — was that of a high official, the 
governor's representative, in other words the embodiment 
of authority. All eyes were upon him; in a moment, as 
though by common consent, the fervent hymn was hushed. 
No attack was to take place, the governor's delegate 
explained to eagerly listening ears. There was no need to 
shed blood, since a much simpler way of cutting short the 
demonstration had been found. The floating bridge across 
the river, so constructed as to be removable at the time of 
the great floods, had been taken to pieces that morning. 
This alone made it impossible for the two processions to 
join. The troops might therefore go back quietly to their 
quarters. There was no harm in letting the people take 
a walk to the river-bank. 

The words were humane, but they were contemptuous, 
and the glance with which he measured the colunm of 
people was no more fiiendly though less ferocious than 
that of the disappointed Cossack captain. Such an op- 
portunity lost! And all because of those stupid men being 
knocked over by a hymn! Moodily he headed the way 
back to the barracks. So there was to be no more blood- 
shed to-day! Well, it might yet come! 

Meanwhile, the procession, ordered again as carefully 
as before, moved forwards upon its now unobstructed way, 

1 4 RESTmmoN. 

with as complete a disregard for the official's announce- 
ment as had been shown for the Cossacks' presence. The 
old cross-bearer again headed the column, only tottering 
a little in his walk. There was an open gash across his 
face, while upon the white dresses of the girls that fol- 
lowed him more than one fresh blood-stain shone. 

With banners and censers once more in full play, they 
filed through the street leading to the river and soon 
stood upon its banks. 

There at last was the first real check. Perhaps they 
had not fully believed the words of the general's delegate, 
for at sight of the broken-off bridge many faces, which had 
hot blanched before the swords of the Cossacks, visibly fell. 
Upon each bank there lay piled the woodwork of the dis- 
mantled bridge, while between the two desolate bridge- 
heads the Niemen rolled its slow, sullen waters. How to 
reach the other side seemed an insoluble problem. Hesi- 
tation began to pierce. But while the crowds still con- 
sulted upon the bank an approaching murmur was 
wafted across the water, and the distant tinkle of bells, 
not their own, met their ears. Soon other banners were 
waving upon the other side — the sister-procession coming 
from the heart of Poland! At its head another old cross- 
bearer — but no peasant this: a white-haired nobleman in 
resplendent national dress, known to all for miles around 
as the bearer of an illustrious name. 

The sight acted like an electric shock. From all these 
throats a cry went up — a cry of longing and of comrade- 
ship. Upon both banks the people fell upon their knees, 
wiUi yearning hands outstretched, while once more their 
lips opened, not to a hymn this time, but to the solemn 
words of their national anthem: — 


''God, who for so many ages hath surrounded Poland 
^th light and with honour!" 

Women's passionate sobs ran hke the undertone of the 

But the men had no time for tears. Already a group 
of youngsters had unmoored one of the barges forming 
the usual supports of the bridge, and now stowed away 
under the hanging willows. On to its primitive deck, 
priests and banner-bearers, as well as the white-wreathed 
girls were led, to be ferried over. It seemed all that it 
was possible to do. And yet not all. 

The people, gazing with Wistful eyes after the barge 
which they could not hope to follow, became all at once 
aware of a single figure across the water, which, advanced 
to the edge of the bank, and with hands held trumpet- 
wise to mouth was attempting to communicate with them. 
A beardless youth this, with the bearing of a nobleman, 
and in national dress so gay as to give him the ap- 
pearance of some bird of brilliant plumage poised on the 
crest of the low cliff. Many of the crowd knew him, Stas 
Swigdlo, the twenty-year old son of the white-haired 
count, heading the second procession. His lithe figure 
and his authoritative gesture were familiar; but his words 
could not reach them. 

He did not stop to repeat them. Leaping down the 
bank to the edge of the water and beckoning peremptorily 
to those behind him, he seized upon one of die planks of 
liie dismantled bridge and bqgan pulling it back towards 
its original position. 

In an instant a dozen other men were beside him — 
then a hundred. The bank became alive with swarming 
figures, while from the other side a shout arose. They 
had understood his thought, and there too w^re at work 


already. No trace of hesitation now. The meeting which 
the swords of the Cossacks had not been able to stop, 
the waves of the Niemen should stop as little. In a fever 
they worked, in momentary expectation of the thunder of 
approaching horse-hoofs and of those words already once 
heard to-day: — 

"At them with your swords!" 

But not one soldier appeared. From the side of the 
town all remained still. The startled authorities, sur- 
prised out of all their calculations, were consulting in a 
flurry which precluded all decisive action. 

With thirty thousand pairs of hands sturing, work, 
even under an August sun, progresses fast In less than 
two hours the bridge stood there again, not much more 
rickety than usual; and across it the people poured in 
comparative safety, literally to fall into the arms of their 
compatriots. Many were the strangers whose quivering 
lips touched on that day — many the peasant who found 
himself pressed to the heart of a nobleman. 

It was not until emotion had had free play that the 
now united procession formed again, heading towards the 
church of the neighbouring village, which had been its 
objective all along. Here it was that thousands of knees 
bent, and thousands of voices rose to implore better times 
for Poland. 

But the day was not to end without a gayer note being 
struck. It was from the church steps that the white- 
haired count Swigello announced to the crowds that they 
were his guests for that day, and himself, led the way to 
his ancient domain hard by. 

Here at last the long strain relaxed. Until this moment 
even children's nerves had been too highly wrought to let 
them chance upon the discovery that they were both ex- 


hausted and hungry; but at sight of the tables spread 
upon the lawns, and laden with cold meats, with pyramids 
of fresh rolls, with piles of fruits; of the barrels rolled out 
upon the gravel and waiting only to be tapped, human 
nature demanded its rights. £ven heroes must eat at 
given intervals, and these men and women had fasted 
since morning. A pleasant sense of security took the 
place of the iron resolve so long maintained. Around 
the rustic boards and upon the wide grass spaces tongues 
were at length untied and events discussed in varying 

''Can an3rthing be clearer than that God protects 

•*But how if the governor's message had arrived five 
minutes later?" 

"It could not have arrived five minutes later, seemg 
that it was sent by Heaven. The governor had to send 
when Heaven commanded." 

"And supposing the Uhlans had charged — what then? 
A few good deaths — better deaths maybe than those we 
will die some day." And the speaker sighed well-nigh 
regretfully, as at an opportunity wasted. 

Inside the big white house, above whose entrance a 
huge coat of arms, hewn in stone, stood out in strong 
relief^ the heads of the procession were being strengthened 
with nobler draughts than beer. 

"Let my cellars be empty for a generation, if need 
be," the count had said to his majordomo that morning, 
"so long as no one goes away thirsty to-day." 

Nor should anyone go away hungry either. It was in 
order to see to this that he now moved about among the 
crowds encamped upon the grass in the shadow of mighty 
lime-trees — a splendid old figure with snow-white beard 

ReiHtution, 2 


and words of lordly welcome upon his lips. "Like old 
times — ^just like old times!" they could hear him murmur. 
"But almost too many to look after. Is Stas not forget- 

He was not forgetting. Light-footed, smiling-lipped, 
he moved about among the crowds of his father's guests 
as nimbly as he had gone about the building of the bridge. 
His hands were badly torn — fair white hands, tended, 
as a rule, as delicately as those of a lady — and the light- 
blue satin of his coat was rent and stained, but he heeded 
nothing of it all as he hurried from group to group, 
radiant in the dispensation of that hospitality which, after 
fighting, has ever been to a Swigello the highest delight. 
If the light-blue coat was seen more frequently in the 
neighbourhood of white dresses than of other coats, who 
would blame him, considering how fair some of the faces 
above the dresses were? A lady's man — oh, yes! But, 
after to-day, who could hold him for that alone? 

"Ah, Panna Zasia," he said now, stopping before a 
white-wreathed girl who formed the centre of an admiring 
group, "you will never have that dress washed, will you?" 

There was a note of drollery in his voice, as he pointed 
to the blood-stain which had soaked through the muslin 
of the sleeve — he had really been serious for as long as 
his constitution permitted. But the yellow-haired girl 
raised a pair of grave blue eyes from under the crown of 
paper lilies to reply: — 

"No; I shall never have it washed. I shall keep it to 
show my children." 

An approving murmur greeted the words. Was not 
this one of the heroines of the day? Wherever a denser 
group had collected it might be taken for granted that one 
of these white-wreathed girls was its centre, sometimes 


with a bandaged hand, displaying the blood-stains upon 
her dress with a pride too innocent to be called puerile. 
But the shadows of the lime-trees were getting long 
upon the lawn. The white pillars of the terrace stood 
there bathed in golden light; above them the emblems on 
the huge escutcheon were picked out minutely by the rays 
of the setting sun; below, the rampant bear known to all 
who had ever come within the sphere of the Swigello 
name; above, a battle-axe with a snake coiled around its 

Return had to be thought of; but it should be a return 
worthy of the departure. Once more youth had taken 
the initiative. A group had hurried on in advance; and 
as, at last, under the first veil of twilight the re-formed 
procession approached the Niemen — at its head the same 
old peasant, only that his forehead was now bandaged with 
a costly lace handkerchief — a triumphant peel of bells 
greeted them fix)m all the churches of Kowno. As victors 
they were being welcomed back; and like victors they re- 
entered the town unobstructed. Not a finger raised to 
oppose them. The same moral paralysis which had suf- 
fered the re-building of the bridge, still lay upon the 
authorities. For such a case as this they had no in- 

So the people rqoiced in their victory. And they did 
well to rejoice, for there were not many more to follow. 


It was a dark wet night in May — the second since 
that August day upon which the two processions had met 
on the banks of the Niemen. 


The twenty-one months which lay between had been 
among the most turbulent in turbulent Polish annals. 
The revolution of which the manifestation of Kowno had 
been one of the heralding sparks, smothered again and 
again under the iron Russian heel, had finally burst into 
flame. Over the bulk of the provinces once subject to 
the Polish crown, the conflagration had been raging since 

In an inner yard in one of the suburbs of Kiew some 
twenty men were busy packing various articles, not easily 
distinguishable in the moist darkness, into a couple of 
carts half-filled with straw. Whenever any of the faces 
came within the circle of a dim lantern overhead, it 
showed itself to be beardless. There was not so much 
as a full-grown moustache among them. Much whisper- 
ing went on. Sometimes the ghost of an excited laugh 
quickly repressed. A pack of schoolboys bent upon some 
nocturnal escapade — such would have been the impression 
of any uninformed spectator. 

Soon they had all clambered to their places, all but 
two, who, with the agility of practised horsemen, had 
swung themselves onto the backs of small sturdy steeds 
held ready close by. 

As, with a hollow sound, the carts lumbered out 
through the covered entrance into the street, several hasty 
signs of the cross were made, such as the Slav loves to 
make at the start of an undertaking. 

The street was long and straggly, almost deserted ex- 
cept for an occasional policeman, and once for a company 
of Cossacks patrolling the sleeping town. The leader, 
peering sharply at the party, met the harmless gaze of a 
pair of eyes which he instinctively valued at somewhere 
about fifteen years old, and rode on unconcerned. It 


was not his business to arrest children. The "milk faces" 
might go past in peace. 

Beyond the last houses were Cossacks, but here, too, 
the carts as well as the riders passed unmolested and un- 
challenged. The very openness and simplicity of the pro- 
ceedings precluded all idea of danger to the public peace. 
Such supreme impudence as was here at work could not 
enter into the calculations of the most suspicious official. Nor 
could he guess at that which was hidden beneath the straw. 
And now the open country was gained. Beneath the 
streaming sky a wide horizon was to be more guessed at 
than seen. The houses were behind them and the steppe 
in front of them. An audible breath was drawn all round. 
The first danger was successfully passed, and already 
these young mad-caps prepared to triumph. 

Yet, compared to the mission on which they were 
bound, that hoodwinking of the Cossack patrols was a 
successful joke — nothing more. And before each of the 
twenty immature minds the mission stood clear: the wooing 
of the peasantry to the Polish national cause. Although 
their forefathers had been subjects of the dissolved Polish 
Kingdom, they were not Poles by blood, these hoped-for 
recruits — else would the wooing have been superfluous — 
but neither were they full-blood Russians. It was un- 
questionable that the Ruthenian peasantry had suffered 
somewhat under the Polish sway; but it might be a 
question whether they were not suffering more under the 
Russian thraldom. This, at any rate, was what these 
twenty youngsters had undertaken to prove to them. Up 
to this moment the Ukraine steppes had been passive; 
the Ruthenians having shown no marked desire to help 
in snatching the Polish chestnuts out of the fire. This 
could only be because the matter had not been presented 


to them in the proper light Therefore it lyas to be thus 
presented without further delay. The "Ciolden News" 
of the deliverance from the Muscovite yoke must be car- 
ried to the steppes. 

A friendly reception was scarcely to be expected; for 
police and priests had been at work poisoning the peasant 
mind against the influence of both Poles and aristocrats 
— and these youths were both. Should they by some 
miracle elude the troops patrolling the plain — and where 
flee to with not so much as a mile of forest to hide in, 
or a hillock behind which to crouch? — there was every 
prospect of being attacked by the hostile peasants. Some 
dim conception of their own folly had indeed dawned in 
the more rational of these minds, since it was they them- 
selves who had given to themselves the jocular name of 
"The Lost Ones." But, for all that, the twenty hearts 
beat high with a hope which refused to die. With three 
guns and fifteen revolvers between them, with a flag 
bearing the Polish eagle carefully furled beneath the 
straw, and a dozen or so copies of the "Golden News" 
to distribute, they saw no reason why they should not 
succeed in calling the country to arms. 

Well beyond the limits of the town a halt was called 
for the first council of war, for such had been the hurry 
of the departure — this dark night being too favourable to 
be wasted — that no leader had yet been chosen. At the 
suggestion most of the heads turned towards the two 
horsemen just then alighting. 

"I vote for Juzio Melinski!" said the youngest of the 
party, but not the most diffident — the same whose harm- 
less gaze had deceived the Cossack patrol — known among 
his fiiends by the innocent name of "Bread and Butter," 
because of a leaning towards that article of food. 


"And I for Stas Swigello. He has seen blood, that one ! " 
It was quite true that Stas had seen blood, at various 
times and far more plentifully than he had seen it on 
that memorable 1 2th of August Even the blood of his 
father. For when the summons had come no chains 
would have been strong enough to keep the old count 
behind walls. 

He had died — on the field, just in time for final hap- 
piness — with in his ears the cries of triumph of one of 
those early and successful engagements waged in the 
forests of Lithuania, whose impenetrable thickets and 
treacherous swamps played the part of man-traps to all 
but the natives. And from his stiffening lips welled the 
ecstatic words: — 

"It has come — it has come at last!" 
Over such an end as this it was impossible to grieve 
for long, even had Stas had leisure for private griefs, 
which he had not The "Cause" required both his hands 
and his thoughts, and got them too, whole-heartedly and 
with an ever-growing hope. Clearly the hour of Poland's 
triumph had struck, and Lithuania it was that was head- 
ing the march to victory. So certain was he of this latter 
point that when, through hidden channels, there reached 
him a despairing cry from a college friend in the Ukraine 
where the peasants refused to stir, Stas, scenting a greater 
need, considered himself justified in flying to the more 
exposed position. Lithuania, where all were of one mind, 
could do very well without him, it seemed, but the Ukraine 
evidently could not "They will not move!" Juzio Melinski 
lamented. It was to help to move them that Stas Swigello 
had eluded dozens of Cossack patrols and told ingenious 
lies to countless Russian officials in his passage from north 
to south of the whole disturbed country. 


"I vote for Juzio," repeated the Benjamin of the party 
with dogged loyalty to the personage who, before the new 
hero's advent, had played the leading rdle, 

"Hold your tongue, 'Bread and Butter,'" said Juzio 
himself severely. "Nobody is asking your opinion. Of 
course Stas must lead us. He has not run a thousand 
dangers in crossing Poland merely to be ordered about 
by us. That is clear surely?" 

It was the second horseman who spoke — a youth with 
the luminous brown eyes and sensitive lips of the idealist, 
set in a pale and perfect oval. He it was whose cry of 
distress had called Stas from Lithuania. 

"That's quite clear," agreed another, carefully adjust- 
ing his very first pince-nez, which still gave him consider- 
able anxiety by their reluctance to sit firmly upon his 
novice nose. 

"If we're all agreed, then that is settled. Let every- 
one who agrees to Stas Swigello as a leader hold up his 
right hand!" 

All the right hands were raised, even that of "Bread 
and Butter," carried away by the will of the majority. 

Stas inclined himself with a touch of stateliness, which 
had nothing so trivial about it as gratification. He had 
not really expected any other issue. 

There followed the distribution of arms; and then 

"our first station must be D ," decided Stas. "We 

should make it soon after daylight Keep the flag handy. 
And now, forwards, with the grace of heaven!" 

Through what remained of the short May night they 
pressed on under the starless sky. As the immense vault 
of heaven began by its pallor to detach itself from the 
immense table of dark earth, Stas peered keenly ahead. 

"Not a Cossack within sight, thank God! But good- 


nesSy what a place to fight in! Ah, if we had but a hand* 
fill of Lithuanian forest here, what a dance we could 
lead the Muscovites 1 So unclothed a landscape as this 
seeois to me positively indecent'' 

At which a lad with a girlish face, who was in the 

.' cart close by, uttered an irrepressibly girlish giggle. 

^ The rain had ceased by this time, and as they splashed 

I up the village street through puddles as large as small 

ponds, doors were opening already, and the men coming 

out with hoes and spades upon their shoulders. 

"Just in time to catch them before they are off to the 
fields," remarked Stas, and mended the pace. 

In another few minutes the carts were drawn up in 
I the centre of the sea of mud which represented the village 

! square and the "Lost Ones," reeking with damp and 

thankfiil to stretch their cramped limbs, nimbly descended. 
Upon one of the carts, figuring as platform, stood Stas 
with a sheet of paper in his hand, calling to the people to 
come and hear the "Golden News," while beside him 
Juzio Melinski, paler than ever with emotion, unfurled the 
flag upon which the white Polish eagle spread its wings. 
This sight alone would have sufficed to collect a 
curious crowd. The men with hoes upon their shoulders 
gaped in a circle, behind them the women peered cau- 
tiously, while the children, caught by the brightness of the 
fluttering rag, came at a run, rubbing the sleep out of 
their eyes. 

It was Stas Swigdlo's first public speech, but not spoilt 
by diffidence. His companions, hanging on the glowing 
words with which he painted the blackness of the Russian 
oppression and the corresponding brilliancy of the happy 
future beckoning under Polish rule, could not but congratu- 
late themselves upon their choice of a leader. It did not 


seem possible that such arguments could be resisted. 
Eagerly they scanned the listening faces, spying for the 
responding spark. But in those toil-worn faces small 
comfort was to be found. The furtive eyes could not be 
called inimical, but they were clearly evasive. For the 
most they stood passive and somewhat embarrassed, ob- 
viously not rightly knowing what to make of the harangue. 
Some truth in the picture they recognised, but native 
suspicion requires strong proofs. Besides, their terror of 
the Muscovite was great — far greater than their confidence 
in the Pole. 

As Stas, holding his breath, looked round the circle 
with indignant inquiry, the silence fell upon his heart 
with the chill of cold water. Words of taunting reproach 
crowded to his lips, but some glimmering of conmionsense 
kept them back. It was only for Juzio's ears that he 
muttered: — 

"Ruthenian dogs!" 

"We do not ask for your word in this very hour," he 
said, with a violent effort at self-control, and uncon- 
sciously condescending. "We will leave you the * Golden 
News' to study and consider, and in a few days we will 
pass again this way, and find you, I doubt not, gained 
over to the great * Cause'. Till then, live well, my 

"Live well!" a few voices echoed, while one hesitating 
hand stretched towards the sheet of paper offered. 

"That is better than nothing, I suppose," said Stas to 
Juzio, as, followed by the curious eyes of the peasants, 
the party once more splashed in and out of the immense 

"They have souls of wood!" sighed Juzio, "no, not 
even wood, for wood can burn." 


"They cannot all be like that," was the verdict of the 

"They did not attack us, at least," remarked one, 
"and that is something." 

This opinion was generally shared. From want of 
better things one had to be content with this negative 
success. As for losing courage, no one even thought of 
such a thing. 

So the "Lost Ones" splashed on. 

Daylight had now dispersed the last shadows, but no 
single bar of sunlight lay upon the vast face of the 
steppe. Overhead an unbroken vault of grey, to the 
right and to the left of the wide road stretching from 
horizon to horizon, miles of coarse grass, tender in its 
first summer green, and heavy just now with the night's 

At one moment several breaths were caught sharply. 
Ahead a mounted party had come into sight. "The 
Cossacks!" was the first inevitable thought; and after one 
wild glance around and the final grasping of the fact that 
such a thing as cover was not available, everyone groped 
for his weapon. 

But the alarm was mercifully brief. Soon the head- 
coverings alone settled the point Cossacks do not wear 
straw hats, nor felt ones either. A group of mounted 
peasants — on their way to some distant fields, no doubt 

"Get the flag ready!" conmianded Stas, as he cleared 
his throat for the coming harangue. 

By the time the parties met, the white eagle was flut- 
tering in the breeze. Even without the imperious gesture 
of Stas, the sight would have caused the peasants in their 
astonishment to check their horses. 

"Brothers! You must not proceed without hearing 


the 'Golden News,' which at the peril of our lives we have 
brought you." 

At the very first words Stas met the shrewd, attentive 
eyes of a grey-haired peasant among the foremost horse- 
men. They were such intelligent eyes that he went on 
talking as to him alone, and therefore with all the warmth 
of concentrated attention. These were better, more fiery 
words even than those spoken upon the village square; 
and this time the anxious watchers got something for their 
pains. Among the elderly faces of the party a dawning 
emotion was visible, as the eyes, under the wrinkled eye- 
lids and lashes bleached by wind and weather, went from 
one young face to the other. 

"You are a noble young gentleman," said the shrewd- 
looking peasant, whom Stas had first noticed; "but will 
you graciously permit me a question: Have you got a 

"My father was buried three weeks ago on the battle- 
field of M ," said Stas proudly; "and I ask for no- 
thing better than so good an end as he made." 

"Yet need it be so soon?" The old man sighed, and 
then pointed at "Bread and Butter," peering anxiously 
over the edge of the cart 

"How old is he now? Not older than my Wasyl, I 
would think." 

"He is old enough to die for his country if need be!" 
flashed out Stas, greatly to the relief of "Bread and 
Butter," who had trembled to hear the ignominious few- 
ness of his years proclaimed. 

"You are brave young gentlemen," murmured the 

"It is the justice of our cause which makes us brave. 
If you doubt it any longer, here you will find it set forth" 


— and another copy of the "Golden News" was produced. 
** Your hearts will be with us, I know. Are they not with 
us already?" 

"Our hearts are with you, brothers!" came the an- 
swering chorus, and it was not only the shrewd eyes of 
the first speaker that were moist 

In truth they had not understood much more of the 

"Golden News" than had the inhabitants of D ; but 

many of them were fathers, and other things had touched 
them. It was amidst repeated declarations of brother- 
hood, and fervent invocations to Providence, touching the 
safety of the adventurers, that the two parties at length 

"I told you they could not all be made of the same 
stuff," said one youth to another, with spirits bounding up 
to high-water mark. 

It had been a spot of brightness — the single one that 
was to illuminate their way. 

So, with courage renewed, the "Lost Ones" bumped on. 

And they had need of their courage. With lightning- 
like rapidity the news of their presence and of their object 
flew over the steppe. At every village reached they could 
divine that their coming had been expected as well as 
dreaded. The crowds, indeed, were not hard to collect, 
curiosity doing its part; but no second such moment came 
as that upon the road. Where thick-skulled indifference 
did not reign antagonism clearly pierced — that antagonism 
nursed by police and "popes" alike. At times again a 
hand would be stretched for the "Golden News;" more 
often the sheet was left to flutter to the mud. 

Evening fell upon more than one drooping spirit. Many 
of these boys had not slept for two nights, and none of 
them had eaten their fill since yesterday; for, beside 


patriotic considerations, the provisioning arrangements had 
somewhat suffered. It did not seem that flesh and blood 
could go very much farther, unrefreshed. And yet the 
assumption proved false. For when, with the coming of 
night — two of the horses having advertised themselves as 
lame, and one of the carts shedding a wheel in crossing a 
ditch — it became clear that the bulk of the party would 
henceforth be reduced to their legs as means of locomotion 
no voice was raised to suggest the abandonment of their 
ungracious task. In the distance village lights twinkled, 
not too far off to be reached on foot. 

So the "Lost Ones" trudged on. 

Had they identified those twinkling lights it is possible 
that, despite their acute fatigue, they would have given 

the place a wide berth; for S had a "bad name" in 

the country, inhabited as it was by the descendants of 
those bandits who in former centuries had made the cross- 
ing of the steppe infinitely more perilous than the crossing 
of the sea. The best that could be said of it now was 
that it was a nest of thieves. 

Through the deep mud the exhausted party dragged 
its feet towards the point which to their ignorance ap- 
peared to promise repose, if nothing else. Again the 
night was moonless and starless, although the rain which 
had hung all day above their heads mercifidly held off. 

Barely was the first hut reached than it became clear 
that here too their coming had been looked for. A crowd 
appeared to grow out of the ground. Wilder faces, fiercer 
eyes than any they had seen to-day revealed themselves 
in the uncertain light. Almost without any doing of their 
own they found themselves swept up the street by the 
pressure of the people, and onto the open space before 
the church, from whose wooden belfry a clamour of bells 


had abruptly burst forth. The sound of those clanging 
bells was in itself fraught with threats; but more ominous 
was the threat in the fragments of speech caught up: — 

"That will put spurs into the Cossack horses!" 

"They can't be far off, any way." 

As the sense of the words was gathered the drooping 
nerves of the youths stiffened once more. So the 
Muscovites were dose! The real struggle was coming. 
Let it come! Anything better than this long drawn-out 

Fiercely they pushed their way through the crowd, 
right up to the wooden planking surrounding the church; 
and here, with their backs against the boards and with 
their fire-arms in their hands, they prepared to receive 
their assailants. 

A short respite ensued. The inhabitants, taken aback 
by the resolute movement, had fallen back a little, doubt- 
fully viewing those levelled revolvers. There was no dearth 
of axes and knives among them, but police regulations 
discouraged the possession of fire-arms. 

At sight of the advantage gained, that hope which 
dies so hard in hearts of twenty raised its head anew. In 
the space which might elapse before the appearance of the 
Cossacks, would it be impossible to open the eyes of these 
blind and misled people? Stas Swigello did not think so, 
at any rate, as, dismounted now and beside the others, 
he raised his now somewhat hoarse voice, in order, right 
through, the clamour of the bells once more to proclaim 
the "Golden News." Shadows veiled the faces of the 
hearers, but how doubt of the effect produced when 
presently, after some whispered consultation, a couple of 
the village elders, hat in hand, stepped from out of the 
crowd, inclining themselves profoundly before the speaker. 


They wished the strangers no harm, they protested, 
they honoured their motives and believed their words; but, 
alas, the Muscovites were the masters and, in fear of their 
own lives, they dared not follow the Polish standard. 
They would not hurt the young gentlemen, but their own 
safety made it necessary to disarm them and confine 
them until the arrival of the Russian troops. 

At the words the eyes of the "Lost Ones" sought 
each other in a desperate inquiry. Was this really the end? 

"It need not be," decided Stas, locking his teeth. 
"They have no fire-arms — that is evident There is no- 
thing to prevent us fighting our way through them, and 
regaining the open. Not much of a chance, perhaps, but 
our only one." 

He had levelled his revolver when a hand fell upon his 

"Never!" Juzio was saying, with brown eyes fanatic- 
ally alight "Shed the blood of the people we have come 
to deliver? Stas, ch, surely you forget! Far better all 
die together." 

There was that in his words and look which caused 
Stas, shamefacedly, to lower his weapon. 

"Better all die together!" 

The word ran round the circle, for in moments of 
supreme nervous tension even far lesser things than the 
spirit of self-sacrifice become infectious. 

"Let it be!" said Stas, half sullenly, and casting his 
revolver at the feet of the foremost negotiator, whose 
shaggy yet venerable white beard could not but inspire 

In a minute all the surrendered weapons lay in a 
heap; and as the crowd opened silently, the youths 
followed their white-haired guide to a hut close by. 


If one or two secret sighs of relief were heard as the 
threshold was crossed, this meant only that human nature 
had got its limits. After the strain and hardships of the 
day the little white-washed room with the bench running 
round it and the lamp flickering before the holy picture 
in the comer seemed almost like a haven of rest. 

It was to be something quite different for most of 
them; for between these white-washed walls it was that 
the last act of this tragic comedy played itself out. 

Scarcely had they ail crowded into the narrow space 
than the cry arose: — 

"Strike them dead, every one!" 

And before the horrified victims had realised what it 
meant, their murderers were upon them. 

That which followed will not bear detailing. On one 
side axes and knives, on the other defenceless boys, 
caught as surely in a trap as ever was fox or rabbit Tlie 
word "massacre" is too mild for the occasion; nothing 
but "butchery" will serve. 

Not that they died meekly. At sight of the men pour- 
ing in by the door each one of these lads had become 
transformed into that appalling thing — a beast at bay. 
To sell life as dearly as possible had been the instinctive 
thought, springing to each maddened brain. In default 
of revolvers and swords stools might do, at a pinch, and 
even benches. Mizi Chileski, the sole possessor — besides 
Stas Swigello — of the rudiments of a moustache, had per- 
formed wonders with one of these, prolonging his own life 
and that of several comrades by at least five minutes; 
while Stas Swigello with one of his lightning-like move- 
ments, had actually possessed himself of one of the as- 
sailmg axes, and by its aid, for five further minutes had 
kept a clear space around him. Far more congenial work 

Reiiiiuiion. 3 


for a Swigello this, than that laying down of arms to 
which he had so reluctantly submitted. To him, per- 
sonally, the sight of the axes had been almost a relief, 
letting loose again, as it did, those fierce, fighting instincts 
which lived behind his smiling exterior. 

But of the end little could be altered. The scene 
upon which the May sun rose at last was one of silent, 
blood-stained horror. The white-washed walls were no 
longer white, but bright with some of the noblest if not 
the wisest blood of Poland. Upon the earth floor a litter 
of what at first sight appeared to be nothing but corpses 
— half naked many of them, with clothes torn off in the 
struggle and helpless hands still clenched. Doubled over 
a bench, his giggle quenched for ever, hung the boy with 
the girPs face, across his body that of the short-sighted 
youth, whose pince-nez had been stamped to powder very 
early in the evening. Upon the big brick oven crouched 
"Bread and Butter" with a split skull. In a pool of 
blood lay Juzio Melinski with the face of a mart)rr in the 
arena, his beautiful brown eyes upturned to the low ceil- 
ing; beside him Stas Swigello upon his face, the axe still 
clutched between his fingers. 

Even the Cossacks, when they came, crossed them- 
selves shuddering, and their commander, as he went from 
body to body seeking for some sign of life, shook his head 
and muttered beneath his breath. A few hearts were yet 
beating, but most were still for ever. Hard by the last 

hut of S a big earth-mound shows the resting-place 

of these, and for generations to come will stand as the monu- 
ment of one of the most hideous crimes ever perpetrated. 

Within the walls of the nearest hospital those of the 
victims that still breathed — among them Stas Swigello — 
awoke again to life — no, not to life, but to — Siberia. 

PART 11. 


"What day of the month is this, Timosh?" 

Timosh, leaning upon his punting-pole, went through 
some process with his stumpy fingers before replying. 

"The 30th, gracious lady." 

"The 30th? That is 12th August of the Polish ca- 
lendar, why, this is the anniversary of the procession! I 
imagine that they must have had just such weather as 
this. Was it not exactly a day like this, Timosh? Tell 
me again all you remember 1" 

"I have told the gracious lady so often," grumbled 
Timosh, again applying himself to his pole. 

"And you will tell me often again. I shall never be 
tired of listening." 

"As if one could remember everything at the end of 
forty-three years?" 

"All the more need of questioning you while your 
memory still holds good." 

There were only two people in the broad, flat boat: 
a quite young girl and a very old man — he fantastically, 
almost terrify ingly ugly, with a mop of wiry grey hair 
surmounting a squat, slit-eyed face, and she quite as 
charming to look upon as he was repulsive. The lustrous 



black hair was in itself a beauty; so were the straight 
brows of exactly that same silky blackness, and the dark 
thick-lashed eyes, of that traditional almond shape which 
smacks of the East, and the wide white forehead, and 
the subdued richness of complexion in which each wave 
of colour was of the purest carmine, and of which the 
shadows merged upon amber. 

Despite the lingering lines of childhood it was likewise 
a serious face, this of the girl who, her slight form thrown 
back against the support of the seat, was letting her right 
hand trail lazily in the water among the reeds. 

Of all the spots in the vast park Katya loved this one 
best This reed-world held for her a seclusion and a 
mystery which set her imagination aflame, responding to 
something within her. It was here in especial that she 
loved to listen to tales of bygone days. 

"Tell me more about the procession!" she conmianded, 
still dabbling in the water. "Did you — did you use your 
sword too, Timosh." 

"No — more's the pity! I was too far off — in the 
second rank unhappily." 

"And were you one of those who took off his cap when 
the hymn was sung?" questioned Katya, seemingly not 
much disturbed by the savage utterance just heard. 

Timosh grumbled something into his ragged beard, 
giving another vicious dig with his pole. 

"Never mind, I know you were, and tell me again, 
you saw the girls in the white wreaths quite plainly, didn't 

"I saw them plainly enough." 

"And they were not at all afraid of the swords?" 

"I don't know whether they were afraid or not, but 
they didn't show it, any way," grudgingly admitted Timosh, 



^*I wonder whether I could have done that?" mused 
Katya, gazing down into the depths of the water. 

Then after a moment: — 

"Yes, I believe I could, if I cared enough for some- 
thing, or somebody — it wouldn't matter which. But Andrej 
Mikolajow — my grandfather — he did not actually use his 
sword, did he?" 

The boatman bared a set of formidable-looking though 
dusky teeth in a joyous grin. 

"Did he not! He would have used ten swords if he 
had them. Ah, Andrej Mikolajow was always one for 
cutting in straight. Such a temper as he was in when 
we were sent back to barracks! Holy Saints! we had 
to suffer for it! But he made up for it later on, when 
the real time came. Never shall I forget the day when 
we cut off the last of the flying companies. They would 
not surrender — the Polish pigs! — and I believe Andrej 
Mikolajow was glad that they would not He always 
preferred making a clean job of a thing when he was 
about it Ah, that was a glorious day indeed!" 

Katya shuddered a little as she jerked her hand out 
of the tepid water. 

"It was that day which earned for your gracious 
grandfather the reward which he got If it had not been 
for that day, gracious lady, who knows whether you would 
not be working for your bread instead of sitting here 
upon your own soil the mistress of Lubynia." 

Katya, with her head thrown back against the seat, 
and her eyes upon what she could see of the August sky 
between the reeds, did not at once reply. 

"I wonder whether any of the name are still alive?" 
she remarked at last, after a silence which had been filled 


only with the rustling of reeds, cut here and there by a 
tiny splash. 

"Of the Swigello name? How should they be alive, 
seeing that the old count had no more than one son, and 
he one of those young fools who tried to raise the Ukraine 
and got knocked on the head in consequence — serve them 
right, for a pack of impertinent boys!" 

"They were not all killed; some of them recovered 
and were sent to Siberia. 

"Maybe," said Timosh, with a want of interest in the 

"And the young Count Swigello was one of these. I 
found that out yesterday from the stanowoi (police com- 
missioner) Klobinski. And he has found out also that 
Count Stanislas came back from Siberia, nearly thirty 
years ago — amnestied, or something — and that he went 
to live in Austria. But more than this he could not find 
out. He has no connection with Austria." 

"Timosh was gazing at his mistress with undisguised 
astonishment, not unmixed with disapproval. 

"For what reason does the gracious lady trouble her- 
self about such affairs? What is it to us whether a 
Swigello still lives or not? Is the gracious lady afraid of 
his coming to claim his estate? Let him try! Our Little 
Father will very soon show him the door. Was it not 
from the Little Father's hand that Andrej Mikolajow re- 
ceived the estate? And are you not therefore in rightful 
possession — you, his lawful granddaughter?" 

"I suppose I am," said Katya, still exploring the blue 
of the sky. "No, I am not afraid of being turned out of 
Lubynia. But that need not prevent me feeling curious 
about the Swigellos. The Count Stanislas himself — sup- 
posing he is still alive — would not be much over sixty 


now. I wonder whether he ever thinks of Lubynia? 
Of course he must; it is too beautiful to forget Even I 
— if I had to leave it — could not forget it; and to me it 
is not quite the same thing — not the home of my fore- 
fathers. Home-sickness must hurt a good deal, I think, 
yes, if he is still alive, I am sorry for him." 

'^ Sorry for an impious rebel who dared to fight against 
our Little Father?" spluttered Timosh, fairly turning upon 
his mistress, his small eyes burning in his head. "The 
gracious lady forgets what she is saying. Not even his 
name should be spoken without a curse." 

"But Timosh, they were fighting for their country, for 
their nation; you never will understand that. It is not 
as though they were Russians." 

"Traitors! Traitors!" croaked Timosh, digging away 
firmly at his pole; "just as black traitors as those little 
Japanese devils whom our good Cossacks are riding after 
just now." 

"Traitors to whom? Only to a government of 

"Traitors to the Little Father," said Timosh, crossing 
himself. "How can such as they hope for salvation?" 

"But the Czar is not their Little Father," urged Katya, 
with a half-vexed laugh, for the argument was of ancient 
date, "just as little as he is the Father of the Japanese. 
They were only doing what you yourself would have done 
in their place. Say, what would you do, Timosh, if the 
German Kaiser came and took away the land now?" 

"I should put a sword through him the first chance I 
had," answered Timosh promptly. 

"Well, then, you would be acting the same as the 
Poles acted in '63." 

"No, I would not; for they were fighting against the 


Little Father — the Polish pigs! and I should be fighting 
for him." 

"Oh, you are hopeless, Timosh! There is the land- 
ing place! Take me back to it It is too hot for an 
argupaent to-day." 

As Katya slowly followed one of the paths which 
threaded an untended and picturesque wilderness of hazel 
and birch, of lilac run wild and of invading bramble, her 
abstracted gaze made it dear that her thoughts were far 
away; started, maybe, upon the track of speculations 
which yesterday's information had awakened and the 
recent talk stimulated. Not until the edge of the wooded 
path was reached and she about to step out into the last 
of the sunshine did a sight, so unusual as automatically 
to arrest her steps, bring her abruptly back to reality. 

The sun was setting in splendour; and as always at 
this hour and in this weather was transforming the stately, 
white mansion into a glorified edition of itself. The 
pillars of the terrace seemed, beneath this flood of light, 
to have grown to twice their size, and a passing touch of 
gold had fallen upon the huge coat of arms above the 
entrance, on which the rampant bear and the coiled snake 
stood out as clearly as they had done on another 1 2th of 
August. Across a stretch of rough but luxurious grass 
the shadows of giant lime-trees were stretching to lay 
their heads at the feet of the lordly mansion — like humble 
petitioners — bowing to the dust. 

All this Katya had seen more times than she could 
count, though she never tired of seeing it It was not 
this familiar sight which had checked her steps, but the 
more unexpected one of a stranger standing immovable 
beneath one of the lime-trees, his face turned from her 
and towards the house. Not only were strangers ex- 


tremely rare within these gates, but this man's attitude 
was, in itself, enigmatical. What was he doing here? 
Why was he taking such careful stock of the house? A 
burglar meditating a nocturnal attempt? A detective 
spying upon the inmates? Considering that the prying 
tourist had not yet been invented in this part of the 
world these alternatives seemed all there was to go by. 

Katya's first impulse had been that of flight; for a 
life of extreme seclusion had fostered, if not shyness, yet 
a certain dread of new faces. But curiosity intervened. 
On tiptoe she retired a few steps to where a peephole 
among the branches of a giant lilac bush afforded a good 
view of the unexplained visitor. She judged him to be 
a young man from his figure and from the outline of his 
profile, which, however, included a short, thickly grown 
beard. Ah! there he was turning his head very slowly 
from side to side, as though striving to take in the entire 
scene, and thus giving her the opportunity of a better 
look. Yes, he was young, though not quite so young as 
she had first supposed — somewhere about thirty seemed 
the probable figure — with a short, square-cut beard, 
brown, except where the light caught it on the edges and 
burnished it with gold. He had pushed his straw hat 
back upon his head, and Katya could distinctly see the 
sharp Hne of demarcation between the white brow above 
and the deep sunburn of the rest of the face. His clothes 
and boots were thick with dust like those of a person 
who has walked far upon the highroad; but they were 
better clothes and boots than those which a burglar would 
be expected to wear. 

Now Katya caught her breath, for he had faced full 
towards her, and she asked herself, alarmed, whether it 
were indeed possible that he should not see her. Through 


the peephole among the leaves his eyes for a moment 
seemed to meet hers — steady, grey-blue eyes beneath 
somewhat heavy brows. Then they passed on uncon- 
cerned. So immovable had she stood that even the gleam 
of her white summer gown would confound itself for him 
with the gleam of the birch stems in the thicket Katya 
drew a deep breath, knowing herself undiscovered; but 
the breath still trembled a little from the effects of the 
recent alarm. 

She began to wonder what he would do next. Would 
he approach the house? But while she was wondering, 
with a quick gesture he pulled his straw hat down upon 
his forehead, and strode away down the avenue and to- 
wards the gate. 

Thoughtfully Katya regained the house. The theory 
of the burglar had been dropped already: that of the 
detective remained. It seemed the only available ex- 
planation. True, she was not conscious of having brought 
herself within reach of the law; but that need be no 
objection as she well knew. And, as for that, an official 
visit to her library might not necessarily end pleasantly 
for herself. She could not expect the government censor 
to approve of all the books she had lately been reading 
Perhaps it might be wiser to hide them away? 

Katya reflected a moment and then shook her head. 
Somehow the detective theory would not fit any better 
than did the burglar theory. 

"He did not look like that sort of person," she told 
herself; though when she tried to follow up this thought 
she could lay her hands upon no tangible ground for not 
thinking him that sort of person. 

"Shall I tell Malania Petrowna?" was her next 


Again Katya reflected and again shook her head. 
To tell Malania Petrowna would be to destroy her own 
peace; for Malania was equally terrified of burglars and 
of detectives. Perhaps she might speak to Timosh — but 
no, she thought she would not. She would keep her dis- 
covery to herself, as she had, ere this, done with other 
discoveries. Katya had always been one for holding her 


Katarvne Malkoff was that not quite uncommon, 
but always rather perilous thing to be — an orphan heiress. 
She was also, according to the opinion of her Polish-bom 
neighbours, a usurper, though a personally guiltless one. 
That confiscation of the Lubynia estates — unavoidable 
outcome of the events of '63 — which had marked the 
downfall of the Swigello fortunes had likewise been the 
uprise of those of Malkoff. 

When rewards came to be distributed it was the dis- 
tinction earned by his ferocious zeal in the pursuit of 
fugitive rebels which had caused so fat a morsel as 
Lubynia to fall to Andrej MalkofT's share. 

Compensation enough, truly, for that bitter moment at 
which, on a certain 12 th August, he had been ordered 
back to barracks. 

Katya only vaguely remembered her grandfather as a 
fierce old personage with a grey moustache so stiff that it 
pricked her skin when he kissed her — which was not often 
— and who, on the smallest provocation, would flog his 
servants personally with a Cossack nagaika, with her 
father, although she had known him for longer, she had 


been as little intimate. In the large and passive Lukasz 
Malkoff the plebeian stock of the family — for the Cossack 
captain had risen from the ranks — had claimed its rights. 
It was as though the original race had been bent upon 
producing one more peasant, before yielding to the higher 
strain, to which already Katya belonged. The recognition 
of this it was which had created the moral distance be- 
tween father and daughter. While he spent his days in the 
pursuit of the mixed game with which the vast forests 
abounded, the motherless Katya was left in charge of 
Malania Petrowna, an unimpeachable person of a perfectly 
safe age, who, armed with first-class testimonials, had 
crossed the Lub3niia threshold somewhere about the time 
of Katya's eighth birthday, and except to take a minimum 
quantity of firesh air had never again recrossed it So 
little did Lukasz Malkoff know of little girls — or of big 
ones either — that he honestly believed this excellent 
person to be a suitable companion for his growing 
daughter. Others, at any rate, were not available, since 
the inimical neighbourhood had unavoidably tabooed the 

But little girls have ways of their own. Deprived of 
legitimate companions, Katya, when her skirts were still 
very short, had supplied herself a set of illegitimate ones, 
or which would certainly have been considered so by her 
parent For, strangely enough, all the things which 
peopled her solitude bore the name of Swigello. 

That the name itself should loom large before her 
was scarcely to be wondered at That rampant bear, 
and the snake coiled around the handle of the battle-axe 
throned above the entrance, had been the first things to 
engage her childish fancy. For it was not there alone 
that they figured; they were to be encountered in every 


fonn — engraved on the table silver, carved upon the 
backs of the dining-room chairs, embroidered in costly 
sUks upon the cushions. Why were there so many bears 
and so many snakes in the house? She had questioned 
her nurse, only to be told with a sniiT, that those were the 
arms of the bad '< Pollacks," from whom the good Czar 
had taken away the land because they did not deserve it. 
Why had they not deserved it? Because they had dared 
to fight against the Little Father. 

And for a time the answer had sufficed. 

Nor was it the bear and the snake alone which sang 
to her of the past; evidences of her unfortunate pre- 
decessors were there on all sides, and in smaller and more 
insinuating things than the suits of armour which stood 
so proudly in the big entrance hall, or the coats of mail 
which hung upon its walls. For the Malkoffs had not 
only stepped into the Swigello shoes, but they had stepped 
into them quite warm, so to say, with the plans they had 
been forming, the books they had been reading, even 
the clothes they had been wearing, all fallen untouched 
into their successors' hands. For Katya, personally, this 
entailed a host of exciting discoveries. 

The chief discovery had been the portraits. These 
family relics, recognised as pointless under the new cir- 
cumstances, had early been replaced by what the Moscow 
picture-dealer designated as "a distinguished collection of 
art products," and in which moonlight sledge-drives, with 
the usual complement of wolves and lovely young mothers 
bending oyer cradles, largely figured. Katya herself had 
ignored the existence of the family portraits until the day, 
when in consequence of some nursery misdemeanour 
— her nurse had locked her into the garret This had 
been meant as an aggravation of the usual "comer," but 


had completely missed its effect. For although the garret 
was very badly lighted, Katya's nerves were quite as 
robust as those of any of her paternal ancestors; and, be- 
sides, the sun was shining outside, and one horizontal ray, 
sliding in by a dormer window, alighted exactly upon a 
peculiarly perfect spider's-web, turning it into a wheel of 
silver, whose brilliancy, enhanced by the blackness of the 
shadows around, clearly belonged to something in a fairy- 
tale. In the first moment Katya saw nothing but the 
glorified spider's- web; but when she had spent several 
minutes gazing at it expectantly, and the fat old spider 
occupying the centre seemed to be taking a dreadful long 
time about turning into either a witch or a fairy, she be- 
gan to look about her for other means of whiling away 
the penitential time. These were not lacking; for here 
it was that a whole lot of lumber of former days had been 
thrust away. When she had revelled for a time among 
broken candelabras and moth-eaten carpets Katya made 
her great discovery; that of the portraits. They lay in 
piles upon the dusty floor, or leaned in rows against 
the rough-hewn beams of the garret. When Katya, hav- 
ing dragged one of them to the light and wiped it with 
her pinafore, disclosed a beautiful gentleman dressed in 
satin and velvet, she felt that she could not rest until she 
had inspected them all. Fortunately they were easy to 
handle, even for six year old arms — the frames having 
been used for the "distinguished collection" downstairs 
— and during the hour which her supposed punishment 
lasted she made some thrilling acquaintances: of men in 
the Polish Kontmz or the Lithuanian czamora — for the 
Swigellos, though settled on the southern bank of the 
Niemen, were of Lithuanian origin and generally with 
their hands upon their sword-hilts; and of women in stiff 


bodices and wonderfully piled-up hair, some of them so 
dazzling to look upon that they almost compensated Katya 
for the fairies who had refused to appear. 

But before she had turned over one quarter of the 
canvases the nurse's step had sounded upon the garret 
stairs, and Katya, acting upon some lightning-like intui- 
tion, darted across the garret and adopted an attitude of 
becoming compunction at a decent distance from her new 
treasures; to look as though she were enjoying her punish- 
ment would be to preclude its repetition in this form, and 
already she had resolved that it should be thus repeated. 

The weeks that followed were marked by what the 
nurse herself could only explain on the supposition of 
diabolical possession. Never had her charge been either 
so obstreperous or so destructive. The garret had to be 
resorted to more and more frequently, and even the rod 
— the latter being stoically borne for the sake of the ' 
former. A Russian nurse is not squeamish when once 
she has a cane in her hand; therefore it was usually in 
tears that Katya entered the garret; but they never failed 
to dry before the door was well locked, and the recollec- 
tion was never bitter enough to make her shrink from a 
repetition of the painful process which she had come to 
regard as the passport to her own special fairyland. 

For that is what the garret had rapidly become to her. 
On each of these occasions the first hasty acquaintance 
with defunct Swigellos had made a further stride. Soon 
she felt almost familiar with these haughty, black-eyed 
men whose delicately painted hands made her think of 
silver or golden daggers, for the blonde Lithuanian strain 
persisted — and with the wasp-waisted ladies half-throttled 
in pearls and with impossible flowers held between their 
taper fingers. With some of them she grew more inti- 


mate than with any living person she had ever known. 
Many had their names written at the back of the canvas; 
but the alphabet was still a sealed mystery to Katya, and 
it was quite easy to make up names for them, and na- 
turally also stories. There was one young woman, for 
instance, whose pale golden hair and startled blue eyes 
quite plainly pointed her out as an enchanted princess 
very recently delivered from the power of some frightful 
old ogre, who probably had lived in the forest beyond the 
lake, and of whom it might with safety be assumed that 
he had travelled in a chariot drawn by six bears. And 
there was also a smiling young man in blue and white 
satin, who could not well help being the prince who had 
slain the ogre. In time she identified the young man as 
Stanislas Swigello, the only son of the last possessor, and 
the lady in question — alas for romance! — as a great-aunt 
of his, but that was not until the m3rsteries of the 
alphabet had been unsealed; and meanwhile they were 
called Birbantine and Narcissus, which served quite as 

By that time, despite many illusions destroyed, there 
were compensations. The era of solitary confinement was 
over; but if the garret played a smaller rdle in Katya's 
life, all the greater was that played by the library. There 
were some well-stocked bookshelves there, on which, be- 
tween Katya's tenth and eleventh year, the long-gathered 
dust began to be disturbed. Here records of Polish 
history, and of the special part played by the Swigellos in 
that history, abounded. Here also she found the names 
of many of the canvas heroes and heroines, and the fancy 
stories began to be superseded by real ones. Malania 
Petrowna had as little part in all this as the nurse had 
had in the hidden portrait gallery. With that secretive 


instinct which an apprehended want of sympathy always 
awakes, Katya kept the one to herself just as she had 
kept the other. Malania Fetrowna disapproved indeed 
of so much Polish reading, but she disapproved in vain, 
as she did most things in vain; and she as little as any- 
body else divined that Katya was living in a world apart 
— the world of the vanished Swigellos, and that what to 
her father and grandfather had appeared to be a right- 
fully merited reward, was beginning in her eyes to assume 
the outline of a great and cruel wrong. Whether it was 
her imagination or her generosity which had been more 
appealed to, it would be hard to say, but to her lihe 
wrong seemed indisputable. 

And then had come the time when, by her father's 
death, she became practically her own mistress, but 
still without finding any new field of action, for the 
estate was admirably managed by a pedantic and con- 
scientious German, and as for philanthropy, anything in 
that direction would infallibly bring her into conflict with 
the pohce. So it was again to the library that in her 
solitude she turned, though the shelves were well known 
by this time. There had been more than one philo- 
sophical work upon them, and this had whetted her ap- 
petite for more. The result was a dabbling in the cream 
of modem ideas — sociaUsm and atheism not excluded — 
and a period of mental chaos during which sh^ not only 
was not sure of owing existence to any supreme being but 
even as to whether, rightly speaking, she had any exist- 
ence at all, and was not a mere product of disordered 
fancy. For a time, to Malania's unspeakable distress, 
she gave up going to church, and then one day began 
again, for no better reason than that the nightingales in 
the park had last night sung her to sleep in a fashion 

Rtitiiutum, 4 


which had caused her to dream of paradise. She would 
have given a good deal to be able to call herself an3rthing 
as advanced as an atheist, but here the deep-rooted re- 
ligious instinct of the Slav stood in the way. 

Her social isolation had persisted. Acutely though she 
suffered under the shadow of the intangible wall which 
surrounded her, pride forbade any attempt to break it 
down. To recognise herself as a usurper in the privacy 
of her own thoughts was quite a different thing from 
acknowledging herself as such before the supercilious 
glances of her Polish neighbours. Not one of them, 
meeting her purposely cold gaze, could have guessed 
what was going on in the apparently hardened usurper's 
mind. To them all she appeared the unjustly fortunate 
enjoyer of ill-acquired goods. 



Discoveries have this much in common with mis- 
fortunes, that they seldom come singly, being addicted to 
the group or bunch-like formation. 

After having for years been in ignorance of the existence 
of any living bearer of the Swigello name, Katya had not 
only ascertained the fact of Stanislas Swigello's escape 
from death and return from banishment, but within a few 
short weeks of this discovery was to come into possession 
of a perfect chronicle of the family. 

The way in which this happened was as absolutely 
unforeseen as such things usually are, and the chief factor 
in the process happened to be a post-card. 

"Matoushka" (Little Mother), said Katya, one mor- 


ning early in September, as she came into the room where 
the ancient governess and present chaperon was sitting in 
a rather deep n^glig/ (although this was not her bedroom). 
"I am driving into Feliksoto for the post The books I 
ordered from Warsaw will be here, I think; and it is 
better if I go myself, in case of difficulties. I start in 
twenty minutes. Do you come with me? — Hush, Bijou! 
Stop that noise, I say!" 

This last exhortation was addressed not to Malania 
Petrowna, but to an elaborately trimmed white poodle, 
who, sitting before the porcelain stove, was uttering short 
spasmodic barks, his bright eyes fixed upon an enigmatical 
dark object, which at first sight resembled nothing so 
much as a gigantic sort of spider, crouching within a niche 
in the stove. 

"Twenty minutes!" repeated Malania, with a dis- 
consolate uplifting of her yellow hands. "Does my hair 
look as though it would be ready in twenty minutes?" 

She pointed, as she spoke, not to her head, whose 
polished surface shone with painful distinctness through a 
thin covering of hair gathered into a tiny button at the 
back, but to the fabulous spider upon the stove at which 
Bijou was indignantly barking, and which, upon close in- 
spection, disclosed itself as a rather superior wig done up 
upon leather curlers bristling around it like as many claws. 
Considering that the ceremony of what may be termed 
the "roasting" of Malania's wig, for which even in summer 
the drawing-room stove (favoured because of the con- 
venient niche) had to be kindled for at least an hour daily, 
and considering that Bijou had lived for six full years 
since his earliest puppy-hood under this roof, it was rather 
ridiculous of him to feign inacquaintance with the exact 
nature of the matutinal spider. Maybe the daily display 



of indignant perplexity had by this time become a matter 
of principle, or maybe it merely played the part of a 
standing joke. 

"You've been roasting it too hard," pronounced Katya, 
having gravely inspected the spider. 

Malania dapped her hand to her meagre and imperfectly 
veiled bosom. 

"Ah! do you think so? That comes from Timosh not 
looking after those girls! I told him that I wanted no 
more than a shovelful of fire. Really the liberties which 
that creature takes! And no wonder, too, with the way 
you condescend to him! And now my hair is probably 
done for because of him. Oh, those menials!" 

Snatching the fiery spider from the stove, Malania bent 
over it, softly moaning, as though over some injured pet. 

"Have you had your breakfast yet?" asked Katya. 

As though in answer to the question the door opened 
to admit what appeared to be a procession of small, bare- 
footed girls, entering in single file. The first of these 
bore a small tea-pot in one hand and a sugar-basin in the 
other, the second a cup and saucer, the third a plate piled 
with slices of golden-yellow bread, the fourth a glass pot 
full of jam! 

At this latter sight Malania's rather forlorn-looking 
brown eyes brightened in her withered face. 

"Strawberries?" she inquired of the fourth bearer. 

"Strawberries, Matoushka." 

The ancient governess heaved a contented sigh, and 
ceasing her anxious examination of the roasted wig which 
remained lying in her lap — and which Bijou, true to his 
principles, continued to growl at fix)m a distance — she 
turned to the table at her elbow upon which the four little 
girls had deposited their burdens, and was soon deep in 


her first helping of strawberry jam. Meanwhile the pro- 
cession had filed out again, at the door encountering a 
furious old woman in a scarlet head-cloth, who, catching 
hold of the handiest ear of the nearest of the girls, de- 
manded to know what she meant by forgetting the strainer 
and what place she expected to go to when she died, if 
she persisted in this sinful neglect of given orders. 

Wh^ the tempest had died away along the passage, 
another old woman looked in to inquire whether she was 
to bring down the gracious young lady's hat? It was one 
of the peculiarities of the domestic arrangements at Lubynia 
that the female portion of the service was represented 
either by children or by old hags — a circumstance which 
sprang from the deep-rooted mistrust of the "sex" enter- 
tained by Timosh, who, from time immemorial, had swayed 
the domestic sceptre. 

"So long as they're too young to make eyes at the 
men you can get some work out of them," he was 
accustomed to say; "and once they're too old for it like- 
wise; but I've no use for them while they're at the ogling 

The consequence being that no girls over twelve and 
no women under sixty were to be found among the Lubynia 
domestics, an arrangement which unquestionably made 
for morality, although morality had nothing whatever to 
do with Timosh's motives which were founded upon utility 
alone. The general arrangement was that the little girls 
all trembled before the old women, who boxed their ears 
or slapped their faces, while the old women and the little 
girls in common trembled before Timosh, who impartially 
boxed the ears of young and old. 

Presently (Malania being at her second helping of jam) 
the household dictator himself entered to announce that 


the carriage was at the door. The circumstance did not 
disturb Malania even to the point of causing her to draw 
together her lace-trimmed but not spotless peignoir upon 
her withered neck. To take cognisance of Timosh as a 
male human being would have been condescending too 
much to him, and Katya already condescended far too 

The expected parcel of books had come; and Katya, 
as she descended the steps of the post-office at Feliksoto, 
already looked forward to a peaceful afternoon in one of 
her favourite nooks in the park. So absorbed was she 
in pleased anticipation that at the foot of the steps she 
almost ran against another person coming up with a post- 
card in her hand. 

"Ah, I beg your pardon!" said the other, in a tone 
of confused apology. 

Looking up Katya saw a face she knew — that of a 
certain schoolmistress recently appointed to the Polish 
school, where the language of the country was taught 
indeed, but strictly under the eye of the paternal Russian 
Government and shackled with all the usual restrictions. 
Only a few days ago Katya had made her acquaintance 
through the medium of one of the small servant-girls who 
had unexpectedly developed a thirst for learning, and re- 
garding whom she had wanted to make arrangements for 
private lessons in the evenings. 

"I think that was my fault," said Katya, who was 
always far more gracious to her social inferiors than to 
her equals. 

"You are too amiable to say so," murmured the girl. 

"Let me not detain you. You want to post that 
card " 


Katya, whose eyes had fallen upon the post-card in 
the schoolmistress' hand, stopped short abruptly, with a 
fixed stare, flushing deep red up to the roots of her hair. 

The schoolmistress, following the look, likewise coloured, 
and made a hasty attempt to hide the address upon the 

"Thank you. My best compliments. You will have 
a pleasant drive in this charming weather." 

With a rapid inclination she passed on. 

One quick movement Katya made as though to stop 
her, then checked herself, and having stood for a moment 
longer irresolute and evidently perplexed, turned slowly 
back to the open victoria and took her place upon the 
further side of the seat 

"Home?" asked the coachman, who wore livery, of a 
kind, but had donned a straw hat as a convenient protection 
from the brilliant September sunshine. 

"No. Don't start till I tell you." 

Five minutes passed, during which Katya, with two 
bright spots still burning upon her cheeks, sat with her 
eyes on the post office entrance, and saw both Jews and 
Christians entering and leaving, some full and some empty- 
handed. At last came the schoolmistress and now she 
too was empty-handed. 

At sight of the carriage still standing on the same spot 
she looked inquiringly towards it. 

"Panna Rudkowska," said Katya, bending towards her, 
and speaking with an eagerness which took the school- 
mistress completely by surprise; * I wonder if you would 
mind keeping me company for a little? I am quite alone 
in this big carriage, you see." 

"Keep you company?" repeated the girl almost blankly. 

"Yes; you said just now that it is a charming day for 


a drive. Let me take you a little bit along the road. 
The morning school is over, is it not? and I myself am 
in no hurry." 

"I have some books to correct for the afternoon school," 
said Panna Rudkowska, visibly hesitating. 

"Only a little bit," persisted Katya. "Please get in; 
the horses are eager to be off;" and she motioned some- 
what impatiently to the seat beside her. 

The tone was one which brooked contradiction so little 
that the schoolmistress, after one more undecided glance 
around her, yielded to its urgency. The struggle between 
national prejudice and racial vanity had been short but 
sharp. If it was disagreeable to be patronised by a person 
whom all right-thinking Poles had virtually boycotted, it 
was undoubtedly agreeable to be noticed by the mistress 
of Lubjmia. TTiere was a flattered smile upon Panna 
Rudkowska's lips as she took her place upon the cushions 
beside Katya. 

"The forest road," said Katya to the driver, "I am 
not going home yet" 

For several minutes they drove in silence, Katya 
thoughtful, yet still with those spots of excitement on 
her cheeks, the schoolmistress likewise not perfectly calm, 
and throwing furtive side glances at her companion. She 
was a small, slight creature, with a rather ghastly and al- 
most elderly face which showed marks beneath the eyes 
and folds about the large and somewhat coarse mouth, 
which might have stood for signs of dissipation, but which 
were in reality the outcome of the stuffy telegraph office 
in which she had first started the struggle for existence, 
and of the constant strain of a tortured attention. No 
one had ever called her pretty — it was impossible to be 
pretty with that mouth, yet a pair of narrow, black eye- 


'brows and small, deep-set dark eyes contrasting sharply 
with a wealth of waving bright hair, almost succeeded in 
making her interesting. 

As they cleared the last squalid houses of the town 
Katya turned towards her so abruptly as to intercept her 
furtively inquisitive gaze. 

"That card you had in your hand," she said, without 
preface or preamble, "I could not help seeing the address, 
and the name was Swigello. Tell me, whom do you 
know of that name?" 

Fanna Rudkowska moved uneasily upon her seat 

"Only one person," she said hurriedly, keenly aware 
of the delicacy of such a topic in present company. And 
immediately she added: "The birches are beginning to 

But Katya had no eyes for the birches. 

"One person?" 

"Yes, only one; and I only know her slightly." 

"Her?" repeated Katya, with a sort of moral pounce 
upon the word. "A woman, then?" 

"A girl, quite young; several years younger than I am." 

"And do you know whether she belongs to the family 
of Swigdlos lyho — who used to live at Lubynia?" 

"Yes, of course, they are the Swigellos of Lubynia," 
said the schoolmistress, with just a flavour of national 

"They?" repeated Katya, with another of those 
pounces. "You said you only knew one?" 

"I do only know one — Kazimira Swigello, but she has 
two brothers. Them I have never seen." 

"What relations to Stanislas Swigello, he who was 
taken prisoner in Ukraine?" 

"His children." 


"Then he married after his return from Siberia?" 

"Yes, he married; but he is dead now, and so is his 
wife. There are only the children remaining." 

There was a long pause, while the carriage rolled 
smoothly on. 

"Tell me how you made that girl's acquaintance," 
said Katya then. "Tell me more — all you know about 
the family." 

It was the same urgent and imperative tone as before, 
and again Panna Rudkowska yielded to it. 

"It was in July," she began slowly, as though speaking 
against her will. I have an aunt in Galicia — in Austrian 
Poland. I went to spend my holidays with her, having 
already the promise of my appointment here when the 
school year opened. She lives in Miezany. It was there 
I met Kazimira Swigello. She teaches in the school 
there; and although the holidays had begun, she had not 
gone away yet, though she went away later. I think she 
was waiting for her brothers to send her the money. She 
was to join them at Krakau." 

"They are badly off then?" asked Katya, in a newly 
constrained voice. 

The schoolmistress stole towards her interlocutor an- 
other of those looks of curiosity, mingled this time with 
something like scorn. 

"Of course. How should they not be badly off — 

"What do the brothers do?" 

"The elder one is an engineer at Krakau. The younger 
one paints pictures. The father also painted pictures — 
after his return from Siberia, and nothing but Siberian 
pictures. It was that he lived by, so Kazimira told me 
when I met her at my aunt's. She lives very retired at 


Miezany — visits nobody; but my aunt had been kind to 
her once when she was ill, so she sometimes comes to her. 
At first I found her rather, well — stand off; but after she 
heard that I was coming to this place she began to 
question me, and told me the history of the family. I 
promised to send her a picture post-card of Lubynia — 
which of course she has never seen — that was the card 
I was posting just now when you met me?" 

"What is she like?" 

"She would be pretty, I think, if she were not so 
dreadfully thin, poor thing. Very frail and delicate. Not 
up to her work, evidently. Anyone can see that she was 
not meant for that sort of thing." 

Katya bit her lip hard, staring straight along the road 
in front of her. 

"Can't her brothers help her?" 

"They do help her, but they are working for their 
daily bread themselves." 

"What a come-down for Counts Swigello!" said Katya, 
and this time the scorn — the scorn of the democrat who 
cares nothing for titles — was on her side. 

"Ah! they don't call themselves counts now. They 
have never used the title since the confiscation of the 
property; and they don't mean to use it again unless one 
or the other makes his fortune." 

"And even if they make it, it won't be Lubynia," said 
Katya, or more truly thought it aloud, and then abruptly 
fell into silence. 

Presently, becoming aware of being under observation, 
she pulled herself together. 

"Does it astonish you that I should take an interest in 
the subject?" she inquired, with a relapse into the cool 
society tone. "I think it would be more astonishing if I 


did not. After all, one likes to hear about one's predeces- 
sors, does one not? Artem" — this to the miscellaneously 
attired driver — "I think we may be turning now. Panna 
Rudkowska will be wanting to get back to the school." 


That afternoon Katya was again in the boat among 
the reeds, this time minus her boatman and with only 
Bijou, who snapped lazily at the last gnats of the season, 
to keep her company. The books brought by the mor- 
ning's post were around her, but unopened. Neither was 
the punting-pole in requisition. Idle it lay beside the 
idle volumes while the fiat boat drifted slowly and aim- 
lessly with the slow current Katya, her hands clasped 
behind her head, watched, unheeding, the patterns made 
by the reed-tips against the sky. 

"So they live — they are — not merely in my brain!" 
— thus ran the obstinate undercurrent of her thoughts. 

Within the last few hours more had happened to her 
own private world than had ever before happened to it, 
and she was still reeling under the shock of the trans- 
formation. Those dream-Swigellos — creatures that were 
half-products of her fancy, half-ghosts of the past, had 
become real living persons with definite names and ages, 
breathing the same air that she breathed. This meant 
almost more than she was able to grasp just at once; 
and in first place it meant that there were people living 
who certainly considered that their right to Lubynia was 
better than her own. These troubled speculations, stirred 


by the knowledge that Stanislas Swigello had survived 
the Ukraine massacre, now flowed in a definite channel. 
That vague, impersonal feeling of self-reproach, haunting 
her even in the face of dead Swigellos had abruptly be- 
come personal, quickened by acute personal details. The 
delicate girl forced to lead a schoolmistress' hard life, 
those brothers toiling for themselves and for her, served 
to give an edge to something that was very like remorse. 

"If any of them had been alive, the wrong could be 
put right — somehow." 

How often still in short frocks she had thought that 
thought! Well, and now they are alive. What then? 

Confronted by the question of putting that vague 
aspiration into practice, Katya was invaded by a sense of 
helplessness. Part from Lubynia? Her whole being re- 
coiled at the thought And would the sacrifice — even 
suppose she could muster the heroism — be accepted? 
Not by the Swigellos she had in her mind's eye — those 
haughty aristocrats she had learned to know in the family 
chronicles. Of course she could leave it them in her will 
— or to their children; but that might mean fifty years 
more; and supposing, by that time, she had children of 
her own to provide for, would she consider herself justi- 
fied in pauperising them for the sake of what most people 
would consider a mere sentimental fad? Really the matter 
was not nearly so simple as it had looked from a distance. 

Of course — two young men being in question — there 
would be one way of settling all claims without having 
to part from Lubynia, and without despoiling her own 
children; but that was really a little too radical to attract 
her. It was inevitable that Katya should throw one glance 
at the matrimonial solution of the difficulty. It was the 
usual way in which family feuds or troublesome lawsuits 


were settied in novels. But no more than a glance was 
thrown that way. To the girl who, since her fourteenth 
year, had been her own mistress, in deed if not in word, 
the surrender of her independence would be almost harder 
than the surrender of Lubynia. She supposed she would 
marry some day; but there was no hurry about that 
Freedom could only be parted with gladly in exchange 
for some greater good. Poets and also other people said 
that such a greater good, outweighing all else, did ac- 
tually exist Well, that might yet come. Not that it 
seemed clear where it could very well come from in this 
cloisterlike seclusion, into which so few male beings ever 

And then — perhaps because he was one of those rare 
apparitions of her solitude — Katya began to think again 
of the mysterious stranger whom she had seen under the 
lime-tree not a month ago. Ever since that day she had 
always, before stepping out of the thicket, looked through 
her peep-hole in the lilac bush, with a sort of half-expecta- 
tion of again seeing him at his post But he had never 
come back again, which, considering the lack of variety 
in daily existence, was a little disappointing. Neither had 
she ever — either at Feliksoto or at Kowno, where she did 
her shopping, and carefully though she looked about her 
— ever caught sight of that handsome, sunburnt face with 
the steady, grey-blue eyes and the striking weight of brow. 
A stranger in these parts, it would seem. 

"I shall make my will," mused Katya, returning to the 
subject of her present speculations, "in case of accidents. 
And meanwhile I must keep my eye upon them through 
Fanna Rudkowska. I suppose I shall have to cultivate 
her acquaintance. Not that I feel particularly attracted 
by her, though as an informant I greatly prefer her to that 


man KlobinskL I am glad I shall be independent of 
him now." 

To speak of the devil is one of the well-known recipes for 
conjuring up his presence, or at least some reminder of it 

Just as Katya had formed the above thought Bijou 
stopped snapping at the gnats and pricked his woolly 
ears. Simultaneously a peculiar cry cut through the 
rustling of the reeds. 

Recognising the signal call by which Timosh was ac- 
customed to summon her when need arose, Katya reached 
for the punting-pole. 

"What is it?" she inquired, as she crept up to the 
landing stage. 

"It is his honour, the stanowoi, come to pay his re- 

Katya made a face. 

"You have not brought him here, surely?" 

"No, he is in the drawing-room with the Matoushka." 

"Can't they be left to amuse each other? You might 
say you could not find me." 

"Then the gracious gentleman will stay on until the 
gracious lady finds herself," asserted Timosh, with con- 

"I suppose he will. Here, look after the books, 
Timosh, while I go and see how best to get rid of this 

Timosh looked at his mistress reprovingly as he 
stooped to the books. 

"Would the Little Father have a ninny to serve him?" 
he severely asked. "His honour, the commissioner, seems 
to me to be a worthy young man." 

"What, Timosh— a Polak!" 

"But one who has ceased being a Polak — one who 


wears the Czar's uniform. He is not like some of his 
lost brethren." 

Katya went off with a laugh and a shrug of her 
shoulders. The reasons which commended Klobinski to 
Timosh were exactly those which made him distasteful to 
her. Renegates were not after her mind. 

In the big drawing-room Katya found her unifonned 
visitor discoursing vivaciously with her chaperon. From 
the repeated recurrence of the word "Japanese" she con- 
cluded that war news was under discussion, and felt her 
heart tightening. For the battle of Liao-yang was still 
recent, and it was in moments Hke this that, despite the 
breadth of her views, Katya was apt to discover ^at she 
was, after all, a Russian with Russian sympathies. 

As her step sounded in the room Klobinski promptly 
abandoned both Malania Petrowna and the Japanese to 
advance towards her, deferentially smiling. 

He was a moderately youthful man, whose tall figure 
made an elegant though narrow silhouette, with a likewise 
narrow, rather leathery face and sleek, black hair of that 
oily consistency which shows the marks of the comb 
almost as plainly as a well-cared-for gravel walk does 
those of the rake. He had a tiny, equally well-brushed 
black moustache, and small black eyes a trifle too 
closely set 

"Ah, Mademoiselle!" he exclaimed, while Bijou, who 
did not like him, sniffed discontentedly at his heels (the 
French form of address commended itself to his higher 
social instincts) — "this time my eyes do not deceive me! 
Will you beUeve me when I tell you that once to-day 
they have deceived me ah*eady? Figure to yourself, that, 
entering this room not more than a quarter of an hour 
ago, and Madame" — with a respectful motion towards 


Malania Petrowna, whom, for motives of convenience he 
always matronised — ''not being present, I perceive a 
black-haired young person on her knees over there upon 
the carpet Her back is towards me, and coming in from 
the sunshine I do not see plainly. 'Mademoiselle!' I ex- 
claim starting forward, 'what has happened? Are you 
searching for something?' And then the young person 
turns, and — ah! disappointment. It is quite another face 
than the one I had thought to see. It was like expecting 
the day and meeting the night Behold me covered 
with confusion!" 

"That was Nationka, I suppose," said Katya, in a very 
matter-of-fact tone, as she withdrew her hand from his 
hold. "A little sewing-girl whom I have out periodically 
from Feliksoto for mending things. She was darning the 
carpet just now." 

"Can you forgive me the insult of the mistake?" 

"I don't see where the insult comes in. We have 
both got black hair. She is about my figure too. I should 
say that most decidedly we are made after the same 

"The Lord forbid!" exclaimed Klobinski, lightly lay- 
ing his hand upon his well-cut dark-green uniform at 
about the spot which, at a rough calculation, might be 
supposed to cover his heart "There is no resemblance 
whatever. You should have seen how foolish I looked 
when she turned. I think we both gaped at each other. 
Oh! it was as good as a comedy. Hi, hi!" 

He broke into the high-pitched neigh which with him 
did duty for a laugh. This laugh had a certain psycho- 
logical importance, inasmuch as its mere sound induced 
most people to take him for a fool, whereas in reality there 
was considerably more of the knave in his composition. 

■ IIWL M ^^IWB— 


"Any news from Manchuria?" briefly inquired Katya, 
on whom the neighing laugh always had an irritating 

The sewing-girl was not further mentioned. It had 
been one of those small. incidents which pass unnoticed at 
the moment, sometimes to be remembered later on. 

Klobinski inmiediately composed his features into a 
more appropriate sobriety, of expression. 

''Nothing good, I grieve to say. When Mademoiselle 
entered I was just telling Madame of the last telegrams 
which all point to a continued retreat of our forces. Of 
course it is not all made public, but in Mademoiselle's 
presence even my official discretion fails me." 

"Katya," burst out Malania Petrowna. "Have you 
ever heard of such a thing? Our soldiers running away 
before those tiny Japanese — little dolls that they are! I 
was telling the commissioner when you came in that 
there must be some mistake. I am sure the tdegrams 
have been falsified by the Jews, or the socialists, or some 
people of that sort, just in order to discourage the re- 
cruits. It stands to reason that we could not run away 
before those dwarfs!" 

"Nothing stands to reason any longer, I think," said 
Katya, a trifle gloomily. "Certainly it does not stand to 
reason that thousands of Russians should already have 
died upon Chinese ground, just because we are hungering 
for another slice of Asia before we have half-digested our 
enormous helping of Europe." 

"My dear!" murmured Malania, with an apprehensive 
glance at the visitor, "is it our place to criticise the 
decisions fiom above? And in the presence of a — a 
servant of the Czar's!" 

"Within these walls I am the servant only of Made- 


moiselle," came the smooth reply, with an equally smooth 
inclination towards the mistress of the house. 

"The commissioner has been wondering what you have 
done with the other pictures that used to hang here," 
broke in Malania Petrowna, who felt uncomfortable upon 
this delicate ground, and in her haste throwing herself 
upon one which was almost as delicate. "He had not 
seen the portraits before." 

"No, I suppose not," said Katya, glancing round the 
room where now the rows of past Swigellos hung in their 
old places. It was only quite recently that a long-cherished 
thought of restoring them to their rightful positions had 
— in the teeth of the double qpposition of both Malania 
and Timosh, who, for once, united forces — been carried 
into effect 

"Some of the portraits are very good, you know; and 
I could never stand those theatrical wolves and those ag- 
gressively materia] mothers, nor the pillars and palm-trees 
that lodced like varnished tin. There is Stanislas Swigello 
over there, beside the window, the one who went to Siberia, 
you know, and came back again, as you were kind enough 
to find out for me." 

••Ah, yes— the last of the Swigellos!" 

For a moment Katya was on the point of telling him 
that this was not the last of the Swigellos — that she had 
found out for herself far more than he had been able to 
find out for her; but she desisted. She liked the man 
too little to share her discoveries with him. 

"He must have been marvellously handsome, do you 
not think?" she said, instead, looking towards the portrait 

"Marvellously!" echoed Klobinski; but he was not 
looking at the portrait as he said it but at Katya's profile, 
and the delicate curve of the ear beneath the silky 



hair — his small black eyes gleaming the while like 

"My dear," said Malania Petrowna tx) Katya, the visitor 
having departed, "that man is much further gone than 
you suppose. One of these days he will be declaring 
himself; and when you show him the door, what will he 
do? It is not good to have an enemy in the police force." 

"Nonsense, Matoushka!" laughed Katya. "He has 
plenty of brass, I admit, but not quite enough brass for 
that You surely forget that I am a parti; and he, after 
all, only a small official. He can't possibly have any 
hopes. And even as an enemy he could not be a dangerous 
one — with that laugh! He's quite useful sometimes, and 
I daresay he's smitten, but I don't think he has it in him 
to be more than just smitten." 

Malania heaved a dissatisfied sigh. She was not clever, 
but she had the instinctive mistrust of the timid; and be- 
sides, she had seen that surreptitiously ardent gaze, which 
Katya had not, and something more like instinct than 
intelligence told her that a man who felt like that might 
become dangerous if balked. It is not always the clever 
people who have these intuitions, and what says the proverb 
about the blind hen who occasionally stumbles upon a 
grain of com? 


"What! The post already? Any more telegrams?" 
asked Malania Petrowna of Katya entering the room with 
a parcel of newspapers in her hand. "You're coming to 
tell me, aren't you, that it's all a mistake about Port 


Arthur having fallen? I knew it could only be those 

**Vm afraid it's the Japanese, and not the socialists, 
Matoushka. Here you have all the details of the surrender, 
if you want them." 

"Want them? Of course I don't want them. Who 
wants a parcel of lies? What's that letter?" 

"From Fedor Gregorow." 

Malania, who, as usual, was eating jam, from the 
comer of her eye, caught a funny little smile upon Katya's 

"An)rthing in it?" 

"Yes — a very absurd proposal." 

Fedor Gregorow was Katya's guardian, a retired 
general living at Moscow, and whom she had only seen 
once, after her father's death. The general being gouty 
and also rather lazy rarely troubled his head about his 
charge. To-day's proposal — qualified by Katya as ab- 
surd — proved, nevertheless, that he was not entirely ob- 
livious of his duties. Nothing less than a matrimonial 
project which he laid before her, the suggested husband 
being the bearer of a title and possessor of an estate not 
much inferior in acreage to Lub)mia. Given two young 
people, each of whom had more fortune than they could 
possibly require to live upon, what better plan than that 
of uniting their lots — and their money-bags, and thus 
furthering by another degree the congestion of wealth? 

"And what are you going to say?" asked Malania, 
when Katya had imparted to her the contents of Fedor 
Gregorow's letter, her hands, the while, clasped in a sort 
of ecstasy in her lap, for anything matrimonial infinitely 
thrilled the ancient governess. 

"That I have no intention of marrying, and that if I 


happened to have any I would certainly choose my hus- 
band for myself." 

"But could anything be more suitable dian this?" 

"I think it could. Besides, I have told you — I don't 
mean to marry." 

"Never?" asked Malania, turning a little pale in face 
at so monstrous an announcement. 

"Probably never — unless indeed " 

"Unless what?" 

Katya was stanng out through the window at the 
slowly falling snowflakes. 

"Unless something quite preposterous happens. If I 
ever do marry it will probably not be to please myself." 

"Katya, my honey -dove, what can you possibly 

Malania's forlorn brown eyes were gazing at Katya, 
panic-stricken, as though fearing for her reason. 

"One might many to satisfy one's conscience, might 
one not? If, for instance, by marrying, a wrong was to 
be put right" 

This time, Malania, without due as she was to Katya's 
thoughts, felt too bewildered to say anything, but her 
whole attitude and mien so absolutely expressed a note 
of interrogation that Katya hastened to add: — 

"Never mind, Matoushka! there's not the smallest 
chance of its happening that I can see — I do believe the 
snow is stopping. If it stops I shall have the sledge out 
this afternoon." 

"In this cold?" 

"Yes, I want to get Panna Rudkowska's last report of 

"Always Panna Rudkowska!" sighed Malania, with the 
acidity of jealousy, for the Polish schoolmistress seemed 


to her to be taking up an undue amount of her ''sugar- 
lamb's" attention. 

"I can't think what you see in that girl." 
That afternoon, the snow having stopped, Katya was 
on her way to Feliksoto. Stasia had, ere this, come in 
usefully. It might be considered eccentric, nay nearly 
incredible, that interest in the servant girl's progress 
should prompt these periodical talks with the school- 
mistress. To Katya they had become a necessity. Fanna 
Rudkowska represented the one slender thread which con- 
nected her witii the Swigellos, her one precarious channel 
of information. 

This information had been pretty scarce, the corre- 
spondence between Panna Rudkowska and Kazimira 
Swigello being far from brisk. The post-card had been 
duly acknowledged and a few questions asked concerning 
the place — this much diplomatic questioning had elicited. 
More it would have been hard to find out, without over- 
coming Panna Rudkowska's natural distrust by letting her 
in, at least partially, to Katya's own point of view. Hence 
a sort of semi-confidence almost forced upon the school- 
mistress — a glimpse allowed her of the sympathy felt 
\niti the banished family. The desire of justifying her- 
self in their eyes was here, half-unconsciously, at work, 
some vague hope, perhaps, that some of her words would 
be transmitted — as actually they were — for Panna Rud- 
kowska's £mcy, rather lively by nature, had not failed to 
be caught by the peculiarity of the situation. National 
prejudice had by this time quite succumbed to social 
flattery, and in the very exchange of letters with a real, 
live countess — though for the moment uncrowned — snob- 
bishness amply found its account Out of all this grew 
up a sort of one-sided intimacy, confined to one sphere 


alone, and quite independent of personal liking. And 
out of this intimacy again came a slender trickle of news, 
upon which Katya's imagination fed greedily. 

It was extraordinary what strides the old interest had 
made in these winter months of intensified solitude, and 
now that it had a solid soil to grow upon. 

Upon the hard-frozen lake the reeds rattled against 
each other like dry bones. In the snow-blocked park 
walking had become impossible, and the blast that howled 
through it came laden with a breath of terror since it 
was from the Lithuanian forests it came — the huge, path- 
less, unmeasured forests which the popular fancy, even 
nowadays, peopled with monsters. It was their fortress 
and their sanctuary. There it was that all the aged 
beasts of the world came to die, unseen, which is why no 
wild beast corpse is ever to be spied by human eyes — 
there that the four-footed robbers hold their courts of 
justice and with tooth and daw fall upon the doomed 
offender. All this Katya had heard, time after time, 
from the same nurse who had locked her into the garret; 
and now in the long evenings spent tite-a-tite with the 
usually slumbering Malania Fetrowna, the mere voice of 
the winter gale would be enough to awaken the old 
memories, beckoning them onto the old roads, and always 
ending at the old point: that restitution, for which she 
could see no way except her own death or — that other 
possibility hinted at to Malania this very morning — the 
same possibility from which she had turned so decidedly 
that September day in the boat. 

Since then it had grown ever so much more familiar 
as well as more obvious. The sacrifice entailed — for the 
surrender of liberty would be almost as bitter as that of 
life, by suggesting an inunolation — rather added to the 


seduction of the idea. Personal feelings should be allowed 
no voice in the matter. 

But it was only since this morning that she had looked 
her thought quite plainly in the face. The husband sug- 
gested by her guardian had brought up in her mind an- 
other husband pointed out by the fitness of things, what 
she had said to Malania about not marrying to please 
herself had come rather as a surprise to herself, although 
it was the fruit of the reflections of half the winter. 

As she drew up before the schoolhouse a salutmg 
hand went up to a uniform cap. In another moment the 
police commissioner stood beside the sledge. 

"You have had to-day's paper?" he asked, with a be- 
coming touch of condolence in voice and eyes. 

"I have had the paper. Thanks; yes, you may help 
me out. I am going in here." 

"But that is the schoolhouse!" 

"Yes. I have something to discuss with the school- 

"If I am not mistaken I have seen you here be- 

"I daresay you have. Fanna Rudkowska is rather a 
friend of mine. Thank you. Good*day." 

She swept into the schoolhouse before his disconcerted 

Panna Rudkowska was still in the schoolroom, whose 
atmosphere attested the recent presence of much mal- 
odorous breath, and where upon a blackboard the word 
"Port Arthur" was written large -in chalk. At sight of it 
Katya frowned, and the schoolmistress, seeing the frown, 
coloured, and snatching up a duster began wiping away 
the obnoxious word. 

"You are teaching them to rejoice over our defeats, I 

74 ftEStlTOTlOK. 

see," said Katya, loosening her furs, as she sat down 
upon one of the wooden benches. 

"I am only teaching them confccamporary hisitory," ex- 
plained the girl, half-guiltily. 

"Well, I suppose it is natural. Why should you mourn 
with us, who have made you mourn so frequently? I 
wonder, by-the-bye, whether the Swigellos are r€3oicing 
very loudly at our reverses? You have never told me 
whether Kazimira ever speaks of the war in her let- 

"Sometimes she does," admitted Panna Rudkowska. 

"And is pleased with its progress, of course, as no 
doubt you are yourself." 

"I do not count," hastily affirmed the schoolmistress; 
"and she — you could not be surprised. Remember what 
they have undergone!" 

"Am I in danger of forgetting it? Do you know, 
Panna Rudkowska, that only the other day I made my 

Her companion lo(^ed at her inquiringly. 

"And I made it in their favour. If I die to-morrow 
Lubynia and every penny I possess goes to the Swigellos." 

"Oh!" said the schoolmistress, in her astonishment 
sitting down opposite to Katya, with the duster still held 
between ink-stained fingers. 

Tlien, after a pause of reflection: — 

"And does your guardian approve?" 

"I never asked him. It's not his business." 

"But you are not of age." 

"What does that matter? I am old enough to know 
my own mind. That can't make any difference." 

Panna Rudkowska, who knew a great deal more about 
business matters than did Katya, thought that it might. 


but kept her opinion to herself. Why disturb this evident 

But presently a new doubt crossed her face. 

"You are very generous; but excuse me for mention- 
ing it — you may marry some day, may you not? and 

"I^hall never marry!" burst out Katya — "unless " 

And there she stopped short, just as she had stopped 
short that morning with Malania Fetrowna. And, like 
Malania, the schoolmistress, her eyes fixed expectantly on 
Katya, her large, loose lips parted in what looked like 
breathless expectation, asked: — 

"Unless what?" 

"Unless my marriage would give back the estate into 
the right hands." 

"That could only be through a — a marriage," ven- 
tured Panna Rudkowska with diffident eagerness. 

"Exactly. If one of Kazimira Swigello's brothers be- 
comes my husband I shall marry — if not I shall remain 

Katya paused, drawing in her breath sharply. It was 
said at last And only now that it was said did she be- 
come aware that that which had been ripening for months, 
had, from a formless possibility, become a purpose. This 
morning it had been hinted at, but it was only now that 
it was spoken; it had assumed a body, and would, pre^ 
sumably, retain it. 

Panna Rudkowska sprang to her feet, almost rosy 
with excitement, and seizing upon Katya's gloved hand, 
carried it fervently to her lips. She was electrified, but 
clearly she was not entirely taken by surprise. In her own 
romantically tinged mind, this solution of the difficulty 
had inevitably presented itself long since, though, without 


Katya's initiation, her courage could not rise to a sug- 

"Oh, what a grand, what a beautifiil idea! How 
perfectly appropriate! And why should it not be, after all? 
If they could only see you — you who are so beautiful!" 

Strange that so warm an approval of her own sugges- 
tion should have the effect of chilling Katya. Now she 
almost jerked back her hand, saying hastily: — 

"It's only an idea. Of course it will never happen. 
One sometimes dreams dreams, you know. I only meant 
to say that that would be the most effectual way of putting 
my conscience to rest" 

And then she remembered Stasia, and became en- 
grossed in reports on her progress. 

Despite the cold Katya's cheeks burnt as the sledge 
bore her homewards. What had moved her to this quite 
uncalled-for declaration? Now that the words were 
uttered she would give a good deal to have them back 
again, safely locked behind her teeth. And yet — placed 
in the same position — she knew that she would speak 
them again. Would they reach the ears of those two 
Swigello men whom she knew only as "Kazimira's brothers" 
— and what could they possibly think of her? Ought she 
not to have bound over Panna Rudkowska to secrecy? 
She might, even now, turn back to do so. But no — ^that 
would be investing the incident with undue importance. 
Better let it drop into oblivion. 

As a result of this communication Katya for some 
weeks avoided the schoolhouse. Then came the inevitable 
day in which curiosity triumphed. The desire of knowing 
whether indeed Panna Rudkowska had had the effrontery 
to pass on that unreflected declaration would be gainsaid 
no longer. 


It happened to be the very day upon which all Europe 
was shuddering under the news of the bloodshed before 
the Winter Palace, the birthday of that Russian revolution 
whose death-day which of us shall see? Katya's thoughts, 
as she sped over the snow, were divided between fierce 
sympathy with the sufferers and deep interest in her own 
special life problem. 

The schoolmistress received her in her private room 
this time, and with obvious marks of embarrassment which 
Katya guessed not to apply to the meagre furniture alone. 

"Have you any news of Kazimira Swigello?" she in- 
quired as carelessly as inward trouble would allow, and 
having exchanged with Panna Rudkowska some necessarily 
reserved remarks concerning the growing disturbances. 

"Yes, alas! — and it is not good. The winter work has 
been too much for her. I am afraid she has broken down 
for a time, at least. It is her lungs that are touched." 

"Ah! and what is she going to do?" inquired Katya, 
scarcely attempting to disguise the agitation caused by 
the news. 

"She does not know yet, but I suppose she will have 
to undergo some cure — if she can afford it I always 
thought she looked very delicate." 

For some minutes she talked, somewhat nervously, 
about Kazimira's appearance, while Katya watched her, 
noting the twitch of the mouth and the way in which the 
schoolmistress' eyes slipped away from under hers. 

"Panna Rudkowska," she said suddenly, as the other 
paused and began picking at a frayed edge of the oil- 
cloth table cover, there was something else in that letter. 
You are hiding it from me." 

"What should there have been?" came the feeble 
inane reply. 

78 RESTmmON. 

"I will help you. You have repeated to Kazimira 
that foolish speech I made to you about manying; she 
perhaps repeated it to her brothers, and you don't want 
to tell me what they said, perhaps, because you are afraid 
of hurting my feelings, but you need not fear, they are 
pretty tough." 

To the dark, compelling eyes fixed upon her the 
schoolmistress succumbed, as she always did. 

"They did say something, did they not?" 

"Yes, they did say something." 


"Oh! just foolish talk." 

"I want to hear it. They spurn the idea, of course?" 

"You cannot expect them to take it seriously — with- 
out knowing you." 

"They laughed at it?" 

"No, they did not laugh. Kazimira says they were 
too angry to laugh. I am airaid they took it somehow 
as an insult, though really that would be quite unreason- 

"Tell me their words exactly." 

"They — well they said that it was dear you did not 
understand the ways either of their nation or their family, 
if you could suppose that either of them would ever go in 
for a bargain of that sort. No Swigello would ever sell 
himself, even to get back Lubynia." 

"I see. And what else?" 

"That even if you were the only woman in the world, 
they would both rather die single than be debased by so 
mercenary a union." 

"I see." 

"You must remember that they have never seen you," 
pleaded Panna Rudkowska deprecatingly. Her eyes were 


rather plaintive as she gazed at Katya, for in truth she 
herself had been woefully disappointed by the reception 
of the news. 

"Did they say anything else?" 

"They said that you must be an exaltee, which 
means " 

"Thank you, I know quite well what that means," 
interrupted Katya, as she rose to take her leave. 

Noting upon her visitor's cheek the deep crimson spots 
which she had got to know, and meeting the dangerous 
bnlliancy of her eyes, the schoolmistress asked herself 
whether she might not have succeeded, after all, in hold- 
ing her tongue? 


Upon the seat which ran round one of the giant limes 
Katya sat immovable, steeping her soul in sights and 
sounds. For this was the first day which had borne in 
upon her the fact that the long terrors of the winter were 
over and the delights of summer actually coming. Over 
there, among the skeletons of last year's reeds, the frogs 
were noisily croaking, and from the forest strongholds 
beyond, whence for months only the long drawn cry of 
some stray wolf had pierced, the coo of a wood-pigeon- 
had to-day met her ear. Here and there a single willow 
or birch tree already made a pale-green patch against 
the blackness of the still leafless oaks, upon all sides bird 
voices were twittering at a rate evidently meant to make 
up for lost time. 

While Katya's senses revelled in the surroundings her 


brain was independently occupied. On the day when the 
Swigellos' reception of her impulsive declaration had 
been transmitted to her by Panna Rudkowska, she had 
set herself a problem, and ever since she had been work- 
ing at it off and on. That day had introduced her to a 
new sensation — that of humiliation. Under this unknown 
lash her woman's pride had awakened, and with it a cer- 
tain wilful obstinacy fed large by circumstances. 

They would have none of her, would they? They 
spumed her, imseen and unheard? But supposing they 
could be made to see and hear her? — could be forced at 
least to take into consideration that so contemptuously 
rejected idea? Was her will, her resolution not worth 
what theirs was? — and with a woman's wit thrown into 
the scale not to speak of a woman's beauty; for Katya, 
not being a fool, knew quite well that she was beautiAiL 
The prospect of putting her power to the test by means 
of that beauty, had the seduction of novelty; for she had 
never tested her power at all except upon Klobinski, and 
he did not count Given the presumed ages of those 
brothers, it did not seem at all improbable that she should 
bring one or the other to her feet, and one would of 
course do as well as the other. Once there, it would be 
time to weigh the cost of the sacrifice — for it was as a 
sacriiice that she continued to regard the possible event 
After all, one likes to choose one's husband for oneself, 
rather than have him chosen by fate or conscience. Sup-^ 
posing she had been free to choose she rather thought that 
she would have liked a husband with a beard, a short 
brown beard, something like that worn by the stranger 
whom she had surprised under the lime tree — ^had it not 
been this very lime-tree, by-the-way? And as for the 
figure and the bearing, that too might have been borrowed 


from the unknown intruder. There had certainly been 
nothing amiss about either of those. 

But peace to mere fancies, and back to the problem; 
the problem, that is, of how to approach the dispossessed 
family. To do so under her own name was impossible of 
course. Not only her nationality but her personal identity 
would have to be disguised. But that was no objection, 
rather the reverse; such things had been done before, in 
real life and in novels — especially in novels. The pro- 
spect of the requisite masquerading was exactly the thing 
to catch Katya's fancy. 

She had been brooding upon possibilities for three 
months now; but it was only since yesterday that some- 
thing like a solution had seemed to present itself. For 
it was yesterday that she had heard from the school- 
mistress that Kazimira Swigello had started for Zalkiew, 
where she was>«o undergo an open-air cure. Zalkiew, as 
Katya knew, was a much-frequented health resort in the 
Austrian Carpathians, grown fashionable since the advent 
of the railway. Could anything be more providential? 
For at a place of that class, presenting an open field to all 
comers, nobody need be conspicuous. And the acquaint- 
ance of Kazimira (to be encompassed in some as yet 
indefinite way) must almost infallibly lead to that of her 
brothers, who, considering the neighbourhood of Krakau, 
would be certain to visit her. It was the elder brother, 
the engineer, who, according to Panna Rudkowska, was 
paying the expenses of his sister's "cure." He had been 
getting on well lately, it appeared, and had the promise of 
a good appointment somewhere in Bulgaria. This seemed 
in itself a reason for hurrying her movements, for one of 
the brothers gone, her plan would lose just one-half of its 
chances of success. 

Restituiian, 6 


But how secure a suitable identity wherewith to pre- 
sent herself to Kazimira? This was the knotty point. A 
false name was the only thing for it, of course; but here 
came in the thorny question of the passport — thornier than 
ever in these troublous times of aggravated supervision. 

Katya was puzzling over this, when a light step upon 
the gravel caused her to turn her head. It was only 
Nationka coming out to put some question touching the 
size of the initials with which she was marking a set of 
new towels. A welcoming smile rose to Katya's lips for 
she liked the girl whom she had inown dmost since 
infancy, Nationka having begun her career as one of the 
small menials ousted by Timosh at the attainment of the 
"ogling age." In her even peculiarly passive way, the girl 
had always shown her an attachment almost worthy to 
be called dog-like. That this devoted slave of hers should 
belong to the inimical nation only enhanced in Katya's 
eyes the price of this devotion. 

As (the question as to the initials being settled) she 
watched the black-haired girl re-crossing the gravelled 
space, Katya smiled at a recollection. What a funny 
idea that had been of the police commissioner to mistake 
Nationka for herself! And how remorseful he had been 
about it! Not without reason. And yet, seen from the 
back, as she was now, there really, was some excuse. 
The figure and the colour of the hair tallied. In any 
official description, for instance, such as a passport 

Very slowly Katya straightened herself upon her seat 
Was that an inspiration, or only a glimmer of lunacy? 

Having during a long, breathless minute anxiously 
probed her thought, Katya decided in favour of the in- 
spiration. Yes, the essentials tallied. That one face 
happened to be beautiful and the other plain could matter 


nothing, since official registrars are not called upon for 
artistic judgments but only for literal enumerations. There 
would be no difference vital enough to arouse the most 
alert suspicions. And Nationka's Polish name was in it- 
self a treasure. With its help and with the help of the 
fluent Polish she had spoken since childhood the question 
of disguised nationality might be considered settled. And 
another advantage was Nationka's complete isolation from 
all family ties, with no parents to interfere, no brothers 
or sisters to stick their inquisitive noses into the matter. 

Nationka's personal documents would be the first 
necessity, and Katya knew she could have them as easily 
as she could have had Nationka's head if she had hap- 
pened to have a use for it The papers obtained, the 
police commissioner would next come into action. For 
such things as this he came in useful. 

Within a few minutes Katya was in the sewing-room 
talking to Nationka. 

''listen, Nationka — you have your papers at Felixsoto, 
have you not? I mean your baptismal certificate, and the 
certificate of your parents' marriage?" 

"Yes, gracious lady, I have them." 

"Well, fetch them to-morrow. I have a use for them. 
You will trust me with them, will you not? Only for a 
few days." 

"The gracious lady knows that I would trust her with 
my soul," said Nationka, her black eyes moist with 

"I know — I know. But the papers are all I want at 
present Be sure to bring them." 

"I will bring them," said Nationka, blindly acquies- 

To inquire what Katya could possibly want with her 



personal documents occurred to the sewing-girl as little 
as it occurred to Katya to explain. 

That evening witnessed the first preparation of Malania 
Petrowna. Not the real initiation yet — which should be 
postponed till the last possible moment — but only the 
preliminaries, and quite an easy task for, ever since the 
beginning of disturbances, Malania had been nightly ex- 
pecting k) be murdered in her bed. The announcement 
that they were to spend the summer at Zalkiew, under 
the pinions of the peaceful Austrian eagle, even while 
half taking her breath away with surprise, met her like a 
deliveranfce. Although she had never before crossed the 
frontier of her beloved country she now very earnestly 
desired to find herself upon the other side with a whole 
skin. It was a case of preferring unknown evils to known 
ones. With alacrity she handed out the papers neces- 
sary for the procuring of her own passport. 

"Will they take long to get?" she inquired. 

"I think not, if I can find the commissioner in his 
office. I am going in to-morrow myself. Matters are so 
much more quickly settled verbally." 

When next day Katya, with the requisite papers in 
her hand, walked unannounced into the office in question, 
the expression upon the Pole's leathery face certainly 
seemed to give some body to Malania's fears. 

"Whence this happiness?" he murmured, just softly 
enough not to be understood by the clerk, working away 
in a corner of the large, bare space, furnished principally 
with pigeon-holes. 

His small eyes were alight as he looked into hers, to 
be met by the chilliest reserve. 

"Only a small business matter," she said, in a tone to 
match the glance, and disregarding the chair which he 


had hastened to place at her disposal. ''I require some 
passports, and you are the person to come to for pass- 
ports, I believe." 

"Mademoiselle is leaving the country?" he asked, 
with an underlip that literally dropped. 

"Yes, there seems more prospect of a peaceful summer 
in Austria than here." 

"Ah, you are alarmed! That is conceivable; but, be- 
lieve me, the danger is not so great as the papers make 
it out. The arm of authority is still strong, and what 
small services I can render in the way of protection " 

"I daresay; but I have a fancy for seeing Austria. 
My plans are made. All I ask of you is to procure me 
the passports as quickly as you can. I should like to be 
gone before the end of next week. There are three of 
them required. There are the papers." 

Though only two of them were required actually, it 
was naturally unavoidable to ask for one in her own 
name as well. 

Klobinski took the papers with a distracted sigh, his 
sleek hair ruffled the while by an agitated gesture of his 
left hand. 

"Three of them?" he repeated dully. 

"Yes, for m3rself, for Malania Petrowna, and foi^ 
Nationka Sagorska." 

"Who is that?" 

"Ah! a girl who sometimes sews for me, I think you 
have seen her in the house." 

"I remember. And you take her with you?" 

"Why should I not take her with me if I choose?" 

^'Of course, of course. You would require an attendant. 
Ah! well, if your resolution is taken I will of course fulfil 
your desires," said Klobinski funereally. "The dates are 


here. As for the personal descriptions there will be no 
difficulty about Malania Petrowna's — much less about 
yours," his eyes once more becoming active, "but as for 
this girl " 

"Describe her as you would describe me," said Katya 
boldly, and not disdaining to put the tiniest spice of 
coquetry into her smile, "you mistook her for me once, 
you know." 

Desperately Klobinski looked towards the busy clerk, 
vainly racking his brain for some pretext for getting rid 
of him. 

"I cannot yet understand " 

"I can quite well. There, take a sheet of paper and 
sit down, and I will dictate her features to you — ^just in 
case you should have forgotten what she is really like: 
Height, medium; figure, slight; eyes, black; mouth, large; 
nose, short; teeth, even. You see how the items tally, 
you could use that description indifferently for both of 
us. No, no — " as he looked up protestingly from the 
sheet he had been obediently filling — "I have no time to 
dispute the point with you, and I shall be very much 
obliged for as much expedition as is possible. You have often 
told me how glad you would be to do me a service. My 
coming here to-day will show you at least that I take you 
at your word." 

She was at the door already, nodding back pleasantly 
to him, outside it in another moment, laughing to herself 
as she reflected how neatly she had done it, and how 
easy men were to deceive. 

Still there remained Malania to deal with. But it was 
not until the very eve of departure that she was taken 
another step into Katya's confidence, though not by any 
means the final step yet Truth cpuld, as a rule, only be 


applied to Malania in very small doses — and such a truth 
as this! 

The disclosure of Katya's intention of travelling under 
a false name and with a borrowed passport was quite as 
much and rather more than she could hear at a time. 

"But that means Siberia — Katya, my love — Siberia!" 
she gasped, standing still in the middle of the apartment 
littered with such evidences of impending departure as 
piles of body-linen, and open boxes. 

"No, it doesn't mean Siberia," said Katya, "not if I 
am not caught; and I don't mean to be caught" 

"But why, Katya? In the name of a kind Heaven, 
why — this comedy?" 

"It isn't a comedy; I have a very real purpose. I 
have found out that young Countess Swigello — one of the 
last representatives of the name — is at Zalkiew, doing a 
cure. You know how much the family has always inter- 
ested me. Well, I want to make her acquaintance, and 
ot course I cannot do it under my real name. That 
would build a wall between us at once. Therefore I 
must adopt another, and that of Nationka happens to 
come handy. The matter is really quite simple." 

"Those Swigellos again!" 

At the mention of the name Malania had made the 
sort of face she always made when the jam they brought 
her was not according to her taste. 

"I hoped you had given up troubling your head about 
those Pollaks. Can you actually mean to scrape acquaint- 
ance with this — person?" 

"It's for this purpose exactly that I am going to 

"But what possible satisfaction " 

"Don't bother about that, Matoushka! Put it down 


to a (sLnty, if you like. I have taken it into my head to 
make Countess Swigello's acquaintance, and there's an 
end of it" 

Malania, who knew by experience what that remark 
about having taken a thing into her head meant with 
Katya, understood that it was indeed an end. When 
presently, after a few more minutes of futile resistance on 
the part of the chaperon, Katya cahnly announced liiat 
she would either cross the frontier under Nationksi^ 
Sagorska's name, or else not cross at all, the discussion 
was practically ended; for some particularly daring doings 
of the revolutionists had, within the last days, sensibly 
quickened Malania's desire to be on the other side of the 
frontier. "It will be all right, Matoushka, believe me, it 
will be all right," laughed Katya, seeing the easy victory 
within her grasp. "Just you leave it all to me. And 
meanwhile, what would you say to a little apricot jam, 
by way of recovering firom the fright? There was a 
beautiful pot opened this morning, and I told them to 
have it handy. Ah, there is Sasia bringing it already!" 

In another minute, with a sigh, which despite its dis- 
turbance bore some relationship to a grunt of satisfaction, 
Malania had settled down to her favourite jam. It was 
not the first time, by any means, that the delicious 
Lubynia apricots had been brought in at the psycholo- 
gical moment Not infrequently they had sealed ac- 
quiescence in the inevitable. 

The last practical difficulty seemed, with this sur- 
render, to be cleared out of Katya's path. 

As for Panna Rudkowska, she scarcely gave her a 
thought now. She had served her end very well; but in 
the future she would presumably become a dispensable 
instrument. In the hasty farewell visit paid to the school- 


house the Austrian journey was spoken of in quite general 
terms, and without any mention whatever of Zalkiew. 
There was no need that Katya could see for taking the 
schoolmistress further into her confidence and it might 
even be dangerous, since the temptation^of betraying the 
plot to Kazimira Swigello would be obvious. She had 
never felt drawn to the girl for her own sake, but only 
for the sake of those with whom she stood in touch. 



"What I object to about you is your detestable cold 
blood," said Witek Swigello to his elder brother, between 
cigarette puffs, and standing back from the easel in order 
to get the effect of the piece of drapery he was working 
at. "From the way you take things you might almost 
be a German." 

"What things?" asked Tadeusz unperturbed. 

"National things, to begin with. Here we are at a 
crucial point of our history, our future in the seething-pot 
of the Russian revolution, golden opportunities lying all 
around us; and yet nothing seems to excite you. On 
you go plodding at that prosaic profession of yours, not 
only refusing to cross the frontier and throw yourself into 
the movement, but even keeping me back, since I am 
fool enough to submit to leading-strings." 

"I imagined there were other reasons beyond fraternal 
submission which made you prefer this side of the frontier 
to the other just now," remarked the elder brother, 
while his eyes with a gleam of raillery in their gravity, 
passed to the portrait on the easel — that of a long-faced 
delicately sallow brunette, with somewhat "intense" look- 
ing eyes. 


"It would be a sacrifice, of course; but if the call 
came, Olsza would be the last person in the world to keep 
me back. It's you who manage that matter, you would 
make of me as tepid a patriot as yourself — you, your 
father's son, and your mother's! Do you never thinJc of 
those things, Tadzio?" 

Twice he moved the paint-brush in his hand, once 
towards an oil-painting occupying the centre of the best- 
lighted wall of the studio, and onoe towards a table upon 
which stood a glass-topped case containing what seemed 
to be some sort of white garment, disposed in folds. 

"Yes, I think of them; but, as regards that*' — Tadeusz 
indicated the glass-lidded box — "you know what I hold 
of this display." 

"Oh! you have no imagination; you never had. Were 
not those blood-stains, drawn by the Cossack swords, the 
things which our mother was proudest of in the world? 
Was not the garment sacred to her?" 

"And so it is to me. But for this very reason I would 
hide it away in a locked drawer, safe from mocking eyes, 
instead of exposing it here in this — excuse me for saying 
it — slightly theatrical fashion." 

"Dramatic, if you will — not theatrical. And when you 
think what a part that white dress has played in our 
parents' lives! But for it, or for the mutual memories 
for which it stands symbol, would they ever have become 
our parents? It was the Twelfth of August which drew 
them to each other after so many years — and with all 
Siberia between!" 

At his words the eyes of both brothers turned to the 
picture on the wall, and for a minute there was silence in 
the studio. 

Despite its place of honour, it was only a copy — 


though a good one — ^^of the best picture which Stanislas 
Swigelk), after his return from Siberia and with his con- 
siderable artistic talent, had ever painted. Confronted by 
the necessity of working for his bread, he had instinctively 
grasped the brush. But for this necessity, and the scarcely 
less urgent need of some mode of expression, the artistic 
instinct which had always lived within him would in all 
likelihood never have come to its rights. His experiences 
wanted a voice, and it was upon canvas that they found 
it easiest to speak. It was out of the fulness of his heart 
and the store of his bitter memories that he painted these 
scenes which had earned him fame. 

"Sunday in the Mines,'' was the title he had given to 
this canvas, the original of which had long since become 
the property of the nation. Against the dreary back- 
ground of rocks some dozen figures of both sexes in con- 
vict dress are grouped in unwonted idleness — some lean- 
ing against the stone-blocks, others cowering among them, 
all silent and all lost in dreams, for over there, at the 
foot of the cliff, stands one of their number — a beardless 
youth with a violin resting on his shoulder and the bow 
upon the strings. A melody of the far-off home — who 
can doubt it? — is resounding among these cruel rocks; 
while in the distance the silhouette of the Cossack sentinel 
against the sky is there to bring back to stem reality the 
illusion of these souls soaring free for the moment upon 
the wings of music 

"If he had been alive," said Witek, after that pause 
and in a voice which slightly shook, "do you suppose he 
would be sitting here quietly — now?" 

"I know he would not," said Tadeusz, and in his 
voice, too, the emotion was patent, though better governed; 
"but it still remains a question whether he would be 


serving his country any better by throwing away his life 
in a hopeless struggle, instead of preserving it for an oc- 
casion of some more efficacious service. Remember the 
Ukraine! It is my belief that whoever now throws him- 
self headlong into the battle, without taking the trouble 
of observing events and calculating probabilities, is no 
less a *Lost One' than were that band of heroic boys." 

"But the New Poland, Tadzio! think of the New 
Poland! If everyone were as prudent as you, how could 
she ever rise from her ashes?" 

"Will the New Poland be wiser than the Old?" mused 
Tadeusz, his head upon his hand and his eyes upon the 
floor. "Once again masters of our own fate, shall we 
not again make shipwreck upon the same shoals: indivi- 
dual ambition — personal jealousies — the good of the few 
as against that of the masses? Has the lesson been hard 

"Tadeusz!" almost shouted Witek, and although his 
cigarette was only half-consumed, he felt compelled to 
ease his feelings by hurling it into a corner. "Is that the 
language of a Pole?" 

Palette in hand and face flushed he looked at Tadeusz 
with something of the wrathful glance of an avenging 
angel, whose ears still ring with the sound of blasphemy. 

A slow but very tender smile came to the elder 
brother's lips as he gazed. Thus, he could imagine, must 
Stanislas Swigello have looked when he set out for the 
Ukraine; for it was to his youngest son that Stanislas had 
handed on his brilliancy of appearance — not quite so 
brilliant as in the original — just as upon him it was that 
the artist's mantle had fallen — or, at any rate, a corner 
of it 

"No, it is not the language of a Pole — I agree with 


you there; not that which our patriotic press is accustomed 
to use, anyway. But there, Witek, you need not glare 
quite so hard as all that! Maybe I'm not so bad a 
patriot as you take me for. It isn't fighting alone that 
builds empires; it's work as well; and I have chosen my 


With a sigh that sounded dramatic — and his cigarette 
lit — Witek turned back to his easel. 

"The very word smells of drudgery. I wonder what 
our forefathers would have said of it?" 

"Why always look back, Witek? Why not look for- 
ward? We have a long road in front of us; and the more 
resolutely we tread it, the less steep will it seem to us." 

"Must we really tread it all the way, Tadzio? Is 
there no escape?" 

"Not unless we prefer to lie down and die a craven's 

"But there might be an outlet — a side track, so to 
say — might there not?" 

Witek was bending now closely over the easel, with 
his back to his brother. 

"What can you mean?" 

"Don't put that high and mighty tone into your voice, 
Tadzio; I can never talk to you when you do that It 
is only an idea that came into my head. The fact is, I 
have been thinking lately." 

"Have you really?" said the elder brother, with no 
sarcastic intentions, but with a distinctly sarcastic effect 

"Yes, about that strange thing Kazimira wrote to us 
of in winter concerning the Malkoff girl." 

"Well?" asked Tadeusz, again, still with the objection- 
able tone in his voice. 


"Do you think she really meant it? — that about saying 
she would not marry at all unless she married one of us." 

"I daresay she did. It's just the sort of romantic 
idea that a girl would have." 

"Of course it's romantic, but still it's natural also, I 
think. Perhaps you have not enough imagination to put 
yourself in her place. I have been trying to do so, and 
Pm not at all sure that I would not act that way if I was 
her. Don't you think it speaks well for her, Tadzio?" 
urged Witek, a little shamefacedly. 

"It speaks for imagination, anyway." 

"And for her sense of justice. Do you think it is 
quite right of us to reject the idea without consideration? 
No, hear me out first," and, somewhat flushed, Witek 
now faced towards his brother. "Just at first I was quite 
as angry as you about it, you know that; but things don't 
always look the same after a bit Just Uiink how beauti- 
fully it would arrange everything! Of course I am out 
of the running, since I never could marry anybody but 
Olsza; but your affections are not pledged, so far as I 
know; so before bestowing them elsewhere, might you not 
turn your thoughts in that direction? Of course I'm not 
urging you to go off and present yourself at Lubynia, but, 
supposing that, by any chance, you should meet — dear 
me, what have I said?" 

"That which I particularly beg you never to say 

Tadeusz had risen suddenly to his feet, confronting 
his brother with thunderous brow, and towering above 
hun too by well-nigh half a head, though Witek was no 
small man. 

"Just now you asked me whether that was the language 
of a Pole; I ask you now whether this is the language of 


a man? — for surely no man worth the name would ever 
deign to take into consideration this barter suggested. 
You or I are to buy back Lubynia with our persons, with 
our manhood — that is her proposal put into plain words. 
You or I are to be the sop thrown to her squeamish 
conscience, or to her romantic fancies, whichever way you 
chance to take it, as a reward for which she hands back 
the estate to you or to me." 

"To you, not to me," corrected Witek, attempting to 
brave his brother's gaze. "My lot is cast; it is you alone 
who can yet escape from the drudgery; since if Olsza 
and I ever find it possible to marry, that would only mean 
more drudgery." 

There was ever so slight a note of grievance in the 

"But you or I at Lubynia, it would be all one. I 
should never envy you your good luck, supposing any- 
thing should ever come of it." 

The cloud upon Tadeusz' brow for one moment grew 
more ominous; in the next, instead of flying into a passion, 
as he had obviously been on the point of doing, he broke 
into that sort of tolerant laugh which recognises the use- 
lessness of argument 

"What a child you are, Witek, in spite of your twenty- 
four years! As loath to part from your new idea as any 
baby from its toy! Let us not dispute the point any 
further, please. I have already said all I have to say 
about it" 

Very like a wilful child indeed looked Witek, as with 
that which the French call a moue upon his face he eyed 
the elder brother who, in his early orphaned childhood, 
had been to him not brother alone, but a litde of father 
and mother as well. 


''You are always the same, Tadzio, about everything 
— about our home as about our country. I believe you 
have as little family feeling as you have patriotic feeling. 
Would Lubynia not be worth a sacrifice?" 

"Not of principles, Witek." 

"Then you care nothing for it?" 

"Who tells you that?" 

"Do you ever dream of it as I do?" 

"Dreaming is not much in my line; but I occasionally 

"Dear me, Tadzio, why. are you smiling so myste- 
riously? I did not even know that you could muster a 
mysterious smile." 

"Possibly there are other things about me that you 
do not know either," 

"But about the dreams?" 

"Work means money, does it not? In my profession 
it may even mean a. good deal of money some day. And 
money means the fulfilment of many wishes, or what you 
would call dreams. It would take a big pile to ransom 
Lubynia, no doubt, but I do not despair of making it. 
The Bulgarian appointment is in my eyes the first step 
on the road to fortune; and at the end of the road 
Lubynia stands as goal" 

"Oh, Tadzio!" 

For a moment longer Witek stood transfixed with a 
delight that was so surprising as to be almost a stupefac- 
tion, then, palette in hand, rushed straight for his brother. 

"Ah, what an idea! Who would have thought it? 
And you have had it in your head for long?" 

"I can't tell you exactly how long, because I don't 
rightly remember when it began. Anyway I know it was 
there even when I still sat upon school-benches. Look 

ResHiuiioH, 7 


out, Witek, please! This is my best coat, and oil-paint 
stains are horrid things to get out" 

"Fancy holding your tongue like that! Tadzio, you're 
a riddle to me. And how unjust I have been! Can you 
ever forgive me? Oh, how many years do you think you 
will take to get the money?" 

"So long as I am given those I need I don't care how 
many there are. Oh, if you had seen Lubynia, Witek, 
you would not mind the drudgery any more than 
I do." 

"Seen it? But you have not" 

"Yes, I have. I did not really mean to tell you, but 
since I've said so much — ^It was in August last. I had a 
job close to the frontier, and the thought that it would 
only take me a day to get to Lubynia left me no peace. 
The twelfth was nearing, and I chose that date for going. 
If I was ever to see the home of my fathers the anniversary 
of the Kowno procession seemed to me liie most appro- 
priate. I saw it, Witek, on just such an evening as it must 
have been forty-three years ago, for a few minutes only; 
but it was enough. That which had been an idea has 
become a resolve." 

"Tell me about it, Tadzio!" 

For long after that the two brothers sat together upon 
a frayed ottoman, while the elder painted for the younger 
the picture of their lost home. Breathless Witek listened 
to the words of the brother "without imagination," that 
adored yet somewhat awe-inspiring brother whom in so 
many points he disapproved of, yet could not but blindly 
confide in. As he Ustened, once more, as often before, 
all his ideas concerning Tadeusz were radically upset; 
once more he told himself that this brother of hi$ was 
altogether too incomprehensible to be quite understood. 


And meanwhile his own imagination caught fire at the 
details of the picture. 

"How lovely Olsza would look upon the terrace!" he 
presently sighed. 

"And Kazimira! I could almost see her walking 
beneath the lime-trees. Ah, there she would not have 
lost her health!" 

For a moment the brothers were silent Then Witek 
spoke in another tone. 

" But she is getting better. She says so in her last letter." 

"She ^ways says so. I should prefer to see with my 
own eyes, only that my work holds me fast at present" 

*'Mine does not," suggested Witek, with a bad show of 
indifference. "I think I could manage a run to Zalkiew 
next week." 

"I have no doubt you could. In fact — it is more 
difficult to understand how you manage to keep away." 

Tadeusz' eyes, with a quizzical smile in them, were 
upon the portrait now. 

Witek made another moue. 

^If 3F0U tap my purse you will get the answer required. 
The mere hoDcHwiess of the sound strikes melancholy to 
my heart Do you titmk anything would have kept me 
away so long, except the usual difficulty?" 

"How much will you require?" 

Tadeusz, with a slight twitch at the comers of his 
lips, was taking out his purse. 

"Oh, Tadzio — you are too good, really! But of course 
if you want authentic news of Kazimira — and then I can 
pay you back when I get the money for Countess Bre- 
linsha's portrait; it ought to have been finished last week, 
by-the-bye, but I was not in the right artistic disposition; 

and you know one only spoils things if " 



"How much will you require?" 

"I might manage with fifly florins.; Oh, thank you, 
thank you! I think I had better start soon, before it 
begins to melt, you know." 

"I think so too," said Tadeusz. 


The wide wooden verandah of the Villa Olympia was 
almost literally strewn with men and women, reclining 
in attitudes which approached more or less to the hori- 
zontal, and mostly muffled to their chins. Every now 
and then a throat would be huskily cleared, or one of the 
basket-work chaise-longues shaken by a fit. of coughing. 
Of speech little beyond stray remarks, except fcfr a 
whispered conversation beside the most distant of the 
chaise-longues, over which a young woman, in a tcrra-cotta 
dress and with hair fantastically puffed over her ears, was 

Some of these people were reading, but more were 
brooding, with eyes either dosed or else opened wide upon 
the landscape, glo<Hnily grand under a grey sky, with the 
black of pine forests dimbing into the low-hangmg douds, 
and a formidable suggestion of heights beyond. It was 
scarcely a day upon which anyone, for mere pleasure, 
would sit upon a verandah. "Open-air cure" was written 
largely over it all, — over the tucked-in railway rugs, the 
muffled shawls, the wry faces. 

"Cure, indeed!" growled a laige bony old man, whose 
huge frame was scarcely decently clothed in fiesh. "It*s 
my opinion that all this is just a little plan of the doctors 
for keeping down the suiplus population." 


Upon which sacrilegious remark his neighbour, a hectic 
youth with over-brilliant eyes, replied only by a smile, 
which his pinched lips distorted into a grin. 

"Doctors, or no doctors, I'm not going to b^in my 
cure to-day!" declared a much-beshawled young woman, 
struggling to her feet. "Strikes me it's more a case for 
a heated stove and double windows than for a verandah." 

And she went off, coughing, into the house. 

Another young woman looked after her enviously, but 
did not move. She was quite as uncomfortable as the 
rebel had been, but she had promised her husband to 
follow the doctor's prescriptions to the letter, and happened 
to be of a conscientious disposition. Therefore she turned 
her eyes back to the landscape and endured. 

Others were less heroic One by one pretexts for re- 
tirement were produced — first by the bony and sarcastic 
old man, then by the hectic youth — by another and 
another, until but for the occupier of the distant chaisi* 
longue and her companion, the conscientious young woman 
herself, and one other person, the verandah became de- 
serted. The fourth in the quartette was a black-haired 
girl, apparently engrossed in a book. She and the wearer 
of the terra-cotta dress alone sat upon ordinary chairs and 
were unprovided with railway rugs or blankets. Once 
or twice the girl with the book — the deep tone of health 
upon whose cheek made a sharp contrast to the faces 
lately arotmd her — glanced over its edge towards the end 
of the verandah a little impatiently, as though in want of 

Presently the wearer of the terra-cotta dress rose. 

"I suppose I ought to be looking after the dinner- 
table," she said in a tone of gentle complaint "It's a 
horrid nuisance, and you can't imagine how that girl gets 


on my nerves, with the way she clatters the plates. But 
enfin, what can one do?" 

She went off, a graceful, pallid martyr, carefully hold- 
ing the red dress out of the dust, with a smile of resigned 
disgust upon her lips, and upon her hands a pair of pale 
yellow kid gloves. 

The patient upon the chaise-longue, looking across the 
verandah, met the eyes of the girl with the book, and 
smiled faintly — sufficient invitation, as it appeared to the 
other, who immediately rose and approached the chair 
just vacated. But for the conscientious young woman, who 
was too far off to count, the two were now practically alone. 

"Do you find it too chilly, Panna Sagorska?" asked 
the reclining girl, who was tucked up to her chin, with 
absolutely nothing visible beyond her face — pathetically 
small and pathetically thin beside the mountain of feather- 
beds which threatened to bury it The wisp of hair 
escaping from under the white woollen shawl muffling her 
head was of an almost flaxen fairness, and the over-wide, 
startled-looking eyes, of a pale china blue. 

"No; I do not mind it I am quite comfortable." 

"You don't seem to mind anything. You must have 
excellent nerves. Fancy living in an establishment like 
this, of your own free-will, among all these wrecks that 
we are. Aren't you afraid of infection? And there are 
plenty of pensions for the well people. Whatever could 
have made you choose one of these semi-hospitals? Are 
you qualifying for a sister of charity?" 

"No, I am not But I like the situation; and I am 
not in the least afraid of catching anything. I am not 
made that way." 

"I wanted to ask you," began the other, but was inter- 
rupted by a fit of coughing. 


When it was over she lay still for some moments with 
closed eyes; and during those moments Panna Sagorska, 
visibly troubled, scanned the delicate features intently, the 
high-bred nose, so pinched about the nostrils, the thin 
bloodless lips, the sharp angle at which the outline fell 
away from the cheekbone. It was the face of a child 
but worn already, and already bearing the double stamp 
of labour and of disease. Upon it the watcher gazed 
sorrowfully, and, as it were, in confusion. 

Presently the blue-veined lids were raised again. 

"What I wanted to ask you was this: Yesterday at 
supper I heard you answering some question about Kowno. 
That can only be Kowno in Lithuania. Do you, by any 
chance, know that part of the country?" 

"Yes. I know Kowno and its surroundings," said 
Panna Sagorska, with her eyes again upon the pines. 

"Ah — I am glad! I have never been there myself; 
but — well, there are circumstances that make that part of 
Poland interesting to me. I am always glad when I meet 
someone who knows it It must be beautiful." 

"It is beautiful; though some people find it mono- 
tonous. Of course we have not got these heights — but 
we have other thmgs; breadth — horizon — and then the 

"Ah, yes, the forest! I was quite little when my 
mother told me the story of the two sisters who were 
sent into the forest to gather raspberries, and one of 
whom murdered the other, because her basket was fuller 
than her own — the rich suitor was to be the prize of the 
one who brought back most raspberries, you know. And 
years afterwards the little son of the murderess found the 
skeleton of his aunt under the leaves, with the remains of 
the basket beside it Nothing like that story ever so im- 

I04 REsrmmoN. 

pressed me with the size of the Lithuanian forests, where 
you could plausibly make people believe that you had 
mislaid your sister, just as you might mislay your pocket- 
handkerchief. You know the legend, of course, and 
Slowacki's poem?" 

*<I know it" 

"It is that story and Grottger's picture from which all 
my ideas of Lithuania are drawn: the one where Death 
floats between the tree-stems, with his scythe on his 
shoulder, and the lynx coming to drink at the pool be- 
tween the roots. That brings the forest home to me. 
How I envy you for having seen it!" 

"May you not see it yourself some day?" 

"Hardly. Travelling costs money — and I am a school- 

The effort with which it was said hardened the small 
face abruptly. Well-nigh disdainfully the thin lips closed, 
while the fine-cut nostrils gave one haughty quiver, and 
were still. 

"Yes, I know," said Panna Sagorska quickly. 

"You know? How should you " 

The other was biting her lip with vexation. 

"That is to say — I think someone mentioned that 
you had been overworking at the schools. It may have 
been our hostess's daughter. She is a great fiiend of 
yours, is she not?" 

"Yes; we have always known each other, more or less. 
Her father and my father fought together in '63. It is 
hard upon Pani Grabinska having to keep a pension now. 
They used to be large proprietors; but the cards have 
been their ruin." 

Kazimira lay silent for a minute, ^ile a reflective 
smile curved her bloodless lips. 


When she spoke again she seetned to have started a 
new subject 

"I hope the clouds will lift by to-morrow. I am ex- 
pecting a visitor." 

"Are you?" 

"Yes. My brother. He is coming from Krakau to 
stay a few days, I hope." 

"Ah I" 

Panna Sagorska stooped suddenly to pick up her 
bookmark which had fluttered to the ground. When she 
straightened herself again there was a deep flush of colour 
in her face, easily explained by the movement 

"You will be glad of a visitor, no doubt," she stam- 
mered, very busy with her book. 

"Very glad, I suppose he will bring his painting- 
things. He is an artist" 

"The younger one, then," mentally commented the 
hstener, while aloud, in a queerly constrained voice, she 

"Have you only one brother?" 

"Two. But the other is much busier. Perhaps he 
may be able to come later on." 

"And this one is coming to-morrow?" 

"Yes — I had a wire this morning. Ah, so you are 
finding it chilly?" 

For Panna Sagorska had risen. 

"Not chilly, but I have some letters to write. We 
shall meet again at dinner, shall we not? Will you be 
able to appear?" 

"I hope so." 

*^Au revoir, then!" 

Upstairs an elderly lady in a freshly curled wig was 


sitting disconsolately beside the window. To her enter 
precipitately Panna Sagorska. 

"Katya, my lamb," was the disconsolate one's greeting 
— "this sort of thing really will not do. Not only do you 
insist upon flying in the face of Providencie, by taking up 
your quarters in a very nest of invalids, but, instead of 
adopting the reasonable precautions that I do, you spend 
your time cheek by jowl with these coughing, spitting 
creatures — not to speak of the absurdity of sitting out in 
weather like this — and all for the sake of seeing what a 
person called Swigello is like. Well, now that your 
curiosity is satisfied on that point, why not move to more 
salubrious lodgings?" 

"Hush, Matoushka!" said Katya, stormily embracing 
her chaperon. "My curiosity is not nearly satisfied yet 
Don't talk to me of moving! I have seen a female 
Swigello, it is true; but I want to see a male one as well 
— and there's one coming to-morrow." 

"Is there?" asked Malania, eyeing her charge mis- 

"Yes, there is. It was partly to bring you this item 
of news that I came up just now; and likewise to renew 
instructions. You are not nearly up to your rdle yet, 
Matoushka. Whenever anybody addresses me as Panna 
Sagorska you always begin by staring. You really must 
be careful. Remember that I'm down in the police 
books as that, and that to give a false name is a crime 
in the eyes of the law. Even in Austria they have 
prisons, you know, though perhaps not quite as deep ones 
as with us." 

"I always said it would end in a prison-— or in Si- 
beria," groaned Malania. 

"It won't, unless you make it do so. Stick to the 


programme, and all will be right. And, above all, don't 
drag in Russia at every turn; it makes it frightfully awk- 
ward for me who am supposed to be Polish, don't you 
see. They're a little astonished, as it is, at my having 
a Russian companion, but that doesn't matter, sp long as 
you hold your tongue at the right moment With a 
second Swigello to the fore you will have to be doubly 
careful The word 'MalkofF' escaping from your lips 
would entail incalculable consequences. Two pairs of 
ears to catch it up, mind!" 

Meeting her own eyes in the mirror, Katya wondered 
at the light of excitement in them. So far all was going 
to perfection — each one of her calculations verified by 
events. The week which had passed since her arrival at 
Zalkiew had been a series of successes. In a country of 
pedantic police regulations there had been no difficulty 
in identifying the pension where Kazimira Swigello lodged. 
Neither, at this early season, had there been any difficulty 
about finding suitable rooms still unoccupied in the Villa 
Olympia, though some slight trouble there had been in 
satisf)dng the curiosity of the hostess, stirred by the ap- 
plicant's obvious want of qualification. Healthy guests 
were so much the exception here as to cause Panna 
Sagorska to be received with a touch of suspicion, which, 
however, quickly melted to nothing when the eccentric 
newcomer, having explained that she had taken a fancy 
to the situation, pulled out her purse, and declared her 
readiness to pay down two months' lodging in advance. 

The first sight of Kazimira Swigello, this delicate 
creature broken down by a drudgery for which she had 
never been formed had been a shock to overcome. So 
painful was the impression that for some days it kept her 
at a distance, fearfully avoiding that closer contact which 


was the very thing which had brought her here. It 
seemed so inevitable that the other, divining her natural 
antagonist, should hate her. Meanwhile, from a distance, 
she studied her, daily finding new points of contact be- 
tween the face she saw among the feather-beds, and those 
she had seen so often painted upon canvas, at Lubynia. 
"The Princess Birbantine" she had mentally christened 
her, almost from the moment of first meeting those startled 
blue eyes, which seemed to belong to somebody recently 
escaped from some great horror. Ogres were out of date, 
of course, but for a penniless Swigello no doubt mere 
everyday life held plenty of horrors in store. 

It was not until, the first impression passed, her 
imagination began to return to bounds, that Katya felt 
able to take a further step in her programme. Within 
the last few days the beginning of a nearer acquaintance 
had been formed, and thanks to the bond of tmion re- 
presented by the one word "Lithuania," promised to draw 
rapidly closer. Only just in time, it would seem, since 
to-morrow already another of her calculations was to 
come true. 

"To-morrow!" she repeated, with her eyes upon the 
image in the mirror. And at the thought of finding her- 
self face to face at last with a son of Stanislas Swigello, 
another thrill passed through her. 

"Will it be he, I wonder?" she murmured, as she 
turned from the glass. 


Next morning, passing by the rustic railway station 
on her return from an early walk, Katya was somewhat 


surprised to see Olympia Grabinska gingerly descending 
from a shabby vehicle, from whose box a porter was tak- 
ing a valise. 

"Where to, Panna Olympia? I did not know you were 
going away." 

"Neitiier did I, at this time yesterday," replied Olympia, 
in a tone of anything but good-humour, and with the 
chronic disdain of her lips grown acute. That, and a certain 
perpetual sniff of the nostrils, seemed to suggest that to 
her superdelicate senses the world in general smelt bad. 

**It is no bad news, I hope?" 

"Not a bit of it It's only an old aunt at Tarnow 
whom I visit at times — sometimes rather suddenly — ^just 
as it occurs to Mamma. Periodically, you see, she gets 
seized with a terror of infection for me, and ^en I am 
packed off. Old aunts with spare rooms are very con- 
venient sometimes — to parents." 

"Will you be back soon?" 

"That does not depend upon my movements, but upon 
those of other people," was the dark reply. "I suppose 
I ought to be going in there — if s almost time. I do wish 
that engine wouldn't shriek so! Enough to get on any- 
one's nerves!" 

And with skirt held high in her carefully gloved hands 
Olympia picked her way into the station-house, an im- 
personification of elegant dissatisfaction with the arrange- 
ments of the world in general. 

At the time it seemed but an isolated incident, though 
its connection with other events was not to be long in ex- 
plaining itself. 

For the moment Katya was too preoccupied with the 
expected arrival to trouble her head any further about 
this unexpected departure. 


Kazimira was not at breakfast; and after breakfast her 
customary place on the verandah knew her not A feel- 
ing akin to panic came over Katya. Supposing Kazimira 
were taken much worse and remained invisible for some 
days — perhaps for the whole of her brother's stay? 

Having sufficiently worried herself with possibilities, 
and having wasted the whole of the radiant forenoon in 
the house, waiting for she knew not what, Katya, soon 
after dinner, becoming acutely aware of the absurdity of 
the situation, abruptly decided to take a second walk; to 
which everything that she saw from her window loudly 
invited her. 

Several hours later, drunk with the scent of pine- 
woods and the breath of fragrant grasses crushed under- 
foot, dazzled with sunshine, dizzy with the heights gazed 
at> she was wending her homeward way. Within her 
arm rested a sheaf of the biggest send bluest forget-me- 
nots she had ever gathered, and in her eyes a new joy- 
shone — the joy of the explorer; for she was still at that 
delightful stage of unacquaintanoe with her surroundings 
which turns every walk into a voyage of discovery. 

Full of her new impressions she had almost forgotten 
her preoccupation of the morning, all but forgotten the 
existence of any people called Swigello, when, rounding 
a turn of the road, she found herself close to a wheeled 
chair, in the shadow of whose hood her iirst glance showed 
her Kazimira's wasted face. The chair was stationary, 
and apparently deserted. It was only a second glance 
that revealed a young man at some paces off, perched 
upon a tree trunk by the wayside, sketch-book upon knee, 
pencil in hand and cigarette in mouth. 

Abruptly Katya's step faltered. Having this morning 


been terrified at the thought of not meeting Witek 
Swigello, she now felt equally terrified at the thought of 
meeting him. So unprepared was she that had flight 
been possible 

But of course it was not possible. Already the sick 
girl's face had lighted up, while a small hand beckoned 

''Panna Sagorska! Ah, I was wondering where you 
were! What a lovely walk you must have had! Let me 
introduce my artist brother. Witek, this is Panna Sagorska 
who is so kind as to entertain me sometimes." 

The young man with the sketch-book had already 
spnmg to his feet Tossing aside his cigarette he ad- 
vanced with straw hat raised from his fair brow, and with 
the eagerness of his sister's gesture reflected in his vivacious 

Somehow Katya got through a rather bungled saluta- 
tion. "He is out of the portrait gallery too," she told 
herself, as the mists of agitation cleared. She had seen 
that sweep of nostril, those arched eyebrows, that tiny, 
pointed beard — so like a golden dagger — often and often 
at Lubynia, upon canvas. "Not quite the Prince Narcis- 
sus," she inwardly conmiented, "a little diluted, somehow, 
but unquestionably of the -strain." 

"This is all new to you, is it not?" the "diluted" 
Prince was meanwhile sapng, with a comprehensive wave 
of his hand towards the mountain panorama. 

"Yes, it is new," said Katya, concluding from the re- 
mark that her person had been under discussion — perhaps 
recently. "In fact the Carpathians are the very first 
mountains I have ever seen, and I find them rather over- 
whelming just at first" 

"They would be — after Lithuania." 


His curious eyes were upon her, expectantly; but 
Kazimira, more discreet, put in a diversion. For some 
moments past her gaze had been hanging, fascinated upon 
the forget-me-nots. 

"What beauties! Shall I ever gather forget-me-nots 
again, I wonder?" 

"Soon, let us hope," said Katya, softly laying the blue 
sheaf upon the invalid's knee, and smiling to see the eyes 
— so much paler than the flowers — light up. 

"Ah, that is better 1" 

Witek drew an almost dramatic breath of relief. 

"It's been worrying me all the time to see those forget- 
mesnots in the wrong hands. You will foigive the im- 
pertinence of an artist" — bestowing upon Katya one of 
his most frankly fascinating smiles — "when I advise you 
to leave the gathering of forget-me-nots to fair-haired 
pec^le. Red roses — the darker the better — the rich, 
velvet-petalled sort, that is your field, Panna Sagorska, 
while, for Kazimira, could anything be better than this?" 

Kazimira smiled a little wearily. "Be so good as to 
turn my chair, Witek. I have strict orders to be at home 
before sunset And Panna Sagorska too is on her home- 
ward way, I fancy." 

There was an invitation implied in the words, and 
Elatya resisted not 

As she walked beside the chair whidi Witek, with a 
tender care, she noted, pushed before him, Katya re- 
flected that, once more, events seemed to be shaping 
themselves in precise accordance to her wishes. It was 
Witek whose nimble tongue chiefly kept the ball of talk 
in motion, and it was round one fixed point that his re- 
marks, surmises, questions buzzed, with the persistency 
of a bee around a honey-laden flower. 


''What a strange sensation it must be seeing mountains 
for the first time! But I daresay you prefer the plain. 
Do you like the Niemen better than that green river down 
there, Panna Sagorska? You have it close at Kowno." 

Both brother and sister seemed to take for granted 
that she lived at Kowno, and Katya saw no reason to 
disperse the convenient illusion. 

"If I could live on the banks of the Niemen, I know the 
picture I should paint — the procession. What a subject! 
Of course I need not tell you which procession I mean." 

"Of course not," said Katya hurriedly, and almost 

They were dravmig close to the Villa Oljrmpia when 
Witek put a question which for some minutes past had 
been hovering on his lips, and which he felt morally 
incapable of keeping back any longer. 

"You are surprised, perhaps, at my talking so much 
of Lithuania?" 

There was a restless movement within the bath-chair, 
well noted by Katya. 

"No, I am not surprised." 

"If you know the history of our family " 

"I ^ow it," said Katya, looking straight in front of her. 

"Ah! Of course you would — living in that neighbour- 
hood. Then you will understand our — my interest in 
the subject Perhaps you even know Lubynia? It is 
quite close to Kowno, really, though there is the river 

"Yes, I know Lubynia." 

The forget-me-nots rustled under the convulsive clutch 
of Kazimira's hand. 

"And possibly even its possessor? Her name is 

Restitution, 8 


Katya, preferring to be out of the range of his question- 
ing eyes, had dropped back by half a pace. 

"I have seen her," she contrived to say. ("Is that a lie, 
I wonder," she questioned herself meanwhile. "Hardly, 
since I do see myself daily in the glass.") 

"She is quite young, is she not?" 

"Really, Witek," broke in Kazimira nervously, "is it 
fair to put Panna Sagorska through such a catechism?" 

Witek laughed, and desisted for the moment, but un- 
pacified curiosity shone in his eyes. 

Before night he had managed tb procure for it some 
further satisfaction. 

This was after supper upon the verandah, when 
Kazimira had retired and where Witek found Katya, tak- 
ing a last look at the starlit mountains. 

"Lithuania must be my apology," he said, having 
most charmingly begged pardon for intruding on her 
solitude. "I felt that I could not sleep without hearing 
more about it from your charitable lips. For, since you 
know our history, you will not refuse to the exile the alms 
of information, will you?" 

"What is it you want to hear?" 

"Anything you can tell me. To the hungry even 
crumbs are food — and we are all hungry for Lithuania — 
and for Lubynia. But what I wanted particularly to ask 
is about the present possessor. You say you have seen 
her — a young girl, I believe." 

It was clear that Witek, freed of Kazimira's restrain- 
ing presence, meant to make the most of his opportunities. 


"You do not happen to be intimate with her, I sup- 
pose? I know that the Poles all shun the Russian 

wmmmi^ms^mmmfm mm^.^'i- • ^.^A] ' -^ . ^ "^- ^ ^ 


"No — of course no Pole could be intimate with her." 

"But yet they must know something about her. She 
seems to be rather a peculiar character." 

"What makes you think so?" 

"Well, for instance, the resolve she seems to have 

"Has she formed any resolve?" 

The dim light of the starlit May night was undoubtedly 
a help. Under the shadow of its protection a certain 
relish of the situation began to stir in Katya. At the 
beginning of the enterprise an unreasoning terror of dis- 
covery had paralysed her. But already the inner trouble 
was settling. 

"It would appear that she has formed a resolve. I 
fancied that perhaps it might be known over there. She 
seems to be plagued with scruples; for she has declared 
her intention of never marrying, unless by her marriage 
she could give back the estate to the rightful owners." 

"That is a strange idea, surely." 

"I think it is a very noble idea. Ever since I heard 
of it I have thought highly of her." 

"Ah! But surely quite unfeasible?" 

"Its feasibility is another question, of course, but that 
does not lessen the idea." 

"To me it sounds much too appropriate ever to come 

"I fear'you are right" 

"Fear? Then you would wish it to come true?" 

"Supposing it could do so without detriment to the 
family honour — why not?" 

"I don't see why the family honour need suffer any 

"Neither do I — on reflection. But some people have 



ideas on the subject — rather overstrained I think them 
myself. For, after all, supposing everything else tallied — 
I mean if two young people happened to meet and hap- 
pened to approve of each other, would there be any sense 
in their parting merely because their union would clear 
away a lot of difficulties?" 

"He is, after all, rather practical — for an artist," re- 
flected Katya, indulging in an invisible smile. 

"Then you do not reject the idea upon principle?" 
"Why should I? — always supposing that other things 
tally. For of course they would need to care for each 
other, in first line," added Witek, perhaps aware of the 
too sober sound of his last words. 

Presently Katya was in her room, slowly undressing. 
The smile was still upon her lips, but it had taken on a 
faint, a very faint flavour of cynicism. Of all her suc- 
cesses since the beginning of the enterprise surely the 
success of to-day was the most pronounced. Once more 
the magic word "Lithuania" had done its work. Scarcely 
arrived Witek Swigello already talked to her as to an 
acquaintance of long standing. And to what was she to 
attribute the singular frankness with which he had opened 
to her his mind? Could anything be more favourable to 
her project than the attitude disclosed? Under these 
auspices the chances of that wild dream of hers coming 
true were almost assured. Ought not elation to be up- 
lifting her? Whence, then, this dull sense of disappoint- 
ment — almost of dejection? 

The skirmishing with word-weapons upon the verandah 
had been amusing; but in the solitude of her room her 
mood changed. Was it perhaps the very ease of her pro- 
gress which disconcerted her? She had not been prepared 


*'the prince narcissus." 117 

to see those proud protestations, reported by the school- 
roistress, surrendered quite so quickly. Even at the price 
of inconvenience she would have preferred to see them 
more obstinately defended. 

No, this handsome, smiling, talkative youth — accept- 
able husband though he might be in the abstract — was 
not at all the figure which had governed the inevitable 
dreams of girlhood. Well — what of that? since for a 
sacrifice she had from the first been prepared. 

But all the same the dejection would not be shaken off. 

Next day, under the influence of more skirmishing, of 
more treading upon thin ice, of more playing with fire, the 
sense of enjoyment revived, but with it the cynicism grew. 
For Witek, carried away by what he considered his 
mission, returned continually to the subject of last night's 
talk. Plausibly and glibly — ^perhaps for the sake of cout 
vincing himself, or possibly with some obscure surmise 
that words spoken to a dweller in Kowno might not 
impossibly reach the heiress's ears — he expounded to her 
the absurdity of the overstrained point of view yesterday 
referred to, ardently justifying the conduct of any Swigello 
who might agree to the arrangement suggested. 

"Something tells me that we shall be back at Lubynia 
some day," he said to her, in one of these snatches of talk; 
"and this way would be so much quicker than the other." 

"Which other?" 

"Ah, the plan of making a fortune, and buying it 
back in time! Since the place seems such a burden to 
her conscience, no doubt Kataryna MalkofF would be 
willing to sell." 

"Has anyone got that plan?" 

"Tadeusz — my elder brother. But we may both be 
pld men by that time, or perhaps dead, ffe says h^ 


doesn't mind working all his life for it, but I jhonestly 
confess that I do. We are very different, you see. I love 
him; but his share of the LiUiuanian slowness is rather 
obtrusively big at times." 

"He cares for it as much as that?" 

"Not more, really, than I do; only that our way of 
looking at things is diflfercnt." 

"It certainly seems to be." 

And to herself Katya said: "This young man cer- 
tainly has none of the Lithuanian slowness in him. Sup- 
posing now I were to tell him this moment that / am 
Kataryna MalkofT, would he make me an offer of marriage 
on the spot?" 

It scarcely seemed quite impossible. For although the 
young artist's attitude towards her could not be classified 
as love-making, it nevertheless betrayed a very keen 
appreciation of her artistic possibilities — such appreciation 
as has been known to develop into warmer sentiments. 
Already he talked of a portrait to be painted; her consent 
being taken for granted with the smiling audacity which 
was at once his charm and his defect The only point 
upon which doubts assailed him was the costume. 

"As to that, I have an idea," said Katya. "Have 
patience for ten minutes." 

Upstairs in her room she went to one of the trunks in 
the comer, and from it drew out various rather exotic- 
looking articles of attire: white and green in colour, with 
flashes of pink, the Lithuanian national costume complete 
in all its details. In one of the ancient garde-robes of 
Lubynia Katya had long ago discovered the dress, worn 
doubtless at some fancy ball by some defunct Swigello, 
who must have had something of the same figure as her- 
self so perfectly did the things fit At the last moment^ 


when packings Katya had remembered the costume, and 
simultaneously remembered being told by Panna Rud- 
kowska that to go about in peasant dress was considered 
the correct thing by the fashionable world at Zalkiew. 
With some vague idea of using the costume as a means 
of rapprochement to the Swigellos, she had put it in the 
bottom of one of her trunks. 

When a few minutes later she stood before the glass, 
fully attired, the picture it displayed to her was both 
charming and fantastic Like two snow-white wings the 
wide cambric sleeves spread from shoulders to wrists, 
while the hem of the flowing garment fell to her feet. 
The hips were surrounded by a pale-green tunic, delicately 
bordered with pink, the full bosom swelled against a 
bodice of the same pale-green, pink-laced. Pink ribbons 
at the wrist, at the throat, and fluttering from the ends 
of the heavy plaits which she had unpinned and let down 
to far below her waist A wondrous vision as of a green- 
chaliced, white-petaled, pink-tipped flower. Round her 
neck hung a string of amber beads, and in the dark hair 
above her forehead flashed a miniature silver sickle, half- 
moon fashion. 

When Katya opened the door of the sitting-room of 
which, rather against the grain, the hostess had permitted 
Witek Swigello to make a studio, there were two abrupt 
exclamations and then a pause of silent contemplation. 
Kazimira, reclining beside the open window, sat up slowly, 
clasping her hands and opening her lustrous eyes to an 
almost unnatural extent 

It was Witek who first recovered from the surprise of 
the apparition. 

"Welcome, Lithuania!'* he said, with hand upon heart 
and an inclination of head, gracefully theatrical. "Thus, 


speaks the Lithuanian. But the artist protests. Those 
ribbons should be binding flaxen plaits. No true 
Lithuanian ever could boast of this wealth of shadows." 

"Then you refuse me as a model?" asked Katya, nor 
would it be truthful to assert that coquetry went for no- 
thing in the question. 

But here Kazimira interposed. 

" Ah, Witek — paint her in that dress ! Begin at once ! " 

" Hopelessly untypical ! " 

"Never mind about its being imtypical, so long as it 
is beautiful. Paint her like that, Witek — I want it so!" 

The tone was sharpening to fretfulness, the hectic 
spots upon the thin cheeks intensifying. Katya looking 
at her saw that her experiment had been almost too suc- 

"1 want it so, too," she quickly decided. "I will sit 
to you in this dress and in no other." 

And so it was settled; upon which the first sitting 
began. Before the midday meal the outline had been 
fixed. It was while he was beginning to fill it in during 
next morning's sitting that Witek's ear caught the sound 
of a cab stopping before the villa. 

"More guests? I thought the house was full. Isn't 
that a valise in the box, Kazimira?" 

"Yes," said Kazimira, from her vantage-ground by the 
window. "A valise I seem to know. Someone is getting 
out. Oh, Witek — I do believe it is Olympia!" 

The glance which passed between brother and sister 
seemed to hint at all sorts of things outside of Katya's 
ken. In the same moment Witek had flung away his 
cigarette, and sprung to the window — too late to catch any 
glimpse of the traveller. His next . movement was for the 
door, but before be reached it Ws sister's voice arrested him. 


"Not now, Witek — you will meet Pani Grabinska." 

With lingers running through his hair he came back 
to his easel — ^^but during this sittmg the portrait made no 
further progress. 

That something had gone wrong with their hostess's 
humour was on that day patent to all the inhabitants of 
the Villa Olympia. Wonis of altercation had been heard 
by some, passing between mother and daughter. 

"Is it my fault if Aunt Marya is called off to her sick 
brother?" — someone had distinctly heard the words in 
Olympiads rather shrill voice — "and would you have me 
stay at Tamow all by myself?" 

Upon which came the growl of a maternal reply, un- 
intelligible but obviously unapproving. 

Late that evening Katya, going down to the sitting- 
room for her rings which she had taken off during the 
stance of the morning as unsuited for the dress — and 
then forgotten — became aware of two figures upon the 
verandah, standing almost on the same spot on which she 
had stood the other day beside Witek Swigello. One of 
the two figures was his, and the other was that of 
Ol3anpia Gr^ibinska, the familiar terra-cotta dress was 
enough to settle that point They stood very much closer 
together than he and Katya had ever stood; and — could 
she be mistaken? No, there was only one explanation of 
that dark bar across the terra-cotta waist — too broad for 
a belt, and not so immovable. And taken in conjunction 
with the subdued s's of a whisper 

On tiptoe Katya retired, knowing all that she wanted 
to know. Whatever corroboration her observations of 
the morning had required they had it now. Precipitately 
and gleefully she regained her room. A fearful mortifica- 
tion to her vanity, of course; a tremendous come-down 

t22 MfigtltOtlCM. 

from what had looked like probability. But ah, what a 
sudden riddance of a weight which had been dragging at 
her — what a sharp but welcome cutting oi the Gordian 

<'He is appropriated already, that is clear/' she mused, 
with her head on the pillow already. "It cannot be my 
duty to marry him since he so evidently wants to marry 
somebody else. This cuts down my chances by half of 
course. But, after all, there's the other half remaining!" 

Upon which she fell into a peaceful, though possibly 
not dreamless sleep. 



<'Is that portrait ever going to be finished?" inquired 
Malania Petrowna of Katya, once more standing before 
the glass, and settling the silver sickle in her hair. She 
had got the trick to perfection now, and no wonder 
either, considering the number of times that during these 
four weeks she had donned the white and green garments. 

After the vision upon the verandah Katya had been 
quite prepared to see the portrait abandoned, as in all 
probability it would have been, but for Kazinoira. The 
idea of the picture in the Lithuanian dress had taken 
possession of her brain with the obstinacy of a sick fancy. 
And it must be Katya's picture; no other would do. 
Whether it was a glamour attached to a person who knew 
Lubynia or merely one of these cases of almost magnetic 
attraction of heaith for sickness, of the robust for the 
feeble, was not easy to say; but one fact was patent; with 
the rapid advance of disease for which even Zalkiew air 
could prove no medicine, the stricken girl clung more 

"A/O/i ZDkOWlBV' 123 

and more convulsively to this new-found friend who was 
so much more reassuring a support than the sallow and 
fastidious Olympia. Moj^ Zdrowie (my health!) she would 
call her, wlidle stroking with wasted fingers the cheek in 
which the rich blood mantled so warmly. 

So Witek, yielding with no bad grace to circum- 
stances, added at least a few strokes daily to the picture. 
No need to hurry, of course, since it was chiefly as a 
means of procrastination that the portrait now came 
in useful. Thus the stay originally planned for three 
days had been successfully dragged out to four weeks; 
and stUl the final touches tarried. By both Olympia 
Grabinska and her astute mother these were being looked 
for with mixed feelings. For, delicious though was the 
constant presence of the beloved, these long stances of a 
very combustible artist and a strikingly handsome model 
were fruitful in anxiety. In Pani Grabinska's eyes again, 
exactly the stances were the saving circumstance. Nothing 
would have suited her better than that the artist should 
take a fancy to the wealthy and eccentric young stranger. 
Ancient friendship notwithstanding, the sentimental engage- 
ment which she knew to exist between Witek and Olympia 
had never received her official sanction, and never would. 
For that the claims of hard cash stood too high in her 

Meanwhile the precious weeks were passing, and sign 
of the appearance of the elder Swigello there was none. 
Occasionally she heard references to the work which kept 
him tied to Krakau or to the Bulgarian appointment to 
be entered on in autunm. This alone implied a departure 
so decisive as to threaten the upset of her plans. What 
chances of getting this only available Swigello to her feet 
before he left Austria? Did she even want to get him 


there? Supposing he were to prove a second disappoint- 
ment? A mere replica of his brother? Would she still 
have the courage — even be willing — to carry out her pro- 
gramme? Never since the birth of her project upon the 
reed-grown lake at Lubynia had the prospect looked so 
hopeless; and never, eitiier, had she felt less keen about 
it. But for Kazimira and that clinging affection which 
touched her to the heart, there were times when her 
trunks would have been packed in an hour. 

"I believe this is to be the last sitting," said Katya 
in reply to Malania; "but Pve believed that several times, 
and final touches continue to crop up." 

"And when it is done, we go?" 

"Perhaps; I can't say." 

"Where to?" 

"To Lub5mia, of course." 

"Might it not be better to give things time to settle 
down a little? Surely there are other parts of Austria 
worth visiting?" 

"I am not in the least curious to see them, Matoushka, 
thank you. When we leave this it is for Lubynia." 

Malania sighed, sadly torn in mind. Then just as 
Katya reached the door, she asked abruptly: — 

"I suppose there is no danger of that painter falling 
in love with you instead of Panna Olympia?" 

"None whatever, Matoushka. Make your mind easy on 
that point Pm not a person at all to him — only a model." 

The "final" touches were really final touches this 
time, acquiesced in as such by Witek himself, who, partiy 
warned by the recurrence of the hollow sound in his 
purse, and partly by what he considered a rather severe 
letter from Tadeusz, was beginning to reckon seriously 
with departure. 

"MOJ& zDROwmr 125 

"He is almost capable — if I don't hurry up — of 
dragging me back personally by the hair of my head," 
the artist explained to Katya, as at the end of the last 
sitting he woefully wiped his brushes. 

Kazimira, with hands clasped in lap and wide eyes 
fixed upon the picture, seemed lost in ecstasy, not quite 
without cause for "it was undoubtedly to be ranked 
among Witek's successes." 

"If he has not flattered me, then — well, then I am 
certainly beautiful!" 

The thought was in Katya's mind, as for the last 
time she quitted the improvised studio in the white and 
green dress. 

In the lobby which she had to cross before reaching 
the staircase somebody was standing — a stranger — as she 
saw at the first glance, though his back was towards her. 
That breadth of shoulder certainly did not belong to any 
inmate of the Villa Olympia. At the sound of her step 
behind him he turned, moving aside a little, in order to 
leave the passage free. - But the passage was not wanted 
just then; for in the moment that he turned, Katya upon 
an impulse of sheer astonishment stood still, having re- 
cognised in the man opposite to her the same she had 
seen once before at Lubynia— last August — the mysterious 
intruder, suspected of being a police spy, if not a 
burglar. Recognition was instantaneous, admitting of no 
doubt. The short, golden-brown beard, the mighty brow, 
the straight, grey-blue eyes which she had looked out 
for in vain at Feliksoto and at Kowno, she saw them 
now before her, unmistakably. Even the line of sunburn 
was there again though burnt by the sun of another 

So intense was the surprise that for the moment she 


Stood helpless before him, able to do nothing but gaze, 
as wide-eyed as Kazimira, and quite forgetful of the im* 
pression which such unconventional conduct must neces- 
sarily produce. But what was this? Was astonishment 
infectious? else why should the stranger be gazing at her 
as fixedly as she at him? 

In a flash she remembered the costume, and under- 

Anyone not aware of the portrait-sittings could not 
well help being struck by the seeming eccentricity of her 
appearance. Barely realised, the thought covered her 
with a sudden sense of confusicm. The rich blood was 
flooding her cheeks as rapidly she gained the staircase. 
As she ran up it she had the sensation of running from 
his eyes — pursued by them, as it seemed to her — ^up to 
the very threshold of her room. There she fell, breath- 
less, into the only easy-chair it contained. 

So he lived, he existed, within her own ken, it had not 
been a mere creation of her fancy, that face seen so often 
since in dreams, but never again in the flesh until to-day. 
Now only in the joy of recognition did she know how 
eager had been the search, even how yearning. Her sen- 
sations were those of a person recovering a lost treasure. 
And all this because she had recognised a face seen once 
for five minutes, ten months ago! 

Her agitation partly cooled, Katya felt half-inclined to 
laugh at herself; but even self-derision could not quench 
the inner joy, though there was a shadow upon it some- 
where, a shadow which presently she felt compelled to 
investigate. Looked at close this shadow revealed itself 
as bearing the name of Swigello, and took the shape of a 
phantom standing across the path which otherwise might 
b^ve led — to what? Perhaps to happiness. 

**M6f6 ZDROTVIBl" 127 

\ "I am beautiful — the picture says so and he thinks so, 
too, else would even the costume have amazed him so?" 

And at the recollection of that moment during which 
they had confronted each other, mutually transfixed with 
surprise, Katya hid her burning face in her hands laugh- 
ing helplessly. 

A moment later she had sprung up and was hastily 
unlacing her bodice. She had remembered that the mid- 
day meal was close — which meant a chance of again seeing 
the stranger. At the thought of missing that chance a 
sudden fear had come over her. 

"Am I bound by my resolution?" she questioned her- 
self, as she chang^ her dress. "Have I made a vow? 
They have rqected my overtures — and I am free — free — 

She repeated the words aloud, as with feverish fingers 
she pinned up her plaits. 

In the dining-room downstairs her eyes went round 
the table to return discomfited to her own plate. No sign 
of any stranger. No sign either of Kazimira or of Witek. 
Something seemed to have detained them upstairs. Nor 
long though she dawdled upon the verandah after the 
meal, and slowly though she mounted the staircase, was 
there any recurrence of the apparition of the forenoon. 

At the head of the stairs she met Olympia Grabinska. 

"Oh — Panna Sagorska! I was looking for you. Ka- 
zimira asks you to come to her room. You would oblige 
her greatly by going there at once." 

"Very well," said Katya, not over graciously, for the 
prospect of spending the afternoon in Kazimira's room 
seemed greatly to lessen the chances of the desired meet- 
ing. For one moment she was on the point of question* 
ing Olympia as to the new arrival, but desisted, 


"Please!" said Kazimira's thin Voice when she knocked, 
the Polish equivalent for "Come in!" 

Opening the door she hesitated for a moment, be- 
coming aware of a second male silhouette against the 
light, besides that of Witek; but Kazimira, propped up 
upon her sofa, with shining eyes and flushed cheeks, 
beckoned peremptorily. 

"Oh, Katya — come here!" (the stage of Christian 
names had been long since reached). "Just imagine this 
surprise! My brother Tadeusz fallen from the skies, 
without a word of warning! I want you to know him, 
he is going away again to-night — and taking Witek with 
him, the wretch! Here he is. Tadeusz, this is her I told 
you of, my health, my strength — meji zdrowiel** 

Holding Katya's hand she nestled it against her cheek. 
But within her grasp the hand grew cold 

"I told you he was capable of dragging me back by 
the hair of my head!" laughed Witek. 

But Kazimira, startled, was looking up into Katya's face. 

"Dear me — how pale you are! I have never seen you 
pale before. That long sitting was too much for you; or 
is it the heat? Witek, get her a glass of water!" 

"No, no," said Katya, recovering at least outward self- 
possession, though the smile forced to her hps was not 
her usual smile. "It is the heat, I think — I suppose. 
May I sit down?" 

She took place, very dizzy still, and carefully preserv- 
ing the mechanical smile upon her lips. The first ne- 
cessity after all was not to make herself more ridiculous 
than necessary; and for that again the first condition 
was not to look at the man with the short, brown beard, 
who had risen at her entrance, and was now surprisedly 
observing her. 

"MOji zDRowiEr 129 

"This is not our first meeting, Panna Sagorska, is it? 
though the other was more sensational." 

"No— this is not the first" 

And to herself Katya added: "Nor was that the first 
either, though you think it was!" 

"I owe you an apology for what must have seemed to 
you most shocking manners. It is not my habit to stare 
as hard as that; but the costume did for me. To meet 
Lithuania m the flesh is not a daily experience." 

"No doubt it must have been startling." And along- 
side the inner comment: — 

"Ah, yes, he has explanation enough for his de- 

But what had she? Nothing that could be publicly pro- 
duced. What could he possibly be thinking of her? 
Why, oh why was the floor of Kazimira's room so ob- 
durate as not to open and swallow her up? 

So troubled did she feel that after ten uncomfortable 
minutes, and despite Kazimira's entreaties, she rose. No- 
thing but the solitude of her own room could help her 
to read just her thoughts to this new situation. 

Half-way down the passage there was a rapid step 
behind her, and her name spoken: — 

"Panna Sagorska!" 

In a kind of desperation she stood still, and in an- 
other moment Tadeusz Swigello was beside her, grave and 

"I am taking a great liberty, I know. The briefness 
of my stay must be my excuse, Kazimira has told me of 
your kindness; it is that which emboldens me. I speak 
to you as to her friend; and it is to her friend too that I 
venture to put the question: Are you going to prolong 
your stay? There was some talk of your leaving directly 


the portrait was finished, and Kazimira is living in terror 
of it" 

Katya was silent for a moment before answering 
slowly: — 

"She need not be afraid. I shall stay." 

There was gratitude in the eyes fixed upon her. 

"Thank you," he said briefly, but obviously from the 
bottom of his heart. "That lifts a weight from my mind. 
She is all we have, you see, Witek and I. Once more I 
thank you, for that, and for all the rest of your kindness. 
Will you allow me your hand? I am her brother, you 

He raised her hand to his lips — Polish fashion; and 
in the next moment already Katya stood alone in the 


"So this is what being in love feels like?" 

It was Katya who thus in the sanctuary of her room, 
somewhat scornfully commented. 

Those few moments in the passage, the touch of his 
lips upon her hand, had been enough to disperse the 
uncertainty of the forenoon. The inner trouble was 
identified. But nothing had warned her of the amount 
of combustible material which an uncurbed imagination, 
acting in a life of exceptional isolation, had heaped up 
within her. 

The forbidding phantom of the morning was gonej 
there was nothing to bar the path to what persisted in 
looking like happiness. And what was there in place of 
the phantom? Logically speaking there should have 


been exultation pure and simple; but in point of fact 
there were other things; to begin with a slightly rebel- 
lious feeling — for so rapid a subjugation seemed to brook 
ignominy. This had not been in her calculations. Ac- 
cording to the programme it was he who was to have 
succumbed, while she remained supreme mistress of her 
own emotions. The whole thing flavoured a little too 
much of the process known as being caught in one's 
own nets. 

If any doubt as to the nature of her feelings had re- 
mained to her, it would have been dispelled by a small 
incident of the following forenoon, when, wandering into 
one of the sitting-rooms in the wake of a familiar strain 
of music, Katya found the conscientious young woman at 
the rarely opened piano, feebly quavering out one of 
Schumann's gems, one which Katya happened to have 
heard at Kowno last winter from the lips of a world-famed 

Seit ich ihn gesehen glaub ich blind zu sein ; 
Wo ich bin nur blicke seh ich ihn allein. 
Wie im wachen Traume schwebt sein Bild mir vor; 
Taucht aus tiefstem Dunkel heller, heller nur empor. 
Sonst ist licht und farblos alles um mich her.* 

At the Kowno concert already the passion of the 
music had searched Katya's heart-strings; and even then, 
as she listened, a face and figure had dipped out of the 
darkness, exactly as in the song. She had thought it a 
mere chance; but now she imderstood — ah, she under- 

* "Since I have seen him I think I am blind. Wherever I look 
I see but him Like in a waking dream his picture floats before me. 
' Dips out of darkness brighter and ever brighter. All else is without 
colour and light" 



Upon the renowned singer's lips the song had been 
impressive; upon those of the consumptive woman, along 
whose pinched nose the tears trickled to drop upon the 
keys, it was almost more impressive. Was she thinking 
of the husband to whom she had given such strenuous 
promises about obejring the doctor's orders, and who 
barely a year ago had placed the ring upon the now 
wasted finger where it sat so pathetically loose? 

Katya went out again softly with tears in her own 
eyes. The rebellious feeling of last night was gone. Some- 
tiiing like a surrender had taken place in her soul. 

SoDst ist licht und farblos alles um mich her. 

Without colour, without light were the days that 
followed, passed for the most part in the company of 
Kazimira, who, bereft of Witek*s society, made larger and 
larger demands upon her friend's time. And it was 
given liberally; since in Kazimira's society alone could 
she hope to hear the name, to gather news of the man 
who had taken such sudden and violent possession of her 
thoughts. With stupefaction she recognised the fact 
unable to find its explanation, which yet was not far to 
seek, since the funds of affection lying waste in her or- 
phaned life had long been calling for a claimant Nor 
would they call with the diffidence of h3rper-cultivated 
Western nerves; for in Katya's veins flamed the vigorous 
blood of ancestors who had lived close to Nature; men 
and women with elementary instincts and strong desires. 

At the end of a long, colourless week, came a day 
flooded with almost more colour, with almost more light 
than she could bear. 

The evening was perfect — velvet-aired, star-punctured, 
heavily scented with the breath of the honeysuckle drap- 


ing the verandah pillars. Beside them some of the 
patients still lingered; among them Kazimira upon her 
basket-work sofa flanked by her usual companions, the 
three forming a group apart upon the roomy verandah, 
a group upon which fell spells of dreamy silence. Various 
subjects had been started; the advance of the revolution 
across the frontier, the chances of peace being signed at 
Portsmouth. Local gossip, even summer fashions had 
had their turn, but each had speedily dropped. Not one 
among the trio of girls but felt the incongruity of all such 
things to the mystery of the hour. And then presently, 
without quite knowing how, they found themselves started 
upon a new and infinitely more fitting subject — the end- 
less subject of the legend-haunted Lithuanian forest From 
the store of her nursery memories Katya drew out the 
tales one by one, eagerly listened to by the never wearied 

Again there fell a silence, swept by a wave of perfiime 
almost too sweet to be borne, crossed now and then by 
the black zig-zag of a bat's flight, filled by the voice of 
tumbling waters. 

Then Kazimira turned her head sharply — her h)rper- 
sensitive nerves having given her a warning not conveyed 
to the others — and, suddenly, out of the heart of the night, 
as it seemed, another figure stepped onto the verandah, 
and was close to them already. 

"Good God, Tadeusz!" 

It was Kazimira who said it, risen to her elbow with 
eyes distended by astonishment 

"Is that really you?" 

"Yes, it is I. In the body. Surely you must have 
been telling ghost-stories to be as startled as that" 


"Not ghost-Stories, but fairy-tales; and it seemed so 
queer. But, Tadeusz, what is it?" 

"You are alone?" plaintively queried Olympia. 

"Alone, Panna Olympia — worse luck — but not by 
Witek's fault. I had almost to lock him into his studio, 
in order to ensure the completion of the portrait he is 
pledged to deliver by Saturday next" 

"But, Tadeusz, you have not told us yet what has 
brought you." 

" Saturday has brought me, and a ticket from Krakau, 
nothing more sensational than that I found I could 
treat myself to a week-end, and I am so treating myself. 
Is that not quite simple?" 

"Quite simple in anybody except Tadeusz," thought 
Kazimira, as she gazed at him perplexed. To "treat 
himself" to anything was so very unlike this elder brother 
of hers. Even this tone of insouciance just tinged with 
recklessness was new to her, and provoked reflection. 

"You have not said good-evening to Katya yet," «he 
said, noting how his eyes roamed. "There she is, be- 
hind you." 

Katya gave him her hand, thankful for the shadows, 
and more thankful still that speech was for the moment 
not demanded of her. 

As he took place beside his sister, Olympia mechanic- 
ally asked the — in those times — almost unavoidable ques- 
tion: — 

"Anything in the papers?" 

"Only one thing, but enough: martial law proclaimed 
at Warsaw." 

"Oh, Tadeusz!" 

The exclamation came from Kazimira almost with a 
sob, while Olympia groaned softly and delicately. Katya 


alone sat without giving a sign, her lips hard-strained 
against each other. Well could she gauge the horror 
which those two words, "Martial Law," must awaken in 
the breasts of Poles, wise with the experience of their 
fathers. But what part had she, the alien, the natural 
enemy, in their patriotic grief? Once more she blessed 
the shadows. Even under their protection it seemed to 
her that the natural antagonist stood in danger of dis- 
covery. Never before had she been so conscious of the 
gulf which lay between her and these people, nor ever 
before been so stabbed to the heart by its recognition. 
The long silence which followed was filled for the three 
Poles with bitter reflections, at which she had no pains 
to guess — too bitter to be easily put into words — this 
much had she guessed when after a minute Tadeusz 
spoke again upon another subject, and in a tone of forced 

"So it is fairy-tales you have been telling? What 
sort? Carpathian?" 

"No, Lithuanian." 

"Ah! May I not come in for the benefit of them? I 
think fairy-tales would prove a most agreeable contrast to 
real life just now." 

He had turned towards Katya confidently, as though 
taking for granted that it was frorti her lips that the fairy- 
tales had come. 

"I am afraid my stock is nearly exhausted, I have 
told about everything I can remember." 

"Tell them again," said Kazimira dreamily. "I find 
they improve by repetition." 

"Yes, tell them again," urged Tadeusz. 

For another half-hour they sat, wrapped round by the 
beauty of the night, while Katya's voice, low and inter- 


mittent, thrilled now by the thought of the new auditor, 
spun out the old tales. 

"I love them all," said Kazimira, when at length the 
thread seemed spun out for good — "but I remain true to 
my favourite, the one I used to call the 'raspberry story* 
when I was little." 

"That story always frightened me," remarked Katya. 
"When I was out in the woods I used to expect to find 
the murdered sister under every heap of dead leaves* 
The thought quite poisoned all the raspberries for me." 

"I wonder whether the iiurderess ever enjoyed her 
riches at all," mused Olympia; "or whether the worm of 
conscience was at work all the time? I mean the real 
girl of course, not Slawaki's heroine." 

"What should have prevented her enjoying them? 
Women of that stamp are usually devoid of scruples." . 

It was Tadeusz who spoke scornfully — a note of in- 
tolerance ringing in his voice. 

"Might she not have yielded to a momentary tempta- 

"Yes, she mights— of jealousy for instance, in which 
case she need not necessarily have been degraded. But 
this particular temptation can be tempting only to the 

"Which means that in your eyes it was a greater crime 
to marry the rich suitor than to murder her sister?" 

"To marry him unloved, and merely because he was 
a rich suitor — yes, a far greater crime, though not in the 
eyes of the law." 

Something at this moment pushed Katya to ask, with 
a catch in her throat: — 

"Then do you condemn all marriages of reason?" 

"To my mind there is no such thing as a marriage of 


reason; the terms appear to me to be mutually exclusive. 
There are social contracts, if you like, arrangements for 
reciprocal advantages. Apparently Society cannot do 
without them. So long as they are called what they are, 
I have no objection to them. But the real name should 
be reserved for the real thing: the free, yet irresistible 
choice by which two human beings elect to belong to each 
other, in soul as well as in body, and unhampered by 
motives, whether mercenary or merely reasonable." 

Kazimira laughed feebly. 

"Would you ever have expected to hear such romantic 
sentiments from the lips of an engineer! Tadeusz always 
is a mine of surprises; but I have never heard him talk 
quite like this. Is it the hour or the honeysuckle scent 
that has unlocked your thoughts, my brother?" 

Tadeusz laughed too, a trifle guiltily. 

"Oh, of course it is an Utopia, the outline of an im- 
possible condition of things! And well — yes — maybe the 
honeysuckle has got something to do with it It does 
smell considerably better than machine oil, you know." 

Katya sat silent, with sinking heart So those were 
his views of matrimony! The views of a quite out and 
out idealist No longer could she wonder at the stem 
condemnation of her half spoken suggestion. 

"This sort of thing is so unlike Tadeusz," Kazimira 
was saying to Katya, as the latter helped her to her room. 

"What sort of thing?" 

"This giving himself a holiday without visible reason." 

"Is not visiting you reason enough?" 

"Perhaps — if he ts visiting me." 

Kazimira's eyes, with a speculative light within them, 
were upon her friend. It was not her senses alone that 

138 ftEsmtmoN. 

were quick, it was her wits as well; and already in her 
mind was dawning a suspicion — the one which lies nearest 
to every woman. 


"How has it happened? Is this what I wanted?" 

The perplexed questions were for ever in Katya's mind 
during the weeks that followed upon that legend-haunted 
evening on the verandah. 

By this time the week-end had become an institution. 
Despite the pressure of work still to be got through be- 
fore his departure for Bulgaria, not one Saturday night 
had been missed by Tadeusz, coming sometimes alone, 
more often in the company of his brother. 

Kazimira had long since ceased to marvel and had 
begun to rejoice. Who would have thought that Fate, so 
cruel till now, should have held in reserve so precious a 
gift as this? The brother whom she loved best and the 
first real friend she had ever had drawing ever nearer 
together. At Katya's sentiments she easily guessed, and 
for Tadeusz's doings there seemed but one explanation. 
The sick girl's fancy was caught by the suggestion. 
Around it the flickering energy of her waning life feverishly 
twined. She had never known Love herself. The class 
of men with whom her avocations had thrown her in con- 
tact had been too distasteful to her aristocratic prejudices 
to prove dangerous to her peace. Against their advances 
she had instinctively surrounded herself with a wall of 
coldness; and in time the wall had hardened. It was 
Katya who had made the first breach therein, and now 
behold roses bloomed upon the stones! It would be 


something to know Love at second-hand, if not at first 
It would be something to see Tadeusz happy, if she could 
not be happy herself. And Katya was rich, too, which 
would spoil nothing and might lead to all sorts of things, 
perchance to the recovery of Lubynia. There was a sort 
of mournful delight too in knowing herself the link be- 
tween those two. Kazimira would smile to herself as 
astutely as any hardened match-maker when during her 
fits of coughing she caught them exchanging anxiously 
sympathetic glances. 

As for Katya, she neither reflected nor plotted; aware 
only of having somehow lost the direction of events 
hitherto so docile. To herself she seemed to be drifting 
on a current which she could not attempt to stem, and to 
which she abandoned herself with a feeling of luxurious 
enjoyment Of her original plan she had lost sight One 
thing only was clear to her mind — that she loved this 
man, and that he was beginning to love her. And one 
fear lurked in the background — the fear of anything com- 
ing in the way of this budding love. A wonderful, pine- 
scented dream were those sunmier weeks, crossed at 
moments by a nightmare-feeling of peril ahead. But 
that way she would not look. The future was nothing, 
the present everything. How it had all come about so 
quickly, so resistlessly, she occasionally puzzled without 
finding an answer, content that it should be so. Whether 
lingering on the twilight-veiled verandah, or walking with 
him behind Kazimira's chair, the moments were too 
precious to be wasted in vague speculations or in craven 

At times only a sort of panic would shake her out of 
the delicious languor of these weeks, in which for her only 
the Saturdays and Sundays counted, the rest a long but 


blissful waiting. Those were the times when some passing 
incident brought home to her the consciousness of. the 
comedy she was playing. So long as she had had only 
Witek to deal with the comedy had been played with 
zest; it was only with Tadeusz on the scene tiiat it began 
to be played shamefacedly, a feeling of guilt weighing 
upon her like lead. 

Such a moment had been once when the Sunday 
papers had brought some peculiarly bloody details of 
General Trepow's rule as applied to Warsaw. When, in 
Kazimira's room, Tadeusz had done reading them aloud 
there fell again upon the group one of those thought- 
laden silences which Katya knew well. Then Witek, 
hurling a barely lighted cigarette into the corner of the 
room, rose impetuously. 

"And we are here!" he said, facing his brother with 
reproachful eyes, and a voice which audibly shook. 
"While such things are happening over there we sit in 
base security! Tadeusz, I can stand it no longer. I 
must be up and doing." 

"Doing what?" asked Tadeusz very quietly, though 
his brow lay in heavy folds. 

"Anything! Everything! Sharing their danger, if 
nothing else." 

"And, increasing it too. Do you not see that our 
only chance lies in keeping our heads and awaiting our 
chance? And this is not our chance yet How could it 
be, so long as our national movement remains necessarily 
identified with the revolution, pure and simple, the best 
pretext they could wish for stamping out the one as 
brutally as the other." 

Witek's restless fingers ran through his hair. 

"But I cannot sit still. It is more than should be 


asked of Polish flesh and blood. Panna Sagorska, I see 
your eyes shining. I can almost hear your Polish blood 
boiling — to you I appeal! If you were a man would you 
not fly over the frontier?" 

"I — I believe I would," stanmiered Katya, with quickly 
averted eyes, and the blood which knew itself not to be 
Polish burning in her cheeks. 

"I was sure of it! How stop to calculate chances 
when our countrymen are being massacred by those bar- 
barians — no, barbarian is too good a word — by those 
butchers. A nation of butchers they are, with a crowned 
butcher at their head." 

**0h, no, the Czar is no butcher," said Katya quickly, 
moved by a remorseful sense of disloyalty to her own 
nation. "He is weak, perhaps, but perfecily well-mean- 
ing. And among the mass too there are far more kind 
hearts than cruel ones. You must not judge by a few 

She stopped, disconcerted, aware of four pairs of 
wondering eyes upon her. An apology for the Russian 
character from Polish lips was something so unprecedented 
as to produce the effect of a cold shower-bath. 

"Perhaps you have Russian friends," suggested 
Kazimira, as the most plausible explanation of this seem- 
ing eccentricity. 

Katya snatched at the excuse. 

"Yes, I have, and it hurts me to see them misjudged 
— thrown into the same pot with those men of blood." 

The conversation drooped for the moment under a 
touch of constraint, and leaving in Katya the sensation 
of having been near to a great danger. 

"I wonder whether she has not got any Russian 
blood in her?" Olympia speculated, left done with 


Kazimira. "She speaks Russian perfectly too; never talks 
anything else to the old lady." 

"It would need to be a very little drop," decided 
Kazimira, instinctively putting aside the distasteful sug- 
gestion. "And of course living over there she could not 
help knowing Russian." 

Yet another fright was provoked by a casual remark 
of Kazimira's, touching the difficulty of getting authentic 
news of what was really happening in Russian Poland. 

"I have a few correspondents at Warsaw, and one at 
Feliksoto, near Lub)mia, you know; but of course they 
dare not put the truth into their letters for fear of the 
censure. It is a long time, by-the-bye, since Panna 
Rudkowska has written. I hope they have not locked 
her up, meanwhile." 

"Oh! do you — correspond with her?" asked Katya, 
with a catch in her breath, caused by the suppression of 
the adverb "still," almost spoken, but which would have 
betrayed too much. 

"Not a great deal, but I have written to her since I 
came here." 

Katya was silent, struggling with some obscure feeling 
of danger. She had almost forgotten Panna Rudkowska's 
existence — the useful instrument for which she now had 
no further use. Somehow it was not pleasant to be re- 
minded of her. The vague conception of a possible 
betrayal floated for a moment before her, too vague to 
cast a lasting shadow. Easily she shook it off and bliss- 
fully cast herself once more upon the current, for this was 
Saturday, the golden day of the week. 

The visible aggravation of Kazimira's state was the 
real shadow upon her joy; for Katya too had never before 



possessed a friend, and in her generous heart there was 
room enough for friendship beside love, a friendship and 
a love which intertwined, since a common fear had made 
the lovers more intimate in weeks than months of con- 
ventional intercourse could have made them. 

Never had Katya been so aware of this as upon a 
certain Sunday, when, in the wake of the invalid's chair, 
she had paused before the principal art-shop of the place 
whose window was filled with a good choice of engrav- 

"Do you know what that is?" Tadeusz asked her, 
indicating the largest of these. 

She looked and saw a group of convicts among rocks, 
a youth with a violin upon his shoulder. From the in- 
scription: "A Song of Home," her eyes strayed to the 
signature in the comer. She looked at her companion 
inquiringly : — 

"That was my father's masterpiece, painted from life, 
of course." 

Katya looked long, taking in every detail. And it was 
his father who had painted it — from life. Her eyes 
darkened with moisture. 

"I wonder he came out of it alive," she murmured. 

"He did come out alive, but not by any means intact. 
It is Kazimira who is paying the cost" 

"How do you mean?" 

"I mean that my father brought back tainted lungs 
from Siberia. Why the seeds of disease were handed on 
to Kazimira instead of to Witek or me, let the learned 
explain if they can. But from the moment that she fell 
ill I have had the feeling that her dbom had been sealed 
— there — " with a gesture towards the " Song of Home." 

"Ah, not doom, surely!" said Katya quickly, and mov- 


ing on, for Kazimira's chair, attended by Witek, was dis- 
appearing down the street 

A dumb jerk of the shoulders was his only immediate 
reply. It was not until they had almost got within ear- 
shot of the advance party that he turned to her again, 
speaking low and hurriedly. 

"Panna Katya" (it was some time now since he had 
dropped the odious "Panna Sagorska"), "I am going to 
ask for another favour. You would like to keep your 
eyes shut to the truth — and so would I; but coming week 
by week I see the change too plainly. And besides I 
have been talking to the doctor. To know you are be- 
side her is my comfort; but it would comfort me yet 
more if you would give me a promise." 

"What promise?" she asked rather faintly. 

"Only that in case of any change, of any aggravation, 
you should write to me — or wire. The matter will be 
safer in your hands than in Pani Grabinska's, engrossed 
as she is. If any urgency should arise, or even any 
emergency, don't scruple to send for me. I shall make 
time, somehow. Will you promise?" 

"I promise," said Katya, very low. 

It was about ten days later that the compact thus 
hurriedly made came to be acted upon. 

In Kazimira's state no marked change was visible, but 
something had occurred which seemed to deserve the 
title of an emergency. The last Sunday had been a 
blank, the first for long, rendered so by an unavoidable 
business journey. 

It was three days after that long, weary Sunday that 
her chance came, though in a fashion as startling as it 
was ghastly. 


In the waking intervals of the night she had heard un- 
wonted sounds: muffled steps, the cautious opening and 
closing of a door which seemed to be the door of her 
neighbour, the hectic young man. Soon after dawn there 
was a knock, and Pani Grabinska came in, in a soiled 
matinee and eyes which proclaimed want of sleep. 

"Did you hear anything?" she asked, having carefully 
closed the door and looked to see whether that into 
Malania's room was shut 

"Yes. What was it?" 

It turned out to have been nothing less than His 
Majesty King Death, who, coming like a thief in the night, 
had, by an unlooked for coup de main; carried off the 
hectic young man. 

Katya grew a little cold as she listened; for her neigh- 
bour in the passage had been at dinner yesterday, though 
not at supper. 

"It is most awkward," complained Pani Grabinska, 
"and very hard upon me. I am usually so careful to get 
them out of the way in time, because of the effect upon 
the others, you know; but this quite puts me out of my 
calculations. Only two days ago the doctor told me he 
was good for six months more. And now he goes off 
like that!" 

Katya could think of nothing else to say but that to 
decamp thus unceremoniously showed an extreme want 
of tact; but preferred not to say it 

"You see of course that it has to be kept quiet That 
is why I came to you. Nobody knows anything except 
Olympia, and of course she will be quiet He is confined 
to his room, you must remember, and by to-morrow his 
brother will have come to fetch him away. Meani^^e he 
— it is removed already. But the funeral is the delicate 

Resiituh'on, 10 

1 46 RESTmmON. 

point. It will have to take place here, worse luck, and 
no later than to-morrow. I am planning a long drive for 
the bulk of the patients, those tiiat are able for it, and 
those that are not will not be in danger of catching sight 
of the cortege and asking questions. It is Kazimira I do 
not know what to do with. She never will mix with the 
others. And unfortunately the approach to the cemetery 
is visible from her window. Absolutely she must be got 
out of the house to-morrow afternoon." 

"But how am I to get her away for several hours? 
She is so averse to moving now." 

"I don't know how. I haven't had time to think. If 
her brothers were here it might be easier. They could 
propose an easy drive perhaps. Oh, but I must be off 
now! A thousand things to see about. I leave the matter 
in your hands." 

And Pani Grabinska bustled out. 

Katya sat on, thinking hard. "If her brothers were 
here!" All that her hostess had said seemed to resolve 
itself into that one idea. 

Presently she rose and went over to the writing-table. 
The pretext was good enough. To hold in her hands the 
means of summons and not to use them was too much 
after the dreadful blank of Sunday. 

"Kazimira no worse, but your presence urgently de- 
sired for special reasons." 

Thus ran the message which a few minutes later left 
the house. 

By midday he had come; and it was to her that he 
went straight, before attempting to gain sight of Kazi- 

Meeting his eager yet troubled gaze, and hearing his 
anxious question: "What is it, Panna Katya? Did you 


say true when you said that she is no worse?" she 
wondered at her own boldness. 
"Yes, I said true." 

"Then what is it, or who is it who requires my 

With the question his eye went far into hers. 
Having heard her account he pondered. 
"I do not know whether I did right to send for you." 
"You did right, ah, much more right than you know!" 
Before his glance her own fell, but her heart leaped. 
And then they fell to plotting. In view of the missed 
Sunday the unexpected arrival could be plausibly ex- 
plained, while the enticing weather, cool after a spell of 
heat, made the proposal of a drive seem more plausible 
yet. Kazimira herself fell resistlessly into the net, and so 
did Malania Petrowna; for so perfect had been Pani Gra- 
binska's arrangements that no suspicion of the ghastly 
truth had yet disturbed the Villa Olympia. In point of 
fact Kazimira, far from scenting a plot, was plotting on 
her own account. The weather was too good to be wasted 
on a mere drive she declared. Why not use it for that 
long-talked of day in the mountains which Katya was 
always going to have and had never had yet? A family 
of cheerful and robust girls, headed by a cheerful and 
robust mother, acquaintances of the Swigellos, and yearly 
devotees of Zalkiew, had repeatedly asked her to join 
them in their never-ending tours. 

"It is for to-morrow that they have planned the 
Morskie Oko* you should go with them, Katya," urged 
Kazimira. "To leave Zalkiew without having seen the 
Morskie Oko would be almost criminal on your part. And 
I am sure a mountain dimb will empty Tadeusz's lungs 

♦ Literally: Eye of the Sea. 



of at least a month of the fumes of Krakau." Inwardly 
she hugged herself at the thought of the marvellous op- 
portunities embraced by the conception — a day in the 

A glance of hurried consultation passed between the 
two counter-conspirators. 

"But you, Kazimira? You should not spend the day 

"I shall not be alone all day. The first part of the 
road is quite easy. Malania Petrowna and I will drive to 
meet you." "And to hear the news," added the wily Kazi- 
mira to herself. 

And so after a short debate it came to be settled. 

In the event both plots proved successfiil. Pani Gra- 
binska's foresight enabled Kazimira and her companion 
to get a good start of the young man on his way to the 
cemetery. As to what had happened meanwhile her first 
sight of the returning lovers enlightened her. 

For Katya, new to these overwhelming aspects of 
Nature, the day had been one long intoxication. The 
depths of the chasms into which she gazed, the height of 
the crags to which she raised her awe-struck eyes, the 
roar of distant waters, the savage cry of a mountain-bird 
echoing through the rocky soUtudes, the grim, stem yet 
entrancing beauty of it all enslaved her senses. Strange 
sights, strange sounds, even strange perfumes on all sides. 
And through it all the beloved man beside her. And to 
be nineteen, and in perfect health! What wonder that 
even the four robust sisters hardened in climbing should 
cry for mercy before she did? Had she had wings to 
her feet she could not, after hours of walking, have felt 
less sensible to fatigue. Now and then only the thought 


of the funeral in the valley would cross her bliss like a 
black, winding worm, to be scared away by the next 
word of her companion. 

It was after the picnic dinner, eaten on the shores of 
the Morskii Oko itself, that the climax of the day came. 
While the guides collected the fragments, the party had 
dispersed in different directions, some in search of flowers, 
others of berries or ferns. It was for strawberries that 
Katya had decided. Over long since in the valley they 
were here still in full fruit Bent on bringing back a 
basketful to Kazimira, whose favourite dessert they were, 
she had found a likely clearing in the forest, and upon 
her knees before a luxurious bed was busily at work; while 
the engineer, his fingers having proved too clumsy for the 
delicate task, crouched beside her with the basket. 

"These strawberries appear to me to have had other 
visitors besides us — four-footed visitors," said Tadeusz, 
pointing to a heavy footmark among some trampled 

As he said it a twig cracked on the far side of the 
clearing; and looking up they both became aware of 
something big and shaggy, a species of hairy hillock 
among the ferns over there only that it was a perambulat- 
ing hillock. At the first glance Katya did not identify 
the object It was only when the beast, evidently uneasy, 
reared ffself heavily above the tangle of green to sniff the 
breeze with widened nostrils, that she understood in what 
company she found herself. 

A moment of reflection would have told her that the 
danger was nil, since, unmolested, the Carpathian bear 
is unmolesting; but before reflection, and in face of the 
shaggy monster, came the inarticulate desire for protec- 
tion, pressing her close to her companion's side with a 


half-unconscious grasp upon his arm. The pressure of 
his fingers upon hers, calm and reassuring, brought with 
it a sense of security together with a delicious warmth. 
For a couple of seconds only they crouched thus, immov- 
able, looking across the clearing at the grunting bear 
whose muzzle, smeared with strawberry juice, bore a 
fictitiously bloody-stained appearance, and whose small 
black eyes were roaming. A second more and they had 
fallen upon the human intruders, another and the brute, 
dropping his forefeet, had scuttled away among the 

Katya drew a rather deep breath. 

"That was stupid of me; I might have known that he 
would be more frightened of us than we of him." 

And she attempted to draw back her hand, but found 
it prisoner. In both of his Tadeusz was holding it; and 
now his hot lips were upon it 

"No, no, Katya,*' he was saying, with a happy troubled 
laugh, "you have given it me, and I do not return it 
until you tell me it is mine — mine for life I Say, Katya, 
you know that I love you, do you not? Am I a fool for 
supposing that you can love me in return? You will 
make me happy, will you not — my love, my all! Mojt 
zdrowie, moje zycie! Say, is it not so?" 

And on their knees, as they were, she found herself 
within his arms, with the pines murmuring overhead, and 
the strawberry basket upset between them. 



That day there was no room for reflection; but on 
the very next Katya's trial began. 


As she turned from the window through which she 
had waved a farewell to her betrothed, she had the con- 
sciousness of having reached a moment dimly foreseen 
and long-dreajied. Until the very last moment, cowardly 
for once in her life, she had shirked facing the facts of 
the case; but escape from them was no longer possible. 
With a sort of desperate valour she now faced them. 
What were these facts exactly? 

Tadeusz Swigello had betrothed himself to a girl 
whom he believed to be Kataryna Sagorska; and to her 
undoubtedly he would be true. But what about Kataryna 
Malkoff? He might love her; after that moment in the 
forest she could not doubt that he did, but, the truth 
revealed, would not love be extinguished in wrath, trans- 
formed to contempt and hatred? 

She did not want to see the matter put to the test. 
Must it be so put? Could she not remain Kataryna 
Sagorska up to the foot of the altar, the truth revealed 
only when the knot was irrevocably tied and when, as his 
lawful wife, she could more confidently throw herself upon 
his mercy. 

For a little while she busied herself with the wild 
idea. To her inexperience it seemed possible. Were not 
even the requisite documents lying ready to her hand? 
since, acting upon some obscure impulse, she had at the 
last moment carried off Nationka's papers. Who could 
prevent her using them? Not Malania Petrowna, who, of 
course, would be silent if ordered to. 

Rising, she went over to her travelling desk, and with 
eager fingers sought out the papers. Having looked them 
over she pushed them back into their wrapper and locked 
up her desk. She knew quite well what would prevent 
her using them — conscience; her sense of loyalty to the 


man: growing hatred of the deceit which for months she 
had been practising. As an acquaintaince, as a friend, 
she had been able to deceive him; as his affianced wife 
she could not do so. Of course he should know the 
truth; but it must be imparted judiciously, for fear of 
breaking that fair dream of happiness, barely dawned. 

She saw now quite clearly that she should not have 
let him return to Krakau under this embarrassing delu- 
sion. But it was too late. And besides would he then 
have come back again on Saturday night as he had pro- 
mised to? This way at least she was sure of another 
sight of him, even though in anger. Yes, she would tell 
him on Sunday. There would be a storm, of course, and 
perhaps a struggle but, with the fire of his kisses still 
tingling upon her lips, she could not really doubt its issue. 
He would be angry; but he must forgive her, he must be- 
lieve her. It could not be otherwise. She would not 
even allow herself to fear anything else, lest her courage 
should fail. 

Meanwhile Kazimira, with almost every word she 
spoke, innocently aggravated the situation. Even before 
Tadeusz's departure she had begun to drop remarks about 
the desirability of haste. 

"Formalities take so long," she argued, "and there is 
not so very much time to spare. We are in August now, 
and by the ist of October he has to be at Serajewo. Of 
course, you must be married before then." 

"Of course," Tadeusz had said, smiling with happy 
eyes at Katya who had not smiled back in return. 

And now, Tadeusz gone, Kazimira wearied not of 

"There is no reason at all why you should not be 


married by this day month, Katya, so long as you don't 
mind buying the trousseau afterwards." 

"Oh, surely not in a month!" protested Katya, startled 
by the nearness of the vision, and trembling to think how 
little time remained her for the difficult avowal and for 
the soothing of Tadeusz's rightful anger. But immediately 
she remembered that the avowal was to be made on the 
very next Sunday, which of course altered the case. 

"Yes, in a month, Katya, We shall have to begin 
seeing about things at once. Let me see, what has one 
got to see about in order to get married? Papers, to 
begin with — documents of all sorts. Have you got them 
with you or will you have to write for them?" 

"I will have to write," faltered Katya, thinking once 
more of the papers upstairs in her desk, and once more 
rejecting them. 

"Then I suppose you will require your guardian's 
consent, since of course you are minor — you have a 
guardian, have you not?" 

"Yes, I have a guardian." 

"Will he make difficulties, do you think?" 

"No, I don't think so." 

"You will write to him at once, will you not? With 
his consent in our pocket there cannot be any difficulties, 
either civil or religious, since you are of the same faith." 

Katya said nothing though the consciousness of a new 
complication had driven the blood to her cheek. But this 
complication at least might be removed. It was at this 
moment that a certain floating resolve took form, no more 
than the ripening of a seed which had been sown as far 
back as in the days when she used to turn over the 
leaves of the old prayer-books at Lub3mia. Already she 
was quite familiar with the ceremonies of the Roman 



Catholic Church, since to visit it on Sundays, and in the 
teeth of Malania's protestations, had necessarily formed 
part of the comedy she was playing. She was aware of 
the readiness with which the path was smoothed for con- 
verts. She would make use of that readiness — at once. 

That very evening Katya paid a visit to the old priest 
whom she had seen so often before the altar; and before 
Saturday came round she was able to tell herself that one 
obstacle to her happiness was removed. 

Yet the others remained — obstacles and difficulties, 
among which even Malania Petrowna ranged. 

"Have you told him already?" she asked at the end 
of the unavoidable "scene." 

"Told him what, Matoushka?" 

"Well, that you are — yourself, and not somebody 

"Not yet, but I am going to tell him on Sunday. But 
mind, Matoushka" — in a fresh panic — "it is I myself 
who must tell him, no one else. So until I pass you the 
word I remain Panna Sagorska, mind!" 

Saturday came, dreaded and yearned for. A hundred 
ways had been thought of, a hundred speeches prepared. 
After a sleepless night she rose, heavy-eyed, bathed in a 
cold sweat of fear. Supposing this were the day in which 
she was to see him for the last time! 

And then at the first sight of her betrothed all pre- 
occupation dropped away, powerless, drowned in the joy 
of his presence. Even before she had fireed herself from 
his first embrace she had resolved that she would say 
nothing yet, neither to-day nor to-morrow. It would be 
easier to write. She wondered now that she had not thought 
of it before. In writing the proper arguments could be 
more readily chosen; and by these means too there would 


be time for his anger to cool before they met again. In 
this way too the happy Sunday would not be spoiled. 

And a happy Sunday it was; the happiest which had 
yet been. It was not until its joys were almost spent that 
— in the very moment of parting — terror came back again. 
They were standing together in the deserted sitting-room 
speaking the farewell words. Once he had kissed her, 
and again, and yet again, when upon some wild impulse 
of fear she clutched at his shoulders, pressing hard against 
him, with quivering face uplifted. 

"Swear to me, Tadeusz, swear to me!" she panted, 
"that you will never give me up, never abandon me, that 
nothing will ever come between us!" 

"Katya, my love, what words! What thoughts! I would 
sooner give up life a thousand times!" 

"But swear it! swear it!" she implored, her features 
twitching strangely. "If you do not swear it, Tadeusz, I 
shall die!" 

"I swear it — by our love, Katya; but I do not under- 
stand " 

"Ah, you will some day!" she breathed just audibly, 
as in a sort of sudden exhaustion she leant against his 
enclosing ann. 

Very gently he kissed the closed eyes, perplexed and 
a little anxious, though only for her health. Hitherto she 
had not struck him as a person liable to anything in the 
shape of "nervous attacks." 

The letter was written next day and even stamped and 
addressed, but it was not posted. After hours of painful 
reflection she had decided not to send it by the post, but 
to hand it to him herself on the occasion of his next 
Sunday visit, and in the very moment before his departure. 
The terror of the final severance, of his not returning 


even to upbraid her had once more carried the day. All 
the week long the dosed letter lay within her desk. Early 
next Sunday morning it was put into her pocket and 
carried about all day long, awaiting its opportunity, only 
to be taken out again late that night crumpled and 
creased and still unopened. Was it that her courage had 
again failed her, or had the emotions of the parting simply 
obliterated all thought of the letter? She herself could 
not have said it. 

There opened for her now a period new in her ex- 
perience, and foreign to her nature. Love was making of 
her what she had never been before — a moral coward. 
Vainly she pondered over ways and means of escaping 
the danger which every day of procrastination was aug- 
menting as she knew, without finding courage to risk 
everything upon one throw. Lubynia and the original 
plot were quite out of sight now. And yet, oh irony of 
circumstances! — it was upon that rock that her life would 
split, perchance! And first she would have to pass 
through the fire of his anger, to hear hard words from the 
lips which had spoken so much love. And — worst of all 
— she would have to bear his frown. It was the potenti- 
alities of displeasure upon that magnificently moulded 
brow which frightened her most. The picture of what 
it must be with the thunder upon it, began to haunt her 
with a sort of obsession bom of overstrained nerves. 

"No answer from Moscow yet?" would be his first 
question every week, to which Katya would reply with 
vague remarks as to the irregularity of posts in these 
troubled times, the delays of censure, etc.; although, in 
point of fact, she had her guardian's reply, as well as all 
the necessary documents, safe in her keeping by this 
time, awaiting only the moment at which she would hear 


from Tadeusz's lips whether or not they would be re- 

And Kazimira was worse than he unconsciously 
sharpening the torture. 

"But the 1st of October is not yet here," Katya said 
once, hard-pressed. "So long as it is done before he has 
to go." 

"Ah, but I want it done before /go!" said Kazimira, 
with what remained of her voice, and with an element of 
slyness in her distorted smile. 

"Ah, Kazimira, don't speak like that! I cannot stand 

And to her friend's consternation she burst into tears. 

It was simply that the strain was beginning to tell. 
Ere this Kazimira had noticed that her "health" was not 
so radiant nor so bright-eyed as once. And just now, 
when she should have been basking in the sunshine of 
bliss! Kazimira could not understand it at all. 

There came another phase — anxiety, worn out by its 
own sharpness, sunk into apathy, an inclination to 
passivity, to letting events come on instead of provoking 
them. It was the fatalistic tendency of her nation coming 
to the fore. Necessarily — since resolutions formed and 
not kept have an unavoidably demoralising effect — the 
springs of her will had relaxed. Of course, the truth 
would have to be spoken; but she had arrived at thinking 
that the later it was spoken the better it would be. All 
sorts of reasons which seemed to have logic on their side 
pleaded thus. The longer the undisturbed betrothal 
existed the closer would become the intimacy, the faster 
would she be able to rivet the beloved man to herself, 
making forgiveness more possible in proportion as rupture 
grew impossible. The nearer the day of the consumma- 


tion of their happiness, the smaller the chances of his 
renouncing it. Thus she argued, putting out all her 
woman's wiles, lavishly drawing upon the rich treasure of 
her charms in order to forge for him chains which should 
prove stronger than his pride. Confidence and diffidence 
pursued each other in the process. By dint of thinking 
in a circle she had lost all sense of the true proportion of 
things. There were moments when she wondered 
whether he would be angry still, and could see him 
laughing with her over the success of her stratagem, and 
again there were other moments in which her act appeared 
to her far too black to be forgiven either in this world or 
in the next. 

But for the fateful date which stood like a landmark 
in her way, the situation might have indefinitely dragged 
on; yet from the relentness advance of time there was no 

There came a day on which, from the tone of Tadeusz's 
daily note, Katya understood that his patience was be- 
ginning to be exhausted. As the only means of soothing 
his evident irritation she told him by return of post of her 
guardian's consent, purposely leaving herself no margin 
for reflection. This brought him, radiant, to Zalkiew on 
Saturday. At sight of the white face with which she 
greeted him, he stopped short in amazement 

"Katya, my love, are you ill?" 

She tried to smile at him. 

"Not ill, Tadeusz; only a little nervous, I can't help 
being frightened. It is so near, you know." 

"Frightened by our happiness? Oh, Katya!" 

"Are you quite sure of our happiness, Tadeusz?" 

He looked at her amazed, and with some of that 
alarm which her strange demeanour occasionally stirred. 


Without clue as he was, how was he to explain the hard 
set of her lips; the wild light in her eyes? 

"I am so sure of it, Katya, that I am going to lose 
not a single moment in securing it. Instead of sitting 
down now, I am going straight off to Father Zygmunt with 
the papers. Fetch yours, like a good girl, will you? — my 
own I have here. The first banns can be put up to- 
morrow — Sunday — and the third to-morrow fortnight 
Father Zygmunt is an old friend; he will waive what 
formalities he can. To-morrow our names will be read 
out in Church, Katya; and to-morrow fortnight we shall 
be man and wife!" 

"To-morrow fortnight!" said Katya, below her breath, 
a shiver of apprehension running over her. 

"The papers, Katya, the papers! And quickly, my 
love, since Father Zygmunt keeps early hours." 

She went upstairs mechanically, her plan already 
formed. She would not need to speak after all; the 
papers would speak for her. Having looked at them 
he would, of course, not go to Father Zygmunt. In a 
quarter of an hour he would be back again, with blazing 
eyes and frowning brow, and then her fate would be 

Blindly she went to her desk — blindly groped for the 
envelope in which the documents had lain ready for 
weeks. With the stiff, measured movements of an automaton 
she went downstairs again and placed the packet in his 
hand. A minute later she stood at the window and with 
eyes which an excess of anxiety had emptied of all ex- 
pression watched him disappear down the road. 

"How will he come back again?" she asked herself. 
"Where will have gone that happy smile by then? I had 
better wait here. It cannot take long." 


Wearily she sat down and waited — a quarter of an 
hour — an hour — in vain. Did that mean an instantaneous 
departure for Krakau? Unarmed for the conflict as she 
felt, she almost hoped it did. 

She was sure of his wrathful departure until late that 
night a note of explanation arrived. Obliged to track 
Father Zygmunt about the place, from one sick call to 
the other — and in a place full of consumptives these were 
many — Tadeusz explained that he now found it too late 
to return to the Villa. "But all is arranged for to-morrow. 
Good night, my only love! Business will hold me fast in 
the morning, but I shall meet you before the church at 
ten o'clock." 

With an almost vacant stare Katya let the note drop 
to her lap. What could it mean? Where was the anger 
feared? Was it she, or Tadeusz, who had taken leave of 
her senses? Had he known of her identity all along, and 
purposely entered into the spirit of the comedy? It 
seemed the only explanation possible. Or — dreadful 
thought — had he not looked at the papers at all and just 
handed them over unopened to Father Zygmunt? 

At the thought she grew cold. Absolutely she must 
speak to him before to-morrow's proclamation. 

Olympia Grabinski, Katya's usual companion on 
Sundays, did not quite understand why she was being so 
relentlessly hurried next morning in the process of fixing 
her hat-pins. They reached the church far too early, as 
it was, so early that there was as yet no sign of Tadeusz. 
For twenty full minutes Katya waited in a fever, Olympia 
in a temper — for the sun scorched badly — until well afler 
the opening of the ceremony he appeared, hurried but 

"All right!" was his brief comment, as he drew 


Katya's Hand within his arm. "Let us get into a dark 
corner, Katya, where no one will see us, and hear ourselves 
lawfully proclaimed." 

She hung back. 

"Tadeusz, did you look at the papers?" 

"I glanced at tiiem, yes; they seem all right" 

"But did you not examine them?" 

"No, why should I? That is Father Zygmunt*s 
business. Let us hurry, Katya, or we shall not even find 
a comer." 

"But Tadeusz, have you nothing to say?" 

"Lots, but not now. I want to hear what I sound like 
from the pulpit," he laughed gleefully, boyishly. "By- 
the-bye, you never told me that Katya stood for Karola, 
I imagined it was Kataryna. But never mind that now, 
there is no time to lose." 

Dazed and uncomprehending she found herself drawn 
forward. Presently in a retired nook she knelt beside 
Olympia, and wondered whether the many prayers uttered 
upon this same spot had, after all, been heard. Would 
it not mean that all those terrors had been unfounded? 
Clearly he must have known the trouble all along. 

After a little her troubled spirit began to settle in the 
soothing atmosphere, though all the time she was trembling, 
before the moment of the proclamation. It came at last, 
at once too slowly and too quickly for her desire. 
Through a mist she saw the old priest climbing painfully 
to the pulpit, through a haze of incomprehension she 
heard the gospel of the day read out Then came the 
usual announcements; then a pause, while Father Zygmunt 
readjusted his spectacles for the deciphering of the names 
upon the banns. Katya's heart began to beat so noisily 
that it filled her ears. Supposing that, after all, he had 

ReiHiution, ^ 1 1 


not caught her real name when he glanced through the 

"Jan Bidskiy shoemaker, Zalkiew, and of, etc., to Julia 
Saniew, daughter of, etc." 

After the shoemaker there followed a peasant, and 
after him again a carpenter. Then at last Katya's pain- 
fully strained ears caught the name she was waiting for. 

"Tadeusz Boleslaw Antoni Swigello, engineer, domiciled 
at Krakau, son of Stanislas Swigello and of his wife Sofia, 
to Nationka Karola Sagorska, daughter of the late Karol 
Sagorska and of his late wife Marya, domiciled at Feliksoto, 
in the kingdom of Poland." 

"This is the first time of reading." 

With a smile in the depths of his eyes Tadeusz turned 
towards his betrothed, but in the same instant the smile 
went, changed to quick alarm. Her face blanched, and 
rigid she had sunk back against the wooden seat. For 
the first time in her life Katya had fainted. 


"The gracious lady has not yet been pleased to 

It was Timosh who said it to a visitor one day early 
in September. Within the last three months he had said 
the same words somewhat frequently, and always to the 
same visitor, whose face of disappointment grew longer 
with each hearing. 

"But has she not announced her coming? Have you 
. no clue to her intentions?" 

"The gracious lady does not impart her intentions to 
such as me." 


With a longer face than ever Klobinski remounted his 
fiacre. The money spent upon conveyances in the course 
of this summer was in itself quite enough explanation of 
his ill-humour and might likewise serve as a barometer 
of his affections. Not that worldly motives had not their 
say. That Katya should be an heiress vastly enhanced 
her value in his eyes, but that the heiress should be just 
Katya — the dark, glowing Katya, whose form was so 
supple and whose eyes so black — was after all the chief 
point Of its kind it was a genuine passion though that 
kind was not exalted. Of hope, strictly speaking, there 
had never been much in its elements. What chances had 
a stanowoi with narrow pay and no high patrons — alien 
too in race — of gaining the mistress of Lub)mia? No; 
he could not really hope; for though well-furnished with 
conceit, he was likewise furnished with commonsense. To 
feast his eyes upon her beauty, to live as many minutes 
in her presence as might be vouchsafed to him, such were 
the crumbs of happiness on which he aspired to live. 
That was why the weary summer had seemed so never- 
ending, a desert, arid and dry, stretching back to the day 
when she had come to his office to ask for the passports. 
Oh, cruel fate, which had compelled him to lend a hand 
to his own bereavement! And no prospect yet of its end. 
With the disturbance of the country growing daily was it 
likely that she should hasten back? Oh! when should he 
again see that slender figure, that gleaming black hair? 

Just then ,Klobinski sat up straighter, staring intently 
ahead; for in the very forming of the thought a slender 
figure with gleaming black hair had become visible upon 
the footpath which stretched to the first houses of Felik- 
soto already within sight Had that old ruffian been de- 
ceiving him or were his eyes doing that? 


Yes, they were; for within another moment the fiacre 
was abreast of the pedestrian, who, turning her head, 
revealed not the face whose sight he yearned for, although 
one not entirely unfamiliar. Where had he seen it be- 
fore? he asked himself as, disappointed, he sank back 
upon the seat. Of course it had been a mad expecta- 
tion. But where had he seen that face? He had it! 
The little seamstress at Lub)mia. The mistake of the 
spring repeated. He sighed dejectedly; then suddenly 
sat up straight again. He had just remembered that she 
had no business to be here at all, since she had started 
with Katya for Austria. Had she been sent back? That 
would argue her in possession of recent news. 

"Stop!" he shouted to the driver; and a moment later 
had aUghted, and with his back once more to Feliksoto, 
was on his way to meet the slender black figure. 

She glanced at him in some astonishment and would 
have passed. 

"One moment, please," said Klobinski, with just the 
amount of politeness necessary in order not to frighten 
her. "Am I mistaken in supposing that your name 
is " 

"I am Nationka Sagorska," said the girl humbly, and 
obviously alarmed; for to be stopped in the road by a 
police commissioner might in these critical times portend 
dreadful things. 

Nationka Sagorska — yes, that was the name upon the 
third passport, he remembered it quite well. 

"You are in the service of Panna Malkoff, are you 
not? I have seen you at Lubynia," 

"I sew for her sometimes when she needs me." 

"But how is it that she is not needing you now? 
Since when have you returned from Austria?" 


"From Austria?" repeated Nationka, with a not over- 
intelligent expression of face. 

"Yes, yes, you went to Austria with your mistress in 
spring as I happen to know, having procured the pass- 
ports, in the quality of lady's-maid — so I understood. 
Have you been discharged?" 

"I have never been to Austria, gracious gentleman." 

"Oh, she did not take you, after all? Perhaps you 
were afraid to go?" 

"I should not be afraid to go anywhere with Panna 
Katya, but I was never asked to." 

"Then why was the passport wanted?" 

"Which passport, gracious gentleman?" 

Klobinski struck his patent-leather boot impatiently 
with his cane. Was the girl half-witted? 

"But the one that Panna Malkoff asked of me for you, 
of course." 

"I did not know she had asked for any, gracious 
gentleman." • 

"And yet you must have given her the papers. Please 
try and remember." 

"Yes; I gave the gracious lady the papers one day in 
spring when she asked me to." 

"What did she want them for?" 

Nationka shrugged her shoulders. 

"Do I know? Is it my place to ask the gracious 
lady what she wants my papers for?" 

"But when she gave them back again, did she not 

"She has not given them back. At first she said that 
she would only need them for a few days. But at the 
end she asked me whether I would mind if she took them 
with her," 


"And she did take them?" 

"Yes. I know they are safe with the gracious lady." 

Klobinski stood still for a moment staring hard at his 
boots, the minute wrinkles upon his leathery face im- 
mobilised by reflection. 

"And you are quite certain that there was never any 
talk of your accompanying her?" 

"Quite certain, gracious gentleman. May I go now?" 

"Yes, you may go — to the devil if you like," said 
Klobinski, quite audibly. 

While the scared Nationka hurried along the path he 
regained his vehicle, thoughtfully. Between his fingers 
he seemed to feel a thread which might yet prove to be 
a clue — to what? That Katya had asked for three pass- 
ports when she only wanted two seemed proved already; 
but her motive? There was something here which escaped 
him, but which he was determined to run to earth. 
Katya herself interested him too intensely to let the 
smallest of her actions lea^ him indifferent 

The third passport, what had been the object of the 
third passport? There lay the knot of the question. Was 
that old slit-eyed Cerberus in the plot? Even if so Russia 
certainly did not contain gold enough wherewith to buy 
his speech. With that appreciation of loyalty of which 
the disloyal are not necessarily devoid Klobinski recog- 
nised this. Besides, the gold was not his. Was there 
anyone else who might possibly be in her confidence? 
anyone obtainable, that is to say. Hardly; since she had 
no fiiends, and scarcely an acquaintance. Stop, though, 
how about the schoolmistress whom she used to visit in 
winter? He remembered, with a sort of grudge, how be- 
fore his very eyes she had vanished into the schoolhouse 
one winter's day. And he had seen her go in since. At 


the time he had wondered at her choice of acquaintances, 
explained perhaps by her having next to no choice in the 
matter. If anyone was initiated into Katya's plans it 
would be Panna Rudkowska. To approach her would 
therefore be the next obvious step. And in this there 
need not be a day's delay nor an hour's either seeing 
that school was over by this time. As to the manner of 
approach, considering their respective sexes and ages, 
there could only be one manner, of course; thus, at least, 
judged the adaptable Pole, prepared at a moment's notice 
to play any rSle for which fate might choose to cast him. 

Long before he reached his lodgings his plan stood 
outlined. Having dismissed the fiacre he first went nimbly 
upstairs to give another dose of perfume to his handker- 
chief, another touch of the brush to his sleek hair; then 
once more sallied forth, his face set towards the street in 
which stood the schoolhouse flanked by a weedy little 

In that weedy garden there stood an insecure, 
attenuated-looking summer-house, built apparently of over- 
grown toothpicks which a meagre growth of Virginian 
creeper precariously held together; and in its shelter, while 
Klobinski strolled nearer, the released schoolmistress was 
sitting, her thoughts, strangely enough, busy with the 
identical subject which occupied his. She, too, for reasons 
of her own, had been missing Katya sorely. The visits 
of the mistress of Lubynia, had, during the winter months, 
been the brightest spots of her monotonous existence. 
Her inflammable fancy had been caught by the suggestion 
of romance in the position, her insignificance flattered at 
playing an instrumental part in what might possibly prove 
to be a real social event With Katya's departure the 
thread seemed to have snapped, until some weeks later 


she recovered it again in another form and from another 
hand. It was in the end of May that $he received a 
letter from Kazimira Swigello at Zaikiew in which mention 
was made of her new acquaintance, Panna Sagorska, a 
charming Polish girl,, coming from Kowno, and knowing 
Lubynia well. Followed a glowing personal description 
of her, a laughable one of the funny old lady who ac- 
companied her. In bewilderment Panna Rudkowska read 
on. Panna Malkoff and her companion! Impossible to 
mistake them. And calling herself Sagorska! What 
could it all mean? 

Having reviewed matters for a few moments the 
schoolmistress felt so excited that she was compelled to 
go to the window, fanning herself with the copy-book she 
had been correcting at the postman's entrance. She had 
caught sight of a possibility which in her mind was 
rapidly becoming a probability. The conversations of the 
winter, Katya's announced resolution, her so obvious 
mortification at the Swigello's rejection of her proposal, 
her headstrong will — of, which proofs had not been want- 
ing — all had been passed in review. Supposing she had 
resolved to outwit the brothers Swigello? It was just the 
sort of thing that Panna Rudkowska could imagine her 
doing. By dint of feminine intuition she had succeeded, 
putting two and two together, in making the sum come 

Her first sensation was one of admiration pure and 
simple for Katya's enterprise. But other impressions 
followed fast So this was the explanation of Panna 
MalkofPs strange reticence touching her destination — of 
her reserve at their last interview. The idea of going off 
on so important an errand without giving her quasi-con- 
fidante any clue to her intentions! It was extremely 


mortif5dng to her to be thus left out of the plot, she who 
had first been the means of setting it agoing. Having 
once caught this point of view Panna Rudkowska's 
thoughts of Katya became tinged with a certain spite 
produced by soreness and aggravated by the emptiness 
of her present life. 

How was the romance at Zalkiew progressing? Would 
she be surprised some day by the announcement of a 
betrothal? Many were the times that the schoolmistress, 
torn between interest in the situation and her feeling of 
soreness, asked herself the question. 

She was doing so now within the attenuated summer- 
house, and unconscious of the visitor drawing ever nearer. 
She was also wondering, as she chronically did, whether 
anything in the shape of romance would ever enter into 
her own life. 

Just now the large mouth drooped wearily. A pro- 
phetic glance into the future had shown her herself, 
twenty years hence, sitting in the same sumjner-house — 
or a similar one — with only the difference that the golden 
hair which was her one beauty, would then be turning 

And as the thought formed, she raised her eyes and 
saw a person in a dark-green uniform standing on the 
other side of the paling. 

"My compliments, Panna Rudkowska!" 

She was on her feet in a moment, in a kind of panic, 
since to her the visit of a police commissioner appeared 
at least as ominous as it might do to Nationka. 

With an obsequious and uncertain smile upon her lips 
she approached the paling, examining her conscience 
meanwhile in all haste as to possible transgressions. 
Surely she bad been careful enough of late to avoid all 


pronouncedly Polish subjects, to put down the singing of 
national airs? 

But the impersonification of authority just now leaning 
upon the paling was looking, for the moment, as mild as 
milk. Lifting his hat in the most approved fashion he in- 
quired in the pleasantest manner possible whether she had 
heard the latest news? Happening to be passing this 
way it had occurred to him that she might not have 
seen the evening papers, and had therefore taken tlie 
liberty, etc. 

No, she had heard no news, the schoolmistress stam- 
mered, still perplexed and uncomprehending. 

"Another police inspector shot at Warsaw," explained 
Klobinski, more pleasantly than ever. "I fear, I very 
much fear that this will necessitate severer measures of 
repression than those hitherto used. We have received 
no new orders yet, but doubtless they are on the way. 
I thought I might as well drop you a word of warning. 
To your position, you see, prudence cannot in these times 
be carried too far." 

• "Thank you, you are too kind," murmured Panna . 

"Can kindness go too far — to a compatriot?" smiled 
Klobinski, lowering his voice by one eloquent tone. 

"Oh, but " 

"We are both loyal servants of the Czar, of course, 
that needs no saying. But can even the responsibilities 
of office quite kill early memories?" 

Thus Klobinski, looking singularly unofficial and lean- 
ing a little further across the paling. 

"If I had the chance of speaking to you alone, I could 
give you some useful hints as to the means of keeping 
out of danger. But this place is so public; it would not 


do f6r me to be seen here. Is that not a summer-house 
I perceive? Perhaps it is permitted." 

A minute later he had slipped in by the narrow gate, 
and shielded from the public gaze by the already redden- 
ing Virginian creeper, was ensconced in the toothpick 
erection tete-h-tete with Panna Rudowska. 

"Possibly you are astonished at my interest in your 
welfare," he suggested, while disposing his coat sleeves so 
as to ensure a minimum of harm to them from the rough- 
ness of the deal table. "Because we have rarely met, 
and more rarely spoken, you think no doubt that you are 
a stranger to me. But you think wrongly. My oppor- 
tunities of observing you have been greater than you 
suppose. My eye has been upon you, Panna Rudkowska, 
and what I have seen has engendered in me a respect to 
which I have long desired to give expression. These are 
difficult times, my dear young lady; and to move in 
them with no detriment either to duty or to — to one's 
finer feelings, argues not only a strong character but also 
a high courage. You have so moved, Panna Rudkowska, 
I am happy to be able to say it." 

Under the suavely approving glance bent upon her 
she coloured with surprise and delight, her large, loose 
mouth widening in a gratified smile. 

"From the first moment that I noticed you I said to 
myself; * there is a character!'" 

"How should you have noticed me?" she breathed, 
in pleased confusion. 

"How should I not have noticed you unless I was 
blind? And I am not blind, certainly not to the gleam 
of such gold as this!" with a discreet but unmistakable, 
gesture tQwai:ds her coiffure. 

172 RESTmrnoN. ' 

Why trouble with elaborate approaches when short- 
cuts would serve? 

The tone in which she murmured: "Oh, Pan Klobin- 
ski!" further strengthened him in his conviction that this 
was one of the cases in which the colour could, with 
perfect security, be laid on thick. 

"And besides saying to myself: *What a character!' 
I have likewise said: *What a life she must lead; a life 
so full of work, so empty of pleasure that it is a wonder 
she can support it.' " 

"It is not easy," sighed Panna Rudkowska, seized by 
acute self-pity. 

"So long as Lubynia was inhabited there were the 
visits of Panna Malkoff to brighten your days. I am 
aware of how highly she esteemed you; but even those 
have ceased for the moment, though surely not for long. 
The approaching end of the fine season will no doubt 
bring back the wanderers. I should not be surprised if 
already you were informed of your friend and patroness's 
impending return?" 

"Oh, no, Panna Malkoff never writes to me!" came 
from the schoolmistress' lips, with all the acidity of an 
abruptly reawakened grievance. 

Ah? "That astonishes me. Such friends as you 
seemed to be in the winter." 

"In winter, yes. But this is summer; and she has 
other friends now to cultivate, no doubt." 

"I did not know she had any friends in Austria?" 

"She might want to acquire some, might she not? But 
of course I know nothing since she has not thought me 
good enough to consult" 

"I always considered Panna Malkoff to be a capricious 


person," observed Klobinski, with accomplished shameless- 
ness. To disarm all possible suspicion of personal interest 
in the matter was of course a prime necessity. 

"People in her position and with her means often are. 
No doubt she is living in a whirl of gaiety in which even 
the claims of friendship are drowned." 

"I don't think Zalkiew is so very gay. It is full of 
consumptive people, you know." 

"Oh, it is at Zalkiew she is? A funny choice, cer- 
tainly. Did she happen to tell you what made her go 

"She never even told me that she was going there; 
but I — found out" 

"It is wonderful what ladies will not find out about 
each other," observed Klobinski, pleasantly jocose. 

"Oh, I have found out more than that; and I daresay 
I shall find out more yet, even if she does not succeed. I 
mean" — she broke off with an abrupt realisation of her 
own indiscretion — "even if she does not want to tell me 

Klobinski's gloved fingers drummed reflectively upon 
the table. Not a word, not even an inflection of the voice 
had been lost upon him. He was on the right tack; this 
much he clearly saw already. In which direction should 
the next move be made? For prudence sake perhaps in 
a different one. 

"How glad I should be if it lay in my power at least 
partially to replace your absent — and, I fear, forgetful — 
patroness! Say, Panna Rudkowska!" the pleasantly jocose 
tone was once more to the fore, "will you have me as a 

Panna Rudkowska was too overcome to do an3rthing 
but again murmur: — 


"Oh, Pan Klobinski!'' 

"Hampered as I am by my position, I cannot of 
course drop in as unceremoniously as she used to doj 
but there are other ways. Do you ever walk abroad on 
Sundays? I sometimes stroll beside the river on fine 
afternoons between four and five. If by any chance you 
should have that habit, there is no saying whether we 
may not meet among those charming willows, far firom 
prying eyes." 

"It is beautiful beside the river," stammered Panna 
Rudkowska, her elderly face looking almost young as she 
said it 

"That will do for to-day," was the inner comment 
with which Klobinski presently took his leave. "By to- 
morrow it will have worked." 

Alone, Panna Rudkowska's first move was towards her 
looking-glass. The face she saw there seemed scarcely 
familiar, transformed as it was with a new-bom excite- 
ment. The very aspect gave plausibility to the incredible 
thing which seemed to have come to pass. The romance 
sighed after half an hour ago, was it actually entering into 
her life? Oh, if Heaven were merciful enough to let the 
sun shine on Sunday! 

It was merciful— or unmerciful enough. Among the 
wilderness of willows bordering the rolling waves of the 
Niemen which forty-four years ago had tried in vain to 
keep the two processions apart, Klobinski was able to take 
much more decisive short-cuts than those taken in the 
attenuated summer-house, with the result that after a 
couple of hours of highly diplomatic flirtation he returned 
home in full possession of all the facts known to Panna 
Rudkowska, or surmised by her. The opportunity of 
pouring out her grievance had been too much to resist 


Besides, why should she resist? She was no longer in 
Panna MalkofF's confidence nor bound over by any promise 
of secrecy. Piece by piece all the observations of the 
winter were successfully extracted from her not unwilling 
lips, as well as the crowning proof, the letter from Zalkiew 
with the reference to a Panna Sagorska who, according to 
internal evidence, could only be Panna Malkoff. 

"It must be that she is trying to marry one of them 
without letting them know who she is," explained the 
schoolmistress, to her eager auditor. "I wonder whether 
she will succeed!" 
. "I wonder," said Klobinski, between his teeth. 

Soon after that he found that it was getting late. 

"And next Sunday?" timidly suggested Panna Rud- 

The development of the afternoon had been such as 
to make the question almost unavoidable. "Shall I walk 
by the river next Sunday?" 

"Next Sunday? — let me see — yes, by all means, walk 
by the river, Panna Rudkowska, there is no more beauti- 
ful place," 

With a somewhat distorted smile because of the fury 
consuming him, he raised the shabbily gloved hand to 
his lips. 

Rage was still upon him when he reached his lodgings. 

"Fooled! Fooled like the veriest greenhorn! That 
was what it came to. Not for a moment did he doubt 
Panna Rudkowska's conclusionsj too well did they accord 
with his own. For he had not forgotten the interest be- 
trayed in her predecessors at Lubynia, and those pre- 
liminary inquiries for which he himself had been pressed 
into service. He saw it all now. The borrowed passport, 
the long absence, all the pieces fitted. And his own 


hand had been made to work for his own undoing! Ah, 
but he was not undone yet; the famous plot was not yet 
accompUshed! There was still Marcin Klobinski to be 
reckoned with, the man whom Katya had always under- 
valued and therefore never feared. 

And now, the first fumes of anger dispersed, the 
situation revealed itself materially improved for him. A 
new possibility loomed. For the first time in his forlorn 
courtship hope raised its head. For he held her now 
by means of the false passport of which he alone of out- 
siders knew. In such times as these a word from him 
would be enough to lose her; what inclination had failed 
to do, might it not yet be accomplished by terror? 

In any case there was not a moment to be lost. Leave 
of absence was not an easily obtained commodity just 
now, but he had arrears to claim, and there were always 
ways and means. It was fortunate too that he had a suit 
of plain clothes lying by. Within half an hour of his 
return home his application for two months' leave was 
written out He would not need more than that to do 
what he had to do. 

When next Sunday came round, although the sun 
again shone, Panna Rudkowska walked alone and desolate 
by the river, turning her head at each rustle of the willows, 
only to see water- ousels and sandpipers innumerable 
flying forth, but no smiling and well-groomed police com- 

That dazzlmg romance which had fluttered so abruptly 
into her life, could it already have fluttered out again? 



Alone at last and delivered from the fussy attentions 
of Malania Petrowna, Katya rose from the sofa upon 
which she was supposed to be slumbering and went 
straight to her desk. Close beneath its lid lay a large 
envelope fall of documents. With unsteady fingers she 
drew them out, and having cast a glance upon them sat 
down upon the nearest chair, shaking in all her limbs. 
It was the papers of Kataryna Malkoff which she held in 
her hands; which meant, of course, that in her flurry last 
night she had handed to Tadeusz those of Natipnka 
Sagorska. EQs equanimity, the proclamation in the church, 
even that puzzling remark about the christian name — all 
became only too comprehensible now. The situation, bad 
enough, in truth, as it had been yesterday, was now com- 
plicated a hundred-fold. With her own acts accusing her 
so loudly, how get him to believe that there had been 
no intention in the exchange? Well, credited or not, she 
would not deceive him for one hour longer. 

For a few moments she sat still, thinking about the 
"how," then, very white still but suddenly quiet, she pulled 
towards her a sheet of note-paper, and with a hand already 
steadied began to write. The impossibility of further 
delay had abruptly given her that fortitude which she 
had sought so long in vain. She told him that she must 
speak to him without delay, and alone. Would he meet 
her at three o'clock at the seat beside the big crucifix in 
the forest clearing, a spot they both knew well. That 
which she had to say to him could not be said between 
the thin walls of the Villa Olympia. 

Resiiiution, 12 


Long before three o'clock struck upon the Zalkiew 
church-tower, she was waitiog on the appointed bench, 
fearfully watchmg the narrow path which ran like a 
passage between the ruddy columns of the pine-stems. 
No leaves here to turn yellow, no flowers to droop ac- 
cusingly, nothing but large weather-beaten toad-stools 
Htteric^ the forest floor with a suggesti(»i of broken 
crockery abandoned here by some m<»ister picnic party, 
presumably of giants; but even these with their sub^e 
odour of decay were enough to speak quite plainly of the 
waning sununer, that beautiful summer, which for Katya 
had held all the del^hts and all the troubles of a dream. 
Now and then her glance went from the path to the 
almost grotesque wooden figure upon the cross close by, 
whose crown of thorns was hidden by a wreath of blue 
gentians newly placed there by some pious hand. The 
little bit of shelving roof surmounting the cross — for Car- 
pathian crucifixes have a pattern of their own — and 
presumably intended to shield the Saviour's figure from 
the worst of the rain, was decorated with tassels carved 
out of wood and dangling loose by wires. 

A twig snapping underfoot drew Katya*s alarmed 
glance to the pathway. Yes, that was he, that solitary 
figure unmistakable in outline, advancing so swifUy to- 
wards her along the red-stemmed colonnade. Something 
warned Katya to rise and meet him, but something also 
held her fast upon the bench. With limbs grown sud- 
denly as heavy as lead she could only sit helpless, gazing, 
gazing at the man who until now had been her lover, but 
who, although he knew it not, was now appointed to be 
her judge. But for some passing preoccupation he must, 
even before he reached her, have read the crisis of the 
moment in her face; but something had evidently an- 


noyed him. More than once he glanced back over his 
shoulder impatiently, and twenty paces off Katya could 
descry a ruffle upon his forehead. 

''Such a tiresome fellow!" were the unexpected words 
with which he greeted his betrothed. ''Might almost take 
him for a private detective, though this is not Russia, to 
be sure. Been dogging, me ever since this morning in 
church, when he wanted to insist on helping me to get 
you out into the air, confound his impudence! Sneaked 
after me all the way fh>m my hotel. Had all the trouble 
in the world in giving him the slip." 

"Tadeusz, what do you mean? Who has been dog- 
ging you?" asked Katya perplexed. 

"That's more than I can tell you, my love. A long, 
yellow-faced, dried-herring sort of a man, and for what 
mortal reason I can't imagine, since I am quite sure of 
not owing him any money. But he's lost the scent now, 
I fancy. Don't bother about him, Katya, but let's have 
the communication lor which 1 have been ordered to the 
spot! Do you know that you have not got your colour 
back yet, my love!" 

With tender solicitude in his eyes, but obviously no 
apprehension of the seriousness of the moment, he smiled 
down upon her; some little innocent confession to be 
made, some passing "flirt" to be admitted, this was the 
most he looked for, and felt too sure of her love to be 
disturbed by such a trifle. 

"Out with it, Katya!" he said quite gaily, as having 
stopped to carry her hand to his lips he remained stand- 
ing in front of her, expectant, but not anxious. 

"Will you not kiss me, Tadeusz?" she said, almost 
humbly. "We are alone." 



Without that kiss which might be the last — she did 
not feel that she could have the courage to speak. 

For one long moment she clung to him with a passion 
of movement which took himself by surprise, with panting 
breath and closed eyes. When she opened them it was 
to throw a startled glance over his shoulder. 

"Tadeusz, we are not alone, after all, there is some- 
one coming." 

He turned sharply, and together with her became 
aware of a narrow, black silhouette approaching in the 
shadow of the pines, upon the noiseless needle-carpet 

"The private detective again! Confound the fellow! 
Let's move on." 

"Let us rather wait until he has passed." 

"If he does pass. He looks as if he had something 
to say to me." 

"He could not have the impertinence of saying it be- 
fore me, could he?" 

"Looks almost capable of it Meanwhile let's talk of 
the weather — he is almost within ear-shot What do you 
think of the chances of rain to-morrow, Panna Sagorska?" 

Thus Tadeusz, planted before the bench and making 
himself as broad as possible, in order to shield Katya 
from the impertinent stranger's view. 

She made as coherent an answer as the high tension 
of her nerves would allow, trying the while to look past 
him in order to see whether the intruder was gone by 
or not 

"My profound respects, Panna MalkofFl" 

Her head remained poised in its forward movement, 
her whole figure immobilised by a sensation which was 
not so much panic as blank incredulity. Whence that 
voice? Whence that name? Was not this Zalkiew? 


Evidently her head had not yet recovered from this mor- 
ning's shock, 

With a gesture of exasperation Tadeusz turned, dis- 
closing the well-groomed but unlovely figure of the re- 
negade Pole, who, sallow with ill-suppressed excitement, 
and grinning faintly where he meant to smile, was ela- 
borately inclining himself before Katya. 

"My profound respects, Panna Malkoff!" this time 
each word was punctuated as though with a needle. 

Tadeusz's right hand closed threateningly, then, re- 
membering Katya's presence he mastered himself suf- 
ficiently to say coldly: — 

"You are mistaken in the lady. This is Panna Sagorska." 

"I think it is you who are mistaken in the lady," 
came the blustering reply. "So long as I have known 
her she has answered to the name of MalkofE" 

The veins upon Tadeusz's temples b^an to swell 
Yet he spoke with the same studied calm. 

"Sir, I do not know how to explain the delusion 
under which you are labouring, since naturally I prefer to 
believe that you are sober — except by supposing that you 
have been fooled by some jocularly inclined person." 

"Somebody has certainly been fooled, but I do not 
think it is I," smirked Klobinski, obviously uneasy, for his 
native impertinence was, after all, no match for this 
supreme hauteur. 

"I presume that you will take my word for it when I 
assure you " 

"Nobody's word but her own. Look at her. Pan 
Swigello — oh, yes, I am as well-informed of your name as 
of hers — look at her, and ask herl Let her tell me to my 
face that her name is Sagorska, then I wOl believe her, 
but not before!" 

til REsrmmoN. 

Impetuously Tadeusz turned towards the bench. 

"Katya, tell him — " he had begun, and then stopped 
short For Katya sat there stiffly, with wide, meaningless 
eyes fixed upon Klobinski, and bloodless Hps dropped as 
helplessly apart as though the well-brushed, well-combed, 
well-buttoned'Up figure had been some vision of terror. 

"Look at her!" sniggered Klobinski. "Does she look 
as Aough she meant to give me the lie?** 

The nervous insolence of his manner was growing; but 
Tadeusz scarcely noticed him now. He had eyes only for 
Katya, consciousness only of the enigma of her attitude. 

"Will you not speak, Katya?" he said, after a brief 
pause, full for him of fi*agmentary thoughts and surmises 
which absolutely refused to join in a coherent whole. 

At the sound of his voice and of the subtle change in 
it her trance was broken. Her lips moved, but succeeded 
in forming no words, only in jerking into a foolish sort of 
sniile. Tadeusz's eyes narrowed suddenly as he noted it; 
and all at once a wave of dark-red blood surged into his 
face. What he would have said or done in the next mo- 
ment was incalculable, but that a sharp neigh of hilarity 
which escaped Klobinski abruptly reminded him of the 
almost forgotten witness. With a supreme effort at calm- 
ness he turned again towards him. 

"There seems to be here a slight misunderstanding, 
for the clearing up of which your presence, Mr. — Mr. — 
('Klobinski,' interpolated the other) is by no means neces- 
sary. You will therefore be so kind as to leave me alone 
with this lady — immediately.** 

All the accumulated haughtiness of generations of 
coroneted ancestors, bred to despotism, spoke out of the 
tone and mien of the engineer, as, with coldly command- 
ing eyes and contemptuously curved lips, he confronted 


the commissioner. Klobinski, versed in the traditions of 
his nation, and long since broken to obedience, knew the 
manner too well not instinctively to cringe before it 

"If Panna MalkofT commands me to go," he began, 

"I fancy it will suffice if I nquest you to go." 

Tadeus2's eyes were as cold and as fixed as though 
they were cut out of stone; and about his widened nostrils 
a slight tremor was discernible, faint as the quiver in the 
wings of an insect preparing for flight. For one moment 
longer the betrayer attempted to stand his ground; then 
abruptly his artificial self-confidence collapsed. Without 
a word he turned upon his heel, all the more readily as 
he judged the object of his coming gained. From the 
look of the man before him he surmised that these two 
could safely be left alone. 

Tadeusz watched him to a safe distance before turn- 
ing back towards Katya. But already she had slid from 
the seat, and regardless of the figure still plainly within 
sight — of the fact that this was after all a public path- 
way — r^ardiess of everything but the impulse of the mo- 
ment, had thrown herself upon her knees before him upon 
the forest floor, stretching imploring hands towards him. 

"Forgive me, Tadeusz, forgive me!" she said, just 
coherently. "I have done wrong, I confess it, but it be- 
gan before I knew you." 

And then for fear of seeing his face and the thunder- 
laden brow, befoi€ which in spirit she had so often 
trembled, she covered her face with her shaking hands. 

The mere fact that he made no movement to raise 
her — he who hitherto had so tenderly lifted every stone 
from her path — was enough to tell of the change wrought 
within the last few minutes. His arms tightly folded 



across his chest , he looked down upon the woman at his 
feet with eyes almost as hard as those with which he 
had beat the stranger into retreat And the voice which 
now spoke was as hard. 

"It is not a question of forgiveness but of explanation. 
One word will do it Was that fellow lying or was he 
not when he said that you are Kataryna Malkofif?" 

"He was not lying," she gasped, between her shield- 
ing fmgers. 

"Katar3ma MalkofF, the possessor of Lubynia?" 

She made a sign that it was so. 

"The same person who devised a fantastic scheme of 
restitution, rejected by my brother and myself?" 

"Yes; but, Tadeusz, listen " 

"One moment, please! It was in order to carry out 
this plan that you came here under a false name, or, to 
put it more plainly, in order to trick either my brother or 
myself into engaging ourselves to you, under a delusion." 

"That was my first thought; but " 

"An answer, please; yes or no?" 

"Yes," she groaned, with her face still in her hands. 

He drew a long, hard breath. 

"Then all this summer has been a He." 

"No, no, Tadeusz, not a lie! Not a lie! God is 
my witness! You do not understand " 

"I think I do. I understand and I. admire. No trap 
could have been more beautifully laid. And it has been 
successful — almost Will you allow me to hope that your 
fastidious conscience is now at rest, Fanna Malkoff?^' 

Under the incisive syllables of the name she shuddered 
as though under the point of a knife. His open rage 
she could have borne, so it seemed to her; but before 
this so perfectly governed passion all hope failed. But it 


would not die yet It was not in her to let her happi- 
ness go without a struggle. 

"It was a mad idea of course," she pleaded in tears 
now; "mad and wrong. But I did not know how wrong 
until I knew you, Tadeusz. And I would never have 
deceived you to the end." 

"But till very nearly the end, surely — witness those 
papers handed over yesterday." 

"That was a mistake, Tadeusz; I swear to you that it 
was! You cannot believe that I meant to tell you a lie 
at such a moment" 

"Because you have never told me one before; exactly." 

"It was to confess to you the truth that I asked you 
to come here to-day. I could not have gone on another 
day with the deception." 

"I should think not with such a witness on the scene 
as that yellow-faced stranger. It is not difficult to under- 
stand now what upset you in church this morning. After 
the fright you got no doubt you thought it wiser to take 
the initiative. It is only what I should have expected of 
your so brilliant diplomatic abilities, Fanna Malkofif." 

"I never saw him, I swear to you that I never saw 
him. Oh! why did I not speak yesterday?" 

"That being a point upon which I can offer no opinion, 
you will perhaps excuse me if I withdraw from the dis- 

She looked up in a panic, aware of a movement on 
his part 

"Tadeusz, what do you mean? Where are you going? 
This cannot be the end!" And now at last she saw his 
face, the furrowed brow, the unforgiving eyes, such as in 
her hours of terror she had pictured them to herself, but 
no, not such, more crushing yet, harder to bear by far 


than anything which her imagination had pictured. And 
oh, from what undreamt of heights those eyes looked 
down upon her! 

Her first impulse — instinctively resisted — had been to 
hide her own face again, 

"Tadeusz, you must believe that I love you, you 
must!" she implored, with all her tortured soul in her 
eyes. Had anger not blinded him he must have seen it; 
but he was blind, and suffering too much not to be cruel. 

"I believe nothing," he said, while the tremor of hi» 
nostrils just perceptibly increased, "except that you are 
one of the most marvellous actresses I have ever come 
across, either on the stage or oflf it" 

"But your promises, Tadeusz, your oaths?" she 
pleaded, dutching convulsively at the edge of his coat. 
"Have you not told me a hundred times that you are 
mine for life?" 

"My oaths were sworn to Kataryna Sagorska. Kat- 
aiyna Malkoif is to me a stranger." 

"But Tadeusz " 

"Kataryna Malkoff is to me a stranger," he repeated 
obstinately, and shaking off the fingers upon his coat as 
though they had been those of an importunate beggar. 

"Tadeusz!" she cried again, but to empty air al- 
ready; for as she dashed away the blinding tears Katya 
found that she was kneeling no longer before her human 
judge, but only before the wooden figure on the cross 
hard by. The breeze stealing in between the tree^stems 
set the fir-cones dancing all around, and rattled the 
wooden tassels against each other. To Katya it sounded 
at that moment like the rattling of dried bones, the 
naked remains of something which had once been fair 
and blooming. 




A LARGE, drearily handsome apartment, occupied just 
now by about a dozen men of different ages, but of one 
unmistakable class — that of the more or less wealthy 
aristocrat. Clothes and manners alike unimpeachable. 
Aquiline noses, superciliously curving lips and flabby eye- 
lids much to the fore. A handful of grands seigneurs, 
warranted to make any corresponding number of English 
landowners or German Junkers look screamingly vulgar 
by mere force of contrast, and equally warranted to go 
down before them in the game of life. 

Just now they seemed to be finding the game par- 
ticularly hard to play. For an hour past they had been 
smoking cigarettes and weighing events, witiiout being 
able to lay hands upon any tangible result of the opera- 

"Waste-paper!" said one, throwing away his cigarette- 
stump, but with a mien which made it clear that the 
waste-paper referred to was to be sought elsewhere. 

"About as much use to us as last night^s play-bill." 

And gloomily he rolled another cigarette between his 
taper fingers. 

"Call that a constitution, indeed! /call it a handful 
of dust flung in the world's eyes," 


"It is better than nothing, surely," ventured a very 
tender youth, with the diffident optimism of his years. 

Several of the elder men turned upon him severely. 

"Worse than nothing, you mean," corrected the white- 
haired host who acted as president of the informal meet- 
ing, "since by playing the part of sop, it may lull to 
sleep the awakening movement; and we don't want it 
lulled yet, not until we have got what we want" 

"But some liberties are granted " 

"Not the liberties we require, or, at any rate, not in 
the measure that we require them. What help is it to us 
if the Moujik is free, so long as we are slaves." 

"And what is to become of us if the Socialists gain 
ground? The worst about the Red Party is that one 
can't do without them. We need them in order to lift 
things out of their grooves, but once lifted, one has to see 
that they don't make off with the booty." 

"Then what is to be done?" asked another of the 
naive spirits of the assembly. 

"Arm silently and secretly. No time to lose, since 
any day may bring the moment when, by striking all to- 
gether, we may raise Poland from her ashes." 

"Or else bring Wilhelm's cuirassiers over the frontier." 

The words were spoken by the solitary non-smoker of 
the party, towards whom all heads now turned in a move- 
ment of indignant surprise. 

Ever since his entry half an hour ago this big, brown- 
bearded man had been listening, dumb, though visibly 
restless, to the talk around him. Finding himself abruptly 
become the focus of all eyes he sat back deliberately in 
his chair. 

"If you want to open the door to the Prussians you can- 
not possibly do better than repeat the experiment of '63." 


"You find the moment for a rising ill-advised?" 

"I find the rising itself ill-advised. I have told you 
so before." 

"Does that mean that you would refuse to draw your 
sword for the restoration of Poland." 

"I do not know what I should do or refuse to do 
under the pressure of events, but for the restoration of 
Poland, as she was — the Poland of history — I should never 
draw it with conviction." 

There was a burst of protest all around him — a uni- 
versal furrowing of foreheads. 

"You say theit} you? The son of your father!" 

"You would oblige me greatly, gentlemen, by leaving 
my father out of the question. He acted according to his 
lights, and paid the penalty for it I mean to act accord- 
ing to mine, and possibly my penalty may be harder to 
pay even than his, although the reckoning need not ne- 
cessarily be made in Siberia." 

"And your lights tell you that Poland should not be 
restored?" sneered the presiding host 

"Not in her former shape. And every word I have 
heard spoken here to-day tells me that this is the shape 
you aim at It tells me also that we have learnt no- 
thing from history. But it is time we did learn, and 
time too that we ceased to take ourselves for the heroes 
of romance which European fiction has made of us. You 
talk of the National Cause; you should talk rather of 
the Class Cause. You would have Poland restored not 
merely because it is your mother-country, but chiefly be- 
cause it is the country in which you and your fathers 
have been able to lord it over the blind masses — kept 
artificially blind for the purpose — and with no incon- 
venient middle class to rival your interests. It is not for. 


the nation at large that you are working, but for the 
privileges of a handfiil — to wit yourselves.'* 

His last words were drowned in a swelling murmur, 
several of the company rose — he with them — several 
hands automatically clenched, several pairs of dark eyes 
flashed menacingly; but the aspect of the man was such 
that it was only beneath their breath that the hottest 
murmured: "Traitor." 

It was the host who, recovering first, demanded silence 
with a gesture of his white hand. 

"Considering the disagreement between the views of 
this company and those of Count Swi — of Pan Mlodniski," 
he corrected himself, "I trust I shall not be considered 
inhospitable if I suggest that the atmosphere of this apart- 
ment must be peculiarly uncopgenial to him." 

The bearded man looked about for his hat, not 
angrily, sadly rather. 

"I am going; never fear. And I am not coming back 
again, though I do not consider it impossible that we 
may yet meet upon some battlefield or other — and on the 
same side, let us hope." 

He inclined himself ceremoniously; then walked erect 
through the passage opened. At the door he turned to 
say amid a sudden silence: — 

"It is, I presume, superfluous to assure you that no 
word of anything I have heard between these walls, or 
elsewhere, will ever on any consideration pass my lips." 

It was superfluous. Even those who had muttered 
"Traitor" but a minute ago replied only by anoth«: 
ceremonious inclination. They laiew the real traitor too 
well to be mistaken in the article. 

Out into the November gloom Tadeusz Swigello 
stepped with suddenly altered bearing. The head, poised 


SO proudly as long as there had been antagonists to face, 
now sank a little upon his breast Although everything 
had passed in the most irreproachable drawing-room style 
he felt himself as truly turned out of the room above as 
though he had been thrown down the stairs. And the 
men who had excluded him, w^e, after all, his fellows, 
his equals, by birth and tradition. The white-haired 
count who had shown him the door had fought side by 
side with his father. A thousand associations bound his 
name tc^ether with their names. It was towards them 
that upon his arrival upon the scene of action several 
weeks back, his instinct had carried him, despite many 

How came he to be on the scene of action? Tadeusz 
himself could scarcely have explained. The terrible 
parting in the forest had b6en followed by a period of 
mental upheaval, whose shock had flung him out of the 
path of life so laboriously traced and hitherto so faithfully 
followed. The moral earthquake over, he found himself 
at Warsaw, much as the victim of a real earthquake may 
find himself thrown out of his house by mere elementary 

Returned to Krakau with the desperate ache of loss 
upon him, he had been met by the news of a fresh 
movement in Poland. And then the unexpected hap- 
pened. Witek had been right when he described his 
elder brother as "full of surprises." Ten minutes had 
sufficed for the revolution. Within that space he, the 
prudent, the cool-headed Tadeusz, had flung aside his 
future pro^>ects as readily as ever Witek had flung away 
cigarette-stump. What value had these things for him 
now, since they could never be shared with her — the 
woman he had thought to love, but who had no real 


existence outside his fancy? Perchance in the tumult 
and perils of the political arena forgetfulness might be 
found for the deep pain of the deception, and for its 
stinging humiliation. 

For it was his pride that was suffering almost as 
much as his sensibilities. There where he had thought 
himself loved for himself alone to discover that he was 
no more than a pawn in a game — a necessary piece for 
the coming right of a problem — it was more than Swigello 
pride could stand. At moments, indeed, Katya's pas- 
sion-laden eyes, rising as though in a vision, would pro- 
test, but he put theu: suggestion aside as he might a 

Witek, burning to be over the frontier, received strict 
orders to remain beside Kazimira, and ended, as he al- 
ways ended, by obeying Tadeusz. Passport difficulties 
notwithstanding — a faJse passport, too, the name of Swi- 
gello belonging to the prescribed ones — a week had not 
passed after the rupture before Tadeusz stepped onto the 
platform at Warsaw. 

His note-book was iiill of addresses, and to these 
addresses he went first of all in order to find out what 
exactly was happening. So far as he could make out it 
did not seem to be much beyond talking; and soon this 
talk began to enlighten him rather painfiiUy. He would 
never be able to work side by side wth these polished 
idlers, he felt it, he who had learnt to look at life fix>m 
the stem and clear point of view of the worker. To-day 
it was that the recognition had finally come. 

And now what next? he asked himself as he walked 
the darkening streets. For there must be something next 
He could not afford to sit still, for fear of the spectre of 
the recent past dogging his footsteps. In a hotbed of 


political parties, such as Warsaw was now, there must 
surely exist some group with whose views he would find 
it possible to identify himself. 

The winter dragged past and the next summer. The 
first Duma had been assembled and dissolved; but al- 
though Tadeusz had found employment in one of the 
large manufactories on the outskirts of the town and was 
therefore quit of the anxiety concerning daily bread, the 
moral outlet he craved for still tarried. Not one of the 
political parties, or embryos of parties, forming on all 
sides, had been able to afford him this. There were still 
the Socialists, of course; but against the idea of joining 
their ranks the prejudices of the aristocrat and those of 
the patriot alike rebelled. But for a chance encounter 
with an old schoolfellow, fired with the new ideals and 
still glowing from his recent plunge into the movement, 
Tadeusz would most certainly have kept clear of the ex- 
treme left. Fate having put this man upon his path in 
one of his hours of deepest despondency, first his ears 
and then his heart began to bum with the words he 
heard. Here was ardour at last, nay, more, fanaticism. 
Even while his commonsense criticised, his nerves vibrated 
in response to the ringing note of conviction. Perchance 
in the contact with these burning if reckless spirits he 
might find the absorption he sought If he could not 
serve his country perhaps he might serve humanity. 

Disillusion came fast at the end of a week. Tadeusz 
had decided bitterly that the gods of the Polish Socialists 
were not his gods, and never could be. The apparent 
unity was but a flashing surface below which moved the 
most heterogeneous elements. Exalted but unpractical 
idealists worked side by side with the most prosaic of 
materialists. Scattered among these was a handful of 

RetMution, 1 3 


human wild beasts, blindly following their instincts of de- 
struction, senselessly thirsting for the blood of Society. 
Noble heads and base hearts, dreamers and calculators, 
heroes and monsters all mixed higgledy-piggledy. Tadeusz's 
admiration had been aroused and his principles outraged 
a dozen times within each hour spent in this strange 
society. With these men he could work as little as with 
his own class. Neither their secret codes nor their 
bombs struck him as likely to regenerate either Poland 
or humanity. 

Another blank drawn! He knew it before he had 
been a week in their society. This was not the road to 
peace of mind, but rather to perplexity and remorse. 

What next? The question was upon him again as 
once more he hurried through the deserted streets, 
gloomy with the double gloom of gathering dusk and an 
impending snowstorm. The meeting he had just left and 
which had taken place in an isolated wood-shed, was the 
last he would attend. Chiefly it had been occupied with 
the discussion of the day's incident, around which the 
Warsaw police was already agitatedly occupied. At dawn 
of day a revolutionary proclamation (one at whose com- 
position Tadeusz had been present) had been discovered 
upon a piece of planking which happened to face the 
lodging of a Cossack officer. Catching sight of it he had 
sent over his orderly to tear it down. As the man was 
in the act of doing so, a shot fell, which left him unhurt, 
but which of course must be avenged. Thence the agi- 
tated search for the would-be assassin, of whom the 
Cossack himself had only caught a passing glimpse as he 
fled from behind cover. 

^^Let them search, it is a harmless occupation," grinned 


someone. "Unless all our calculations are false he is well 
over the frontier by this time." 

"Yes; that part tallies, but not the other; whoever 
would have thought that Tomasz was such a bad shot!" 

Regret for the missed attempt was clearly discernible 
in the tones of the speaker as well as in the mind of the 
great majority of the audience. A wave of repulsion 
swept over Tadeusz. Nothing but the nervous entreaties 
of his friends, for whose personal safety he could not help 
feeling responsible, had kept him from hurling into the 
faces of these men the epithets of "Murderers! Assassins!" 
which trembled on his lips. 

"If you speak now it is not at all certain that either 
of us will get out of this alive," the other had whispered 
to him. "Don't forget that the floor of the shed is earth, 
very handy for digging graves." 

So perforce Tadeusz had been silent. But he would 
not lose another hour in severing the bonds which held 
him to these well-meaning lunatics. It was in order to 
put his formal resignation to paper that he was now 
hurrying towards his lodgings. Possibly he might thereby 
be signing his own death-sentence. Defaulters were not 
infrequently shot at sight, and he had heard too much 
not to be mistrusted. Well, that would, at any rate, be a 
solution. But supposing they did not shoot him, what then? 

The question still preyed upon him as he groped his 
way up three pairs of stairs. Attempting to get his latch- 
key into his own door he was surprised by an obstacle — 
another key already in the lock. Without stopping to 
reflect what this might mean, he crossed the small en- 
trance and opened his bedroom door. By the light of a 
street lantern opposite he could see a man rise from the 
one chair of the apartment 


iq6 restitution. 

"Are you the person calling yourself Mlodinski?" an 
unfamiliar voice asked. 

"Yes, I am." 

"Then you will be so good as to follow me." 

"Where to, if I may ask?" 

"To the police-station, in the first place." 

"On what grounds?" 

"Employment of false documents. We have reason 
to suppose that your name is not Mlodinski." 

He made a gesture towards the table which Tadeusz, 
still by the light of the lantern, now perceived to be 
strewn with papers, taken presumably from the gaping 
desk alongside. The situation became clear in a moment. 

"Will you come quietly?" asked the police official, 
having first taken care to remark that he had a colleague 
within call. 

Tadeusz shrugged his shoulders with a sudden sense 
of indifference. 

"Why not?" 

Why not, after all? If nothing else, this was an answer 
to the question eternally pursuing him. 

"The next thing," was to be the four walls of a 
prison cell. 



As he gazed at the sheet of paper in his hand Marcin 
Klobinski's leathery face was a little sallower than usual, 
though his small eyes shot sparks. His transference to 
Warsaw. A great and undoubted honour, but rather a 
precarious one, seeing that the police commissioner whose 
place he was summoned to take had recently been made 


mince-meat of at a street comer by a well-directed bomb. 
A post of danger though also of brilliant possibilities. 
Thence the mixed feelings with which he regarded the 
fateful sheet — thence the discrepancy between his com- 
plexion and his glance. Ambition exulted, while the flesh 
weakly trembled, for the Pole, when he does not happen 
to be a hero, is terribly apt to be craven. 

And besides peril there was also the question of se- 
paration weighing in the balance. It was many months 
now since he had actually crossed the threshold of 
Lubynia, not since the day when, audacious in the sense 
of the power he held, he had forced his way into Katya's 
presence and boldly declared his passion, only, at the end 
of a brief but stormy scene, to be ordered out of the 
house and recklessly dared to do his worst! 

"Yes, I know what a false passport means," she had 
said to him in answer to the veiled threats which was all 
his native smoothness could rise to. "Denounce me if 
you like; but first let me tell you that I would much 
rather spend the rest of my life in Siberia or in the depth 
of the deepest dungeon Russia holds than by the side of 
a man whom from the bottom of my heart I despise." 

And then she had rung for Timosh for whose appear- 
ance Klobinski did not find it advisable to wait. 

With rage in his heart he went, but also with newly 
raging love. So far his worst had not been done, for the 
simple reason that, despite her stinging words, hope still 
refused to die. With the knowledge he possessed surely 
his opportunity must still come. So he continued to wait 
and to watch. And meanwhile even the cursory glimpses 
caught of her upon the road were crumbs of happiness 
upon which to live. Of these the transference to Warsaw 
was to rob him, as well as of his post of observer. He 


had meant to be more patient, but Fate was forcing his 
hand. To leave the place without having made one more 
attempt to secure his happiness seemed to him impossible. 

At Lubjmia the door was opened, not by Timosh, but 
by one of the hags who acted as leaven to the youthful 
character of the establishment The gracious lady was 
not here, she explained, eyeing the visitor mistrustfully 
through a door chink. Was she out driving or walking? 
Perhaps rowing on the lake? No, she was not 

"Where is she, then?" asked the exasperated Klo- 
binskL "Can't you open your mouth a little wider, as 
well as that door? Where is she, you witch?" 

"At Warsaw, I fancy, since it was for there she started." 

"Warsaw? What has she gone there for?" 

"Do I know?" 

"You are lying 1" said Klobinski in a rage. "It was 
only yesterday morning I saw her carriage in town." 

"It was after the gracious lady came back from town 
with the post-bag, that the things were packed up." 

"A sudden resolution, then?" 

"Do I know?" 

"And Malania Petrowna?" 

"Is gone with the gracious lady, of course." 

"And her address at Warsaw?" 

"Do I know?" 

Klobinski worried his under-lip in deep reflection. 

"Call Timosh 1 He may have the address." 

"Timosh is gone with the gracious lady, please." 

"Timosh gone — to Warsaw?" 

Klobinski stared, almost aghast Somehow this last 
piece of news took him more aback than anything else. 
Since he had known Lubynia he had never known it 
without Timosh. It must be some very pressing reasoa 


indeed which had induced Katya to deprive the place of 
its perennial watch-dog. And this strange and unexplained 
hurry! He was still puzzling over the problem long after 
the old woman had shut the door in his face. 

Not many days later the explanation came. 

Within the white-washed walls of his new office, it was 
while attempting to grapple with the arrears of work left 
by his murdered predecessor, that enlightenment came. 
Among these arrears figured mounds of foolscap, contain- 
ing, amongst other things, the lists of recently arrested 
persons; and from out of one of these lists the hated name 
seemed to leap to his eye. 

"Swigello, Tadeusz, Count, calling himself Jan Mlodniski, 
engineer by profession. For the use of false documents." 
And in pencil the added note, Paxviak, which was the 
name of the prison in which the as yet uninvestigated 
cases were usually detained. 

A rush of blood to the head made the police comis- 
sioner almost rosy for a moment. The locks of the 
Pawiak were strong, as he knew. So far, so good. But 
there were other considerations. The two weeks elapsed 
between the arrest and the abrupt departure from Lubynia 
seemed just about the interval in which the news might 
have been supposed to reach Katya, through some indis- 
creet channel which he need not trouble to trace. 

From rosy the commissioner had turned livid. So she 
did care for him! It was not only expediency which had 
pushed her towards him. No thought of personal peril 
had been able to keep her from an attempted rescue. 
Russian of the Russians as she was, connections would not 
be awanting whose influence she might utilise. The mere 
name of her grandfather, shining in the blood-red halo of 
'63, was in itself a passport to high places. 


Yes, she had chances; but so had he — ^Marcin Klo- 
binski; and he was not going to let them go cheap. Con- 
nections notwithstanding, her name notwithstanding, she 
was too deeply compromised by the affair of the passport 
to be able to defy him to the end, now, under the reign 
of terror, when even the highest places had enough to do 
guarding their own safety to be over-solicitous for that of 
their friends. 

The police conunissioner was smiling again as he passed 
his narrow hand over his sleek hair. 


"It is fortunate that my hair does not grow upon my 
head, else it would have turned grey long ago," observed 
Malania Petrowna, as mournfully she combed her wig 
before the crackling porcelain stove upon which it had 
lately been roasting. It was the stove of a hotel sitting- 
room, and possessed just such a niche as she required for 
the daily ceremony, which, accordingly, took place here 
as regularly as at Lubynia minus the mock indignation of 
Bijou, who had been lefl as a very inadequate guard of 
the abandoned mansion. 

"Do you know, my sugar lamb" — with a side-long 
glance at her companion, "I should not be surprised to 
see your hair turning grey presently." 

"Rightly guessed, Matoushka! It was only last night 
that I found a white hair in my comb." 
"Such things grow quickly at Warsaw." 
"No, I think this one grew at Lubynia." 
Katya was sitting with her elbows on her knees, her 
chin in her bands and her eyes upon the leaping flame 



visible within the open grating of the stove. In her black 
hair, whose shining coronet bound her head, no silver 
thread was visible, and yet it was true that there had been 
one in her comb yesterday, and she was sure it had grown 
at Lubynia. 

Oh the poignant dreariness of that return! Sometimes 
she wondered that she had been able to live through it. 

If anything like hope still survived it flickered faintly 
in the memory of her parting with Kazimira. Another 
moment of agony, but from which Kazimira herself had 
resolutely kept away despair. For her affection for Katya 
had stood the shock of the revelation of her true name, 
perhaps because Kazimira had reached that vantage- 
ground from which alone it is possible to estimate human 
things at their true value. As a woman she could not 
doubt Katya's love for her brother; as a dying woman 
she could not fail to have revelations touching the ab- 
surdity of such things as family pride. That the day 
might yet come when her point of view would be shared 
by Tadeusz was the hope to which she clung in the bitter 
hour of separation. And yet she let her brother go 
without one word in Katya's favour, understanding that 
the ordering of this affair could be only with time — or 
with circumstances. In the farewell message conveyed 
to him on the eve of his departure for Warsaw there 
was no repining, nothing but brave words, ardent wishes, 
both sisterly and patriotic, for the success of his venture. 
She knew that she would never see him again, but she 
also knew that nothing but a plunge into action could 
help him through the crisis. Even from Katya she did 
not part in tears, though this, too, was, as she knew, a 
final separation. 

"If you love him as I believe you do and if Fate is 


kind, you will gain him yet," had been her words, those 
that during the heavy months after the rupture Katya 
had treasured in her heart. With every day that passed 
she knew more surely that she loved him. Ah! but would 
Fate be kind? There lay the anguish of the question. 

From time to time a few lines reached her. One of 
the first of these notes had told her of Tadeusz's presence 
at Warsaw; but the rapture of the thought of his compara- 
tively near neighbourhood had been quickly drowned in 
that of his danger. Throughout the following summer a 
long blank unbroken till the day when once more she had 
found in the post-bag an envelope bearing Kazimira's 
straggling hand-writing, only much more straggling than 
when she had seen it last 

"They have arrested him. The charge as yet is only 
for the use of false documents, but it may turn into any- 
thing, for he has been veiy imprudent I know that if you 
can save him you will do so. You have friends " 

The words fell off into a blotted line, with only an 
uncertain "K." as signature. 

An hour later Katya's trunks had been packed for 
Warsaw. She was not at all clear in her mind as to what 
she would do when she got there; all she knew was that 
to stay here passive while he was in prison, possibly in 
danger, was an impossible thing. 

In fear and trembling Malania Petrowna followed her, 
just as in fear and trembling she would probably have 
accompanied her charge to the guillotine, had Fate so 
ordained it Her one stipulation was for the presence of 
Timosh — her ancient antagonist having become in her 
eyes transformed into a very acceptable body-guard. 

So far Katya could not speak of success. Her hermit- 
like life at Lubynia had put her too much out of touch 


lyith official circles as well as with former family friends 
to let contact be easily restored. Her name, indeed, was 
known to many; but in the present breathless course of 
events was apt to fall flat even upon the ears of those 
who were not too preoccupied to remember that she was 
an heiress. 

When it became known that the heiress had come to 
town with the express object of recovering from prison a 
young man to whom she was understood to be attached — 
as indeed she made no mystery of (a Pole, too!) — the 
fathers and mothers of marriageable youths naturally lost 
interest in her. Already she had visited a whole row of 
high officials without tangible result Swigello? Yes, 
there was a Swigello upon the list of prisoners in the 
Pawiak — detained for the use of false documents. A 
friend of hers? No reason at all to be anxious as to his 
fate. The use of false documents was not a capital off*ence. 
When would his trial come off? Really it was difficult to 
say. The prisons were so full at present, and such much 
more pressing cases awaiting decision. Perhaps if she 
cared to inquire again this day month 

Such and such-like vaguely soothing assurances was all 
the result obtained, except in those cases when the person 
in office happened to be a connoisseur in female looks, 
when a precipitate retreat occasionally became advisable. 

No; immediate success was not to be expected. She 
knew tiiat after a few days already. If any road could 
lead to the goal it would need to be a roundabout one. 
Those threads of social connection which had been dropped 
for well-nigh two generations would require to be taken 
up again judiciously, diplomatically. She must get back 
into touch with her own countrymen; she must pay visits, 
multiply acquaintances, dress, smile, even flirt, if need be; 


do all those things which engender that personal interest, 
from which alone private influence may be wrung. 

Well, if it must be, it must be! Katya was saying it 
to herself to-day as she sat before the stove. On the 
whole it would have been easier to share Tadeusz's cell 
in the Pawiak, easier to hunger and to thirst for his sake. 
But for his sake too she would be able to tread drawing- 
rooms, smiling, even though with death in her heart. 

To Malania Petrowna, on the other hand, the prospect 
of the drawing-rooms beckoned pleasantly. A drawing- 
room naturally seemed to her a safer place than a street 
or even than a hotel sitting-room! and in drawing-rooms 
too she presumed that people would sometimes talk of 
other things than politics. The more she heard about that 
terrible subject the less she understood it And Timosh 
was, if possible, yet more perplexed. 

"If you please, gracious lady," Timosh had accosted 
her on the very morrow of their arrival, "what is this 
thing they call the *Duma,' which they tried last spring, 
and which they say they are going to try again next 

"A collection of people who are going to settle the 
affairs of Russia, or at any rate, talk about them," said 
Katya, after a moment's reflection. 

"But it is the Little Father who settles the affairs of 
Russia, surely? What do we require a collection of 
people for?" 

"Well, there are some who say that it can't go on for 
ever that way. They want to have a word in the matter 

"That means that they want to take away some of 
the Little Father's power?" 

"Yes, about that" 


"Then they ought to be killed," said Timosh, with 

"But, Timosh, it is the Czar himself who has ordered 
the Duma, so if you killed its members you would be 
going directly against his will." 

Having grappled with this new problem, speechless, 
for about a minute, Timosh went out again scratching his 
mop of a head. To him there could only be a right and 
a wrong side in the matter, in other words — those who 
held with the Little Father and those who did not But 
the puzzle was to find out which was which. And what 
infinitely complicated the situation was the discovery that 
his mistress herself did not stand absolutely above suspicion, 
since she was trying to get out of prison a person whom 
the Little Father had found proper to lock up, and who 
therefore must be reprehensible. Henceforward the two 
loyalties within him, that towards the sovereign who stood 
for a sort of .invisible divinity, and that towards the mistress 
whom he had known in leading-strings, were bound to 
have a hard fight of it. 

For the rest, and had it not been for this chronic 
conflict of mind, there was much in the new surroundings 
which appealed to Timosh. The ancient Cossack smelt 
blood in the air, and greedily drank in the once familiar 
scent In every Cossack patrol met in the street and 
gazed at with enviously admiring eyes he seemed to see 
the embodiment of his own turbulent youth. Ah, if his 
arm had not grown so stiff, how he would have loved to 
ride by their sidel Was it so very stiff, after all? 
Occasionally in the act of brushing a boot he would 
startle a chance spectator by making a windmill gesture 
—his fingers shod perchance with a walking-shoe of 
Katya's — by way of testing the elasticity of his muscles, 


His sword at any rate which he had taken good care to 
bring with him was as sharp as ever. In the privacy of 
his sleeping closet he would try the edge with eyes which 
glistened. Good luck had allowed him to be present on 
a day of street tumults, when the Cossacks charged. He 
had trembled as he looked on, automatically closing and 
unclosing his huge fists. And that night he had not 
been able to sleep. Al), that sensation of the blade en- 
countering human flesh — that rattle of the hilt upon the 
skull! — he had known it in '63, that most glorious year 
of his life. He would give something to know it again. 
With death walking the streets in broad daylight it was 
hard to stand by passive. His fingers itched to take 
part in the work. To stick his sword into somebody or 
other would be a certain way of settling mental per- 
plexities — only, in order to bring conscientious satisfaction 
it would require to be done either in the service of the 
Little Father, or in that of the Gracious Lady. The 
worst of it was that duty, so far, had refrained fi-om 
pointing out any individual victim. Ah, '63, '63 — how 
wider far had been thy opportunities! 

While Malania was still busy with her wig Timosh now 
entered the room, with a slender slip of a calling-card 
almost disappearing in the midst of his lumpy paw. 

"W. Nolinski," Katya read indifferently. "I don't 
know anybody of that name. What a strange hour for 
a call! Tell him that I receive only in the afternoons, 

"He says he will speak to the Gracious Lady, even if 
he has to knock me down for it," explained Timosh, with 
a display of his defective teeth, suggestive of derision. 

"Ah — perhaps it is important! He may have some 
message " 


"Yes, it is important," said a voice from the doorway, 
which caused both women to turn their heads, startled. 
In a dust-stained travelling-suit, cap in hand, Witek 
Swigello stood upon the threshold. 

The wig all but slipped from Malania's hands while 
Katya rose quickly, a flush of astonishment staining her 
face. She had not seen Witek since the rupture of her 
engagement — knew nothing of his estimate of the situation. 

"You here? Not with Kazimira? What does this 

"It means that Kazimira has given me my release," 
said Witek gravely, as he raised to his lips the hand 
which Katya had impulsively stretched towards him. 

"You would say that Kazimira herself has got her 

Katya sat down again, the bright colour fading from 
her face. 

"Was it quiet?" she asked presently, very low. "No 
pain? No fear?" 

"Neither pain nor fear. She went to sleep." 

"Thank God!" 

There was another pause, just long enough for a brief 
prayer. Then she resolutely uncovered her eyes in whose 
lashes some brilliant drops shone. 

"And you have come now to help me, have you not?" 
she asked in another tone — "to help me to get his re- 

"Of course, I will help you," said Witek, readily, and 
yet without that eagerness which she had instinctively 
expected, and twisting his fur cap rather hard between 
his hands. 

"Is it not for that you have come?" 

"For that — and for other things." 


She gazed at him in wonder. He looked tired and 
travel-stained, had evidently come here straight from the 
station, which in itself was so unconventional a thing as 
to characterise the unconventional times. But it was not 
that which astonished her. What puzzled her was this 
new air of constraint, this obvious nervousness of manner, 
never before observed in the facile and un-selfconsdous 

"He has something to say to me which he wants to 
say without witnesses," she reflected, intercepting an 
impatient glance in the direction of her chaperon. 

"Matoushka," she said aloud to Malania Petrowna, 
who had returned, unembarrassed, to the culture of her 
wig, "don't you think you could do your hair more com- 
fortably in the next room? There is a larger mirror 
there, you know. — And now, what is it?" she asked, as 
her eyes came back from the door which had closed upon 
the faithful duenna. 


It was the hour of the mid-day promenade, which 
meant that all but the prisoners marked "dangerous" were 
enjoying the privilege of taking whatever air they could 
get at the bottom of one of the deep, well-like courts 
intersecting the grim, grey body of the monster known to 
the Warsawites as the "Pawiak," that half-way house to 
the greater and more deadly monster known as the 
"Citadel." When the Citadel disgorged anything upon 
which its jaws had closed, it was more often than not in 
favour of a high and very striking modem construction 
planted conspicuously upon a piece of rising ground, which 

THE "PAWIAK." 209 

when caught sight of even at a distance, would cause 
nervous people to turn their heads hastily aside, and pious 
people to cross themselves as hastily. 

"A visitor for you," said a warder so suddenly into 
the ear of one of the promenaders — a solitary one — that, 
despite robust nerves, the man started violently. It was 
true that he had a long way to come back from his most 
recent mental excursion, all the way from the scented 
pine-forests of the Austrian Carpathians. 

"A visitor for me? Are you sure?" 

"As of my salvation! Come along quietly, little 
father! What; does the prison-master need to know that 
you have a visitor?" 

The drunken wink suggested favour, presumably of 
an unlawful nature and paid for, no doubt, at its market 
value. But by whom? Tadeusz could not imagine, un- 
less Karol Dembowski, the socialistic friend to whom he 
owed his acquaintance with the Red Party, had at last 
found means of penetrating to him. 

It was to his own cell, shared until yesterday with a 
man now moved on to the Citadel, that the red-faced 
warder led Tadeusz by by-ways, in itself an irregular 
proceeding. Clearly the bribe must have been handsome. 

Barely within the cell Tadeusz found himself im- 
prisoned by a pair of impetuous arms. 

"Tadzio! Oh, good God, Tadzio!" 

Witek was kissing him on both cheeks, on the lips, on 
the shoulders, stormily, almost tearfully, while Tadeusz 
himself unable to find words at once, strained his brother 
towards him with a force of which he himself was not aware. 

"You at Warsaw, Witek?" he asked at last when he 
could speak. "Why did you not send me word?" 

"I will tell you — one moment, Tadzio, do you know 

Restitution. 1 4 


that you are throttling me? I will tell you everything 
when I have my breath." 

Tadeusz let him go and would have asked another 
question, only that Witek, barely released, and having 
gained the first unobstructed view of his brother, inter- 
rupted him by sharply striking his hands together. 

"Tadzio! Good God! What do you look like? This 
is unbearable! Your beard, your clothes, I am sure they 
have not been brushed to-day." 

"Nor yesterday either, Witek." 

"And the way they hang upon you! And the holes 
in your cheeks! They don't give you enough to eat, that 
is clear, and only cabbage soup, of course. Do you 
know, Tadzio, that you positively smell of cabbage, and 
such sour cabbage too!" 

And as though it was in this last circumstance that the 
horror of the situation culminated, Witek sat down upon 
his brother's straw-stuffed mattress, and, before his eyes, 
burst into a tempest of tears. 

Tadeusz took him by the shoulder not over gently. 

"Our minutes are counted, Witek; let us not wast^ 
them in sentimentalities. Have we not more weighty 
things to talk of than cabbage soup?" 

Witek dried his tears obediently. 

"Did my wire from Zalkiew reach you, Tadzio?" 

"It reached me, with delays." 

"You know that we have no sister now?" 

"I know it," said Tadeusz gently, "tell me about her." 

For a short space they talked of Kazimira, only a few 
questions and answers. Tenderly though they had both 
loved her, they knew that this was a time at which the 
dead must be left to bury their dead. The claims of the 
living were just now too imperative not to take precedence. 

THE "PAWIAK.*' 21 1 

"Was it to get me out that you came to Warsaw? 
More wasted pains!" 

"There were many things that made me come," 
answered Witek, this time without meeting his brother's 
eyes. He was silent for a moment, staring in sudden con- 
straint at the stone floor of the cell, then abruptly 
looked up. - 

"I have not told you all yet, Tadeusz. There was a 
message for you from Kazimira." 


"It was quite at the end, when her voice was going, 
but I made no mistake about the words, almost her last 
breath went to them. *Tell him,' she said, *that there is 
only one thing in the world worth living for and that 
thing is not pride.' " 

"Ah!" said Tadeusz again, but in another tone, and 
turning abruptly from his brother. 

"She said you would understand. You do under- 
stand, do you not, Tadzio?" 

"I understand what her thought was, but it is not 
my own." 

"You do not believe that you are loved for your own 

Tadeusz laughed harshly. 

"I would need to be much more conceited than I am 
in order to believe that" 

For a moment longer Witek measured the broad back 
turned so squarely towards him, then, impulsively rising, 
went to lay an arm about his brother's neck. 

"Ah, Tadzio, how you wrong her! Do you know 
that she is at Warsaw?" 

Surprise sent the blood to Tadeusz's heart so suddenly 
as to leave his sunken cheeks livid. 



"Katya at Warsaw?" he stammered, entirely thrown 
off his guard, and facing towards his brother. 

"Yes, for nearly two months past" 

"What has brought her here?" 

"You. She came up the moment she heard of your 
arrest She has been working day and night for your 
release, though uselessly so far." 

Tadeusz took out a soiled handkerchief to pass across 
his moist brow. 

"You are probably mistaken in her motives," he said, 
with laboured coldness. "What makes you suppose that 
she is working for my release?" 

"Her own words. I have it from her lips." 

"Ah! you have seen her?" 

"More than once. It was to her I went straight on 
reaching Warsaw. I came from her now." 

Tadeusz's lips opened and closed again. A hundred 
questions stood in his eyes, but not one of them was 
spoken. Again he would have turned away; but Witek's 
arm was about his neck, tightening its hold. 

"Don't go, Tadzio, I have something else to tell you. 
I said I would tell you all. I don't know whether you 
will be able to forgive me." 

"More revelations?" said Tadeusz, with an impatient 
laugh, recognising the formula with which, ever since their 
boyhood, Witek had been accustomed to usher in a confes- 

"Alas, yes! I have told you that I went to her im- 
mediately on reaching Warsaw. Do you know what I 
went there for?" 

"How should I?" 

"It was to ask her to marry me." 

THE "PAWIAK." 213 

This time Tadeusz shook himself free, his face as red 
as it had been pale a minute ago. 

"You have made an offer of marriage to Kataryna 
Malkoff?" he asked sharply, yet with incredulous eyes. 

Witek nodded as shamefacedly as a boy caught in a 

Something hard came into Tadeusz's eyes; and sug- 
gestive jerks about his lips seemed to herald harsh, per- 
haps contemptuous words, but these too were not 

"And Olympia?" was all he asked, in a tone in which, 
despite the strong curb he was putting on himself, mockery 

"That is just what Panna Malkoff asked me when I 
spoke. *What have you done with 01)anpia?' she in- 
quired. And I had to explain that Olympia and I have 
quarrelled, and quarrelled about her, too. Olsza always 
was rather jealous of her, you know. It began at the 
time I was painting the portrait And when your en- 
gagement was broken off, she took it into her head that 
I meant to try for Panna Malkoff now. I really think it 
was that which first gave me the idea. It was always 
'Panna Malkoff* and 'Panna Malkoff' all the time I was 
nursing Kazimira. And when after the funeral I told her 
that I was starting for Warsaw, and she made a scene 
and reproached me with only going for Panna Malkoffs 
sake, I got angry, and thought I would take her at her 
word. The more I thought of it the more reasons I 
found for my action, you see. It always seemed to me 
that you had been rather hard upon her. Of course, it 
was not right of her to masquerade in that way; but when 
you consider the motive — . And then it must have been 
such a dreadful disappointment to her to see her plans 

214 RESTmrnoN. 

fail, and so very disagreeable to be talked about, as, of 
course, she would be." 

"And you offered yourself as the saviour of her re- 
putation, I see." 

"I almost felt called upon to do so, in order to 
shield her good name " 

"And supply a master to Lubynia, yes, I see per- 
fectly," said Tadeusz, with all sorts of things vibrating in 
his voice. 

"Tadzio, don't look at me like that, or I cannot go 
on! I don't deny that the thought of Lubynia had some- 
thing to do with it; but it was not that alone. And I did 
not really feel that I was doing you any wrong, since the 
breaking off of your engagement was your own doing. 
It was only after I had seen her again and spoken to her 
that I understood that it was a wrong, since, engagement 
or no engagement, she belongs to you as much as 

"Then I gather that Panna Malkoff did not fall in 
with your plans?" 

"She? Ah, Tadzio, how little you understand! She 
cares for nobody but you. She has forgiven me only on 
condition that I write to Olympia at once. She made me 
feel ashamed of myself, positively she did," said Witek, 
with naivete which of its kind was rather fascinating. 

"/ am ashamed of you, Witek, that should be 

Witek gazed wistfully at the impressive breadth of 
shoulders before him, then in a truly stricken tone: — 

"She has forgiven me, Tadzio, will not you forgive me 

"What have I to forgive you for? I am not engaged 
to Panna Malkoff. Anyone is free to approach her." 

THE "PAWIAK." 215 

"How hard you are! Now I can understand why 
Kazimira sent you just that message. Tadzio, you cannot 
let me go away with that shadow between us. Say that 
you are not angry with me!" 

Another moment of silence, perhaps of inner conflict; 
then Tadeusz turned with a laugh which, though not 
good to hear, yet meant a surrender. 

"Oh, yes! let the shadow go, by all means," he said 
half- indifferently. "What remains, after all, if we lose 
one another?" 

Just as their hands clasped there was a hoarse 
whisper through the loop-hole in the door. 

"Time very nearly upJ In five minutes more the 
prison-master will be coming this way." 

"Oh, Tadzio, and there is so much to say still! We 
have not spoken at all about yourself yet, and your cause. 
What hopes have you? What prospects? Do you think 
you will get out? They told Panna Malkoif everywhere 
that your case is a comparatively light one." 

"So it is — for the present So long as they see in 
me only the user of a false passport and the member of 
a prescribed family, I may get off with a few months. 
But," and his voice sank abruptly as he leaned towards 
his brother's ear, "if they should come to see in me the 
budding anarchist — as they might do, if by ill-luck they 
should get upon the track of how some of my evenings 
were spent — then, of course, the matter would bear 
another face." 

"They will not get upon the track," whispered back 
Witek vehemently. "The police have their hands too 
full, and the Red Party do stick to each other, there is 
that to be said for them." 

"If they knew how little I ever belonged to them! 


Another hour of liberty and my resignation would have 
been in their hands." 

"I know that — from Karol Dembowski. Ah, and that 
is another message I have for you. Dembowski wants 
me to tell you that he cannot come near the Pawiak for 
fear of compromising you. He has reason to believe that 
he is being watched. He is very anxious about you, 
Tadzio, feels terribly responsible." 

"Let him make his mind easy. But listen, Witek, I 
too have a message for Dembowski. Perhaps he remem- 
bers a small gold locket I used to wear upon my watch 
chain. On the day of my arrest I missed it. I know it 
was in its place when I went to that last meeting — the 
one in the wood-shed. I cannot help fancying I lost it 
there. If it were possible to have the shed searched I 
have a notion it would be found among the sawdust 
He told me the place is quite unused now, I don't want 
to lose that locket, and, besides, if it fell into uncalled-for 
hands it might be awkward." 

"I will tell him," said Witek, just as the red-faced 
warder beckoned urgently through the chink of the 
jopened door. 


The judges were upon the bench; or — to be more 
accurate — the five generals presiding over the court martial 
were sitting in a semicircle, before a large, round table 
with a handsome velvet cover upon it Their brilliant 
appearance, gold-braided sleeves and breasts ablaze with 
decorations, were well in keeping with the splendour of 
their surroundings. For the Warsaw court martial— 

"JUSTICE." 217 

probably for purposes of temporary convenience — was not 
held between the four bare walls usually associated with 
the finding of verdicts, but in a space whose normal 
vocation in life was that of a ballroom, and which the 
pressure of circumstances had compelled "justice" to 
borrow from "firivolity." Ever3rthing, from the rococo 
chairs to the fuouldings on the ceiling, reflected the 
brightest credit upon the good taste of the designer, a 
triumph of artistic harmony, completed by the fine view 
upon the river over which towered the Citadel, and with 
only one blot upon that view — the silhouette of the 
gallows drawn sharply against the wintry sky. 

The elegant chairs and sofas were but sparely oc- 
cupied, the quality of the "justice" here dispensed not 
being of a sort with which publicity readily agreed. A 
play with a very scanty audience, such was the impres- 
sion conveyed. The position of the accused helped to 
enhance the vaguely theatrical suggestion. Upon a raised 
platform, usually occupied by the orchestra, they sat in an 
irregular row which with every hour and every sentence 
passed showed more gaps. The green of tropical plants, 
artistically massed, made an effective background to their 
miscellaneous figures, as well as to those of the armed 
sentinels to the right and to the left. At every new name 
that was called a vibration, half-sympathy, half-personal 
apprehension, ran through the group. They had been 
thirteen to start with. By two o'clock in the afternoon 
there were but four remaining, and of the nine who had 
descended the steps of the platform only two had left the 
room as free men. Four sentences of death had been 
passed; the rest had long terms of imprisonment in prospect. 

Just now a thicker shade of pallor had laid itself upon 
the tensely strained faces; the last case bad been just a 

2 1 8 ftESTITtJfTlOM. 

little too appalling; a youth of nineteen with a bandaged 
eye and a bandaged hand, accused of the illicit fabrica- 
tion of bombs, but desperately protesting his innocence. 
As sole answer to his appeals their excellencies, the judges, 
had showed him his confession signed by himself. 

"Is that your signature, or is it not?" inquired the 

In reply the lad tore off his bandages, displaying an 
empty eye-socket and a broken finger. 

"Yes, it is my signature!" he cried, in a voice which 
no one present, not even their excellencies, ever forgot; 
"my signature given after they had done this to me, and 
this, and this!" And drawing up his trembling upper lip 
he disclosed his mangled gums, almost toothless. 

Some of them on the platform shut their eyes, 
shuddering, and even a few of the witnesses looked aside; 
but the generals never blinked. Absolutely they could 
not see any connection here. A broken finger was one 
thing and a signature was another. Besides they had the 
deposition of the prison-master, according to which the 
prisoner's injuries were the result of unsuccessfiil attempts 
at suicide. The objections of the advocate who rose to 
lay upon the table two blood-encrusted teeth which bore 
the appearance of having been savagely extracted, were 
impatiently waved aside as entirely irrelevant 

After a brief withdrawal into the ladies' cloakroom — 
doing duty now as consulting-room — the death sentence 
had been pronounced, upon which the prisoner had faUen 
down in convulsions and been borne kicking and scream- 
ing from the room. 

While the court still stood under this latest of im- 
pressions another name was called: — 

"Tadeusz Swigello, engineer." 

"justice.'* • 219 

He rose with a sigh almost of rehef. If nothing else 
this was the end of the purgatory of suspense, of the 
humiliating exposure upon this ridiculous elevation. From 
the moment that he had entered the so incongruously 
elegant apartment Tadeusz had had the impression of 
taking part in a farce. The mere fact of his presence 
here had something farcical about it, since capital offences 
alone formed the court martial's rightful field of action. 
Such minor transgressions as a false passport should surely 
have been far beneath its dignity. 

"Why am I not called before an ordinary court?" he 
had asked the advocate who yesterday had visited him in 
prison, in order to announce that he had been appointed 
as official defender of him and of some half-dozen others, 
a man whom he had never seen before, who knew nothing 
of him or of his circumstances, but whose mere presence 
in the court was supposed to come up to all the require- 
ments of justice. Who could call the court martial in- 
human since it actually accorded advocates to its victims? 

"It appears that you have been notified as 'suspected' 
from some unknown quarter. Do you happen to have 
any enemy at Warsaw?" 

"Not that I know of." 

"So much the better. But there is something here I 
do not understand. I have heard an anonymous letter 
mentioned. No doubt the authorities calculate that if 
anything is to be extracted from you the court martial 
will make a better job of it than would an ordinary court," 
and he smiled a trifle sardonically. 

Now, as he stood upon a clear space of the shining 
parquet floor, with only the armed sentinel behind him, 
Tadeusz's eyes began by searching out this man. It was 
beside a small marble-topped table — one that had been 

220 • RESTmrnON. 

taken from the supper-room — that the advocate sat, look- 
ing with his gold pince-nez and well-cut coat something 
like a dandy waiting for his dinner at a restaurant. Such 
as he was Tadeusz looked at him earnestly as at the 
only thing in the shape of a helper in the whole of this 
ominous room; for the scene just passed had shaken 
even his robust nerves, and stirred apprehensions hitherto 
slumbering. The table was littered with papers, as well 
as with a variety of miscellaneous objects, some of 
which had already played a part in to-day's trials, and 
some of which had still their part to play. There were 
such things as a shabby felt hat picked up at a street 
comer after a bomb explosion, a button still adhering to 
a fragment of cloth which had remained in the hands of 
a pursuing policeman; clasp-knives, revolvers, pocket-books, 
letters, all the scourings of pockets which had been emptied 
under compulsion, and which now lay heaped up here 
upon the velvet table-cloth on the chance of furthering 
either identification or conviction. The two ill-treated 
teeth which had failed to save the man last sentenced lay 
here as well, contemptuously disregarded. 

The usual questions began, and the first agitation 
overcome, they were answered by Tadeusz with a self-pos- 
session which rather put the generals out of their calcula- 
tions. Yes, he had been at Warsaw for over a year past 
now. In the exercise of his profession? Just so. In- 
quiries at the Gutstein manufactory would show that he 
had been employed there regularly as supervising engineer 
from shortly after his arrival until his arrest To the use 
of a false passport he pleaded guilty as well as to unlawful 
crossing of the frontier, but no blacker self-accusation 
than this was to be extracted by the most pressing ex- 
amination. Their excellencies began to look a little dis- 

"JUSTICE." 221 

appointed. This man, darkly signalised as a "suspect," 
would apparently have to be let off with a term of im- 
prisonment. What could the writer of the anon)rmous 
letter mean by causing their precious time to be wasted 
over such puerile cases as this! One of the generals 
looked impatiently at his watch. His daughter was to go 
to her first ball to-night in that very room, and he began 
to calculate anxiously whether there would be any pos- 
sibility of getting the place into order again in time for 
the entertainment In his way he was a very tender 
father. He would not have his Zosia disappointed. 

"What made you give up your employment in Austria 
in order to come here?" inquired the president in person, 
twitching his bushy eyebrows at Tadeusz. 

But this time the prisoner did not answer. For some 
moments past he had been staring fixedly at the heap of 
corpus delicti Upon the table, with neck rigidly craned, in 
order to gain a better view. 

"Do you see anything there that belongs to you?" 
asked one of the generals, almost mildly. 

"I think so — yes, one moment, please." A hasty step 
forward, and Tadeusz's hand descended like a bird of 
prey upon a small, bright object whose glitter had caught 
his eye in the midst of rags and paper. 

"That locket is yours? Are you sure?" 

"Quite sure. Yes, it is mine." 

He clutched it in his hand as tightly as though he 
feared to be robbed of it 


There was a movement around the velvet-covered table. 
Their excellencies began visibly to cheer up. Perhaps the 
anonymous warning was, after all, not empty air. The 
dry cough of the advocate at the restaurant table came 


far too late. Glancing towards him Tadeusz saw that he 
was frowning significantly with many disapproving head- 

"Do you know where that locket was found?" 


"In a wood-shed at one kilometre distance from the 
town, in which, as the police have positive information, a 
revolutionary meeting had been held only a few hours 

With the sensation of having stumbled headlong into 
a trap Tadeusz stood dumbfoundered. 

"If that locket belongs to you, then you must have 
attended the meeting on 3rd November." 

All five pairs of eyes were upon him now. 

The advocate rose leisurely, adjusting his pince-nez, 

"My client is probably mistaken in claiming the trinket. 
It is of a very usual pattern; your excellencies know that 
the objects on the table have been through my hands 
repeatedly; there are neither initials nor any other special 
characteristics about its exterior; and inside only a lock 
of black hair — a common enough product of Russia, I 
fancy," he added, with a faint attempt of jocularity. 
"Maybe it resembles a locket which " 

"No, it is the locket," said Tadeusz obstinately; at 
which their excellencies looked positively grateful, and 
the advocate sat down again with a shrug of his well-clad 
shoulders, than which no words could have said more 
plainly: "I wash my hands of you!" 

"Then you admit that you attended the meeting in 
the wood-shed on 3rd November?" 

But Tadeusz had already pulled himself together. 

"No, I don't admit anything, except that I lost the 
locket in the wood-shed." 

"JUSTICE." 223 

"What were you doing in the wood-shed?" 

Having thought for a moment he calmly enunciated 
one of the few lies of his life: — 

"I was sheltering from the snowstorm. You will per- 
haps remember that 3rd November was marked by the 
first snowstorm of the season." 

Their excellencies laughed with good-natured con- 
tempt for such a bungler, and stretched their legs a little 
further under the table; all but one who was now staring 
at the prisoner as hard as the prisoner himself had, a 
minute ago, been staring at the heap upon the velvet 
cover. Presently he leant towards his neighbour to whisper 
something into his large, red ear. And this pair of eyes 
became attentive, and then another as rapidly the whisper 
passed round the table. 

"It was on the 3rd November that you took shelter 
from the storm," resumed the gigantic president, toning 
down his voice to as harmless a key as it was capable of 
assuming. "That storm took place in the evening. 
Would you mind telling me how you spent the morning 
of that day?" 

"The morning? I don't think I remember." 

"Did you not happen to pass through the S Street 

at an early hour, about dawn, or thereabouts?" 

"Certainly not What should I be doing there at 

"Perhaps going to the Gutstein manufactory," sug- 
gested another of the judges. "The S Street lies on 

the road to the manufactory, as you probably know." 

"It lies on one of the roads to the manufactory, but 
not the one I usually employed." 

"Not usually, perhaps, but sometimes, let us say, for 
instance, on the 3rd November, in which case you might 


have chanced to hear a shot fired there. There was a 

shot fired in the S Street on that day; which was 

marked not only by the first snowstorm, but also by a 
cowardly attack upon one of our brave Cossacks. I dare- 
say you remember the circumstance?" 

"Yes, I remember. But since I was not in the street 
I did not hear the shot fired." 

"You know of course that the carr)dng of firearms is 
at present prohibited. Are you ready to swear that you 
have never ofiended in that way?" 

"As a rule," began Tadeusz. 

"Ah, you would wish to make distinctions! I under- 
stand," completed the president, scribbling something on- 
to a scrap of paper which was hastily remitted to one of 
the attendant orderlies. "We shall have some more 
questions to ask you presently; meanwhile you can sit 
down. Next case!" 

A little bewildered Tadeusz sat down upon the chair 
pointed out to him — a dainty affair of gilt wood and 
homy velvet — looking the while towards his advocate, as 
if for some explanation of this abnormal proceeding. But 
the official defender, though in truth as perplexed as 
himself, had no time for him now being already occupied 
with his next client, his being a business that was con- 
ducted en gros. 

Half an hour passed, another sentence — one of banish- 
ment for life — had been pronounced, before Tadeusz 
heard his name once more called out. 

This time when he stood upon the clear space of the 
parquet another figure stood opposite to him; the squat 
figure of a stolid-looking Cossack, a little out of breath 
from the pace at which he had just mounted the broad 
staircase of the palatial mansion. 

"JUSTICE." 225 

"Cossack Lukiok," said the president impressively, 
"look at that man well! Is he the one who fired that 
shot at you last November?" 

The Cossack blinked his small eyes hard into Tadeusz's 

"It is difficult for me to say, your excellency." 

"But you always declared that it was a big, bearded 
man you saw running away," admonished another of the 
excellencies in a truly fatherly tone. "Look at him well, 
my son! This is a big, bearded man, is it not?" 

"Yes, to your orders, excellency!" 

"Then are you ready to swear that it is he who fired 
the shot?" 

"I think it may be he," said the man, obviously strug- 
gling with some elementary sense of justice. 

"No prevarications!" thundered the president, with 
every inch of his stature, every hair in his bushy eye* 
brows, and every medal upon his breast bearing down 
upon the witness. "You are not here to make fools of 
the court A Cossack must speak the truth and fear no 
man — beyond the Czar. A straight answer, you block- 
head: Is it he or is it not?" 

"It is he, to your orders, excellency," stammered the 
man, with submissive eyes fixed upon the demi-gods at 
the table. 


A breath of satisfaction ran round the half-circle, 
while all the five excellencies together beamed upon the 
witness. From him their eyes returned to the prisoner, 
who, half-stunned by the development of events, still 
stared blankly at the man, to him an utter stranger, and 
who had just identified him as his would-be murderer. 
There was more of a puzzled than a startled look upon 

Restitution, 1$ 


his face, as though he were still striving after the real 
significance of the brief dialogue }ust passed. The 
advocate, on his side, had sprung to his feet, fc^ even a 
professional sense of justice is occasionally stung beyond 
endurance. Considering that it had been nearly dark at 
the time, and that the man fired at had originally deposed 
that he had seen no more than the back of the fugitive 
assassin, how was personal identification possible? 

But presently he sat down again with a final shrug of 
his shoulders, realising that he was wasting his breath. 
No one was listening to him, not even Tadeusz, who 
still stood as though petrified, face to face with his 
accuser. As for the generals, they were far too pleased 
with the results obtained to troublie about such trifling 
objections. For two months past a big, bearded man 
had been "wanted," and here was a big, bearded man — 
one signalised too as "suspect," and who had as good 
as admitted haviug attended the revolutionary meeting 
on the day of the attack. What more could you possibly 

The consultation in the cloakroom was more a matter 
of form than anything else. At the end of five minutes 
of a silence so tense that the click of the balls in the 
billiard-room near where the witnesses whiled away the 
time, was distinctly audible, Tadeusz, standing now alone 
upon the free space of the polished floor, heard as though 
in a dream a sentence of death pronounced in which in- 
explicably his name figured, gathered also that the 
sentence was to be put into execution within forty-eight 
hours — all this without any special feeling of anguish, 
simply because, while clearly understanding the words, 
his mind refused to grasp the inner sense of this mon- 
strosity. It was the sensations of a witness, not of an 


actor in the tragi-comedy here enacted, which he was as 
yet undergoing. 

Another brief pause as of general expectation, then 
Tadeusz, roused from his trance by a punch in the ribs 
proceeding from the butt-end of a sentinel's rifle, me- 
chanically inclined his head towards the table around 
which he had not yet completely realised that his mur- 
derers sat, and, without further gesture or word, allowed 
himself to be led from the room. 


Waves of exquisite music were breaking voluptuously 
against the white and gold walls. The restaurant tables 
were all back in their places in the supper-room, and 
upon the raised platform fiddles and cello were being 
gaily wielded. 

"The room is not what it used to be for dancing," 
said a gorgeous lieutenant of the guards to his partner, in 
the pause after the first waltz that had been played. 

"Because of the ghosts that might be looking in at 
the windows?" she asked, a swift look of horror passing 
through her black eyes. 

He stared, with a miniature gape. 

"Ghosts? Oh! is that word in the dictionary still? I 
thought it had been taken out It's the floor I'm thinking 
of. Such a lot of mud as all those people — soldiers and 
Jews and so on — er — witnesses, you know, bring in upon 
their boots! In spite of all the waxing in the world it's 
impossible that the parquet should not suffio:." 

"There was a sitting this morning, was there not?" 

"Yes! a rather interesting one, too." 




Katya said it almost indifferently. The court martial 
interested her only in the abstract, as not l3dng within the 
circle of her personal apprehensions, since she had been 
told repeatedly that Tadeusz's case was one for the 
ordinary courts. During the last ten days she had been 
cut off from the outer world by a sharp attack of in- 
fluenza. To-day for the first time she had ventured forth, 
too early for the doctor's wishes, keen not to miss one of 
the chief balls of the season at which all the heads of 
Russian bureaucracy would be present, with its oppor- 
tunities of making important acquaintances, perhaps also 
of gleaning news of which lately there had been a dearth, 
since Witek, now her devoted if somewhat erratic helper, 
had in turn succumbed to the prevailing epidemic. 

Rather pale she looked and somewhat sharpened in 
feature in her glittering white dress which covered so 
heavy a heart, but beautiful in a new, pathetic way. The 
gleam in her unquiet eyes and the red flowers flaming on 
breast and hair, seemed alike a reflection of fever, barely 

"Yes, quite interesting. They have at last caught 
the fellow who had fired that shot in November — at the 
Cossack, you know." 

"Ah?" said Katya again, as languidly as before. 
There had been so many shots fired since November that 
it was difficult to keep count 

"It was rather a surprise, too. Man brought up for 
minor offence^ use of false docmnents or something of that 
sort Just on the point of being let off with a couple of 
years when the idiot gave himself away by pouncing 
upon a gold locket on the table, which had been picked 
up in a police raid in a suspicious spot Then one of 


the generals got an idea, and the Cossack fired at in 
November was sent for, and after a bit recognised the 
man as the one he had seen running off." 

"And did he confess?" asked Katya, her interest 
fairly aroused by this time. 

"Not he! They never do. Swore he had never been 
near the place at all, and all the usual spotless innocence. 
And yet it's clear that the shot could not have gone off 
by itself; and equally clear that someone has got to 
swing for it." 

"Yes, but supposing it were an innocent man!" said 
Katya, in awe-struck pity for the unknown sufferer. 

"That would be hard lines, certainly, for the man; but 
for the public at large it would be a worse thing if the 
crime went unpunished." 

"You cannot mean that!" 

"What would you have? These are ticklish times. 
One cannot be over squeamish with Anarchists." 

"Is this man an Anarchist?" 

"Something in that line, which is rather strange, as I 
am told he belongs to one of the big Polish families. A 
Count Swigello, by rights." 

"Oh, but that is impossible!" said Katya quickly, 
and suddenly sitting up upon her chair as straight as a 
dart. "Not Tadeusz Swigello?" 

"Tadeusz — ^just so; an engineer by profession. The 
count is rather down upon his luck, as you see." 

For a moment longer Katya sat quite still, her wide 
open eyes fixed full upon her partner's face. Within that 
space he saw how the blank astonishment in them passed 
swiftly to doubt, and from that into wild panic, as it be- 
came borne in upon her that nothing was impossible in 
these times and in this place. 


"Did you say he had been condemned?" she asked, 
very low and hurriedly. 

"Naturally. The sentence to be carried out within 
forty-eight hours." 

He had thought her pale before; but now, abruptly, 
her face became so ghastly that instinctively he put out 
his arm, expecting to see her slip from her chair. Per- 
haps it was the gesture which brought her to herself; for 
in the same moment she rose, still white as death, and 
with one hand steadying herself by a chair-back, yet 
having by a supreme effort of will averted the impending 

"It is nothing; I am not very well," she said, labouring 
her words as though her tongue were heavy. "Would 
you please call my companion. I must return to the 

In the vestibule below, through which late arrivals were 
still streaming, she almost ran against Witek, looking as 
white as herself, and muffled to his ears in furs. 

"Ah, Panna Malkoff, I was coming for youl" 

" Fbu know?" she whispered, not stopping to ask or 
reflect how Witek, the patient under strict doctor's orders, 
came to be here at all. 

"I know. That is why I came — straight out of bed. 
I have my nightgown on under this. It was Dembowski 
who brought me the news half an hour ago. There is 
not a moment to lose. Come quickly!" 

"Where to?" she asked, pressing already close upon 
his steps. 

"To your hotel. Dembowski is there. He wants to 
speak to you." 

"Then all hope is not gone? Any chance of an 


"None, he says. But there is a plan. You will hear. 
Where is Timosh? Is this your carriage?" 

As they rolled towards the hotel — at a few minutes 
distance — not a word was spoken. In one comer of the 
carriage Witek shivered beneath his furs and in the other 
Malania Petrowna, who had gathered that something 
dreadful had happened or was going to happen, made an 
apprehensive heap. Katya, very upright, looked out of 
the window with a fixed, gleaming gaze which saw no- 
thing. That gold locket! How well she remembered the 
day when she herself had fastened it onto his watch- 
chain, at the foot of that very crucifix which had wit- 
nessed their final parting. And was that to cost him his 

It was in silence too that they mounted the hotel 
staircase. Within the sitting-room a young man who had 
been restlessly perambulating the apartment for some 
time past turned quickly at their entrance. He was a 
slight, eager-eyed youth, with black hair cropped so short 
and grown so thickly as to resemble black velvet, and an 
habitual, half-nervdus gesture of passing his hand over it, 
as tiioiigh to assure himself of the quality of the pile. 

"Dembowski, here she is! Now say what you have 
to say!" 

Witek sank, coughing, onto the nearest chair. 

"Oh, Panna Malkoff," groaned Dembowski, with a 
sharp smiting together of his hands; "how you must hate 
me I Witek has told me of your generous attachment It 
was I — ^you must know — / who persuaded him into join- 
ing our party; / who took him to that meeting " 

Katya's impatient gesture cut short the words. 

"What have you got to propose. I hear you have 
some plan?" 


"Not I, but the party. They have been preparing it 
for weeks. But — " and his voice dropped apprehen- 
sively — "I do not know if I can speak here. A single 
word betrayed would be a matter of life and death to 

Without replying, Katya went to the door and 
opened it 

"Timosh," she said to the old Cossack awaiting orders 
in the lobby beyond; "you will go into the passage now, 
and stand before the closed door till I call you; and until 
then nobody is to pass." 

Having secured immunity on this side Katya, crossing 
first the sitting-room and then her own bedroom, took the 
precaution of locking Malania Petrowna into the apart- 
ment beyond, whither she had ahready fled as to a refuge 
from these incomprehensible doings. 

"You can speak now, safely," she said, returning to 
her visitor. "What is the plan?" 

He began to unfold it, not too coherently because of 
his agitation. Heard in these hurried and confused words 
it sounded like something closely bordering on lunacy — 
the wildest, most improbable scheme ever born in des- 
perate brains. 

Transferences from the Pawiak to the Citadel either 
of sentenced prisoners, or — in times of over-crowding — of 
the former's surplus, were no unusual occurrence. 

Within the year it had once or twice happened that, 
in order to avoid disturbances, the transport had taken 
place in the night, instead of the early morning hours. 
Upon this fact the project had been built; nothing less 
than a sham transference of this description, to take 
place only a few hours earlier than the one appointed 
for the official action. Ten was the number of prisoners 


to be then liberated fixed upon as the utmost that 
could be ventured without dragging out proceedings to a 
perilous length. Every possible information had been 
collected as to the chances of those either in danger of 
a death-sentence, or as to reprieve if already sentenced 
and with great deliberation the list had been drawn up. 

To Katya, as with painfully beating heart she listened, 
the tentative sounded like one of those undertakings of 
princely knights in fairy-tales, and which owe their success 
only to magic rings and assistant spirits. A thing to be 
smiled at as at a generous child's fancy. 

"Would not an appeal be better than this?" she 
asked helplessly. "The advocate could tell me " 

Dembowski's restless hand passed over his hair. 

"The advocate has appealed already — to no purpose 
whatever. Only this morning the court martial has re- 
ceived new orders from St. Petersburg, as we managed 
to find out, stricter ones, of course, and ruling out all 
possibilities of reprieve." 

Katya shut her eyes for one moment with a feeling 
of deadly sickness. "Within forty-eight hours." She had 
just remembered her partner's words. 

"Then is this — this plan the only hope?" 

"The only one." 

"For when is it planned?" 

"For to-morrow night." 

"That is within the forty-eight hours," she said to 

Then aloud. 

"Have they got his name upon the list?" 

"Not yet The list is dosed, as I told you. It was 
closed before his sentence. They say they dare not take 
on any more. I tried to persuade them and failed. That 


is why I came to you. If you txy to persuade them I 
think you will not fail." 

"Where are they?" 

"In the lodgings of one of the party, where they are 
at this moment fixing the last details. We would still be 
in time " 

With a quick movement Katya gathered her white 
skirts into one hand. She had not sat down since her 
entrance, nor even taken time to remove her wraps. 

"What are you waiting for," she asked impatiently. 
"Take me there at once!" 

"Ah! — that is what I hoped for! But your dress?" 

"No one will see my dress," said Katya, wrapping the 
long dark cloak more tightly around her. "I am ready, 
Pan Dembowski." 



Upon a narrow landing, up two pairs of wooden stairs 
Katya, muffled in costly furs, waited breathless while 
Dembowski, who had exchanged a password with the 
person who opened the door, went in to bargain for ad- 

Very soon Dembowski came out again and silently 
held the door open. Quickly and quietly they passed in 
through a small dark lobby, with a greasy kitchen smell 
about it, to a couple of rooms, in the second of which some 
dozen men were sitting round a table with an oil-doth cover 
and a smoky petroleum lamp upon it There were papers 
too upon the table — official-looking papers — and other 
more unexpected things, upon which Katya's eyes, even 
at this critical moment, fell with a sort of wonder; such as 

TEN Oft ELEVEN? ^35 

razors, pocket mirrors, cheap-looking purses, besides 
match-boxes in a row and parcels of cigarettes, unopened 
ones, as distinct from those that were being at this mo- 
ment plentifully smoked. Also a small bottle with a 
colourless fluid in it, and which looked like a chemist's 
bottle. Beside another table two young women with short 
manes of hair had been busily folding up trousers and 
coats of various colours and cut, among which sheepskin 
jackets figured almost as frequently as the ordinary 
bourgeois attire. 

Katya, following Dembowski into the room, was met 
by a circle of expectant eyes in which surprise and 
curiosity fought for the upper hand. As she came into 
the light of the lamp the men rose, some with alacrity, 
others reluctantly following their example, while the two 
women in the background, their hands becoming suddenly 
idle, opened wide eyes of wonder upon the unlooked-for 

"You have something to say to us; will you please be 
seated,*' said the person who sat at the head of the table, 
pointing to a vacant chair. 

Katya sat down and looked around at the faces be- 
side her. A strange collection. Some noble physiognomies 
and some dissolute ones, reckless glances and nervous 
gestures. Taken all in dl they looked like a handful of 
adventurers of mixed origin, but with between them that 
conmion resemblance which fanaticism ever creates. 

But the man at the head of the table was no ad- 
venturer, or so deeply disguised a one as to be unre- 
cognisable. A large, flaxen-fair man, carefully though plainly 
dressed and with a placid, somewhat flat face, which to 
all appearance seemed incapable of physiognomical dis- 
turbance. It was he who had asked Katya to be seated. 


and who now with great deliberation of manner, seeing 
that she still struggled with her agitation, repeated his 
question as to what she had to say, drawing out his watch 
the while as though to hint at the value of time. 

And then, striving for breath, she began to speak, at 
first so low that those at the farther end of the long, 
narrow table leaned forward to hear. Her love for 
Tadeusz Swigello — the rupture of her engagement and 
its cause — her resolve to save him at all cost — it was all 
unveiled before these strangers ruthlessly, with no feeling 
of shame, with no thought at all of herself and only the 
one fixed idea of moving their hearts for him. As the 
words came faster, more audibly, more eloquently, the 
eyes of the men, all fixed upon her speaking face which 
said so much more than even her words could say, began 
to kindle, some of them to fiame, and the two women, 
drawing near, watched her with an interest which, though 
more critical, was not less real. 

When she paused, looking round her with pleading 
eyes, there was first a silence, and then a slight but 
general changing of position as though some spell had 
been lifted. 

"You alone can save him now, by putting him on 
your list. You will not refuse — you cannot!" 

There was no answer at once. They looked towards 
the flaxen-haired leader as though for guidance. Katya, 
divining the master-spirit, looked in the same direction all 
down the length of the table. His was the only face 
which had not changed during her appeal, though the 
light-blue eyes had been as attentive as any. 

He spoke now, more deliberately than ever. 

"We would save him if we could; believe it But 
the line has to be drawn somewhere, and it is drawn al- 

I. l U i^ MM i I I 


ready. Even ten is a large number to get through in 
the time given." 

"What difference can one more make? — one single 

"The difference of the one passenger who swamps the 

"But there must be some way — there must!" 

The leader shook his head gravely. 

"Personal considerations are ruled out by our principles. 
It is the need alone that determines." 

"And where can you find a greater need than here, 
and a greater right? He is innocent — you know it!" 

"So are the others." 

"And a Pole, too, one of yourselves. And almost 
more a Lithuanian than a Pole. Am I wrong in sup- 
posing that you are a Lithuanian yourself?" 

She said it confidently, sure that she could not be 
mistaken in that so familiar flaxen hair, in those dear 
and steady blue eyes. 

"I have told you already that personal considerations 
do not count here, nor patriotic ones either." 

"Then you refuse?" 

"I fear we must" 

Katya sat for a moment frowning at the oil-skin table- 
cloth. When she raised her eyes again something new 
and almost wicked had come into them. 

"Are you sure that you dare do so? Supposing I go 
from here to denounce you?" 

"Supposing you do not go from here at all?" 

"What do you mean?" asked Katya, duped by the 
blandness of the tone. 

"I mean that the friend you have brought with you 
belongs to our party and is perfectly acquainted with its 


principles. I also mean that we are fourteen and he is 

Kama's eyes caught the faces beside her, with a 
panic-stricken question upon her own. They were harden- 
ing already as though in response to her threat Yes, 
these were not men to stop before anything which stood 
in their passage. Not to be intimidated; but perhaps to 
be softened. In the terror of her heart her hands clasped 
in her lap as she leaned forward, all defiance gone, ready 
to kneel to them so that only they consented to the 
rescue of Tadeusz. 

"Listen to me — listen to me — I beg! Your hearts 
are not of stone. You are men and he is a fellow-man, 
waiting for an unmerited death behind those dreadful 
walls. If he dies I die, too; remorse will kill me; for if 
it had not been for the disturbance I brought into his life 
he never would have been in this mad adventure. Oh, 
be kind, be good — to him — and to me! Oh, you to whom 
they listen, tell them to save him — and me!" 

As she half-rose to stretch her clasped hands towards 
the man at the other end of the table the heavy cloak 
slipped from her shoulders. As the white glittering dress, 
the jewels upon the bare arms and neck became revealed, 
a dazzled look came into the men's eyes; while the two 
women stared eagerly, busy even at this moment with 
wondering how such frills as that were drawn, and whether 
the silver on the dress were real or not? 

Their hearts would indeed have needed to be of stone 
and their senses of lead had they not succumbed now. 
Again that questioning look towards the leader, the 
placidity of whose flat face seemed no longer perfect. 
The deliberation of his tone when he spoke sounded 
almost artificial now. 


**I propose to put it to the vote of those who are to 
be engaged in the enterprise. It is their risk, and there- 
fore should be their choice. What say you, Melinski?" 

"I am willing!" declared a smiling, golden moustached 
youth as gaily as though the whole thing were a school- 
boy escapade, and looking enthusiastically at Katya the 

"And I— and I!" 

They were all willing, not, it is safe to say, because 
Tadeusz was a fellow-man, but because Katya was a 

''In that case I am willing too, though it is madness." 

Katya sat down again, trembling suddenly all over. 

"Gentlemen, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. 
You have given me back to life." 

"We may have done so by to-morrow at this hour; 
we have not done so yet Are you sure you know what 
you are thanking us for?" 

"And yet you do hope to succeed, or you would not 
try. Tell me what you mean to do. I know next to 
nothing as yet" 

One of them — a dark, thin man who looked as though 
he had lived hard, in more senses than one — began to 
explain. There were to be seven actors in the critical 
comedy of to-morrow night; six sham policemen and one 
sham gendarme captain, who would present themselves at 
the Pawiak to claim the prisoners. The uniforms lay 
ready, and for weeks past the parts had been studied 
down to the minutest detail, so as to guard against any 
hitch in the formalities of the proceedings. 

One of the chief points, it appeared, was to keep the 
prisoners in ignorance of their rescue as the only means 
of ensuring that the tdles should be perfectly played. All 


the actors in the enterprise were to be strangers to them, 
and in the careful selection made every pains had been 
taken to be assured that not even a cursory meeting had 
ever taken place. Members recently joined had therefore 
been allowed to volunteer for the post of danger, the 
present leader himself — the gendarme captain of to-morrow 
— had been sent for from Kowno, where a branch of the 
party was in process of organisation. And the precautions 
were wise; seeing that one single flash of joyful recogni- 
tion would ruin all. So of course would the slightest 
blimder in the lengthy official proceedings; the momentary 
failure of nerve of any one of the actors. 

Katya grew cold as she listened. Would they be able 
to do it? 

Katya looked round mth mistrustful scrutiny at the 
faces to the right and to the left Poles, every one of 
them; and therefore, and despite the fact that the man 
she loved was a Pole, looked down upon by her Russian 
pride as generally inefficient material. The excitable, 
volatile, unreliable Pole — ke to carry through so cold- 
blooded an action? Yet looking, reassurance came. This 
was not the Pole as she knew him in everyday life. It 
requires the presence of circumstances to wind up the 
springs of that complex and paradoxical nature; but once 
woimd up there is nothing it cannot accomplish. For the 
Pole is not a person for everyday life; he is most emi- 
nently a person for emergencies. But it was the impassive 
face of the flaxen-haired Lithuanian which put the seal 
upon her confidence. 

At a given spot outside the town a reserve was to 
await the fugitives, and there supply them with the false 
passports prepared, as well as a few indispensable articles; 
likewise take charge of the revolvers with which each 


person was to be armed, in case of a hand to hand 

**There !s a disguise ready for each of them, a razor, 
a pocket mirror and five roubles in each pocket; and 
cigarettes, of course. Ten packets in all." To the speaker 
the cigarettes were evidently almost as much a necessity 
of hfe as the passports. 

"There will have to be eleven now," said one of the 
short-haired girls — a practical spirit, apparently. "What 
size is your friend?" 

It had been settled already that this girl was to take 
Katya to the place of rendezvous, where — should the 
attempt be successful — she would see Tadeusz, if only 
for a moment That this meeting could be anything 
beyond a final parting she did not believe; but even this 
prospect, joined to the thought of his rescue, was enough 
to produce a sort of mental intoxication which, being 
artificial, could not last 

Nor did it beyond the first few minutes of the long 
drive back to the hotel. It may have been the sight of 
police patrols in the deserted wintry streets, or it may 
have been Karol Dembowski's exaggerated display of 
confidence which depressed her. The more he tried to 
prove the certainty of success, the more clearly did she 
see the probability of failure. "Are you sure that you 
know what you are thanking us for?" the words of the 
leader came back to her mind with the chill of cold water. 
What was it indeed? The chance that Tadeusz, instead 
of being hung, would be shot down like a dog in the 
scrimmage which was only too likely to ensue — and a few 
hours earlier too. A less ignoble death, perhaps, but a 
more expeditious one. 

Restitution, 1 6 


Long before the hotel was reached, she was fighting 
hard with despondency. 

The night-porter was in readiness, and apparently on 
the look-out 

"There is a gentleman waiting to speak to the gra- 
cious lady," he informed her, as soon as having dismissed 
her companions she stood within the entrance, and speak- 
ing with a furtive look of curiosity which she had not 
observed in him before. 

"At this hour? Why, it is nearly two o'clock! Did 
he give his name?" 

"No; but he has been here for some hours." 

"Not in my apartments, surely?" 

"In the restaurant His business is urgent, he says." 

"The advocate!" thought Katya, with a sudden re- 
vival of hope, and with it of animation. "Who else could 
it be? Perhaps, after all, there was a chance beyond that 
mad attempt!" 

"Yes, I will see him," she said briskly; and without 
further question followed the porter to the dining-room, 
in which one of the electric lights had been left turned 
on in honour of the tardy guest Straight under this he 
sat with a glass and several bottles before him, his face 
to the door, elbows on the table, and cheeks pressed be- 
tween his closed fists. 

Katya had advanced so quickly, and her eyes were 
still so full of the darkness outside that she was in the 
middle of the room before she saw that he was in uniform, 
and quite close already before she recognised him. 

" Vou?" she said, standing still, and in the blankest 
accent of disappointment 



It was the first time that Klobinski found himself 
face to face with Katya since their last meeting at 
Lubynia. Having seen her again — unseen himself — the 
fear of her scorn, the terror of staking everything on one 
card and losing it, had once more paralysed him. In- 
evitably he had fallen back upon his old trick of watch- 
ing, of lying securely in wait for the opportunity which he 
still believed would come. It had been a weary time, 
putting a torturing strain upon nerves and temper. His 
chief preoccupation, of course, was her campaign in 
Tadeusz's favour; his chief fear that she should succeed, 
in which case gratitude might bring about the reconcilia- 
tion which would be his undoing. An anonymous letter 
had seemed the most efficacious way of averting this 
danger, far more so than any official action, for which 
proofs — of which his hands were empty — would have 
been required. Upon the corrupt soil of public life 
anonymous denunciations flourished just then; and the 
market value of suspicion — even of the vaguest descrip- 
tion — was well-known to him. Nor had it here belied its 

It was with something of a shock that he received the 
news of the sentence; not because of any regret for his 
hated rival, but simply because his nerves were not robust 
enough for such radical emotions as this. Besides there 
was the terror of her anger. Should she ever discover his 
hand in the matter, forgiveness might be impossible. 

But for the moment all these emotions were dominated 



by curiosity, pure and simple, burning curiosity as to 
how she would take the blow, whether it really would be 
the blow it would have been some months ago — in one 
word, whether the infatuation still subsisted. To keep 
away from her longer seemed impossible. He must see 
her — perhaps even speak to her, should his courage suffice 
— must at any rate be able to study her mien and de- 
meanour. But how do it? To go straight to her hotel 
and send in his card seemed at once too downright and 
too risky a course. 

And then he remembered the ball that was to take 
place that very night, and for which the invitation had 
been lying on his table for a week. Might not that give 
him the opportunity desired? 

Impatience notwithstanding, official necessities put him 
among the late arrivals. She was not in the room; but 
she had been here, as he very soon learnt, as well as her 
hurried and premature departure. Not difficult to read, 
this riddle! She had come here in ignorance, and had 
gone away again enlightened; but to do what? Merely 
to weep in her closed room? It was an assumption which 
he could not reconcile with her personality. Much more 
likely that she should be making some desperate attempt 
at reversing the sentence. Whatever it was he felt that 
he must know. 

At the hotel to which he followed her, he was met by 
the disconcerting news that she had been here for a short 
space and was gone again. Where to? The porter could 
not tell him. There had been no direction given to the 
driver within his hearing. 

With knitted brow and pinched lips Klobinski stood 
considering. Follow her? But where to? There were 
so many places she might try; and going to the one he 



might miss her at the other. Or else — horrible thought 
— she might, recognising the hopelessness of appeals, be 
bent only upon a last sight of her lover. Might she not 
be at the Pawiak even now paving her way in gold to 
the cell of the condemned man? A pang of jealousy 
stabbed him at the thought. Surely it would be best to 
drive straijght to the Pawiak. And perhaps cross her on 
the way as she returned — most likely unsuccessful? 

No; it was clear that in the midst of this sea of un- 
certainty the hotel presented the only fixed point; since 
here she must return in time, sooner or later. 

"I will wait," he said, to the patiently expectant porter. 
And then, as he turned towards the restaurant: — 

"You will tell Panna Malkoff that a gentleman wishes 
to speak to her; nothing more. You understand?" 

"I understand," said the porter, with a submissive 
glance at the dark-green uniform which in his heart of 
hearts he detested; for he was a Pole and had a brother 
in Siberia. 

Within the restaurant, almost deserted already, Klo- 
binski asked for a bottle of wine, principally because it 
was unavoidable to ask for something, and he felt unable 
to eat. Before he had drunk half of it he congratulated 
himself upon his idea. Already the blood was flowing 
more freely in his veins. The wine was working wonders 
with him, as it always does on usually abstemious men. 
Comparing his sensations with those of half an hour ago 
he scarcely recognised them. That chill fear with which 
he had been looking forward to the meeting with Katya 
was well-nigh gone. He felt almost confident already — 
almost brave. Surely he had made a new and valuable 
discovery — that of a bottomless fund of moral courage 
from which he could draw at pleasure. By the time 


Katya's droshkes^xypp^d. before the entrance he felt ready 
for anything. 

"Yes, it is I!" he said, regaining his feet, with a slight 
sway of the body. "You are astonished?" 

She was more so than she could have explained, not 
only at the identity of her visitor but also at his appear- 
ance. The sallow face was flushed, the small black eyes 
glazed in a way that was new to her. Even the sleek 
hair was ruffled, almost beyond recognition. In the first 
moment — so great was her ignorance in such matters — 
she did not think of connecting these symptoms with the 
bottles on the table. 

"Yes, I am astonished; I thought you were the ad- 

"The advocate? Hi, hi!" (how loathsomely familiar 
was the hilarious neigh in this exaggerated edition of 
itself!) "The advocate for him, the traitor who has got 
his deserts or is on the point of getting them." 

"Is it you who dare to talk of traitors?" she flashed 
out, her eyes blazing up superbly in her white face. 

But for his fictitious courage he never could have braved 
it out. As it was he was just able to bluster: — 

"Why not? I dare everything; even I dare ask you 
where you have come from now?" 

"It is nothing to you where I come from." 

"Oh, is it not? We shall see. Where have you been, 
Katya; where have you been? Not to the Pawiak?'* 

He had made two unsteady steps towards her, and 
now stood so dose that a whiff of his wine-tainted breath 
could not but reach her, bringing sudden enlightenment 

"Good night. Pan Klobinski," she said shortly. "I am 
going to bed; and I should advise you to do the same." 

She turned to the door, but her movement had put 


him on his mettle. To her consternation he was there 
before her, barring the passage. 

"No, Katya — no! You do not go without answering 
my question. Where have you been? With your lover? 
your faithless lover who has spumed you — the man at 
whose feet I left you grovelling in the forest? Will your 
kisses help him to die more easily? Ah, wretch! how 
should he have deserved them?" 

"Let me pass!" said Katya, with icy voice and eyes. 

"What! Still so proud? so cold? — to me, Katya — to 
me, who have never done to you what that man has 
done; who have been your slave for months — for years! 
Ah, for but one of those kisses which you have wasted 
upon him, what would I not have done!" 

His own words came upon himself unexpectedly. He 
had not come here with the intention of making love. 
In complete possession of his senses he would have re- 
cognised the juncture as ill-advised. But wine is a press- 
ing counsellor, if not a wise one. The disdainful eyes, 
the quivering nostrils, the vision of white arms and of a 
gleaming neck, caught beneath the loose hanging cloak, 
all combined to make his brain reel. 

"I must say it, Katya — I must, even if you should 
speak to me again as you spoke to me at Lubynia (ah, 
cruel one! how could you?) But you will not, for your 
heart is a woman's heart, after all. Must not my devotion 
touch you in the end? Compare it but one moment to 
the conduct of that other ■-" 

"If you do not let me pass this moment," said Katya, 
speaking through her teeth, "I will touch the bell." 

He peered at her face a brief space, as though to 
make sure of her inflexibility, leaning heavily the while 
upon the door against which he had put his back. Dur- 


ing that space his face changed — the tipsy ecstasy trans- 
formed into a lowering scowl. It was in another tone 
that he asked: — 

"You reject my love, as you rqected it before?" 

"I have nothing to say to you, Pan Klobinski. Every 
moment that I pass in the same room with you is to me 
a purgatory. I hope this is distinct enough. Have we 
understood each other now?" 


He folded his arms across his narrow chest, standing 
now without the support of the door. 

"We understand each other, yes, but not quite per- 
fectly yet There are some things that you forget; for 
instance, that my position imposes upon me duties, which 
I have been content to neglect until now, for the sake of 
your beautiful eyes. But since those eyes refuse to smile 
upon me, why should I neglect them fdrther? Have you 
forgotten the affair of the passport? Do you not know 
that I hold you in the hollow of my hand?" 

Katya, contemptuously silent, coldly gave back his 

"For the last time, Katya: Will you make me happy, 
or will you not?" 

He was moving towards her, with arms beginning to 
unclose; but at sight of her vehement withdrawal, stood 
still again, eyeing her strangely. 

"Yes or no, Katya? Take your choice!" 

"A hundred times. No!" she panted, wrapping her 
cloak more tightly around her, as though it were an 
armour against the dreaded embrace. 

He gave her one more scrutinising glance, then al- 
most sprang at the bell. 

During the minute that followed they stood with only 


a pace between them, in dead silence, she, white-faced 
but erect and scornful, he, breathing rather hard and with 
features twitching. To both it was a relief unspeakable 
when a sleepy waiter put in his head at a further door. 

"Is there a garodowoi (policeman) on the premises?" 
asked Klobinski, in a voice which an extreme tension of 
nerves helped him to govern. 

The waiter grew wide-awake in an instant Such a 
question, joined to the uniform of the questioner and the 
face of the lady in the fur cloak, were quite enough for 

"Yes. Am I to call him, your honour?" 

"Yes, this instant!" 

There was another pause — surprisingly short, and 
then the garodowoi entered, with <Mie or two curious faces 
peering over his shoulder, that of the night-porter among 

"Constable Paploff?" 

"To your orders, your honour!" 

"That person," and Klobinski's shaking finger was 
pointed at Katya, "is to be taken to the police-station at 
once, at once, do you hear? She is accused of the use 
of false papers." 

"To your orders," said the man, without moving a 
muscle of his face, blunted by this time to the excitement 
of sensational arrests. 

"But might not the lady change her dress?" suggested 
the fatherly night-porter in the background. 

"At once! I said. At once!" almost screamed Klo- 
binski, dimly aware that any delay might be fatal to his 
resolution. "Fetch a droshke!" 

"There is one at the door," stuttered the frightened 
waiter. "An arrival from the station " 


"So much the better. Constable Paploff, you know 
your duty." 

And with a kind of supreme flourish he stood aside, 
as though to leave free the passage. 

Without having once unlocked her white lips, without 
having glanced even once in his direction, Katya passed 
him, walking firmly, and nothing beyond the want of 
colour to betray the shock of real consternation which 
she had undergone and recovered from by a pulling to- 
gether of all her moral strength. Whatever might be her 
inner fears she would not give to this man the spectacle 
of her discomfiture. 


When Timosh, nodding at his post, opened his eyes 
once again on this disturbed night, he was astonished to 
see that the clock-hand pointed almost to 3 a.m. And 
the gracious lady not back yet! It was beginning to be 
a little disquieting. 

Rubbing the sleep out of his small eyes he went down 
to reconnoitre, and stumbled straight upon the night- 
porter and the waiter, talking in a whisper, and with the 
scare of the latest episode still showing in their faces. 
What they told him sounded to Timosh so incredible, 
that frequent repetition alone could achieve conviction. 
Once achieved, however, the effect left nothing to be 

"The gracious lady at the police-station?" he bel- 
lowed, in a voice fit to disturb the slumbers of at least 
the first floor, and which the porter, conscious of his re- 

TIMOSH. 251 

sponsibilities, vainly attempted to quell. "My gracious 
lady? Who has dared to take her there?" 

"It was the commissioner himself who ordered the 
arrest There was nothing to be done against it." 

"But what for? In the name of all the devils, what 

"For the use of false papers, it seems." 

"That's a lie," said Timosh decisively. "I shall go to 
the police-station to explain. Let me out, will you?" 
And he made for the door. 

"It is no use, believe me. They will not let you in. 
What can your word weigh against that of a stanowoi?'* 

"Then I will speak to the stanowoi himself. I will 
tell him that he has heard lies. Where is he? In the 

"No. He left immediately after the arrest; gone to 
his lodgings, I suppose." 

"Where does he live?" 

"I know nothing of where he lives. How should I?" 

"And his name?" 

The porter shrugged his fur-clad shoulders. 

"I know that as little. He is commissioner in the 
third district; that is enough for me." 

"But how am I to get to him, then?" demanded 
Timoshy making ready his hands as though to throttle the 

"By going to his office. But that is shut up now." 

"Then I will sit at the door until it is opened in the 
morning. Will you show me the way?" 

"Not now, my friend. I cannot leave the hotel. I 
will take you there to-morrow forenoon, when I am off 
duty — to-day, rather, I should say; but, believe me, it 
will be for nothing." 


The forenoon was advancing before he found him- 
self at liberty to fulfil his promise. Soon after dawn a 
messenger had arrived with a note to Malania Petrowna, 
signed by Katya, and giving a list of such articles of at- 
tire as die immediately required. "Do not be alarmed; 
I am in no danger," she had scribbled at the end. In 
spite of which Malania's hands trembled quite piteously 
as she packed the clothes, which ran some risk of spot- 
ting from her fast-falling tears. Timosh carried down 
the trunk with a snarl upon his lips. The demand for 
the clothes seemed to put the seal upon an event, which 
until that moment he had not yet brought himself to ac- 
knowledge as real. He could scarcely await the porter's 

Yet even this brought only the beginning of new trials 
to his patience! For the large, barrack-Uke police station 
was at this hour a perfect bee-hive of activity. Police 
agents and constables, detectives, messengers, jostled each 
other all over the inner courtyard and passages. For any 
but an accredited personage to penetrate into a commis- 
sioner's office seemed an unattainable dream. 

"It is no use," said the porter, at the end of a weary 
hour. "I told you it would be so. Let us go back." 

l^ut Timosh's hand was upon his arm like an iron vice. 

"May I wither in my clothes if I go back now I We 
cannot get in — good! but he will have to come out once 
upon a time, will he not?" 

"At midday, yes — for the dinner-hour." 

"Good. Take me to some spot \diich he must pass on 
leaving the building, and stand there with me to show me 
the right man. I will step forward and speak to him — 
throw myself at his feet, if need be." 

"Very well," said the porter resignedly, and a little 

TIMOSH. 253 

tired of the whole affair^ partly because his interest in 
the matter was only an indirect one, and partly because 
he had had no night's rest 

Close to the entrance of the covered passage which 
led from the courtyard to the street, among a miscellaneous 
group of clients, Uiey took up their post 

"Is that he? Is that he?" the Cossack kept whisper- 
ing fiercely into his companion's ear, as now one official 
and now another passed to and fro. The porter had 
shaken his head at least a round dozen of times before, 
just on the stroke of twelve, he whispered back: — 

"That is he!— the nearer of the two." 

"That!" whispered back Timosh, his eyes now so 
widely distended as to become of almost normal size; 
"but that man's name is Klobinski!" 

"I don't know what he is called, but he is stanowoi 
in the third district" 

"But that cannot be! It is Klobinski, I tell you!" 

"And why should a stanowoi not be called Klo- 

"And you are certain it was he who ordered the 
arrest? Not the one at the other side, perhaps?" 

"Do you take me for a fool?" said the porter, some- 
what testy by this time. "The one on the near side, I 
tell you — the thin, black one. He is almost past Are 
you not going to speak to him?" 

Apparently Timosh was not Instead of starting for- 
ward he had drawn back a little, as though to make use 
of the porter's broad back as a screen, and there, his 
head ducked and his back bent, and only his eyes keen 
and lively, half-crouched, without motion or word, so that 
Klobinski, occupied with his companion, passed close 
without becoming conscious of his presence. 


"Well?" asked the porter, turning when the two were 
past to the Cossack behind him. "Is that all? What 
have I brought you here for?" 

"No, it is not all." 

By the dazed look on his face Timosh seemed to be 
recovering from a stroke of mental paralysis occasioned . 
by surprise. "You have brought me for something, ah, 
yes! But it cannot be here." 

"I don't care where it is," grumbled the porter, "so 
long as I get back to my dinner." 

"You can go — I don't need you any longer!" Timosh 
threw back over his shoulder as he hurried through the 
passage into the street — just a minute too late, it would 
seem, for nowhere in the crowd outside could his eagerly 
searching eyes descry the narrow silhouette they were in 
search of. Having peered about anxiously on all sides 
he slowly re-entered the building. 

"When are the offices opened again?" he inquired of 
the first person he met 

"At two o'clock," he was told. 

Timosh reflected for a moment; then deliberately 
walked out again, and, having reconnoitred, went over as 
deliberately to a small eating-house at the other side of 
the street, where he sought patience in a glass of wodki 
and some chunks of bread and cheese. When two o'clock 
struck he was once more in an advantageous position 
near the entrance of the building, and once more caught 
a glimpse of Klobinski, unseen. 

For the rest of the afternoon he watched the place 
with the persistency of a cat before a mouse-hole, some- 
times from the window of the eating-house, sometimes 
firom the pavement among the passers-by. 

During these long hours of waiting there was food 

TIMOSH. 255 

enough for thought — congenial food. From the moment 
of recognition the afifair had entered on to a new and 
unforeseen stage. A sense of treachery, of hospitality 
misused — that hospitality which stands almost sacred in 
every Russian's eyes — was stirring up revolt in his 
barbarously honest soul. He was conscious only of the 
devouring necessity of avenging the insult put upon the 
gracious lady, by one who had eaten of her bread and 
salt. A Polak, too, and one whom the gracious lady 
herself had always disliked, as he now remorsefully re- 
membered. Not even the Little Father's uniform could 
shield him this time. Once and for all the nearer loyalty, 
the personal, had triumphed over the abstract. Mingled 
with all this was a sense of relief at the final solution of 
a certain pursuing question. Could there be any further 
doubt as to the person into whom duty demanded that 
his sword should be stuck? Never had action been so 
clearly designated by fate. The tigerish instincts within 
him, which had been growling for months, now seemed to 
be licking their lips. Once or twice, seeing himself un- 
observed, he pulled his sword a little way out of the 
scabbard, feeling its edge with his finger. That good 
sword which had drunk so much Polish blood in '63, 
would it know the taste again? 

But it could not be here. That was why, even in 
that first moment of astonishment, he had — purely out of 
an unreflecting instinct — withdrawn so hastily behind the 
porter's back. That was why he waited so patiently now. 

The office hours were not yet over when Klobinski, 
marked at a safe distance, came out again, with a face so 
drawn as clearly to proclaim his unfitness for further work 
that day. Timosh was just in time to see him enter a 
droshke, and, hailing a second, followed close. 


Presently, for it was not much of a drive, Timosh 
stocki upon the steps of the house which the commissioner 
had entered. Here again that caution and patience which 
was coupled so strangely with the blood-thirst within him 
came to his aid. 

The house was pierced by the usual covered entrance, 
leading to an inner yard. Here in the shadows it was 
not hard to stand concealed. A couple of hours passed 
during which Timosh scarcely moved except to blow upon 
his fingers, in order to keep them from stiffening. He 
was counting upon the improbability of a bachelor like 
Klobinski spending his evening at home. Various people 
passed in and out, for the house contained more than 
one lodging. At each of them Timosh peered through 
the shadows, with craned neck. The justification of his 
forecast was long in coming, but it came at last With a 
face more haggard than ever, the collar of his cloak 
turned up to his ears, as though he would hide behind 
it, Klobinski passed him close. 

Giving him a few steps of start Timosh followed him 
out into the street, in which the lights had been burning 
now for hours. The eyes of Timosh, in the rear, and 
through a still considerable stream of foot-passengers, 
kept as securely fastened to his figure as though they 
had been hooks. At the first restaurant he came to 
Klobinski stopped, and after a pause of hesitation entered. 

Passing by the brilliantly lighted windows and peering 
over the blinds, Timosh could see him sitting alone at a 
table; behind him his fur-lined cloak hanging on a peg; 
before him a bottle of wine. 

"Good!" he soliloquised. "The more of that he takes 
the better it will be — ^just in case my arm really should 
be a trifle stiff." 

TIMOSH. 257 

And once more he sought a vantage-ground where he 
could lie securely in wait 

Behind those lighted windows, Klpbinski, greedily gulp- 
ing down the strongest wine upon the card, was seeking 
to drown in its ruby flood the tortures of that long day. 

What an awakening it had been when, after a few 
hours of leaden sleep, he had opened his eyes, miserably 
sober, to the recollections of the night! Having passed 
them in review he hid his face in his pillow, groaning. 

"LostI lost! everything irretrievably lost!" Looking 
at his own deed of the night by the cold light of day he 
had difficulty in believing that it was his own deed. In 
the madman of the restaurant he could not recognise 

"It is impossible that she should ever forgive me — 
quite impossible!" 

But if — repairing his injustice — he released her at once? 

And in a fever of haste he had sent to the police 
station — only to gain the information that she had already 
been transferred to the Pawiak. 

The Pawiak! The word tore him with a new pang. 
To the Pawiak, where he was, where it was thinkable that 
they should attain a glimpse of each other! True, this 
was the last day which that man had to live; but even 
this thought could not calm his burning jealousy. From 
the bottom of his narrow soul he grudged him the one 
word, the one glance which he might yet glean as Love's 
viaticum on the way. 

All day long he had moved like a man in a nightmare, 
which was yet dominated by a vision dancing tantalisingly 
before his inner sight — that of the ruby-red wine which 
he had drunk last night True, it had betrayed him into 

ReitituHon, I J 

258 RESTmmON. 

folly; but also it had, for a time, made another man of 
him, and unless he was to go mad, he must get out of 
himself again if only for a few hours. The discovery of 
yesterday required to be further exploited. 

When after an hour he regained the street his gait, 
although not yet conspicuously unsteady, made consider- 
able calls upon his attention. Slowly and deliberately he 
retraced his steps; then, at the comer of the street in 
which he lodged, turned back again with a species of 
shudder, as though at the thought of the solitude which 
awaited him. Once more and despite the snow which 
had begun to fall, he set off to pace the streets, too much 
absorbed by the problem of keeping the middle of the 
pavement to have attention over for anything else. 

At the next likely locality — a Jewish wine-shop, this 
time — he entered hastily, in search of another draught of 
oblivion. Surely in time he must find again that reckless- 
ness which had been his yesterday, if only for an hour. 

This time, regaining the street, he staggered a little in 
getting dear of the doorway, but a would-be smile lit up 
the gloom of his face, for he almost believed that he had 
found what he sought for. Taking his bearings with some 
difficulty, he started off resolutely but unsteadily in a new 
direction. A fresh craving was upon him, that of gazing 
upon the walls of the Pawiak, behind which was hidden 
that which he loved and that which he hated most on 
earth. And perhaps do more than gaze; since even at 
this hour his uniform and his grade must surely unlock 
some postern door. Already his fancy was busy with the 
details of an interview in the cell, in which he woiild justify 
all he had done by the strength of his passion. Almost 
jauntily he set off through the now well-nigh empty 
streets^ mechanically acknowledging the salutes of the 

TIMOSH. 259 

policemen at the cornors, va^ely aware that the snow 
was increasing, and again with no attention over for any 
such thing as a persistent footstep in the rear. 

But before the huge mass of the Pawiak looming like 
a mountain against the night sky, his fictitious courage 
gave way. At the thought of facing Katya his knees 
began to tremble, and a cold sweat to break on his brow. 
What was she doing now, in this crucial night that was 
to be the last on earth of the ttiah on whom she had 
wasted her affection? Would they both be waking now? 

With a dull, half-smothered cry he turned so abruptly 
as to catch the fleeting glimpse of a figure retreating into 
a doorway. But it was his eyes only that were in play, 
upon his distracted attention the circumstance took no 

Away from the Pawiak! Away! But where to? Not 
to his detested bed, which he knew already to be a rack 
of sleepless torture. What else was there? Hold! There 
was the Citadel. A morbid desire — which at the same 
time was a dread — to gaze upon the spot on which his 
rival was to suffer the last penalty to-morrow, had hold 
of him now. It would both raise his self-confidence and 
satisfy his hate, so he thought In this light, of course, 
the gallows would not be visible; but the lights of the 
Citadel would guide him. 

In sudden haste he set off walking in the direction of 
the railway bridge, from which, as he knew, the best view 
was to be gained. To gloat over his enemy's downfall, 
such was the theory of his act; but in the act itself his 
heart fluttered pitiably and his throat tightened, for his 
nerves quite lacked Uiat vigour whidi make the perfect 

The snow was falling thicker, thick enough to let him 



pass the guards at the bridge-head, unchallenged, too 
thick for the lights of the Citadel to be more than a 
luminous blur. Towards that blur he stood and gazed 
as though fascinated, steadying himself by a piece of the 
ironwork of the huge parapet. 

"To-morrow!'* he said aloud, as though to raise his 
own courage. 

"No, to-day!" came the answer, almost in his ear — or 
was that but another bit of the nightmare? 

The question was in his brain as he turned affrighted. 

When at break of day the body of the stanowoi of the 
third district was found across the rails, badly mangled, 
the finger of suspicion began by inevitably pointing at 
the Socialists. Subsequent inquiry, however, having pro- 
duced evidence that the defunct official had been seen in 
two different localities in a condition not to be qualified 
as absolute sobriety, a natural explanation of the mishap 
seemed too obvious to be neglected even by Russian 
authorities. As to the immediate cause of death the 
doctors declared themselves unable to identify any injury 
beyond that of the wheels which had reduced parts of 
the body to unrecognisable pulp. There was no bullet in 
it, so much they could attest; whether there had ever 
been such a thing as a sword or dagger-thrust they could 
not undertake to say. Perforce, and because under the 
pressure of more unmistakable cases, time to institute a 
lengthy hunt was lacking, the matter dropped. 

If a certain grey-bearded old porter had any suspicions 
of his own he never betrayed them. Why should he, 
afler all? Had the Russian authorities any need of his 
help? Had they not managed the transference of his 


brother to the Siberian mines without any assistance from 
such a small personage as he was? 

It was he who had let Timosh into the hotel some 
time after midnight on the critical night, and who — care- 
fully refraining from questions — had noted the metallic 
gleam of the small slits of eyes, and the breadth of the 
defective grin under the ragged beard. Could he have 
followed the Cossack upstairs to his sleeping-closet and 
watched him as he took his sword from the scabbard and 
careftilly, almost tenderly wiped it upon a piece of paper 
which he then pushed into the stove, it is probable that 
the porter would have felt less inclined than ever to ask 


"One, two, three steps to the wall — mind the corner of 
the plank bed — turn right about, one, two, three steps back 
to the door, right about again; one, two, three " 

Like a subconscious undercurrent to the thoughts with 
which the upper strata of the prisoner's brain were 
busy, as tireless he paced his cell, the directions ran. Not 
superfluous either, seeing that a glimmer from the lamp 
in the passage, entering by a narrow grated hole, was all 
the available light No sleep had come to Tadeusz in 
this, which was to be his last night among the living. 
The hours that remained him were too short, as it was, 
for the ordering of his thoughts, for the inevitable look 
back into the past, and that other glance forward into 
the obscurity of that which might or might not be on the 
other side of his felon's grave. 

The numb incredulity which bad tied his tongue in 


the ballroom court of justice was gone now. In the sDence 
and solitude of his cell realisation had come to him and 
with it as its first-fhiits, a wild, a rebellious regret for his 
forfeited life. Very dearly, as under a searchlight turned 
on, he now saw that with his own hands he had thrown 
it away. And for the sake of what? Of his smarting 
pride quite as much as of his wounded love. The merci- 
less searchlight revealed this beyond possibility of doubt 
But for the humiliation of the discovery that Katya's 
first interest in him had been due to his name instead of 
to his person, he never would have acted as he had acted 
— like a pettish child throwing away its toy, it now seemed 
to himself — and therefore never would have stood where 
he now stood. 

The inadequacy of the cause made bitter the thought 
of his wasted life; but behind that, there was another yet 
bitterer reflection. 

For the sacrifice had been uncalled for, supremely 
superfluous, since she loved him. Could he doubt it any 
longer? She loved him, — as in his heart of hearts he 
had always known that she loved him, only that outraged 
pride had stifled the thought 

"One, two, three steps to the wall — mind the oMrner 
of the bed — one, two, three." 

Unceasingly his pace had accelerated under the sting 
of this new anguish, which yet was so old. 

Right through the natural, the almost animal regret 
for life, one name was ever present with the persistency 
of an ache, but also with the radiancy of a star shining 
above the blackness of the moment! 


Ah, if to tear down these walls with these hands could 
bring him to her, he knew the strength would be given 


him! If years of torture could purchase one minute of 
her presence, only the interval wanted in which — not to 
forgive her — ah, no, but to plead ior her forgiveness, how 
joyfully he would lay himself down upoa the rack! 

"How hard you are!" Witek had said one day, in 
this very cell. 

It was the words which had seemed hard to Tadeusz 
then, but not now. Yes, how hard he had been, how 
wanting in mercy! With a distinctness which in itself 
was an agony he saw it all. He had gained that vantage- 
ground upon which Kazimira had stood when she sent 
him the message concerning the one thing worth living 
for, which was not pride. From him too the fumes of 
life were rolling away, sweeping with them all that was 
unessential and leaving only the big things, the in- 
numerable things in sight. 

"One, two, three steps to the wall " 

He ran against the sharp comer of the bed without 
feeling it 

Yes — those uniformed judges at the velvet-covered 
table had been in the right after all. Their sentence 
had been no miscarriage of justice. Death alone could 
atone for that wOTSt sort of murder — the murder of a 
heart They were not monsters; but mouthpieces and 
instruments of that God, of whose existence he had always 
felt intimately convinced, although in his busy life He 
had played no more than a latent part 

"One, two, three — turn right about " 

He was pacing more slowly now, the wild rebellious 
regret almost fought down at last — almost at peace in the 
acceptance of the penalty deserved. If he could have 
but one sight of her face he felt that death might even 
yet be sweet, one glimpse of those pure lips whose touch 


Still pursued him in his dreams, one look into those pas- 
sionate black eyes through which shone the one woman's 
soul with which his own could mingle. It could not be, 
of course— but — if it could be, where would then be the 
horror of the gallows? 

"Ah, Katya, Katya! should stone and mortar be able 
to keep us apart? Should your soul not be able to catch 
the whisper of my soul, space and stupid material not- 
withstanding? Should that one word; 'Forgiveness!' not 
be able to reach from you to me?" 

He stood still to lean his folded arms against the 
wall, and his forehead upon them, aching with the intensity 
of his desire. 

He was still standing thus when the clock struck, 
bringing him back with a kind of wrench to the sense of 
the passage of time. 

Two o'clock! 

With a very slight shudder, immediately suppressed, 
Tadeusz resumed his walk. Eight a.m. was the hour 
fixed for the final act. That meant — as he understood 
— that at seven o'clock the sentenced prisoners would be 
fetched to the Citadel. Five whole hours more! The 
feeling of the briefness of the time remaining had ab- 
ruptly given way to its exact reverse. Five hours ap- 
peared suddenly of an almost incalculable length. There 
was almost nothing that he would not do in that time. 
Quite seriously he began to consider how he could best 
lay out this capital of minutes. Should he give it all 
to this caged lion sort of exercise? His tired body pro- 
tested. After the crisis of emotion just passed through, 
a great lassitude, both physical and mental, was making 
itself felt. Not his body alone, his mind too had been 
inoving in something like a circle since the fall of night 


— ever bruising itself against the same reflections. At the 
thought of resuming that weary promenade everything in 
him recoiled. He was so rich in hours that one could 
easily be spared for the necessary rest 

Having felt his way to the bed and in the very act of 
lying down, he straightened hhnself again to listen. Until 
now the only sound in the huge, sleeping building had 
been that of the steps of the sentinel pacing in the yard 
below. Now new noises were invading the silence. A 
door being unlocked — the big one at the end of the 
passage, as he discerned at once — keys jingled, then 
another door opened and some words spoken. Someone 
was coming along with a lantern as he guessed from the 
increased brightness of the grated square in the door. 
Nearer the steps came. He was still listening, surprised, 
when in his lock too a key grated, and the face of the 
jovial jailer appeared like a sleepy full moon without the 

"Ah! you are up? That is good — you are summoned 
to the prison-master's office." 

"Now?" asked Tadeusz, dumbfounded. "What for?" 

"Transference to Citadel. The order came a quarter 
of an hour ago." 


For one moment Tadeusz's heart turned to stone; in 
the next set off beating in furious haste. 

"You told me it was for seven o'clock!" was all he 
managed to say, reproachfully. 

"So it is for seven o'clock. Plenty of time yet, little 
father! only that you will spend it in the Citadel, instead 
of here. They sometimes have a fancy for these little 
night excursions. Less people to look on, don't you see? 
It's not the first time." 

266 RfiSTmmoN. 

"And the— others?" 

"Going with you^ of course, and not they alone. It's 
a bigger move than usual to make room, I suppose. 
We've. been full up lately. Why, there are two gentle- 
men waiting for your cell already!" 

"They can have it!" saidTadeusz, speaking collectedly 
now, for the time occupied by that little fragment of 
chatter had been enough to steady his nerves. "I am 

With a certain violent bracing of all the springs of his 
mind, whose effect upon his features was as the drawing 
on of a mask, through which no curious eye should detect 
the natural tremors beneath, Tadeusz followed the jailer. 

In an angle of the passage two or three scared-looking 
individuals were already huddled together, under the 
charge of armed guards, waiting for those of the sum- 
moned who had had to be wakened and were still 
putting on their clothes. 

THE comedy: act I. 

Over the office of the Pawiak lay the silence of night, 
punctuated here, or elsewhere, by the steady step of a 
sentinel below the window. Impossible even in this huge 
building to get anywhere out of reach of that pregnant 
sound. Under the flame of an unshaded gas-light the 
narrow space revealed itself in all its mean details of dirty 
board flooring, roughly white-washed walls and rows of 
deal pigeon-holes stuffed with bundles of papers. One 
comer was blocked by a huge brick stove; the telephone 
apparatus occupied another. 

THE comedy: act I. 267 

A quarter to t^o o'clock. 

The official told off for night service was just be- 
ginning to wonder whether he might not safely indulge in 
a nap when the telephone bell rang sharply, dispersing 
his drowsiness like chaff before the wind. 

In a moment he was holding the receiver to his ear, 
the speaking-trumpet to his lips. 

"Administration of Pawiak here. Who there?" 

"Central police direction: Is that the prison-master 

"No, his assistant, the prison-master is asleep." 

"Wake him at once. There is important business." 

"To your orders." 

The assistant positively flew upon his errand, spurred 
by the thought that it was the chief of police in person 
who stood at the other end of the telephone. He knew 
his voice and his peculiarities of speech too well to be 
mistaken; for, a German by origin, the director spoke 
Russian in a careful, slightly halting fashion, and with a 
pronounced foreign accent 

At the news the prison-master was wide-awake in an 
instant, and presently, without even stopping to complete 
his toilet, had taken the place of his subordinate at the 

"To your orders, excellency ! Prison-master of Pawiak." 

"Begin by taking a sheet of paper, and write down 
all I say." 

"To your orders!" 

The prison-master too, knew that slightly halting voice, 
and was instantly filled with a devouring zeal. For the 
German chief was known and dreaded as one of the most 
tyrannical martinets of the force, punctilious to the point 
of pedantry, and almost impossible to satisfy. An order 


which he was giving in person would naturally put the 
greatest demands upon the hearer. 



"The five condemned prisoners are to be put in readi- 
ness at once for immediate removal to the Citadel. You 
have their names, read them over." 

The prison-master obeyed. 

"Good. Besides these, the following seven persons 
are likewise to be removed by the same opportunity. 

Seven names — among them one woman's name — arrived 
slowly and distinctly through the speaking-tube, with pauses 
between, affording time for the putting to paper. 

"Have you got them all?" 

"To your orders, excellency!" 

"In a quarter of an hour a gendarme captain with an 
escort will present himself at the prison, in order to take 
these twelve persons in charge. He must not be kept 
waiting. Let everything be prepared for his coming. 
Have ready one of the prison omnibuses with a driver, 
since none of our conveyances are at liberty. Is that clear? " 

"Quite clear, excellency." 

In reality there were some points not absolutely dear 
to the prison-master, but his awe of his superior was far 
too great to admit of a question. 

"Read over what you have written, loudly and slowly." 

The prison-master did so. 

"That's it Now get to work, and no delay, mind!" 

Dropping the receiver as though it had been a hot 
potato, the prison-master precipitated himself upon the 
electric bell. 

"Here!" be said to the entering assistant, and pressing 


the piece of paper with the list of names into his hand. 
"All these are to be called at once. Fetched to the 
Citadel in a quarter of an hour. Holy Saints! and all 
the papers to be filled up! Now, look sharp, will you?" 

"Those for the execution?" asked the assistant, run- 
ning his eye over the list. "But there are not so many." 

"Those for the execution; and some others. I have 
been asking for space, you know, but it's queer isn't it, 
that just now, with those repairs going on, they should 
be able to give it me? Yesterday they had not even 
room enough to take the condemned ones off my hands, 
and to-day they are able to take even more. I don't 
quite understand, but, after all, an order is an order." 

"Yes, and the chief is the chief," sighed the assistant. 
"But he might have waited till morning." 

He had wings to his feet, nevertheless, as he went off 
with the list, and the prison-master had those same wings 
to his fingers as, having made a raid upon the pigeon- 
holes, he sat down to fill up the necessary documents 
which would have to be handed over to the "captain" 
along with each prisoner. 

Once more the silence of night had descended upon 
the Pawiak. Only within the office the prison-master's 
pen toiled over the papers and in the stables some 
yawning grooms were harnessing the horses. No one had 
thought of warning the porter whose duty was to be 
awake, but who, in point of fact, was fast asleep when a 
little after two o'clock two droshkes stopped before the 
gate. In the first of these sat four pohcemen, in the 
second two more policemen and a "captain" of gendarmerie 
in full uniform. So deep were the porter's slumbers that 
it required several volleys of loud and peremptory knocks 
to arouse him. It was a very drowsy and not over- 

270 REStlTUlnON. 

intelligent face which at length appeared behind the 
grating of the little window in the postern door. 

" Nightcap 1" shouted the foremost of the policemen, 
designated by the others as the "Elder." "How dare 
you keep the "captain" waiting — in the cold, tool Open 
your eyes, grandmother!'* 

At sight of the uniform terror shot into the members 
of the porter. His hands were shaking, as with many 
murmured apologies he opened the door. The "captain" 
himself only said four wcwrds, but they were enough almost 
to annihilate the porter. 

"I shall report you." 

After which he added, in the tone of one accuistomed 
to unhesitating obedience: — 

"Take me to the officel" 

"To your orders, your honour." 

He waited only until the six policemen had crossed 
the threshold, in order to close the door behind them. 
With a dull thud it fell into its lock. The men were 
standing in a small inner court, surrounded by prison 
walls, and with a locked gate between them and the 

Down a stone-paved passage the porter was ushering 
the commander to the ofike. Not one of the policemen 
even took the trouble to look after him. Their nocturnal 
task seemed to bore these six men far more than it in- 
terested them. Regret for their forfeited night's rest visibly 
predominated, two or three of them tried to make up for 
it as best they could by sitting down upon some con- 
venient doorstep, and snatching what slumber they could 
get The others, indifferent and apathetic, were not meaa. 
open to conveisation, as some of the jailers, whom curiosity 
bad brought to the courtyard, discovered to their dis- 


THE comedy: act I. 27X 

appointment. The "captain" was rather a Tartar as one 
of the policeman — a young and golden moustachioed one, 
— assured them, witii a scared face, that they would be 
sure to receive severe punishment for talking while on 
duty. Upon which the jailers went off disappointed. They 
seemed to be a peculiarly stupid and sleepy set of 

The "Elder" — a dark, thin man, who looked as if he 
had lived hard, in more senses than one, took a turn 
round the courtyard and past the window of the guard- 
room, into which he threw a casual glance as he went 
All quiet there; guards and gendannes fast asleep, uncon- 
scious of any peril. Then, having selected another door- 
step, he executed a particularly artistic yawn, and allowed 
his head to nod forward over his crossed arms. 

Everything now lay in the hands of one man. How 
long would the Lithuanian take? The question was iii 
all the six minds. Behind the consummate mask of apathy 
all the senses of the six policemen were strained in the 
direction of liie office, prepared to catch the concerted 
signal, at which they should rush to the assistance of their 
leader, and with the spare revolvers concealed about their 
persons, arming those of the prisoners who should have 
klready reached the office^ should attempt to fight their 
way out But so far all was quiet Was it possible that 
there was to be no bloodshed? 

Within the office, meanwhile, the chief act of this 
precarious comedy was in progress. 

Upon , entering, the "captain" had handed to the 
prison-master a sealed packet bearing his typewritten 
address. The number upon the packet was the right one, 
and the seal that of the police direction. 

"Is everything ready for the removai?" he inquire^ 


^th SO imperious a bearing and so stehi a glance of 
inquiry that the prison-master began exhausting himself 
in apologies for the unavoidable delay. The papers were 
not quite ready yet, despite all the haste he had made. 
In his dishevelled and imperfect attire— for he had not 
taken time to put on his braces, and was consequently 
reduced to a constant up-hitching of the recalcitrant 
breeches — his aspect was so comical that even in this 
moment the "captain" could barely restrain a smile. 

But there was no smile on his face as harshly he said: — 

"This is astonishing. Were the chiers orders not 
plain enough? It seems that you have yet to learn how 
to obey conunands." 

The prison-master ducked his head, feeling almost 
annihilated. Behind the figure of the gendarme "captain" 
there loomed to his mind that of the dreaded chief. 
Certainly the German knew how to choose his instruments. 
Just like him! 

"I won't be long, I won't be long," he stammered. "I 
have been working ever since I got the order. The papers 
of the five sentenced prisoners are in order, but of the 
seven others " 

"Hurry, then, and don't keep me waiting longer than 
you can help. Meanwhile, have the prisoners summoned." 

Having complied, the prison-master plunged into the 
papers, too absorbed to have any further attention over 
for the "captain," which was exactly what the "captain" 
required. All the more closely was he himself observing. 
Sitting down straight opposite the writing-table, he drew 
a cigarette case from his pocket, and began to smoke one 
cigarette after the other, with an intensity of which he 
had never before been conscious; for even iron nerves 
may at moments be in need of a soporific. While he 

THE comedy: act I. 273 

smoked he was studying the details of the room, the 
position of the doors, of the windows, of the telephone, of 
the electric bells. In case of discovery the first thing to 
do would be to cut all the wires. He had a penknife in 
his pocket, ready opened. By a passing touch — he might 
have been feeling for matches — he assured himself now 
that it lay ready. 

But tiie first of his attention had been for the face of 
the prison-master as he began by closely examining the 
seal upon the packet, and then carefully breaking it 
With the keenness of a hawk poised above a farmyard, 
the light-blue eyes which could look so unmoved were 
spying for any mark of surprise, of doubt, of perplexity 
upon the face opposite. Despite all precautions a blunder 
was so far more than merely possible. 

But the prison-master's face showed no disturbance as 
he compared the order — typewritten like the address — 
with the one which had been dictated through the tele- 
phone. It was only afler he had laid it down that his 
forehead puckered into troubled folds. 

"This is rather strange. This morning I was told to 
send the prisoner NelikofF to the courts martial, and now 
the director orders him to the Citadel. Which is the 
right order?" 

Probably for the first time in his life the "captain" had 
the illusion of something cold gliding down his spine. 
Here was one of those unforeseen rocks upon which the 
whole plan could split in an instant The smallest sign 
of hesitation now might ruin everything. But if such a 
moment occurred the prison-master, flurried and busy, 
remained unaware. In the next already the "captain," 
leaning forward, in order to shake the ashes from his 
cigarette, was saying phlegmatically: — 

ReiiituiioH, I S 


"The second, of course, there is no mistake. It is 
from the Citadel that he is to be escorted to the court 
Are you not done yet?" 

"Immediately — immediately!" murmured the prison- 
master, resuming his working. 

The scratching of his pen upon the paper became 
again the only sound. The Lithuanian, straining his ears 
towards the big iron door which connected the office 
with the body of the prison, could hear nothing yet of the 
approach of the prisoners. Surely he had been sitting 
here an hour already? No, only twenty minutes, as a 
glance at the clock assured him. How would it ever 
again be possible to estimate the true value of time? He 
had been in more than one critical situation in his life, 
but it was only to-day that he probed to its torturing 
depth the meaning of the word "suspense." And all the 
time, even to an observant eye, he would have presented 
the spectacle of a phlegmatic gendarme "captain," phl^- 
matically though sternly fulfilling his duty, sweetened by 
innumerable cigarettes. 

Even when, quite deliberately, he got up to take a 
turn in the room, simply because he could not sit still any 
longer, nothing on his flat physiognomy betrayed the inner 

The prison-master, guessing at a recrudescence of 
impatience, glanced up deprecatingly, and with the usual 
whine in his voice, began as a means of exculpation, to 
pour out his personal grievances. "Times were so hard, 
the service so oppressive just now, all the cells crammed. 
It was so difficult to please everybody, authorities and 
prisoners, the latter were so obstreperous." 

"In that case," broke in the "captain" with a shcnt 

THE comedy: act I. 275 

and biting laugh, "you should be grateful to me for re- 
lieving you of a few of these obstreperous subjects." 

"Ah! yes, but what are twelve among so many hun- 
dred? I protest continually, but without getting adequately 
relieved. If perhaps your honour could call the chief's 
attention to the matter, ... he seems to have great con- 
fidence in you." 

"Great confidence," attested the Lithuanian, and, 
having his back towards the table just then, he allowed 
himself one smile. Then added in a tone of grave con- 
descension: — 

"I shall see what can be done for you. Ah!" 

The exclamation had escaped him unawares; for at 
that moment the big bolt grated, and the iron door opened 
to admit the first of the summoned prisoners. 



THE comedy: act II. 

When in the middle of the night which she had spent 
partly on her knees beside her bed, partly sitting upon it 
in a state of unbearable suspense, Katya caught the first 
sounds of approaching commotion, it was to bury her face 
in her hands, murmuring: "Oh, God, be merciful! Lend 
them thy arm!" 

For an hour past she had, in an agony, been counting 
the minutes, aware that the preconcerted moment ap- 
proached, and trembling lest it should pass without bring- 
ing what it had promised to bring. Now the crisis was 
close. Within a few hours Tadeusz would either be 
free, or else irretrievably lost, if not already dead. With 
almost frenzied fervour the prayers rose to her lips, her 
hands so convulsively clasped that the nails cut the skin 
without her feeling it This same absorption kept her 
from noting that one set of the approaching footsteps 
had stopped before her own door. When through the 
grated loophole there came the summons to be ready in 
ten minutes for removal to the Citadel, her first feeling 
was one of blank incomprehension. It must be a mistake, 
she began by thinking, unless indeed — unless, her name 
had, by some extraordinary combination of circumstances, 
got placed upon the same list which held that of Tadeusz. 
It could only be that, as a few moments reflection told 
her. But whose work was this? Dembowski's? Witek's? 

THE comedy: act n. 277 

Never once did she think of Malania Petrowna, who had 
done what neither of them could have hoped to do — who. 
dragging Dembowski with her, rather than led by him, 
had penetrated into the presence of the conspirators in 
the very moment when the final dress-rehearsal of the 
rescue was taking place, and had cast herself at their 
feet Her life, as well as the economies of forty years, 
were freely offered in exchange for the safety of her "sugar 
lamb," whom they must and should save if they did not 
want henceforward to be counted as the scum of the 
earth. For her life they had no use, and her economies 
they waved aside, but it was not for nothing that she had 
gone down upon those stiff old knees of hers. Whether 
Malania alone would have been successful without the 
memory of the white-clad girl who had stood on that same 
spot yesterday, was debatable. As it was, and after a 
brief hesitation, the trick was done. The list which 
yesterday had been declared unable to admit an eleventh 
name, was to-day burdened with a twelfth, almost un- 
protestingly, betraying to what point imaginations were 

At the last moment another misgiving arose — the 
danger of self-betrayal, standing as this prisoner did 
outside the saving ignorance of the others. The con- 
sideration made the conspirators waver, but not for long. 

"Trust a woman to keep her counsel!" laughed the 
thin, dark man who was cast for the rdie of "Elder;" 
"bom actresses as they all are from their cradles up- 

It was then that the decision was clinched. 

All this was for the present hidden to Katya; nor did 
she stop to break her head over the "How" of events. 
All she thought of was the increased rist The image 

278 RESTrrunoN. 

of the life-boat capsized by the extra passenger stood 
with terrible clearness before her mind. What could the 
Lithuanian be thinking of? he who had appeared to be 
the very embodiment of prudence — of caution! In her 
heart she came near to anathematising him. 

Then abruptly she remembered the meeting now 
closely impending, and began to tremble. Could it be 
that within a few minutes she and Tadeusz would be 
standing within one space? 

Something between rapture and terror laid a cloud 
upon her eyes as she took place in the rough semi-circle 
ranged before the prison-master's writing-table — she the 
only woman among them. Very slowly the cloud lifted, 
and she found herself looking into the eyes of the man 
whom she had parted from some seventeen months ago in 
the Carpathian forest. 

She had to look again. Was it he indeed? Those 
gaunt cheeks, that long-grown beard, those sunken eyes, 
written round with the anguish of the last days, the last 
hours — were those the features of her glorious lover? In 
the eyes themselves there was no anguish now, but neither 
was there joy, nothing beyond a fixed incredulity, as of 
one gazing upon a hallucination of his sick brain. 

It could not be flesh and blood he saw before him, 
it could not! More likely far that the conception around 
which his thoughts had been turning in a circle for hours 
past should have taken upon itself a seeming body, which 
yet was not. For a moment he closed his eyes, then 
looked again. Seeing the movement she interpreted it 
rightly. How should he understand? how believe his 
senses in a moment? So closely was she following the 
workings of his mind that she could note the very point 
at which belief began to take hold of him, melting the 

TEIE comedy: act II. 279 

fixity of his gaze, and putting into it a new alarm mingled 
with a yearning which spoke to her as loudly as words. 
Horror at seeing her in this place so plainly overshadowed 
the joy of seeing her at all — for it was joy — yes, she 
could not mistake; and, forgetful of the actual position, 
her heart leaped at the recognition. What were his eyes 
trying to say? Was it good-bye? 

And then she remembered that he believed himself to 
be on the way to execution. Ah, for liberty to whisper 
one word of hope, to make some small sign of encourage- 
ment! It must not be. Even the tremulous smile which 
had risen to her lips was quickly repressed. Less than 
that might cost his life, as well as that of his unconscious 
fellow-sufferers and of their quixotic deliverers. 

But, good God! were these the deliverers? With a 
new-born panic her eyes went to the figure of the gendarme 
"captain," just now bending over one of the documents 
upon the writing-table. Seen from the back in the familiar 
gendarme uniform it bore to her startled eyes no resem- 
blance to that of the man whom she had seen sitting at 
the head of that long table last night. Supposing the 
authorities had decided upon a night transference, and 
this were the genuine escort instead of the sham one? 
Everything grew numb within her as her eyes hung with 
tortured scrutiny upon the uniformed man before her. 
A full minute passed before he looked her way. For the 
fragment of a second his quiet blue eyes met hers, un- 
moved, yet within their very inmiobility a warning. But 
it was not wanted. Those who had put their trust in her 
woman's wit had not trusted in vain. Though her pulses 
were flying like windmills in a gale her face had grown 
almost as dull as a pond in dead calm. 

Not so all the other faces. 


Among the twelve who stood there awaiting their fate, 
there was another — one of the five condemned — who, like 
Katya, had been closely following the movements of the 
would-be "captain." Some reports of the projected rescue 
had lately penetrated to his cell, no more than a rumour, 
clandestinely conveyed and devoid of particulars. He 
knew neither the date, nor whether the plan had not been 
dropped as impossible, and consequently was reduced to 
mere guess-work as to the present position. "All this 
would tally with the original plot,'* the unhappy man 
told himself, as he jealously watched the "captain," in 
hopes of being able to decide whether he were a real 
captain or not; and of course he would have got up his 
part carefiilly. But, no, he could not do it as perfectly 
as this. He must be the real captain, and therefore we 
are really on the way to the Citadel. 

And a moment later: — 

"Would it be possible to be so particular about one's 
cigarette ashes when one knows how many lives hang in 
the balance? • And yet I have heard of such things before. 
Supposing they are the Socialists all the time? But no, 
of course it cannot be." 

While he swayed between the extremes of hope and 
fear another of the prisoners had come within a hair's 
breadth of betraying them all. 

It was while lighting a fresh cigarette that the Lithu- 
anian found the eyes of this man fixed hard upon him. 
Recognition was mutual and instantaneous. Another of 
those accidents which, despite all precautions, had escaped 
the attention of the conspirators. Those two now re- 
membered that they had met, though only once, for a few 
minutes at Kowno last year. To the prisoner this re- 
cognition said eveiything; since each knew perfectly to 

THE comedy: act II. 281 

which party the other belonged. In the foolish fellow's 
eyes the Lithuanian now read such a rapture of ecstatic 
gratitude that again he felt for his pocket-knife, convinced 
that the moment for cutting the telephone wires was come 
at last Brusquely turning his broad back upon him he 
placed himself so as to screen from the prison-master the 
sight of that tell-tale face, at the same time letting loose 
a fresh torrent of reproaches regarding the slowness with 
which the prisoners were being checked off. 

"I am going to see whether my men are ready," he 
irately announced, "and shall expect you to be done when 
I return." 

Outside the Lithuanian fetched several deep breaths. 
He had forgotten how good tasted any air that was not 
the air of that torture-chamber he had just left within the 
prison yardj the prison omnibus stood ready with the 
driver on the box; but some of the policemen were still 
slumbering in an admirably natural fashion. To rouse 
them as roughly as possible was an additional relief to 
the "captain's" overstrained nerves. 


Having given the usual orders and taken a good look 
at the driver while seemingly inspecting the prison vehicle, 
the commander returned to the office where already a 
new peril waited to be grappled with. 

"Your honour," were the words with which the prison- 
master received him, "will you not allow me to put some 
of my people at your disposal? Six men seem to me too 
little to guard so many prisoners on the road. I could 
give you a mounted escort." 

The Lithuanian, in a kind of exasperation, had been 
on the point of answering vehemently, but stopped him- 


self in time. It was with something of a drawl that he 
said: — 

"Quite unnecessary. My men are picked. They will 
manage easily. Now call over the prisoners' names in my 
presence. Enough time has been lost already." 

The accents in which the prisoners answered to their 
names trembled audibly. That talk about the mounted 
escort had served but to heighten fears. Even those who 
had not yet been sentenced began to believe that they 
were being taken straight ofif to the gallows. With their 
small bundles of belongings lying at their feet, or tucked 
under their arms, they looked like a group of needy 
emigrants cast upon some inhospitable strand. 

To one of the names there came no response, it was 
that of the youth with the bandaged head and hand, who, 
too far gone for speech, silently rocked his body from 
side to side, apparently on the point of collapse. For one 
moment the Lithuanian's eyes rested upon him and then 
passed on hurriedly, as though in fear of yielding to a 
compassion too ill at variance with the part until now so 
faultiessly played. 

The names checked ofi^ there still remained the docu- 
ment in which the transference of the prisoners was at- 
tested to be signed. The crucial moment was close now. 
In a well-feigned passion the "captain" threw the pen 
upon the floor, sharply reprimanding the prison-master for 
daring to offer him so vile an instrument In a flurry this 
much-tried official turned to snarl at his assistant, who 
promptly shifted the blame onto the shoulders of one of 
the attendants present Amid a general tempest of re- 
primands and reproaches the exit of the prisoners from 
the office began. 

But the prison-master's mind was not quite at rest yet 

THE comedy: act II. 283 

Once more he returned to the former point. "Would the 
* captain* really not consider the advisability of taking a 
mounted escort? The men could be ready in a few 

This time the perfectly governed temper very nearly 
gave way. 

"I have told you already that I require no assistance. 
Spare me your advice. I know my men." 

The prison-master slunk back to his writing-table, re- 
proved, mournfully hitching up his trousers as he went 

"Draw swords!" commanded the "Elder" as the first 
prisoner came in sight 

With military precision the order was obeyed. Drawn 
swords in hand the five men took up their position beside 
the open door of the big omnibus, while the "Elder" led 
up each single prisoner, placing him in the conveyance 
with all the customary precautions. Nor were they super- 
fluous, since in their ignorance of the truth, it was con- 
ceivable that one or other of the prisoners might make 
one of those desperate attempts at flight which within the 
last year had served to render police work at Warsaw 
even more bloody than it was by nature. 

The prison omnibus had two compartments divided 
by a wooden partition. It was in the inner compartment 
that, according to the prison-master's suggestion, the five 
sentenced men were, for greater safety, to be placed. 
Four of them sat there already. There was a delay be- 
fore the appearance of the fifth — the wretched youth with 
the bandages, whom two jailers were half-carrying from 
the office, by reason of his yielding knees. At sight of 
the huge conveyance, ominous as a hearse, these stiffened 
suddenly. Abject terror gave him in one moment a 
strength which had never been his own. With a wrench 


he tore himself free, and for an instant stood there pant- 
ing, and throwing from side to side the frenzied glances 
of a hunted animal spying for a loophole. The moment 
was critical, but before the jailers had recovered from the 
surprise the "Elder" was in action. 

"Son of Satan!" he thundered, taking the would-be 
rebel violently by the collar, while from the other side 
the youngest and nimblest of the policemen — he of the 
golden moustache — had sprung to his assistance. "None 
of those tricks! In there you go! In there!" 

Brutally cuffing his bandaged head he almost threw 
him into the carriage. 

"No, the 'captain' is right, he requires no escort," 
mused the prison-master as from the background he ap- 
provingly watched the incident "These men know their 

Standing in the open doorway the "captain" gave his 
final orders. One policeman was to enter the carriage 
along with the prisoners; two to sit beside the driver, two 
more to take places upon the step behind. He himself 
was to follow in the droshke which had brought him. 

At the last he turned to take leave of the prison- 

"You will be glad to get back to your bed, no doubt," 
he was condescending enough to observe as he coolly 
shook hands. 

The heavy gate groaned in its hinges and slowly swung 
back. With a great clatter of horses' hoofs, a mighty 
grinding of iron upon stone, the unwieldy vehicle lumbered 
out into the street. 



THE comedy: act m. and last. 

What remained to be done might be accounted a 
trifle compared to that which was already accomplished, 
yet no quite easy matter either. Until they had got rid 
of the driver the fugitives could not believe themselves 
so much as in the way to safety. The "How" of this 
was fixed in all its particulars, but the favourable moment 
yet to be discerned and seized. 

"To the right!" was the order given by one of the 
sham policemen upon the box-seat, as they reached the 

The driver pulled round his horses sharply, but stared 
all the same. 

"But that is not the way to the Citadel?" 

"We are not going straight to the Citadel. Have to 
report ourselves first at the police station of the second 
district Touch up your horses,' will youl They must 
be wondering what keeps us so long." 

The man complied without further remark. For him 
a gorodowoVs order was gospel. And besides, so long as 
he had no responsibility, it was a matter of supreme in- 
difference to him whether he drove to the right or to the 
left He was a large, slow-moving fellow, almost as un- 
wieldly in appearance as the vehicle he drove. As they 
lumbered through the sleeping streets the two conspirators 
upon the box scrutinised him sideways furtively and not 


quite approvingly. They liked his na'fve face, but would 
have wished him less Herculean in build. 

Within the omnibus emotion ran high. Like wild- 
fire the truth of the situation had spread from one com- 
partment to the other. In a loud whisper, for fear of the 
driver's ears, instructions had been given in the event of 
pursuit or of arrest in the street, and the revolvers, by 
means of which the last stand would have to be made, 
handed round. It was upon the "Elder" now that the 
weight of the situation rested. The "captain" had re- 
tired, his role played out. 

Relief and hope were taking the most various forms 
of expression. On some faces incredulity still reigned. 
One or two, though not actually disbelieving, sat there 
bland and unrejoicing, as though stupefied — unable in one 
moment to assimilate the tremendous news. Upon some 
the effect was alarming, as upon the youth with the 
bandaged head who went off into so shrill and almost 
hysterical a fit of laughter that he had to be cuffed into 
sUence, with something of the same energy which had 
forced him into the carriage. 

With a revolver upon her knee Katya sat quite still, 
gazing at the partition behind which sat Tadeusz with his 
four companions, and hanging in suspense upon the next 
move which she knew must be close. To rejoice was not 
yet possible. At every street-comer the patrol stood; 
one call from that man upon the box, and the revolvers 
would have to come into play. Oh! why was he still 
upon the box? What were they waiting for? Not the 
dawn surely, not so far off now, night, their best friend 
being so nearly spent. Why waste the precious moments 
of darkness? 

And meanwhile the "Elder" was straining his eyes to 

THE comedy: act III. AND LAST. 287 

the front and to the rear, to the right and to the left, 
sp5ring for the right moment and the right place. 

The police station was actually in view when from 
the rear a voice called sharply: — 

"Hold there! The wheel!" 

The vehicle stopped with a prodigious jolt, the driver 
looking over his shoulder inquiringly. Both before and 
behind them the street stretched empty. If any police 
organ were at hand he was probably asleep within the 
shelter of a doorway. 

"Something wrong here," came the voice of the 

"I will hold the reins while you see to it," said the 
driver's right-hand neighbour obligingly. 

The left-hand neighbour, equally obliging, descended 
with the natve young Hercules from the box. 

Over one of the hind wheels the "Elder" was bend- 
ing low, closely examining something. The driver, follow- 
ing his example, was instantly seized on both sides by 
strong arms, and thrown to the ground with so lightning- 
like a rapidity that before a single sound could escape 
from his startled lips, a roUed-up handkerchief had been 
securely stuffed into his mouth. Then — unbound as he 
was, time being too precious — he was lifted like a log, 
and thrown head foremost onto the floor of the omnibus, 
l)ring full length at the feet of the liberated prisoners. 

"We shall not shoot you if you scream, because of 
the noise," explained the "Elder" to him; "but we have 
plenty of swords about us, and knives, too." 

Even without the gag in his mouth it is probable that 
the young fellow would not have screamed, being far too 
paral)rsed by astonishment and terror to have anything 
worth calling a voice at his disposal. 


The new driver evidently understood his business. It 
was at a different pace altogether that they now pro- 
gressed. Here and there a patrol glanced idly after the 
prison conveyance, and perhaps wondered what the hurry 
was about, but without giving further thought to so com- 
mon a sight The region they were bound for was that 
of the Kitchen Gardens which supply Warsaw's tables — 
in summer green and succulent, just now lying dead 
under unbroken snow. There, in an unoccupied tene- 
ment, the reserve was waiting, having by this time prob- 
ably given them up for lost. Already they had got 
engaged in a maze of lanes, where the wheels, clogged 
with the new-fallen snow, moved slowly. Safety was very 
close; yet those within the omnibus scarcely did more 
than breathe, clutching their revolvers, and seeing pur- 
suers in every tree taking shape in the ghostly light which 
comes before the dawn. 

Was this the right place? Was this? At every turn 
the question rose, more urgent. Not yet A few more 
minutes of an almost unattainable patience, of a forcible 
holding down of the panic that would ever and ever 
rise again, threatening to unsettle reason, and at last, at 
last came the delivering words: — 

"It is here." 

With another jolt the vehicle stood still before a tall 
wooden gate, which, opening as by magic, discovered a 
circle of anxious faces and of hands either stretched 
towards them, or else clasped as though in prayer. 

A few more jolts; then, throwing the reins from him, 
the conspirator upon the box leaped to the ground. 

Already several pairs of hands had hold of the feet 
of the prison driver. In the twinkling of an eye he had 
been pulled out and laid upon the ground. A silk cord 


for tying hands and feet was in readiness — a better gag 
introduced. Then one of the number bent over him with 
in one hand a handkerchief, in the other the small bottle 
which Katya had seen upon the table during the meeting, 
and which contained chloroform. 

Meanwhile, the tumultuous exit was taking place. 
There was no time to lose, seeing that all the attires had 
to be changed, and the present ones disposed of if pos- 
sible before daylight. 

Katya, trying to rise like the others, found to her 
consternation that she could not Dizzy and with trem- 
bling limbs she sank back again upon the seat, more 
powerless against the reaction of relief than she had been 
under the pressure of anxiety. Within the same minute, 
her eyes being closed, she felt herself taken up like a 
child and carried into the open air; nor even had to look 
in order to know in whose strong arms she lay. Placed 
upon her feet on the trampled snow, one of those strong 
arms still steadied her, and still nothing like curiosity 
stirred. It was only when quite another pair of arms was 
flung tumultuously round her neck, that her eyes opened 
with a start 

"My honey-dove! My sugar-sweet lamb! To think 
that I should ever have lived through this night! Oh, 
how many candles I shall burn to the Virgin!" 

In a disarray almost weird of its kind, Malania Pe- 
trowna was sobbing upon Katya's shoulder; — 

"You did not look for me here, did you, my precious? 
It was Witek who brought me!" 

Alongside the brothers were silently holding hands; 
not even Witek being able to. think of anything to say 
which would not have sounded inane at that moment 

And who was this? — this dark-eyed, resolute-looking 

RtitituHon. 19 


maiden, in skirts of a business-like shortness, who now 
pushed Malania unceremoniously aside in order to press 
a kiss of sisterly warmth upon Katya's unsteady lips. It 
certainly was not the 01)mipia of Zalkiew, but it was an 
Olympia of some sort, the same whose answer to the 
penitent letter prescribed by Katya, had been her ap- 
pearance at Warsaw, just too late to nurse her contrite 
lover through his attack of influenza. And Karol Dem- 
bowski was there too. To Katya all these figures seemed 
to have risen as from a trap-door onto a stage. Nothing 
was clear to her; yet no questions could be asked just 
now; for that the moments were too precious. 

They were standing in a big yard surrounded on three 
sides by boarding, on the fourth by some dilapidated 
sheds and pot-houses. Into one of these pot-houses 
Olympia now hurried Katya, and without further cere- 
mony began unbuttoning her dress. Here among flower- 
pots and rakes a bundle of clothes lay ready; a coarse 
linen shirt, a woollen skirt, a sheepskin coat and coloured 
head-cloth. Within five minutes there stood there the 
most ravishing peasant lass that Warsaw had ever seen, 
a little paler than a peasant lass should be but with 
the blood already beginning to mantle under her fine 

Olympia clapped her hands as she contemplated her 

"No one will ever know you! You are not the same 

"I don't seem to know you, either," murmured Katya, 
faintly smiling. 

There was in the pot-house an exceedingly bad smell, 
proceeding from decayed roots; but Olympia did not 
seem so much as to notice it. Decidedly this was not 


the same person Katya had known at Zalkiew; but at 
Zalkiew, to be sure, there had been no emergencies. 

Daylight was coming fast by the time Katya regained 
the open. There a motley group was assembled; work- 
men, peasants, a priest or two, a chinmey-sweep with a 
splendidly smutty face. The foolish young fellow who 
had all but lost them, was transformed into a white- 
aproned baker. The injured youth had been turned into 
a closely veiled nun, as the surest way of concealing the 
bandages. The whole bore the aspect of a rough 
masquerade, only with grave and more anxious faces 
than those that usually go with fancy dress. The police- 
men of the night, transformed into shabby civilians, were 
stuffing their uniforms into the prison omnibus, upon 
whose floor the driver lay now fast asleep. The sugges- 
tion of pinning onto the seat a paper inscribed: "With 
the compliments of the Socialist party," propounded by 
the golden moustachioed young man, had been rejected 
as unworthy of the occasion. Unharnessed and tethered 
to a tree the tired horses were munching some hay which 
had been found in an out-house. In a hole dug behind 
one of the sheds the revolvers had been buried to be 
fetched again at some convenient time. Now the last act 
of all — the distribution of the false passports and the 
small parcels of necessaries was taking place. 

"You are called Marzsia Lavronka," exclaimed Olympia 
to Katya, as the latter unfolded the paper handed to her. 
"Whatever you do don't go and forget your own name!" 

"Wife of Jan Lavronka," read out Katya from the 
passport. "They have made me into a married woman. 
What is this for?" 

"You had better ask Jan Lavronka; there he is." 

Looking across the yard Katya saw a tall peasant in 




a sheepskin coat and with a high fur cap upon his head 
issuing from a shed. He had a longish beard, whose 
brown was touched with gold, and grey-blue eyes which 
seemed to be looking for something or somebody. 

"That is not— ^" stammered Katya. 

"No, of course not. It is Jan Lavronka. Look at his 
passport if you do not believe me." 

"This is your doing!" flashed out Katya, recovered 
enough now to be wrathful and anything but pale as she 
said it. 

"Not mine. Proposed by some of those girls and ap- 
proved by the committee. The Socialists seem to have 
some romantic heads among them." 

"And — I am to go with him?" 

"It is the only safe way. Your passports tally and 
bear each other out. Besides, a peasant-girl of your ap- 
pearance cannot well travel without a protector." 

"But it is a lie " 

"It need not be a lie for long, need it?" whispered 
Olympia, "Krakau is close over the frontier, and you have 
a choice of churches there, and of obliging priests. You 
need not even wait until Malania Petrowna joins you, un- 
less you are especially anxious to have a chaperon for 
the occasion. Here, my good man, you are looking for 
your wife, are you not? It is time you were off!" 

And she pushed forward the bewildered girl. 

It was just about the time that the party was dispers- 
ing that the prison-master of the Pawiak rang up the ad- 
ministration of the Citadel in order to inquire why the 
omnibus had not yet been sent back. 

The driver of said omnibus missed both his breakfast 
and dinner that day, but had a good long sleep to make 


up for it, seeing that it was past three p.m. when the 
frantic hunt instituted by the German chief of police suc- 
ceeded in running to earth the vehicle, upon whose floor 
the Herculean youth still peacefully slumbered. 

"I should like to get hold of that 'captain,'" the 
governor-general of Warsaw was reported to have said 
subsequently to the German chief. 

"In order to send him to the gallows, excellency?" 
"No, in order to put him in your place. Men of that 
stamp are useful." 

Late that night at the frontier station of Granica there 
sat in a third-class compartment a young peasant couple 
in sheepskin coats — he, a tall, bearded man the thinness 
of whose cheeks seemed a slur on the quality of the land 
he presumably laboured — she, of that warm, brunette 
beauty occasionally seen among Polish women even of 
the lower classes, though, in truth, the type was more 
Russian than Polish. Silent and evidently exhausted, 
yet with strangely brilliant eyes, she leant against the 
back of the hard , wooden seat. The hand which rested 
upon the bundle of belongings on her knees was dirty 
and travel-stained, but not precisely toil-worn. Upon each 
of her temples, now hidden by a heavy cloth, a tiny wisp 
of white, which had not been there yesterday, streaked 
the silky blackness of her hair. It was the history of one 
night written in letters of silver. 

The passports had just been returned. The long, tor- 
turing wait was over; the start imminent. One of the 
small dusty hands stole softly into that of her companion. 
The compartment was full, and it was the only possible 
way of communicating with him at this thought-laden 


moment. He would understand the tremor of her fingers 
— she knew it — and would forgive even the tears in her 
eyes. Was she not turning her back upon her fatherland, 
perhaps for ever? For the present, and probably for long 
years. Lubynia was lost. So long as the reign of terror 
raged neither he nor she could venture to show their faces 
there. Timosh, the ideal watch-dog, would see that the 
roof stayed whole, if nothing else; but would it ever be- 
come their roof? Was this the end of restitution, or only 
its postponement? That which had brought their paths 
together and then divided them had dropped out of their 
lives, leaving them standing face to face, empty-handed 
for the moment — rich only in their love — rich also in 
their youth, which would allow them to look to the pos- 
sibilities of the future. 

And that future, what would it bring? 

Sitting there, in the uncushioned compartment, whose 
atmosphere was laden with the pungent odour of sheep- 
skin and cheap tobacco, Tadeusz tried to plunge his gaze 
into the secrets of coming history. These prodigious con- 
vulsions in which the body of the Russian monster writhed, 
were they birth-pangs, or death-throes? and what would 
be the gigantic outcome of so gigantically heralded a 

In vain. History kept her secrets, as she always keeps 
them. From out of the shadows of to-morrow Russia's 
future stared back, sphynx-like, at the impertinent ques- 

An ear-rending whistle and the sound of slamming 
doors running down the length of the train, like a species 
of dull scale played upon wooden notes. 

''Fertig?** cried the Austrian station-master, the sight 
of whose blue uniform had been in itself a deliverance. 


And the guard's reply: — 


Yes, finished indeed, closed for ever, that breathless 
chapter in their lives. 

The wooden seats vibrated as the wheels began to 

Behind them lay Russia and the past; before them 
Austria and that future towards which they were being 
borne, exiles but hand in hand. 


Note. — Most of the particulars of the escape from prison are 
taken from an actual occurrence which took place at Warsaw in 1906, 
and was described by W. Wladimiraw in the Vienna paper, Die ZeiU 
The picture given of the court martial "Was suggested by an artide of 
the same writer, to whom the thor here gladly acknowledges 

her debt. 




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4045 Volumes. 404 British, 54 American Authors. 
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— Price I M. 60 Pf. or 2 Fr. per Volume. — 

Adams, Rev. W., \ 1848. 
Sacred Allegories x ▼. 

Aguilar, Grace, f 1847. 
Home Influence a ▼. — The Mother's 
Recompense 2 t. 

A1td6, Hamilton. 
Rita XV. — Carr of Carrlyon 2 v. — The 
Marstons 2 ▼. — In that State of Life it. — 
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1 ▼. 

Ain8worth,W. Harrison, -{-1882. 

Windsor Castle x v. — Saiot James's i ▼. 
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Alcott, Louisa M. (Am.), f 1888. 
Little Women 2 ▼. •— Little Men x ▼. — 
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X ▼. 

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey (Am.). 
Marjorie Daw and other Tales x v. — 
The Stillwater Tragedy xv. 

Alexander, Mrs. (Hector), j- 1 902. 
A Second Life 3 ▼. — By Woman's Wit 
XT. — Mona's Choice a v. — A Life In- 
terest a ▼. — A Crooked Path 2 ▼. — Blind 
Fate 2 ▼. — A Woman's Heart * ▼. — For 
His Sake sy. — The Snare of the Fowler 
a V. — Found Wanting a v. — A Ward in 
Chancery i v. — A Choice of Evils a v. — 
A Fight with Fate a t. — A Winning 
Hazard x t. — > A Golden Autumn x v. — 
Mrs. Crichton's Creditor it. — Barbara, 
Lady's Maid and Peeress i ▼. — The Cost 
of Her Pride a ▼. — Brown, V. C. x v. — 
Through Fire ta Fortune i v. — A Missing 
Hero XT.— The Yellow Fiend x ▼. — 
Stronger than Love 2 ▼. — KittyCostello i v. 

Alice, Grand-Duchess of Hesse, 

t 1878. 
Letters to Her Majesty the Queen (with 
Portrait). With a Memoir by H. R. H. 
Princess Christian 2 ▼. 

AUdridge, Lizzie. 
By Love and Law a v. — The World she 
awoke in 2 v. 

Allen, Grant, f 1899. 

The Woman who did i v. 

"All for Greed," Author of 
(Baroness de Bury). 
All for Greed x v. — Love the Avenger 
2 V. 

Anstey, F. (Guthrie). 
The Giant's Robe a v. — A Fallen Idol 
X V. — The Pariah 3 v. — The Talking 

Tauchnitz Edition. Complete List. 

Hone and other Tales r v. — Voces 
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Argles, Mrs. : videlAn. Hunger- 

<« Aristocrats, the," Author of: 
vide Gertrude Atherton. 

Arnold, Sir Edwin, f 1904. 
The Light of Asia (with Portrait) x ▼. 

Arnold, Matthew, f 1888. 
Essays in Criticism a t. — Essays in Criti> 
cism (Secpnd Series) 1 v. 

Atherton, Gertrude Franklin 

American "Wives and English Husbands 
IV. — The Califomians i v. — Patience 
Sparhawk and her Times a v. — Senator 
North a v. ^The Doomswoman x v. -—The 
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Austen, Jane, f 18 17. 

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Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion x v. — 
Emma x v. 

'* Autobiography of LutfuUah," 
Author of: vide E. B. Eastwick. 

Avebury, Lord: vide Sir John 

Bagot, Richard. 

A Roman Mystery a v. — Casting of Nets 
2 V. — The Just and the Unjust 2 v. — 
Donna Diana a v. — Love's Proxy x v. — 
The Passport a v. — Temptation a v. — 
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Baring- Gould, S. 
M'ehalah x v. — John Herring a v. — 
Court Royal a v. 

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Barrett, Frank. 

The Smuggler's Secret i v. — Out of the 
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Sentimental Tommy a v. — Margaret 
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'*Bayle's Romance, Miss," Au- 
thor of: vide W. Eraser Rae. 

Basmes, Rev. Robert H. 
Lyra Anglicana, Hymns and Sacred Songs 

I V. 

Beaconsfield, Lord: vide Dis- 

Beaumont, Averil (Mrs. Hunt). 
Thomicroft's Model a v. 

Bell, Currer (Charlotte Bronte- 
Mrs. Nichoils), t 1855. 
Jane ^jre a v. — Shirley a v. — Villette 
a V. — The Professor x v. 

Bell, Ellis & Acton (Emily, 

f 1848, and Anne, f 1849, 


Wuthering Heights, and Agnes Grey a v. 

Bellamy, Edward (Am.), f 1898. 

Looking Backward x v. 

Benedict, Frank Lee (Am.). 

St. Simon's Niece a v. 

Bennett, Arnold. 
The Grand Babylon Hotel x v. — The 
Gates of Wrath x v. •— A Great Man x v. 

— Sacred and Profane Love x v. — Whom 
God hath joined x v. — The Ghost x v. — 
The Grim Smile of the Five Towns x v. 

Bennett, A. & Phillpotts, Eden: 
vide Eden Phillpotts. 

Benson, E. F. 
Dodo XV. — The Rubicon x v. -> Scarlet 
and Hynop x v. — The Book of Months x v. 

— The Relentiess City x v. — Mammon 
& Co, a V. — The Challoners x v. — An 
Act in a Backwater i v. — The Image in 
the Sand a v. — The Angel of Pain a v. 

— Paul a V. -- The House of Defence a v. 

— Sheaves a v. 

Besant, Sir Walter, j- 1901. 
The Revolt of Man x v. — Dorothy 
Forster a v. — Children of Gibeon a v. — 
The World went very well then a v. — 
Katharine Regina x v. — Herr Paulus a v. 

— The Inner House x v. — The Bell of 
St. Paul's a V. — For Faith and Freedom 
a V. — Armorel of Lyonesse a v. — Ver- 

Tauchnttz Edition. Complete List, 

bena Camellia Stephanotis, etc. i ▼. — 
Beyond the Dreams of Avarice 2 v. — 
The Master Craftsman 2V. — A Fountain 
Sealed i v. — The Orange Girl 2 t. — 
The Fourth Generation z v. — The Lady 
of Lynn 2 ▼. 

Besant, Sir Walter, f 1901, & 
James Rice, f 1882. 
The Golden Butterfly 2 ▼. — Ready- 
Money Mortiboy 2 ▼. — By Celia's Arbour 
2 y. 

Betham- Edwards, M. 
The Sylyestres it. — Felicia 2 v. — 
Brother Gabriel 2 ▼. —Forestalled x v. — 
Exchange no Robbery, and other No- 
velettes XT. — Disarmed it. — Doctor 
Jacob IV. — Pearla i v. — Next of Kin 
Wanted x v. —The Parting of the Ways 
IV. — For One and the World x v. — 
The Romance of a French Parsonage 
IV. — France of To-day x v. — Two Aunts 
and a Nephew x v. — A Dream of Mil- 
lions XV. — The Curb of Honour i v. — 
France of To-day {Second Series) x v. — A 
Romance of Dijon i v, — The Dream- 
Charlotte I V. —A Storm-Rent Sky i v. — 
Reminiscences i v. — The I^rd of the 
Harvest i v. — Anglo-French Reminis- 
cences, 1875 — 1899 I V. — A Suffolk Court- 
ship XV. — Mode Beggars' Hall i v. — 
East of Paris x v. — A Humble Lover x v. — 
Barham Brocklebank, M.D. x v. — Martha 
Rose, Teacher x v. 

Bierce, Ambrose (Aiu.). 
In the Midst of Life x v. 
Birchenough, Mabel C 

Potsherds i v. 

Bisland, B.: v. Rhoda Brough- 

Bismarck, Prince: vide Butler. 
Vide also Wilhelm Qdrlach 
(Collection of German Authors, 
p. 29), and Whitman. 

Black, WiUiam, f 1898. 
A Daughter of Heth 2 v. — In Silk At- 
tire 2 V. — The Strange Adventures of a 
Phaeton 2 v. — A Princess of Thule 2 v. — 
Kilmeny x v. — The Maid of ICilleena, and 
other Stories x v. — Three Feathers 2 v. — 
Lady Silverdale's Sweetheart, and other 
Stories XV. — Madcap Violet 2 v. — 
Green Pastures and Piccadilly 2 v. — 
Madeod of Dare 2 v. — White Wings 

2 V. — Sunrise 2 v. — The BeautiiiilWretch 
X V. — Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in 
the Highlands ; The Four Macnicols ; The 
Pupil of Aurelius x v. — Shandon Bells 
(with Portrait) 2 v. — Judith Shakespeare 
8 V. ^ The Wise Women of Inverness, 
etc I V. — White Heather 2 v. — Sabina 
Zembra 2 v. — The Strange Adventures 
of a House-Boat 2 v. — In Far Lodiaber 
2 V. — The New Prince Fortunatus 2 v.— 
Stand Fast, Craig-Royston 1 2 v. — Donald 
Ross of Heimra 8 v. — The Magic Ink, 
and other Tales x v. — Wolfenbcrg 2 v. — 
The Handsome Humes 2 v. — Highland 
Cousins 2 V. — Briseis 2 v. — Wild Eelin 2 v. 

''Black- Box Murder, the," 

Author of. 
The Black-Box Murder x v. 

Blackmore, Richard Doddridge, 

t 1900. 

Alice Lorraine 8 v. — Mary Anerley 3 v. 
— Christowell a v. — Tommy Upmore 
2 V. — Perlycross 2 v. 

Tales from "Blackwood" (Fini Series) 
XV.— Tales from "Blackwood" {Second 
Series) iv. 

Blagden, Isa, f 1873. 
The Woman I loved, and the Woman 
who loved me; A Tuscan Wedding i v. 

Blessington, Countess of (Mar- 
guerite Grardiner), f 1849. 
Meredith x v. — Strathem a v, — Me- 
moirs of a Femme de Chambre x v. — 
Marmaduke Herbert 8 v. — Country 
Quarters (with Portrait) a v. 

Bloomfield, Baroness. 

Reminiscences of Court and Diplomatic 
Life (with the Portrait of Her Majesty 
the Queen) 2 v. 

Boldrewood, Rolf. 
Robbery under Arms 8 v. — Nevermore 

Braddon, Miss (Mrs. Maxwell). 

Lady Audley's Secret 8 v. — Aurora 
Floyd 2 V. — Eleanor's Victory 2 v. — Jp^" 
Marchmont's Legacy 2 v. — Henry Don- 
bar 2 V. — The Doctor's Wife a ▼. — 
Only a Clod 2 v. — Sir Jasper's Tenant 
2 V. —The Lady's Mile 2 v. — RupertGod- 

Tauchnttz Edition. Complete List. 

win a ▼. — Dead-Sea Fruit a v. — Run to 
Earth a v. — Fenton's Quest 2 v. — The 
Lovels of Arden a t. — Strangers and 
Pilgrims a ▼. — Ludus Davoren 3 t. — 
Taken at the Flood 3 t. — Lost for Love 
2 V. — AStrange World a v. — Hostages 
to Fortune a ▼. — Dead Men's Shoes 

2 ▼. — Joshua Haggard's Daughter a v. — 
Weavers andWeft i v. — In GreatWaters, 
and other Tales i ▼. — An Open Verdict 

3 V. — Vixen 3 V. — The Qoven Foot 3 v. 
— The Storv of Barbara a v. —-Just as I 
am a ▼. — Asphodel 3 V. — Mount Royal 
2 V. —The Golden Calf 2 ▼. — Flower and 
Weed IV. — Phantom Fortune 3 V. — 
Under the Red Flag it. — Ishmael 3 ▼. 
— Wyllard's Weird 3 ▼. — One Thing 
Needful a v. — Cut by the County i v. — 
Like and Unlike a ▼. — The Fatal Three 
2 V. — The Day will come a v. — One 
Life, One Love a v. — Gerard a v. — 
The Venetians 2 v. — All along the River 
2 v.— Thou art the Man a ▼. — The Christ- 
mas Hirelings, etc. z v. — Sons of Fire 
a V. — London Pride a ▼. — Rough Justice 
2 V. — In High Places a v. — His Darling 
Sin I V. —The Infidel a v. — The Conflict 
s V. — The Rose of Life 2 v. — Dead Love 
has Chains x v. 

Brassey, Lady, f 1887. 
A Voyage in the "Sunbeam" 2 v. — 
Sunshine and Storm in the East a v. — In 
the Trades, the Tropics and the Roaring 
Forties 2 v. 

"Bread -Winners, the," Author 
of (Am.). 
The Bread -Winners z v. 

Bret Harte: vide Harte. 

Brock, Rev. William, f 1875. 
Sir Henry Havelock, K. C. B. i v. 

BrontS, Charlotte: vide Currer 

BrontS, Emily & Anne: vide 
Ellis & Acton Belt 

Brooks, Shirley, f 1874. 
The Silver Cord 3 V. — Sooner or Later 

Broome, Lady (Lady Barker). 
Station Life in New Zealand z v. — 
Station Amusements in New Zealand 
XT. — A Year's Housekeeping in South 

Africa z V. — Letters to Guy, and A Dis- 
tant Shore — Rodrigues z v. — Colonial 
Memories z v. 

Broughton, Rhoda. 
Cometh up as a Flower z v. — Not 
wisely, but too well a v. — Red as a Rose 
is She a V. — Tales for Christmas Eve 
z V, — Nancy a v. — Joan a v. — Second 
Thoughts a V. — Belinda a v. — Doctor 
Cupid a V. — Alas I a v. — Mrs. Bligh 
z V. — A Beginner z v. — Scylla or 
Charebdis? z v. — Dear Faustina z v. — 
The Game and the Candle z v. — Foes in 
Law z V. — Lavinia z v. 

Broughton, Rhoda, ift Elizabeth 
A Widower Indeed z v. 

Brown, John, f 1882. 

Rab and his Friends, and other Papers z v. 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 

t 1861. 

A Selection from her Poetry (with Por- 
trait) z V. — Aurora Leigh t v. 

Browning, Robert, f 1889. 
Poetical Works (with Portrait) 4 v. 

BuUen, Frank T. 
The Cruise of the ** Cachalot " a v. 

Bulwer, Edward, Lord Lytton, 
t 1873. 

Pelham (with Portrait) i v. — Eugene 
Aram z v. — Paul Clifford z v. — Zanoni 
zv. — The Last Days of Pompeii zv. — ^ 
The Disowned z v. — Ernest Maltravers 
z V. — Alice z V. — Eva, and The Pilg^ms 
of the Rhine z v. — Devereux z v. — 
Godolphin and Falkland z v. — Rienzi 
z V. — Night and Morning z v. — The Last 
of the Barons a v. — Athens a v. — The 
Poems and Ballads of Schiller z v. — 
Lttcretia a v. — Harold 2 v. — King Arthur 
a V. — The New Timon, and St. Stephen's 
z V. — The Caxtons 2 v. — My Novel 4 V. — 
What will he do with it? 4 v. — Dramatic 
Works a V. — A Strange Story a v, — 
Caxtoniana a v. — The Lost Tales of Mile- 
tusx V. — Miscellaneous Prose Works 4V. — 
Odes and Epodes of Horace a v. — Kenalm 
Chillingly 4 V. — The Coming Race z v. — 
The Parisians 4 v. — Pausanias, the Spar- 
tan z V. 

Tauchnitz Edition, Complete List, 

Bulwer, Henry Lytton (Lord 
DalliDg), f 1872. 
Historical Characten it. — The Life of 
Vifconnt Palmenton 3 v. 

Bunyan, John, f 1688. 
Tbe Pilgrim's Progress x ▼. 

« Buried Alone/' Author of 
(Charles Wood). 
Bnried Alone x ▼. 

Burnett, Mrs. Frances Hodg- 
son (Am.). 
Through one Administration 2 t. — Little 
Lord Fauntleroy x ▼. — Sara Crewe, 
and Editha's Burglar it.— The Pretty 
Sister of Jos6 x t, — A Lady of Quality 

2 T. — His Grace of Osmonde a t. — The 
Shuttle 2 T. 

Bumey, Miss (Madame D'Ar- 
blay), t 1840. 
Evelina x t. 

Bums, Robert, f 1796. 

Poetical Works (with Portrait) x t. 

Burton, Richard F., f 1890. 

A Pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina 3 v. 

Bury, Baroness de: vide **A11 
for Greed." 

Butler, A. J. 

Bismarck. His Reflections and Re- 
miniscences. Translated from the great 
German edition, under the supervision of 
A. J. Butler. With two Portraits. 3 t. 

Buxton, Mrs. B. H., f 1881. 
Jennie of "The Prince's ," 2 v. — Won 

3 V. — Great Qrenfell Gardens 2 v. — 
Nell— on and off the Stage 2 t. — From 
tiie Wings 2 t. 

Byron, Lord, f 1824. 
Poetical Works (with Portrait) 5 t. 

Caf^n, Mr8.Mannington (Iota). 
A Yellow Aster x t. ~ Children of Cir- 
cumstance 2 v. — Anne MauloTerer 2 t. 

Caine, Hall. 
The Bondman 2 t. — The Manxman 
2 T. — The Christian 2 t. — The Eternal 
City 3 V. — The Prodigal Son 2 v. 

Cameron, Verney Lovett 
Across Africa 2 r. 

CampbeU Praed, Mrs.: vide 

Carey, Rosa Nouchette. 
Not Like other Girls 2 t. — " Bat Men 
must Work" x V. — Sir Godfrw's Grand- 
daughters 2 v.— The Old, Old Story 2 v. 

— Herb of Grace 2 v. — The Highway of 
Fate 2 V. — A Passage Perilous 2 v. — At 
the Moorings 2 v. 

Carlyle, Thomas, f i88i. 
The French Revolutton 3 v. — Fre- 
derick the Great 13 v. — OllTer Crom- 
well's Letters and Speeches 4 v. — The 
Life of Schiller x t. 

Carr, Alaric. 
Treheme's Temptation 2 v. 

Castle, Agnes 9t Egerton. 
The Star Dreamer 2 v. — - Incomparable 
BellaitB x v. — Rose of the World x v. — 
French Nan it. — " If Youth but knew ! " 
XT. — My Merry Rockhurst i ▼. ^ Flower 
o* the Orange x v. 

Castle, Egerton. 

Consequences 2 v. — "La Bella/' and 
Others z v. 

Charles, Mrs. Elizabeth Rundle, 
f 1 896 : vide Author of **Chro- 
nicles of the Schfinberg-Cotta 

Charlesworth, Maria Louisa, 
1 1880. 
Oliver of the Mill x v. 

Chesterton, G. K. 
The Man who was Thursday z t. 

Cholmondeley, Mary. 
Diana Tempest 2 t. — Red Pottage 2 t. 

— Moth and Rust x t. — Prisoners 2 ▼. 

Christian, Princess: vide Alice, 

Grand Duchess of Hesse. 
<* Chronicles of the SchSnberg- 
Cotta Family," Author of (Mrs. 
K Rundle Charles), f 1896. 
Chronicles of the Schanberg-Cotta Fa- 
mily 2 T. — The Draytons and the 
DaTonants 2 t. — On Both Sides of 
the Sea 2 v. — Winifred Bertram x ▼. — 
Diary of Mrs. Kitty Trevylyan z v. — 

Tauckm'tz Edition^ Complete List, 

The Victory of the Vanquished x v. — 
The Cottage by the Cathedral and other 
Parables x v. — Against the Stream a ▼. 
— • The Bertram Family a v. — Conquer- 
ing and to Conquer x ▼. — Lapsed, but not 
Lost X V. 

Clark, Alfred. 
The Finding of Lot's Wife x v. 

Clemens, Samuel L. : v. Twain. 

CUflFord, Mrs. W. K. 
Loye-Letters of a Worldly Woman x v. 
— Aunt Anne a v.-^The Last Touches, and 
other Stories x v. — Mrs. Keith's Crime 
X V. — A Wild Proxy x v. — A Flash of 
Summer i v. — A Woman Alone x v. — 
Woodside Farm x v. — The Modern Way 
X V. — The Getting Well of Dorothy x v. 

Clive, Mrs. Caroline, f 1873: 
vide Author of ** Paul PerrolL** 

Cobbe, Frances Power, j- 1904. 
Re- Echoes x ▼. 

Coleridge, C R. 
An English Squire a v. 

Coleridge, M. £. 
The King with two Faces a v. 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 

t 1834. 
Poems X V. 

Collins, Charles AUston, f 1873. 
A Cruise upon Wheels a t. 

Collins, Mortimer, -j- 1876. 
Sweet and Twenty ay. — A Fight with 
Fortune a v. 

ColUns, WUkie, f 1889. 

After Dark x v. — Hide and Seek a v. — 
A Plot in Private Life, etc. x v. — The 
Woman in White a t. — Basil x v. — No 
Name 3 V. — The Dead Secret, and other 
Tales ST. — Antonina a t. — Armadale 
IV. — The Moonstone a v. — Man and 
wife 3 V. — Poor Miss Finch a v. — Miss 
or Mrs. ? x v. — The New Magdalen a v. — 
The Frozen Deep x v. — The Law and the 
Lady a v. — The Two Destinies x v. •>- My 
Lady's Money, andPer^ and the Prophet 
XV.— The Haunted Hotel x v. — The 
Fallen Leaves a v. — Jezebel's Daughter 
a V. — The Black Robe a v. •— Heart and 
Sdencea V. — «« I say No," a v. — TheEvil 
Genius a v. —The Guilty River, and The 

Ghost's Touch x v. — The Legacy of Cain 
a V. — Blind Love a v. 

** Cometh up as a Flower," Au- 
thor of: vide Rhoda Brough- 

Conrad, Joseph. 

An Outcast of the Islands a v. — Tales 
of Unrest x v. — The Secret Agent x v. 

Conway, Hugh (F. J. Fargus), 
t 1885. 
Called Back x v. — Bound Together 
a V. — Dark Days x v. -- A Family Affair 
a V. — Living or Dead a v. 

Cooper, James Fenimore (Am.), 
t 1851. 

The Spy (with Portrait) x v. — The Two 
Admirsds x v. — The Jack O'Lantem x v. 

Cooper, Mrs.: vide Katharine 

Corelli, Marie. 

Vendetta I a v. — Thelnxa a v. — A 
Romance of Two Worlds a v. — "Ardath " 
3 V. — Wormwood. A Drama of Paris 
a V. — The Hired Baby, with other Stories 
and Social Sketches x v. — Barabbas ; A 
Dream of Uie World's Tragedy a v. — 
The Sorrows of Satan a v. —The Mighty 
Atom XV. — The Murder of Delida x v. — 
Ziska X V. — Boy. A Sketch, a v. — The 
Master-Christian av. — "Temporal Power" 
a V. — God's Good Man a v. — Free 
Opinions x v. — Treasure of Heaven (with 
Portrait) a v. 

Cotes, Mrs. Bverard. 
Those Delightful Americans x v. — Set in 
Authority x v. 

"County, the," Author ot 
The County x v. 

Craik, George Lillie, f 1866. 

A Manual of English Literature and of 
the History of the English Language a v. 

Craik, Mrs. (Miss Dinah M. 
Mulock), t 1887. 
John Halifisix, Gentleman a v. — The 
Head of the Family a v. — A Life for a 
Life a V. — A Woman's Thoughts about 
Women x v. — Agatha's Husband x v. — 
Romantic Tales x v. — Domestic Stories 
XV. — Mistress and Maid x v. — The 
Ogilvies XV. — Lord Erlistoun x v. — 
Christian's Mistake X v« -~ Bread upoq 


Tauchnitz Edition, Complete List, 

tlie Waters it. — A Noble Life it. — 
OliTe a V. — Two Marriages it. — Studies 
from Life x t. — Poems it, — The 
Woman's Kingdom 2 t. — The Unkind 
Word, and other Stories 3 t. — A BraTe 
Lady 2 t. — Hannah 2 t. — Fair France 
X T. — My Mother and I x t. — The Little 
Lame Prince it. — Sermons out of Church 
I T.— The Laurel-Bush ; Two little Tinkers 
X T. -—A Legacy 2 t. — Young Mrs. Jardine 
2T. — His LitUe Mother, and other Tales 
and Sketches i v. — Plain Speaking it. — 
Miss Tommy x t. — King Arthur x t. 

Craik, Georgiana M. (Mrs. May). 
Lost and Won it. — Faith Unwin's 
Ordeal it. — Leslie Tyrrell x t. — Wini- 
fred's Wooing, etc. XT. — Mildred it. — 
Esther Hill's Secret 2 t. — Hero Tre- 
velyan x t. — Without Klith or Kin 2 t. — 
Only a Butterfly x t. — SyWia's Choice ; 
Theresa 2 v. — Anne Warwick x v. — 
Dorcas a t. — Two Women 2 t. 

Craik, Georgiana M., & M. C 
Two Tales of Married Life (Hard to 
Bear, by Miss Craik ; A True Man, by M. 
C. Stirling) 2 t. 

Craven, Mrs. Augustus: vide 
Lady Fullerton. 

Crawford, F. Marion (Am.). 
Mr. Isaacs it. — Doctor Qaudius xt. — 
To Leeward x t. — A Roman Singer 
XV. — An American Politician it. — 
Zoroaster x v. — A Tale of a Lonely Parish 
2 T. — Saracinesca 2 v. — Marzio's Crucifix 

1 v.— PaulPatoff 2 T — With thelmmortals 
IV. — Greifenstein a t. — Sant' Ilario 

2 T. — A Cigarette - Maker's Romance 
X V. — Khaled x v. —The Witch of Prague 
a T. — The Three Fates a t. — Don Orsino 
2 T. — The Children of the King it. — 
Pietro Ghisleri a t. — Marion Darche i t. 

— Katharine Lauderdale a t. — The Ral- 
stons 2 T. — Casa Braccio a t. — Adam 
Johnstone's Son it. — Taquisara 2 t. — 
A Rose of Yesterday i v. ~ Corleone 
2 T. — Via Cruds 2 t. — In the Palace of 
the King a t. — Marietta, a Maid of 
Venice a t. — Cecilia a t. — The Heart 
of Rome a t. — Whosoever Shall Offend... 
2 T. — Soprano 2 t. — A Lady of Rome 2 t. 

— Arethusa 2 t. — The Primadonna a v. 

Crockett, S. R. 

The Raiders 2 t. — Cleg Kelly 2 v. — 
The Grey Man a v. — Love Idylls x v. — 
The Dark o' the Mooti a t. 

Croker, B. M. 

Peggy of the Bartons 2 v. — The Happy 
Valley it. — The Old Cantonment, with 
Other Stories of India and Elsewhere x v. 
— A Nine Days' Wonder it. — The 
Youngest Miss Mowbray i t. — The Com- 
pany's SerTant 2 t. 

Cross, J. W.: vide George 

EUof s Life. 
Cudlip, Mrs. Pender: vide A. 

Cummins, Miss* (Am.), \ 1866. 

The Lamplighter it. — Mabel Vaughan 
I T. — El Fureidis it. — HauntedHearts it. 

Cushing, PauL 
The Blacksmith of Voe a t. 

"Dafly News." 
War Correspondence, 18771 by Archi- 
bald Forbes and others 3 t. 

Danby, Frank. 
The Heart of a Child a t. 

"Dark," Author of. 
Dark x t. 

Davis, Richard Harding (Am.). 
Gallegher , etc. it. — Van Bibber and 
Others z t. — Ranson's Folly z t. 

De Foe, Daniel, j* 1731. 

Robinson Crusoe i t. 

Deland, Margaret (Am.). 
John Ward, Preacher z t. 

De la Pasture, Mrs. Henry, vide 

"Democracy," Author of (Am.). 

Democracy x t. 

•* Demos," Author of; vide George 

"Diary and Notes," Author 
of: vide Author of "Horace 

Dickens, Charles, f 1870. 
The Pickwick Qub (with Portrait) aT. — 
American Notes it. — OIiTer Twist i t. — 
Nicholas Nickleby 2 t. — Sketches i t.— 
Martin Chuxzlewit a t. — A Christmas 
Carol; The Chimes; The Cricket on die 
HearUi i t. — Master {Humphrey's Q\wX 

Tauchnttz Edition, Complete List, 

(Old Curiosity Shop; Barnaby Rudge, etc.) 

3 V. — lectures from Italy x v. — Donibey 
and Son 3 V. — David Copperfield 3 V. — 
Bleak House 4 ▼. — A Child's History of 
Bngrland (2 ▼. 80 M. 2,70.) — Hard Times 
IV. — Little Dorrit (witblllostrations) 4 v. 

— The Battle of Life ; The Haunted Man 
IV. — A Tale of two Gties a t. — Hunted 
Dovni ; The Uncommercial Traveller i ▼. 

— Great Expectations 2 ▼. •— Christmas 
Stories, etc. x ▼. — Our Mutual Friend 
(with Illustrations) 4 V. — Somebody's 
Lugfgfage; Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings ; Mrs. 
Lirriper's Legacy x ▼. — Doctor Mari- 
grold's Prescriptions ; Mugby Junction i v. 

— The Mystery of Edwin Drood (with 
Illustrations) 2 ▼. — The Mudfog Papers, 
XV. — The Letters of Charles Didcens, ed. 
by his Sister-in-law and his eldestDaughter 

4 V. — Vide also Household Words, Nov^ 
and Tales, and John Forster. 

Dickens, Charles, ft Wilkie 
No Thoroughfare; The Late Miys Hoi- 
ling^ford x ▼. 

Disraeli, Benjamin, Lord Bea- 
consfield, f 1881. 
Coningsby x v. — Sybil x ▼. — Contarini 
Fleming (with Portrait) i v. — Alroy x v. — 
Tancred 2 v. — Venetia 2 v. — Vivian 
Grey a ▼. — Henrietta Temple x v. — 
Lothair 2 v. — Endymion 2 t. 

Dixon, Ella Hepworth. 
The Story of a Modem Woman x ▼. — One 
Doabtful Hour x ▼. 

Dixon, W. Hepworth, f 1879. 
Personal History of Lord Bacon x v. — 
TheHolyLandav. — New America 2 v. — 
Spiritual Wives 2 ▼. — Her Majesty's 
Tower 4 V. — Free Russia 2 v. — History 
of two Queens 6 v. — White Conquest 
2 V. — Diana, Lady Lyle 2 ▼. 

Dixon, Jr., Thomas, (Am.). 
The Leopard's Spots 2 v. 

Dougall, L. (Am.). 
Beggars All 2 v. 

Dowie, M6nie Muriel. 

A Girl in the Karpathians x v. 

Doyle, Sir A. Conan. 
The Sign of Four x v. — Mfcah Cj 
2 V. —The Captain o{ the Pole-Star^\ 
other Tales x v. — The White CoH* a %^ 
? V. - A Study in ScarJet z r. /*^kHv^^ 


Great Shadow, and Beyond the City x v. — 
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes 2 v. 

— The Refugees s v. — The Firm of 
Girdlestone 2 ▼. — The Memoirs of Sher- 
lock Holmes av. — Ronnd the Red Lamp 
XV. — The Stark Munro Letters i v. — 
The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard x v. — 
Rodney Stone t ▼. — Uncle Bemac x v. — 
The Tragedy of the Korosko x v. — A 
Duet X v. — The Green Fla£x v. — " The 
Great Boer War 2 v. — The War in South 
Africa XV. — The Hound of the Basker- 
villes XV. — Adventures of Gerard x ▼. — 
The Return of Sherlock Holmes 2 v. — Sir 
Nigel 2 V. — The Magic Door x v. 

Drummond, Professor Henry, 

t 1897- 
The Greatest Thing in the World; Pax 
Vobiscum ; The Changed Life x v. 

Dufferin, the Earl o£ 
Letters from High Latitudes x v. 

Duncan, Sara Jeannette: vide 
Mrs. Cotes. 

Dunton: vide Th. Watts-Dun- 

Earl, the, and the Doctor. 
South Sea Bubbles x ▼. 

Eastwick, Edward B., f 1883. 
Autobiography of LutfuUah x v. 

Edgeworth, Maria, vide Series 
for the Young, p. 29, 

Edwardes, Mrs. Annie. 

Archie Lovell 2 v, — Steven Lawrence, 
Yeoman 2 v. — Ought we to visit her? 2 v. 

— A Vagabond Heroine x v. — Leah : A. 
Woman of Fashion 2 v. — A Blue-Stock- 
ing IV. — Jet : Her Face or Her Fortune? 
XV. — Vivian the Beauty x v. — A Ball- 
room Repentance 2 v. — A Gitton Girl 
2 V. — A Playwright's DauRbter* and 
Bertie Griffiths i v. — Pearl-Powder i v. 
The Adventuress x v. 

Edwards, KmeUaLBM^ ^^92- 



Tatichnttz Edition, Complete List, 

XV. — A Thousand Miles np the Kile a t. 
— A Poetry-Book of Modem Poets i v. — 
Lord Bracken bury a v. 

Edwards, M. Betham-: vide 

Edward, Eggleston (Am.). 
The Faith Doctor a v. 

Elbon, Barbara (Am.). 
Bethesda a ▼. 

Eliot, George (Miss Evans — 
Mrs. Cross), + i88o. 
Scenes of Qerical Life a v. — Adam 
Bede a v. —The Mill on the Floss a ▼.— 
Silas Mamer z v. — Romola a ▼. — Felix 
Holt a ▼. — Daniel Deronda 4 t. — The 
Lifted Veil , and BroUier Jacob it. — 
Impressions of Theophrastiu Such i v. — 
Essays and Leaves from a Note-Book 
I V. — Greoi^e Eliot's Life, edited by her 
Husband, J. W. Cross 4 v. 

** Elizabeth and her German 
Garden," Author of. 
Elizabeth and her German Garden it. — 
The Solitary Summer it. — The Bene- 
factress a V. ~ Princess Priscilla*s Fort- 
night it. — The Adventures of Elizabeth 
in Rtigen i v. — Fraulein Schmidt and Mr. 
Anstruther i v. 

Elliot, Mrs. Frances, ^ 1898. 
Diary of an Idle Woman in Italy a v. — 
Old Court Life in France a t. — The 
Italians a v. — The Diary of an Idle 
Woman in Sicily it. — Pictures of Old 
Rome IT. — The Diary of an Idle Woman in 
Spain a T. — The Red Cardinal it. — 
The Story of Sophia it. — Diary of an 
Idle Woman in Constantinople it. — 
Old Court Life in Spain a v. — Roman 
Gossip I T. 

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, f 1 882. 
Representative Men i v. 

'' Englishwoman's Love-Let- 
ters, an," Author of. 
An Englishwoman's Love-Letters i v. 

Erroll, Henry. 

An Ugly Duckling i t. 

Esler, E. Rentoul. 
The Way they loTed at Grimpat i t. 

"Essa3rs and Reviews," the 
Authors of. 
Essays and Reviews. By Tarious Authors 

I T. 

"Estelle Russell," Author of. 
Estelle Russell a v. 

Esterre- Keeling, Elsa D*. 

Three Sisters i v. — A Laughing Philo- 
sopher IT. — The Professor's Wooing i v. 
— In Thoughtland and in Dreamland 
IT. — Orchatdscroft it* — Appassionata 
IT. — Old Maids and Yonng a t. — The 
Queen's Serf x v. 

** Euthanasia," Author of. 
Euthanasia x t. 

Ewing, Juliana Horatia, f 1885. 

{ackanapes ; The Story of a Short Life ; 
>addy Darwin's Dovecot i v. — A Flat 
Iron for a Farthing it. — The Brownies, 
and other Tales i t. 

"Expiated," Author of. 
Expiated a t. 

Fargus, F. J.: vide Hugh Con- 

Farrar, F. W. pean), f 1903. 
Darkness and Dawn 3 v. 

" Fate of Fenella, the," Authors 
The Fate of Fenella, by 2\ Authors i v. 
Felkin, Alfred Laurence: vide 
E. T. Fowler. 

Felkin, Mrs.: vide E. T. Fowler. 

Fendall, Percy: vide F. C 

Fenn, George Manville. 

The Parson o' Dumford a v. — The 
Clerk of Portwick a t. 

Fielding, Henry, f 1754. 
Tom Jones a t. 

Findlater, Mary and Jane: vide 
Kate Douglas Wiggin. 

Five Centuries 

of the English Language and Literature: 
John WydiflFe. — Geoffrey Chaucer. — 
Stephen Hawes. — Sir Thomas More. — 
Edmund Spenser. — Ben Jonson. — John 
Locke. — ^Thomas Gray (vol.500, published 

i860) I T. 

Tauchnitz Edition, Complete List. 


Fleming, George (Am.). 

Kismet it. — Andromeda 2 v. 

Forbes, Archibald, i 1900. 
My Experiences of the War between 
France and Germany 2 v. — Soldiering 
and Scribbling z v. — Memories and 
Studies of War and Peace 2 t. — Vide also 
*' Daily News," War Correspondence. 

Forrest, R. £. 
Eight Days 2 r. 

Forrester, Mrs. 

Viva 2 V. — Rhona 2 v. — Roy and Viola 
2 V. — My Lord and My Lady 2 v. — I 
have Lived and Loved 2 v. — June 2 v. — 
Omnia Vanitas x v. — Although he was a 
Lord, and other Tales x v. — Corisande, 
and other Tales x v. — Once Again 2 v. — 
Of the Worid, Woridly x v. — Dearest 
2 V. — The Light of other Days x v. — 
Too Late Repented x v. 

Forster, John, f 1876. 
The Life of Charles Dickens (with Illus- 
trations and Portraits) 6 v. — Life and 
Times of Oliver Goldsmith 2 v. 

Fothcrgill, Jessie. 

The First Violin 2 ▼. — Probation 2 v. — 
Made or Marred, and "One of Three" 
XV. — Kith and Kin 2 v. — Peril 2 v. — 
Borderland 2 v. 

" Found Dead," Author of: vide 
James Payn. 

Fowler, Ellen Thomeycroft 

(Mrs. Alfred Laurence Felkin). 

A Double Thread 2 ▼. — The Farring- 

dons 2 V. — Fuel of Fire x ▼. — Place and 

Power 2 V. — In Subjection 2 ▼. 

Fowler, Ellen Thomeycroft 
(Mrs. A. L. Felkin) & Alfred 
Laurence Felkin. 

Fox, Caroline, f 1871. 
Memories of Old Friends from her Jour- 
nals and Letters, edited by Horace N. 
Pym 2 V. 

'•Frank Fairlegh," Author of 
(F. E. Smedley), f 1864. 
Frank Fairlegh 2 v. 

Francis, M. E. 

The Duenna of a Geniui x v^ 

Frederic, Harold (Am.), f 1898. 
Illumination 2 v. — March Hares x v. 

Freeman, Edward A., f 1892, 

The Growth of the English Constitution 
XV. — Select Historical Essays x v. — 
Sketches from French Travel x v. 

Froude, James Anthony, j* 1894. 
Oceana x v. — The Spanish Story of the 
Armada, and other Enays x v. 

FuUerton, Lady Georgians, 
t 1885. 

Ellen Middleton x v. — Grantley Manor 
2 V. — Lady Bird 2 v. — - Too Strange not 
to be True 2 v. — Constance Sherwood 
2 v. — A Stormy Life 2 v. — Mrs. Geralds' 
Niece 2 v. — The Notary's Daughter x ▼. — 
The Lilies of the Valley, and The House of 
Penarvan it. — TheCountess de Bonneval 
XV. — Rose Leblanc x v. — Seven Stories 
IV. — The Life of Luisa de Carvajal i v. 

— A Will and a Way, and The Hand- 
kerchief at the Window 2 v. — Eliane 
2 V. (by Mrs. Augustus Craven, translated 
by Lady Fullerton). — Laureatia x v. 

Gardiner, Marguerite: vide 

Lady Blessington. 
Gaskell, Mrs., f 1865. 

Mary Barton x v. — Ruth 2 v. — North 
and South x v. -^ Lizzie Leigh, and other 
T^es XV. — The Life of Chariotte Bronte 
2 V. — Lois the Witch, etc. x v. — Sylvia's 
Lovers 2 v. — A Dark Night's Work 
XV. — Wives and Daughters 3 v. — Cran- 
ford I V. — Cousin Phillis, and other Tales 

I V. 

** Geraldine Hawthorne," Author 
of: vide Author of **Miss 
Gerard, Dorothea (Madame Lon- 
gard de Louggarde). 
Lady Baby 2 v. — Recha x v. — Ortho- 
dox IV. — TheWrong Man x v. — A Spot- 
less Reputation X V. — A Forgotten Sin x v. 

— One Year x v. — The Supreme Crime i v. 

— The Blood-Tax x v. — Holy Matrimony 
XV. — The Eternal Woman x v. — Made 
of Money x v. — The Bridge of Life x v. 

— The Three Essentials x v. — The Im- 
probable Idyl XV. — The Compromise 2 v. 

— Itinerant Daughters x ▼. 

Gerard, E. (Emily deLaszowska). 
A Secret Mission x v. — A Foreigner 2 v. 

— The Extermination of Love 2 v. 

Tauchnitz Edition, Complete List, 

Giberne, Agnes. 
The Curate's Home z r. 

Gissing, George, J 1903. 

Demos. A Story of English Socialism 8 ▼. 
— New Grub Street 2 v. 

Gladstone, Rt Hon. W. £., 
t 1898. 
Rome and the Newest Fashions in Re- 
ligion XV. — Bulgarian Horrors, and 
Russia in Turkistan, with other Tracts 
X T. — The Hellenic Factor in the Eastern 
Problem, with other Tracts x ▼. 

Glyn, Elinor. 
The Visits of Elizabeth i v. — The Re- 
flections of Ambrosine x v. — The Vicissi- 
tudes of Evangeline x v. — Beyond the 
Rocks X V. — Three Weeks x v. 

Godfrey, Hal: vide Charlotte 
O'Conor Eccles. 

Goldsmith, Oliver, f 1774. 

Select Works (with Portrait) x v. 
Goodman, Edward J. 

Too Curious x v. 

Gordon, Julien (Am.). 
A Diplomat's Diary x v. 

Gordon, Major -Gen. C G., 

t 1885. 
His Journals at Kartoum. Introduction 
and Notes by A. E. Hake (with eighteen 
Illustrations) 2 v. 

Gore, Mrs., \ 1861. 

Castles in the Air x v. — The Dean's 
Daughter 2 v. — Progress and Prejudice 
2 ▼. — Mammon 2 v. — A Life's Lessons 
2 V. — The Two Aristocracies 2 v. — Heck- 
ington 2 v. 

Grand, Sarah. 
Our Manifold Nature x v. — Babs the 
Impossible 2 v. — Emotional Moments x v. 

Grant, Miss. 
Victor Lescar 2 v. — The Sun-Maid 2 v. 
— My Heart's in the Highlands 2 v. — 
Artiste 2 v. — Prince Hugo 2 v. — Cara 
Roma 2 V. 

Gray, Maxwell. 

The Silence of Dean Maitland 2 v. — The 
Reproach of Annesley 2 v. 

Grenville: Murray, E.C(Trois- 
Etoiles), t 1 88 1. 
The Member for Paris 2 v. — Young 
Brown 2 v. — The Boudoir Cabal 3 ▼. — 
French Pictures in English Chalk (First 
StrietJ 2 ▼. — The Russians of To-day 
XT. — French Pictures in English Chalk 
(Second Series) 2 v. — Strange Tales 
X V. —That Artful Vicar 2 v. — Six Months 
in the Ranks x ▼. — People I have met x v. 

Grimwood, Ethel St Clair. 
My Three Years in Manipur (with Por- 
trait) X V. 

Grohman, W. A. Baillie. 
Tyrol and the Tyrolese x v. 

Gunter, Archibald Clavering 
(Am.), t 1907. 
Mr. Barnes of New York x v. 

Guthrie, F. Anstey : vide Anstey. 

"Guy Livingstone,'* Author of 

(George Alfred Laurence), 

1 1876. 

Guy Livingstone x v. — Sword and 
Gown IV. — Barren Honour t v. — 
Border and Bastille x v. — Maurice Dering 
X V. — Sans Merc! 2 ▼. .— Breaking a 
Butterfly 2 v. — Anteros 2 v. — Ha- 
garene 2 v. 

Habberton, John (Am.). 
Helen's Babies & Other People's Chil- 
dren XV, — The Bowsham Puzzle t v, — 
One Tramp; Mrs. Maybum's Twins x v. 

Haggard, H. Rider. 

King Solomon's Mines x v. — She 2V. — 
Jess 2 V. — Allan Quatermain 2 v. — The 
Witch's Head 2 v. — Maiwa's Reven^re 
XV. — Mr. Meeson's Will x v. — Colonel 
Quaritch, V. C. 2 v. — Cleopatra 2 v. — 
Allan's Wife x v. — Beatrice 2 v. — Dawn 
2 V. — Montezuma's Daughter 2 v. — The 
People of the Mist 2 v. — Joan Haste 2 v. — 
Heart of the World 2 v. —The Wixard 
XV. — Doctor Theme x v. — Swallow 
2 V. — Black Heart and White Heart, 
and Elissa i v. — Lysbeth 2 v. — A Winter 
Pilgrimage 2 v. — Pearl-Maiden a v. — 
Stella Fregelius 2 v. — The Brethren 2 v. 

— Ayesha. The Return of ' She ' 2 v. — 
The Way of the Spirit 2 v. — Benita x v. 

— Fair Margaret 2 v. 

Haggard, H. Rider, & Andrew 
The World'? Pesire 2 y. 

Tauchnitz Edition, Complete List, 


Hake, A. £. : vide Gen. Gordon. 

Hall, Mrs. S. C, f i38i. 
Can Wrong be Right? x v. — Marian j ▼. 
Hamerton, Philip Gilbert, 

1 1894. 
Marmome x v. — French and English a t. 

Hardy, Miss Iza: vide Author of 
"Not Easily Jealous." 

Hardy, Thomas. 

The Hand of Ethelberta a v. — Far 
from the Madding Crowd 2 v. —The Re> 
turn of the Native a t. — The Trumpet- 
Major 2 ▼. — A Laodicean 2 t. — Two on 
a Tower 2 ▼. — A Pair of Blue Eyes 2 ▼. 

— A Group of Noble Dames i v. — Teas 
of the D'Urbervillea 2 v. — Life's Little 
Lronies x t. — Jude the Obscure 2 ▼. 

Harland, Henry, f 1905. 
The Cardinal's Snuflf-Box i v. — The 
Lady Paramount x ▼.— My Friend Prospero 

X V. 

Harraden, Beatrice. 

ShixM that pass in the Night x v. — In 
Varying Moods x t. — Hilda Strafford, 
and The Remittance Man x v. — The 
Fowler 2 ▼. — Katharine Frensham 2 v. 

— The Scholar's Daughter x ▼. 

Harrison, Agnes. 

Martin's Vineyard x r. 

Harrison, Mrs. Mary St Leger : 
vide Lucas Malet 

Harte, Bret (Am.), f 1902. 
Prose and Poetry (Tales of the Argo- 
nauts : — The Luck of Roaring Camp ; 
The Outcasts of Poker Flat, etc. — 
Spanish and American Legends; Con- 
densed Novels; Civic and Character 
Sketches; Poems) 2 v. — Idyls of the 
Foothills XV. — Gabriel Conroy a v. — 
Two Men of Sandy Bar x v. — Thankful 
Blossom, and other Tales x v. — The 
Story of a Mine x v. — Drift from Two 
Shores x ▼. — An Heiress of Red Dog, 
and other Sketches x v. — llie Twins of 

Table Mountain, and other Tales i v. 

JeffBriggs'sLove Story, and other Tales 
IV. — Flip, and other Stories x v. -^ q_ 
the Frontier x v. — By Shore and Sah 
1 V. — Manna x v. — Snow-boun J^^^ 
Eagle's, and DeviJ's Ford x v. ^V** 

Crusade of the "Excelsior" x v. — A 
Millionaire of Rough - and - Ready , and 
other Tales x v. — Captain Jim's Friend, 
and the Argonauts of North Liberty x v. 

— Cressy x v. — The Heritage of Dedlow 
Marsh, and other Tales x v. — A Waif of 
the Plains x ▼. — A Ward of the Golden 
Gate XV. — A Sappho of Green Springs, 
and other Tales x v. — A First Family of 
Tasajara x v.— Colonel Starbottle's Client, 
and some other People x v. •> Susy x v. — 
Sally Dows, etc. x v. — A Protegee of 
Jack Hamlin's, etc. x v. — The Bell- 
Ringer of Angel's, etc. x v. — Clarence 
X V. — In a Hollow of the Hills, and The 
Devotion of Enriquec x v. — The Ancestors 
of Peter Atherly, etc. x v.— Three Partners 
XV. — Tales of Trail and Town x v. — 
Stories in Light and Shadow x v. — Mr. 
X V. — From Sand-Hill to Pine x v. — 
Under the Redwoods x v. — On the Old 
Trail x v. — Trent's Trust x v. 

Havelock, Sir Henry: vide Rev. 

W. Brock. 
Hawthorne, Nathaniel (Am.), 

t 1864. 

The Scarlet Letter x v. — Transforma- 
tion (The Marble Faun) 2 v. — Passages 
from the English Note-Books of Nathaniel 
Hawthorne a v. 

Heam, Lafcadlo, f 1906. 

Kokoro XV. — Kwaidan x v. — Glimpses 
of Unfamiliar Japan x v. 

Hector, Mrs.: vide Mrs. Alex- 

•* Heir of Redclyfife, the," Author 
of: vide Charlotte M. Yonge. 

Helps, Sir Arthur, f 1875. 
Friends in Council 2 v. — Ivan de Biron 
a V, 

Hemans, Mrs. Felicia, f 1835. 
Select Poetical Works x v. 

Hewlett, Maurice. 
The Forest Lovers x v. — Little Novels 
of Italy X V. — The Life and Death of 
Richard Yea-and-Nay a v.— New Can- 
terbury Tales XV. — Tbe Queen's Qusur ; 
or, The Six Years' Tragedy a v. — Fond 
Adventures x v. — The YodV Errant a v, 

— The Stooping Lady x v. 

Flame, av. ^^l^e ^^'^;'^l"'' T! "S; 
i- The Woin^n $ri**^ ^^ a v. - Tbe 


Tauchniiz Edition. Complete List, 

Garden of Allah a v. — The Black Spaniel, 
and Other Stories z v. — The Call of the 
Blood a ▼. 

Hobart Pasha, Admiral, f 1 886. 
Sketches from my Life x ▼. 

Hobbea, John Oliver (Mrs. 

Craigie), j* 1906. 

The Gods, Some Mortals and Lord 

Wickenham z ▼. — The Serious Wooing 

XT. — The Dream and the Business a ▼. 

Hoey, Mrs. Cashel. 
A Golden Sorrow a v. — Out of Court 
a V. 

Holdsworth, Annie E. 
The Yean that the Locust hath Eaten 
X V. — The Gods Arrive i v. — The Val- 
ley of the Great Shadow i v. — Great Low- 
lands IT. — A Garden of Spinsters i v. 

Holme Lee: vide Harriet Parr. 
Holmes, Oliver Wendell (Am.), 

t 1894- 
The Autocrat of the Break£ast-Table 
XT. — The Professor at the Breakfast- 
Table XT.— The Poet at the Breakfast- 
Table XT. — OTer the Teacups x t. 
Hope, Anthony (Hawkins). 
Mr, Witt's Widow x t. — A Change 
of Air XT. — Half a Hero i v. — The In- 
discretion of the Duchess x t. — The God 
in the Car x t. — The Chronicles of Count 
Antonio x t. — Comedies of Courtship 
IT. — The Heart of Princess Osra x t. — 
Phroso ST. — Simon Dale a t. — Rupert 
of Hentzau x t. — The King's Mirror 
a T. — Quisant^ x t. — Tristram of Blent 2 t. 

— The Intrusions of Peggy a t. — Double 
Harness a t. — A Senrant of the Public a t. 

— Sophy of ElraTonia a t. — Tales of Two 
People a t. 

Hopkins, Tighe. 
An Idler in Old France x v. — The Man 
in the Iron Mask x t. — The Dungeons 
of Old Paris x t. — The Silent Gate x t. 

** Horace Templeton," Author of. 
Diary and Notes x t. 

Homung, Ernest William. 

A Bride from the Bush x t. — Under 
Two Skies it.— Tiny Luttrell x t. — 
The Boss of Taroomba x t. — My Lord 
Duke XT. — Young Blood x t. — Some 
Persons Unknown it.— The Amateur 
Cracksman i t. — The Rogue's March i t. 
~ The Belle of Toorak x t. — Peccaw i t. 

— The Black Mask x t. — The Shadow of 

the Rope x t. — No Hero it. — Denis 
Dent XT. — Irralie's Bushranger and The 
Unbidden Guest x t. — Stingaree x v. — 
A Thief in the Night XT. 

"Household Words." 

Conducted by Charles Dickens, x 851-56. 
36 T. — Novels and Talks reprinted from 
Qousehold Words by Charles Dickens. 
1856-59. XX T. 

Houstoun, Mrs.: z/t^i!f "Recom- 
mended to Mercy." 

**How to be Happy though 
Married," Author of. 
How to be Happy though Married x t. 

Howard, Blanche Willis (Am.), 

t 1899. 
One Summer xt. — Aunt Serena xt. — 
Guenn a t. — Tony, the Maid, etc. x t. — 
The Open Door 2 t. 

Howard, BlancheWillis,-|-i899, 
& William Sharp, j* 1905. 

A Fellowe and His Wife x ▼. 

Howells, William Dean (Am.). 
A Foregone Conclusion it. — The 
Lady of Uie Aroostook x t. — A Modern 
Instance 2 t. — The UndiscoTered Country 
XT. — Venetian Life (with Portrait) x t. 

— Italian Joumejrs x t. — A Chance Ac- 
quaintance XT. — Their Wedding Joamey 
XT. — A Fearful Responsibility, and 
Tonelli*s Marriage it. — A Woman's 
Reason 2 t. — Dr. Breen's Practice x t. — 
The Rise of Silas Laphara a t. — A Pair 
of Patient LoTera x t. — Miss Bellard's In- 
^iration x t. 

Hughes, Thomas, f 1898. 

Tom Brown's School-Days x t. 

Hungerford, Mrs. (Mrs. Argles), 

t 1897. 
Molly Bawn 2 t. >- Mrs. Geof!rey 3 t. 

— Faith and Unfaith 2 t. — Portia 2 t. — 
Loys , Lord Berresford, and other Tales 
XT. — Her First Appearance, and other 
Tales XT. — Phyllis 2 t. — Rossmoyne 
2 T. — Doris 3 T. — A Maiden all Forlorn, 
etc. XT. — A Passive Crime, and other 
Stories XT. — Green Pleasure and Grey 
Grief 2 T. — A Mental Struggle a ▼. — 
Her Week's Amusement, and Ugly 
Barrington x t. — Lad^ Branksmere 2 t. 

— Lady Valworth's Diamonds it. — A 
Modem Circe 2 r. — Maurel 2 t. — The 

Tauchnitz Edition. Complete List, 


Hon. Mrs. Vereker 1 ▼. — Under-Cur- 
rente 2 v, — In Durance Vile, etc. i ▼. — A 
Troublesome Girl, and other Stories z ▼. — 
A Life's Remorse a v. — A Bom Coquette 
2 V. — The Duchess x v. — Lady Vemer's 
Flight XV. — A Conquering Heroine, 
and ** When in Doubt " x v. — Nora 
Creina a v. —A Mad Prank, and other 
Stories x t. — The Hoyden a v. — The 
Red House Mystery x v. — An Unsatis- 
factory Lover x v. — Peter's Wife a v. — 
The Three Graces x v. — A Tug of War 
I V. — The Professor's Experiment 2 ▼. — 
A Point of Conscience 2 v. — A I<onely 
Girl IV. — Lovice i v. — The Coming of 
Chloe X V. 

Hunt, Mrs.: vide Averil Beau- 

Hunt, Violet 
The Human Interest i v. •— White Rose 
of Weary Leaf 2 v. 

Hutten, Baroness von (Am.). 
The Halo i v. 

Ingelow, Jean, -j* 1897. 
0£F the Skelligs 3 v. — Poems 2 v. ~ 
Fated to be Free 2 v. — Sarah de 
Berenger 2 v. — Don John 2 v. 

Inglis, the Hon. Lady. 
The Siege of Lucknow x v. 

Ingram, John H.: vide £. A. 

Iota: vide Mrs. Mannington 


Irving , Washington (Am.), 

t 1859. 
The Sketch Book (with Portrait) x v. — 
The Life of Mahomet x v. — Lives of the 
Successors of Mahomet i v. — Oliver Gold- 
smith IV. — Chronicles of Wolfert's Roost 
IV. — Life of Greorge Washington 5 v. 

Jackson, Mrs. Helen (H. H.) 
(Am.), 1 1885. 
Ramona 2 v. 

Jacobs, W. W. 
Many Cargoes x v. — The Skipper's 
Wooing, and The Brown Man's Servant 
IV. — Sea Urchins i v, — A Master of 
Craft XV. — Light Freights i v. — At Sun- 
wich Port I V. — The Lady of the Bar»e r tr 

— Odd Craft i v. — Dialstone Lanl 

— Captains All i v. — Short CniisA ^ ^' 
James, Charles T. C ^^ ^ ^• 

Holy Wedlock i v. 

James, G. P. R, + i860. 

Morley Emstein (with Fortnut) i v. — 
Forest Days i v. — The False Heir i v. — 
Arabella Stuart x v. — Rose d'Albret 
I V. — Arrah Neil i v. — Agincourt i v. — 
The Smuggler i v. — The Step-Mother 
a V. — Beauchamp i v. — Heidelberg 

1 V. — The Gipsy i v. — The Castle of 
Ehrenstein x v. — Damley i v. — Rnssell 

2 V. — The Convict a v. — Sir Theodore 
Broughton 2 v. 

James, Heniy (Am.). 
The American 2 v. — The Europeans 
IV. — Daisy Miller ; An International 
Episode ; Four Meetings x v. — Roderick 
Hudson 2 V.—- The Madonna of the 
Future, etc. i v. — Eugene Pickering, 
etc. IV. — Confidence i v. — Washing' 
ton Square, etc. 2 v. — The Portrait of a 
Lady 3 V. — Foreig^n Parts i v. — French 
Poets and Novelists x v. — The Siege of 
London; The Point of View; A Pas- 
sionate Pilgrim i v. — Portraits of Places 
I V. — A Little Tour in France x v. 

Jeafireson, J. Cordy. 

A Book about Doctors 2 v. — A 

Woman in spite of Herself 2 v. — The 
Real Lord Byron 3 v. 

Jenkin, Mrs. Charles, f 1885. 
"Who Breaks— Pays" x v. — Skir- 
mishing XV. — Once and Again 2 v. — 
Two French Marriages 2 v. — Within an 
Ace XV. — Jupiter's Daughters x v. 

Jenkins, Edward. 

Ginx's Baby, his Birth and other Mis- 
fortunes ; Lord Bantam 2 v. 

"Jennie of *The Prince's,"* 
Author of: vide B. H. Buxton. 

Jerome, K Jerome. 
The Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow 
IV. — Diary of a Pilgrimage, and Six 
Essays i v. — Novel Notes i v. — Sketches 
in Lavender, Blue and Green x v. — 
The Second Thoughts of an Idle Fellow 
IV. — Three Men on the Bummel i v. — 
Paul Kelver a v. — Tea-Table Talk i v. 
— Tommy and Co. i v. — Idle Ideas in 1905 
I V. — The Passing of the Third Floor Back 

1 V. 

Jerrold, Douglas, \ 1857. 
History of St. Giles and St. James 

2 Y. — ^**^ o^ Character 2 v. 

"John Halifax, Gentleman," 
Aut\ioi of*, iiiit Mrs* Craik. 


Tauckmtz Edition, Compute List, 

Johnny Ludlow: vide Mrs. 
Henry Wood. 

Johnson, Samuel, j- 1784. 
Lives of the English Poets s ▼. 

Jolly, Emily. 
Colonel Dacre 2 ▼. 

••Joshua Davidson," Author of: 
vide Mrs. £. Lynn Linton. 

Kavanagh, Miss Julia, f 1877. 

Nathalie a ▼. — Daisy Barns a v. — 
Grace Lee a ▼. — Rachel Grray x ▼. — 
Adile 3 V. — A Summer and Winter in 
the Two Sicilies ay.— Seven Yean, and 
other Tales a ▼. — French Women of 
Letters z ▼. — English Women of Letters 
z ▼. — Queen Mab a ▼. — Beatrice a y. — 
Sybil's Second Love a v. — Dora a v. — 
Silvia a V. — Bessie a v. — John Dorrien 
3 V. — Two Lilies ay. — Forget-me-nots 
a V. — Vide also Series for the Young, 
p. ag. 

Keary, Annie, f 1879. 
Oldbury a v. — Castle Daly a v. 

Keeling, D'Esterre-: vide Es- 

Kempis, Thomas a. 
The Imitation of Christ. Translated 
from the Latin by W. Benham, b.d. 1 v. 

Kimball, Richard B. (Am.), f 
Saint Leger z v. — Romance of Student 
Life Abroad x v. — Undercurrents i v. — 
Was he Successful? z v. — To-Day in New 
York z V. 

Kinglake, Alexander William, 

t 1891. 
Eothen z v. — The Invasion of the 
Crimea 14 v. 

Kingsley, Charles, j- 1875. 

Yeast XV. — Westward ho I a v. — Two 
Years ago a v. — H3rpatia a v, — Alton 
Locke XV. — Hereward the Wake a v. — 
At Last 2 v. — His Letters and Memories 
of his Life, edited by his Wife 2 v. 

Kingsley, Henry, j- 1876. 
Ravenshoe ay. — Austin Elliot z v. — 
Geoffry Hamlyn ay. — The Hillyars and 
the Burtons a v. — Leighton Court z v. — 
Valentin z v. — Oakshott Castle z v. — 
Reginald Hetherege ay.— The Grange 
Garden a v« 

Kinross, Albert 
An Opera and Lady Ghrasmere x v. 

Kipling, Rudyard. 
Plain Tales from the Hills z y. ^ Tbe 
Second Jungle Book z v. — The Seven 
Seas z v. — "Captains Courageous" 
I v. — The Day's Work z v. — A Fleet 
in Being z v. — Stalky & Co. i y. — From 
Sea to Sea a y. —The City of Dreadful 
Night z y . — Elim z v. — Just So Stories z v. 
— The Five Nations z v. — Traffics and 
Discoveries z v . — Puck of Pook's Hill z v. 

Laffan, May. 
Flitters, Tatters, and the Counsellor, 
etc. z v. 

Lamb, Charles, f 1834. 
The Essays of Elia and Eliana z y. 

Lang, Andrew: vide H. Rider 

Langdon, Mary (Am.). 

Ida May x v. 

*<La8t of the Cavaliers, the," 
Author of (Miss Piddington). 
The Last of the Cavaliers a y. — The 
Gain of a Loss a y. 

isaszowska, Mme de: vide E. 

Laurence, George Alfred, 
Author of: vide ** Guy Living- 

Lawless, the Hon. Emily. 

Hurrish z v. 

** Leaves from the Journal of 
our Life in the Highlands:*' 
vide Victoria R I. 

Lee, Holme, f 1 900 : vide Harriet 

Lee, Vernon. 

Pope Jacynth, etc. z v. — Genius Lod, and 
The Enchanted Woods z v. — Hortus 
Vitae, and Limbo z v. 

Le Fanu, J. S., f 1873. 
Uncle Silas a v. — Guy DevereU a v. 

^emon, Mark, f 1870. 
Wait for the End a v. — Loved at Last 
ay. — Falkner Lyle a y. — Leyton Hall, 
and other Tales a v, — Golden Fetters 

Taucknitz Edition. Complete List, 


"Letters of Her Mother to 
Elizabeth, the," Author of: 
vide W. R H. Trowbridge. 

Lever, Charles, f 1872. 
The O'Donoghue x v. -> The Knight of 
Gwynne 3 V. — Arthur O'Leary 2 ▼. — 
Harry Lorrequer a ▼. — Charles O'Mal- 
ley 3 V. — Tom Burke of " Ours" 3 v. — 
Jack Hinton 2 v. — The Daltons 4 V. — 
The Dodd Family Abroad 3 v. — The 
Martins of Cro* Martin 3 ▼. — The For- 
tunes of Glencore s y. — Roland Cashel 
3 V. — Davenport Dunn 3 V. — Confessions 
of Con Cregan 2 v. — One of Them 2 t. — 
Maurice Tiernay s v. — Sir Jasper Carew 
2 V. — Barrington 2 v. — A Day's Ride 
2 V. — Luttrellof Arran a v. — Tony BuUer 
2 V. — Sir Brook Fossbrooke 2 v. — The 
Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly 2 v. — A 
Rent in a Cloud z v. — That Boy of Kor- 
cott's X V. — St. Patrick's Eve; Paul 
Grosslett's Confessions x ▼. — Lord Kil- 
gobbin 2 V. 

Levett -Yeats, S. 

The Honour of Savelli x v. — The 
Chevalier d' Auriac x v. — The Traitor's 
Way X V. — The Lord Protector x v. — 
Orrain x v. 

Lewes, Q. H., t 1878. 
Ranthorpe x ▼. — The Physiology 01 
Common Life 2 v. — On Actors and the 
Art of Acting x v. 

Linton, Mrs. E. Lynn, f 1898. 
The true History of Joshua Davidson 
z V. — Patricia Kemball a v. — The 
Atonement of Leam Dundas 2 v. — The 
World -well Lost 2 v. — Under -which 
Lord? 2 V. — With a Silken Thread, and 
other Stories x v. — Todhunters' at Loan- 
in* Head, and other Stories x v. — " My 
Love I " 2 V. — The Girl of the Period, 
and other Social Essays x v. — lone 2 v. 

Lockhart, Laurence W. M., 

I 1882. 

Mine IS Thine 2 v. 

Loftus, Lord Augustus. 
I>iplomatic Reminiscences X837 - x86a 
(with Portrait) 2 v. 

Longard, M^^e de: vide D. 

Longfellow, Henry Wads- 
worth (Am.), t 1882. 
Foctical Works (with Portrait) 3 V,— 

The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri 
3 V. — The New-England Tragedies x v. 

— The Divine Tragedy x v, — Flower-de- 
Luce, and Three Books of Song x v. — 
The Masque of Pandora, and other Poems 

1 V. 

Lonsdale, Margaret 
Sister Dora (with a Portrait of Sister 
Dora) X ▼. 

Lorimer, George Horace (Am.). 

Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to his 
Son XV. — Old Gorgon Graham x v. 

" Lost Battle, a," Author of. 
A Lost Battle 2 v. 

Lubbock, Sir John (Lord Ave- 
The Pleasures of Life x v. -> The Beau- 
ties of Nature (with Illustrations) x v. — 
The Use of Life x ▼. — Scenery of Switzer- 
land (with Illustrations) 2 ▼. — Essays and 
Addresses'X90o-x903 x v. 

"LutfuUah": vide Eastwick. 

Lyall, Edna, f 1903. 
We Two 2 v. — Donovan 2 v. — In 
the Golden Days 2 v. — Knight-Errant 

2 V. — Won by Waiting a v. — Wayfaring 
Men a V. — Hope the Hermit 2 v. — 
Doreen a v. — In Spite of AH 2 v. — The 
Hinderers x v. 

Ljrtton, Lord: vide E. Bulwer. 

Ljrtton, Robert Lord (Owen 
Meredith), f 1891. 
Poems a ▼. — Fables in Song 2 v. 

Maartens, Maarten. 
The Sin of Toost Avelinch i v. — An 
Old Maid's Love 2 v. — God's Fool s v. 

— The Greater Glory 2 v. — My Lady 
Nobody 2 v. — Her Memory x v. — Some 
Women I have known x v. — My Poor 
Relations 2 v. — Dorothea 2 v. — The 
Healers 2 v. — The Woman's Victory* and 
Other Stories 2 v. — The New Religion 2 v. 

MC'Aulay, Allan: vide Kate 

Douglas Wiggin. 
Macaulay, Lord, Thomas 

Babington, f 1859. 

History of England (with Portrait) xo v. 

— Criticid and Historical Essays 5 V. — 
Lays of Ancient Rome x v. — Speeches 
2 V. — Biographical Essays x v. — Wil? 
liam Pitt, Atterbury x v. — (See also 


Taucknttz Edition. Complete List. 

McCarthy, Justin. 

The Waterdaie Neighbours a v. — 
Dear Lady Disdain 2 v. — Miss Misan- 
thrope 2 V. — A History of our Own Times 

5 V. — Donna Quixote 2 v. —• A Short 
History of our Own Times 2 v. — A 
History of the Four Georges. Vols, i & 
2. — A History of our Own Times. Vols. 

6 & 7 (supplemental) . — A History of the 
Four Georges and of William IV. Vols. 3, 
4 & 5 (supplemental). — A Short History 
of our Own Times. Vol. 3 (supplemental). 

Mac Donald, George, f 1905. 
Alec Forbes of Howglen 2 v. — Annals 
of a Quiet Neighbourhood 2 v. — David 
Elginbrod 2 v. — The Vicar's Daughter 
2 V. — Malcolm 2 ▼. — St. George and 
St. Michael 2 v. — The Marquis of 
Lossie 2 V. — Sir Gibbie 2 v. — Mary 
Marston 2 ▼. — The Gifts of the Child 
Christ, and other Tales x Y. — The Prin- 
cess and Curdie x ▼. 

Mackamess, Mrs., f 1881. 

Sunbeam Stories i v. — A Peerless 
Wife 2 V. — A Mingled Yam 2 v. 

Mackay, Eric, + 1898. 
Love Letters of a Violinist, and other 
Poems X V. 

MO Knight, Charles (Am.). 
Old Fort Duquesne 2 v. 

Maclaren, Ian, j- 1907. 
Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush i v. — 
The Days of Auld Langsyne i v. — His 
Majesty Baby x v. 

Macleod, Fiona, f 1905. 
Wind and Wave x v. ^ The Sunset of Old 
Tales X v. 

Macleod, Norman, f 1872. 
The Old Lieutenant and his Son i v. 

Macpherson, James, j- 1796: 
vide Ossian. 

Macquoid, Mrs. 
Patty 2 V. — Miriam's Marriage 2 v. — 
Pictures across the Channel 2 v. — Too 
Soon XV. — My Story 2 v. — Diane 2 v. 

— Beside the River ft v. — A Faithful 
Lover 2 v. 

** Mademoiselle Mori," Author 
of (Miss Roberts). 
Mademoiselle Mori 2 v. — Denise x v. 

— Madame Fontenoy i v. — On the 

Edge of the Storm i v. —• The Atelier d« 
Lys 2 V. — In the Olden Time 2 v. 

Mahon, Lord: vide Stanhope. 

Maine, E. S. 
ScarsclifF Rodcs 2 v. 

Malet, Sir Edward, G.C.B., 
Shifting Scenes x v. 

Malet, Lucas (Mrs. Mary St 
Leger Harrison). 
Colonel Enderby's Wife 2 ▼. — The 
History of Sir Richard Calmady 3 V. — The 
Far Horizon 2 ▼. 

Malmesbury, the Earl of; G.C.B. 
Memoirs of an Ez-Minister 3 v. 

Mann, Mary E. 
A Winter's Tale x v. — The Cedar 
Star IV. 

Mansfield, Robert Blachford. 
The Log of the Water Lily x v. 

Mark Twain: vide Twain. 

"Marmome," Author of: vide 
P. G. Hamerton. 

Marryat, Capt, j- 1848. 
Jacob Faithful (with Portrait) z ▼. — 
Perdval Keene x v. — Peter Simple x v. — 
Japhet in Search of a Father x v. — 
Monsieur Violet x v, — The Settlers in 
Canada x v. — The Mission x ▼. — The 
Privateer's-Man x t. — The Children of 
the Netv-Forest i v. — Valerie x v. — 
Mr. Midshipman Easy xt.— The King's 
Own TV. 

Marryat, Florence, f 1899. 

Love's Conflict 2 v. — For Ever and 
Ever 2 V. — The Confessions of Gerald 
Estcourt 2 ▼. — Nelly Brooke 2 v. — 
V6ronique 2 ▼. — Petronel a ▼. — Her 
Lord and Master 2 v. — The Prey of the 
Gods XV. — Life and Letters of Captain 
Marryat x v, — Mad Dumaresq 2 ▼. — 
No Intentions 2 v. — Fighting the Air 
a V. — A Star and a Heart ; An Utter Im- 
possibility X y. -^ The Poison of Asps, 
and other Stories x y. >— A Lucky Disap- 
pointment, and other Stories x y, — " My 
own Child" 2 v. — Her Father's Name 
2 V. — A Harvest of Wild Oats 2 v. — 
A Little Stepson x v. — Written in Fire 
ay. — Her World against a Lie 2 v. — 
A Broken Blossom 2 v. — The Root of 
all Evil 2 V. —The Fair-haired Alda 2 v. — 
With Cupid's Eyes 2 ▼. — My Sister the 

Taucknitz Edition, Complete List, 


Actress 2 ▼. -- Pbylllda 2 v. — How they 
loved Him 2 v. — Facing the Footlights 
(with Portrait) 2 v. — A Moment of Mad- 
ness, and other Stories x v. — The Ghost 
of Charlotte Cray, and other Stories 
IV. — Peeress and Player 2 v. — Under 
the Lilies and Roses 2 v. — The Heart 
of Jane Warner 2 v. — The Heir Pre- 
sumptive 2 V. — The Master Passion 2 v. 

— Spiders of Society 2 v. — Driven to Bay 
2 V, — A Daughter of the Tropics 2 v. — 
Gentleman and Courtier 2 v. — On Cir- 
cumstantial Evidence 2 v. — Mount Eden. 
A Romance 2 v. — Blindfold 2 v. — A 
Scarlet Sin x v. — A Bankrupt Heart 2 v. 

— The Spirit World i v. — The Beautiful 
Soul X V. — At Heart a Rake 2 v. — 
The Strange Transfiguration of Hannah 
Stubbs X V. — The Dream that Stayed 
2 V. — A Passing Madness i v. — The 
Blood of the Vampire x v. — - A Soul on 
Fire x v. — Iris the Avenger x v. 

Marsh, Mrs. Anne (Caldwell), 

t 1874. 
Ravenscliffe 2 v. — Emilia Wyndham 
2 V. — Castle Avon 2 v. — Aubrey 2 v. — 
The Heiress of Haughton 2 v. — Evelyn 
Marston 2 v. — The Rose of Ashurst s v. 

Marshall, Mrs. Emma, f 1899. 
Mrs. Mainwaring's Journal x v. — 
Benvenuta x v. — Lady Alice x v. — 
Dayspring i v. — Life's Aftermath i v. — 
In the East Country x v. — Ko.XIII; or, 
The Story of the Lost Vestal x v. — In 
Four Reigns i v. — On the Banks of the 
Ouse IV. — In the City of Flowers x v. — 
Alma IV. — Under Salisbury Spire x v. 

— The End Crowns All i v. —Winchester 
Meads i v. — Eventide Light i v. — 
Winifrede's Journal x v. — Bristol Bells 
IV. — In the Service of Rachel Lady 
Russell XV. — A Lily among Thorns i v. 

— Penshurst Castle x; v. — Kensington 
Palace i v. —The White ICing's Daughter 
IV. — The Master of the Musicians x v. 

— An Escape from the Tower i v. — A 
Haunt of Ancient Peace x v. — Castle 
Meadow i v. — In the Choir of West- 
minster Abbey 1 v. — The Young Queen 
of Hearts i v. — Under the Dome of St. 
Paul's X V. — The Parson's Daughter 

I V. 

Mason, A. E. VI. 
The Four Feathers 2 v. — Miran(3a f 
the Balcony x v. — The Courtship of }k^ 
rice Buckler 2 v. — The Truants 3 r^^'" 
The Watchers x v. — Runm'ng W^a, * — 

— The Broken Road x v. 

'V ^ 

Mathers, Helen (Mrs. Henry 
"Cherry Ripe I" 2 v. — "Land o' the 
Leal " XV. — My Lady Green Sleeves 2 v. 
— As he comes up the Stair, etc. x v. — • 
Sam's Sweetheart 2 v. — Eyre's Acquittal 
2 v. — Found Out XV. — Murder or Man« 
slaughter? x y. — The Fashion of this 
World (8q Pf.)— Blind Justice, and "Who, 
being dead, yet Speaketh" x v. — What 
the Glass Told, and A Study of a Woman 
XV. — Bam Wildfire 2 v. — Becky 2 v. — 
Cinders x v. — " Hon^** i v. — Grriff of 
Griffithscourt x v.— The New Lady Teazle, 
and Other Stories and Essajrs i v. — The 
Ferryman i v. — Tally Ho I 2 v. — Pigskin 
and Petticoat 2 v. 

Maurice, Colonel. 

The Balance of Military Power In 
Europe x v. 

Maurier, George du, f 1896. 
Trilby 2 V. — The Martian 2 v. 

Maxwell, Mrs.: v, MissBraddon. 

Maxwell, VJ. B. 
The Ragged Messenger 2 v. — The Guarded 
Flame 2 v. 

"Mehalah," Author of: vide 

Melville, George J. Whyte, 
t 1878. 
Kate Coventry i v. 1 — Holmby House 
2 V. — Digby Grand x v. — Good for No- 
thing 2 V. — The Queen's Maries 2 v. — 
The Gladiators 2 v. — The Brookes of 
Bridlemere 2 v. — Cerise 2 v. — The 
Interpreter 2 v. — The White Rose 2 v. — 
M. or N. X V. — Contraband i v. — 
Sarchedon 2 v. — Unclejohn 2 v. — 
Katerfelto x v. — Sister Louise x v. — 
Rosine i v. — R033* Wife 2 v. — Black 
but Comely 2 v. — Riding Recollections x v . 

Memorial Volumes: vide Five 
Centuries (vol. 500) ; The New 
Testament (vol. 1000); Henry 
Morley (vol. 2000). 

Meredith, George. 
The Ordeal of Richard Feverel 2 v. — 
Beauchamp's Career a v. — The Tragic 
Conaediana i v. — Lord Ormont and his 
^min** a V. — The Amazing Marriage 2 v. 

X^ere^th, Owen*, vide Robert 
I-ord Lyltoti. 


Taucknttz Edition, Complete List, 

Merrick, Leonard. 

The Man who was good x v. — This 
Stage of Fools x v. — Cynthia i v. — One 
Man's View x ▼. — The Actor-Manager 
I ▼. — The Worldlings i ▼. — When Love 
flies out o' the Window x ▼. — Conrad in 
Quest of His Youth x ▼. — The Quaint 
Companions x v. —Whispers about Women 
X y. — The House of Lynch x v. 

Merriman, Henry Seton,f 1903. 
Young Mistley x v. — Prisoners and 
Captives 2 v. — From One Generation to 
Another i ▼. —With Edged Tools 2 v. — 
The Sowers 2 v. — Flotsam x v. — In 
Kedar's Tents 1 v. — Roden's Corner 
I V. — The Isle of Unrest i v. — The Velvet 
Glove I V. — The Vultures x v. — Barlasch 
of the Guard x v. — Tomaso's Fortune, and 
Other Stories x v. — The Last Hope 2 v. 

Merriman, H. S., & S. G. Tallen- 
The Money-Spinner, etc. i v. 

Milne, James. 
The Epistles of Atkins x v. 

Milton, John, f ^674- 
Foetical Works x v. 

"Molly, Miss," Author of. 
Geraldine Hawthorne x ▼. 

" Molly Bawn," Author of: vide 
Mrs. Hungerford. 

Montgomery, Florence. 
Misunderstood x v. — Thrown To- 
gether 2 V. — Thwarted i v. — Wild Mike 

1 V. — Seaforth 2 v. -- The Blue Veil 
IV. — Transformed i v. — The Fisher- 
man's Daughter, etc. x v. — Colonel 
Norton 2 v. — Prcjuc^ed i v. — An Uus- 
shared Secret, and Other Tales x v. 

Moore, Frank Frankfort 
"I Forbid the Banns" 2 v. — A Grray 
Eye or So 2 v. — One Fair Daughter 

2 V. -- They Call it Love 2 v. — The 
Jessamy Bride x v. — The Millionaires x v. 

— Nell Gwyn — Comedian i v. — A Damsel 
or Two XV. — Castle Omeragh 2 v. — Ship- 
mates in Sunshine 2 v. — The Original 
Woman i v. — The White Causeway x v. 

— The Artful .Miss Dill x v. — The Mar- 
riage Lease x v. 

Moore, George. 

Celibates i ▼. — Evelyn Innes a v. — 
Sister Teresa 2 v.— TheUntilled Field x v. 

— Confessions of a Young Man i v. — The 
Lake i v. — Memoirs of my Dead Life x v. 

Moore, Thomas, f 1852. 

Poetical Works (with Portrait) 5 v. 

Morgan, Lady, f 1859. 
Memoirs 3 v. 

Morley, Henry, f 1894. 

Of English Literature in the Reign of 
Victoria. With Facsimiles of the Signa- 
tures of Authors in the Tauchnitz Edition 
(▼. 2000, published x88x) x y. 

Morris, Waiiam. 
A Selection from his Poems. Edited 
with a Memoir by F. Hueffer x v. 

Morrison, Arthur. 

Tales of Mean Streets x v. ~ A Child 
of the Jago x v, — To London Town i v. 

— Cunning Murrell i v. — The Hole in the 
Wall X v. —The Green Eye of Goona x v. 

— Divers Vanities x v. 

Muirhead, James Fullarton. 
The Land of Contrasts x v. 

Mulock, Miss: vide Mrs. Craik. 

Murray, David Christie. 
Rainbow Gold 2 ▼. 

Murray, GrenviUe: v, Grenville. 

"My Little Lady," Author of: 

vide E. Frances Poynter. 

New Testament, the. 
The Authorised English Version, with 
Introduction and Various Readings hrom 
the three most celebrated Manuscripts of 
the Original Text, by Constantino Tischen- 
dorf (vol. xooo, published 1869) i ▼. 

Newby, Mrs. C J. 

Common Sense 2 v. 

Newman, I^r. J. H. (Cardinal 
Newman), f 1890. 
Callista x v. 

NichoUs, Mrs. : vide Currer Bell. 
**Nina Balatka,'* Author of: 

vide Anthony Trollope. 
"No Church," Author of (F. 

No Church 2 v. — Owen :— a Waif 2 v. 
Noel, Lady Augusta. 

From Generation to Generation x v. — - 
Hithersea Mere s v. 

Tauchmtz Edition, Complete List, 


Norris, Frank (Am.), t 1902. 
The Octopus 2 v. — The Pit 2 v. 
Norris, W. E. 

My Friend Jim i v. - A Bachelor's 
Blunder 2 v. — Major and Minor 2 v. — 
The Rogue 2 ▼. — Miss Shafto 2 v. — Mrs. 

Fenton x v. — Misadventure 2 ▼ Saint 

Ann's X V. — A Victim of Good Luck 
IV.,— The Dancer in Yellow x v. — 
Clanssa Furiosa 2 v. — - Marietta's Mar- 
"*S^® JiJ'^.7^^ F»»^>* for the Crown 
* ^'^ The Widower i v.— Giles Ingilby xv. 
— The Flower of the Flock i v. — His 
Own Father i v.— The Credit of the County 

IV Lord Leonard the Luckless i v. — 

Nature's Comedian i v.— Nigel'sVocation 
IV. — Barham of Beltana i v. — Harry and 
Ursula X V. — The Square Peg x v. 

Norton, Hon. Mrs., + 1877. 
Stuart of Dunleath 2 y. - Lost and 
Saved 2 v. — Old Sir Douglas 2 v. 

** Not Easily Jealous," Author of 
(Miss Iza Hardy). 
Not Easily Jealous 2 v. 

"Novels and Talea": vide 

"Household Words." 
O'Conor Eccles, Charlotte (Hal 
TheRejuvenation of Miss Semaphore x v. 
— The Matrimonial Lotteiy 1 v. 

Oldmeadow, Ernest 

Susan X v. 

Oliphant, Laurence, + 1888. 
Aldora Peto 2 v. — MasoUam 2 v. 

OUphant, Mrs., f 1897. 
The Last of the Mortimers 2 v. — Mrs 
Ma^ret Maifland x v. — Agnes 2 v. — 
Madonna Mapr 2 v. - The Minister's 
Wife 2 V. - The Rector and the Doctor's 
Family x v. - Salem Chapel 2 v. - The 
Perpetual Curate 2 v. - Miss Marjori- 
banks 2 V. - Ombra 2 v. ~ Memofr nf 

CountdeMontalembert2v Mav2v 

Innocent 2 v. - For Love andLife % v ~" 
A Rose m June x v. — The StoZl "^ 
valentine and his Brother 2 v — in? 0* 
ladies 2 v — The Curate in Charge '^Uo- 
Phoebe, Junior 2 v. — Mrs. Arthur * ^. -- 
Cariti 2 v. — Young Musgrave * V^ 
The Primrose Path 2 v. — W/il,? v 
Precincts 3 v. — The Grtaiieit ^*o^^ > "^ 
England 2 v. — He that m\\ aot ^^m. th^ 
may 2 v. — Harry Joscelyn 2 ^k\^ {0 
Trust 2 V. —It was a Lover an^ z^^ ^0»/^ 


3 v. — The Ladies Lindores 3 r. — Hester 
3 V. — The Wizard's Son 3 v. — A 

Country Gentleman and his Family 2 v. 

Neighbours on the Green x v.— TheDuke's 
Daughter x v. — The Fugitives i v. — 
Kirsteen 2 v.— Life of Laurence Oliphant 
and of Alice Oliphant, hisWife 2 v. — The 
nttle Pilgrim in the Unseen x ▼. — The 
Heir Presumptive and the Heir Apparent 
2 V. — The Sorceress 2 v. — Sir Robert's 
Fortune 2 v. — The Ways of Life x v. — 
Old Mr. Tredgold 2 v. 

"One who has kept a Diary": 
vide George W. E. RusselL 
Osbourne, Lloyd (Am.). 
Baby Bullet x v. — Wild Justice i v. — The 
Motormaniacs x v. 

The Poems of Ossian. Translated by 
James Macpherson x v. 

Ouida, j- 1908. 
Idalia 2 v. — Tricotrin 2 ▼. — Puck 2 ▼. — 
Chandos 2 v. — Strathmore 2 v. — Under 
two Flags 2 V. — FoUe-Farine 2 v. — A 
Leaf in the Storm ; A Dog of Flanders ; 
A Branch of Lilac; A Provence Rose 
* V. — Cecil Castlemaine's Gage, and other 
Novelettes x v. — Madame la Marquise, 
and other Novelettes x v. — Pascarel 2 v. 

— Held in Bondage 2 v. — Two little 
Wooden Shoes x v. — Signa (with Portrait) 
3 v.— In a Winter City iv.— Ariadng2v.— 
Friendship 2 v. — Moths 3 v. — Pipistrello, 
and other Stories i v. — A Village Com- 
mune 2 V. — In Maremma 3 V. — Bimbi 
XV.-— Wanda 3 ▼. — Frescoes and other 
Stories IV. — Princess Napraxine 3 V. — 
Othmar 3 v. — A RainyJune (60 Pf.). Don 
Gesualdo (60 Pf.). — A House Party i v. — 
Guilderoy 2 v.— Syrlin 3 v. — Ruffino, and 
other Stories x v. — Santa Barbara, etc. 
X v. — Two Offenders x v. — The Silver 
Christ, etc. I v. — Toxin, and other Papers 
X V. — Le Selve, and Tonia i v. — The 
Massarenes 2 v. — An Altruist, and Four 
Essays 1 v. — La Strega, and other 
Stories IV The Waters of Edera i v. 

— Street Dust, and Otikict Stotica x v. — 
Critical Studies 1 v. 

•* Oulcas\a, the,** Ku^o^c oi; -vide 


Tauchnitz Edition. Compute List, 

Parr, Harriet (Holme Lee), 
j- 1900. 
Basil Godfrey's Caprice 2 ▼. — For 
Richer, for Poorer 2 v. — The Beautiful 
Miss Barrins^on 2 v, — Her Title of 
Honour z v. — Echoes of a Famous 
Year i v. — Katherine's Trial i v. — The 
Vicissitudes of Bessie Fairfax 2 v. — Ben 
Milner's Wooing i v. — Straightforward 
2 V. — Mrs. Denys of Cote 2 v. — A Poor 
Squire z v. 

Parr, Mrs. 

Dorothy "^ox i v. — The Prescotts of 
Pamphillon 2 v. — The Gosau Smithy, etc. 
IV. — Robin 2 ▼. — Loyalty George 2 v. 

Paston, George. 
A Study in Prejudices x v. — A Fair 
Deceiver z v. 

Pasture, Mrs. Henry de la. 
The Lonely Lady of Grosvenor Square z v. 

Paul, Mrs. : z/t^i^ Author of "Still 

"Paul FerroU," Author of (Mrs. 
Caroline Clive), j- 1873. 
Paul Ferroll z v. — Year after Year i v. 
— Why Paul Ferroll killed his Wife i v. 

Payn, James, f 1898. 
Found Dead z v. — Gwendoline's Har- 
vest z v. — Like Father, like Son 2 v. — 
Not Wooed, but Won 2 v. — Cedl's Tryst 
z V. — A Woman's Vengeance 2 v. — 
Murphy's Master z v. — In the Heart of 
a Hill, and other Stories z v. — At Her 
Mercy 2 v. — The Best of Husbands 2 v. — 
Walter's Word 2 v. — Halves 2 ▼. — 
Fallen Fortunes 2 v. — What He cost Her 
2v. — By Proxy 2 v. — Less Black than 
we're Painted 2 v. — Under one Roof 
2 V. — High Spirits z v. — High Spirits 
(Second Series) z v. — A Confidential 
Agent 2 v. • - From Exile 2 v. — A Grape 
from a Thorn 2 v. — Some Private Views 
z V. — For Cash Only 2 v. — Kit : A Me- 
mory 2 V. — The Canon's Ward (with 
Portrait) 2 ▼. — Some Literary Re- 
collections z V. — The Talk of the Town 
z V. — The Luck of the Darrolls 2 v. — 
The Heir of the Ages 2 v.— Holiday Tasks 
zv. — Glow -Worm Tales {First Series) 
z V. — Glow- Worm Tales (Second Series) 
z V. — A Prince of the Blood 2 v. — The 
Mystery of Mirbridge 2 v. — The Burnt 
Million 2 V. — The Word and the WUl 
2 V. — Sunny Stories, and some Shady 
Qnes X V. — A Modem Dick Whitting- 

ton 2 V. — A Stumble on the Threshold 
2 V. — A Trying Patient z v. — Gleams 
of Memory, and The Eavesdropper z v. — 
In Market Overt z v. — The Disappear- 
ance of George Driffell, and other Tales 
z v. — Another's Burden etc. z v. — The 
Backwater of Life, or Essays of a Lrft^azy 
Veteran z v. 

Peard, Frances Mary. 
One Year 2 V. — The Rose-Garden i v. — 
Unawares z v. — Thorpe Regis z v. — A 
Winter Story z v. — A Madrigal, and 
other Stories z v. — Cartouche z v. — 
Mother Molly z v. — Schloss and Town 
2 v. — Contradictions 2 v. — Near Neigh- 
bours z v. — Alicia Tennant z v. — Ma- 
dame's Granddaughter z v. — Donna 
Teresa z v. — Number One and Number 
Two z V. — The Ring from Jaipur z v. 

Pemberton, Max. 

■The Impregnable City z v. — -"A Woman 
of Kronstadt z v. — -^The Phantom Array 
z V. — "The Garden of Swords z v. — The 
Footsteps of a Throne z v. -HPro Patria z v. 
-i^he Giant's Gate 2 v. — I crown thee 
King z v. — The House under the Sea z v. 
— The Gold Wolf zv.— Doctor Xavierz v. 

— Red Mom z v. -^Beatrice of Venice 2 v. 

— Mid the Thidc Arrows 2 v. — My Sword 
ferLafayette z v. -^The Lady Evelyn z v. 
-^he Diamond Ship z v. —The Lodestar 
z V. — Wheels of Anarchy z v. 

Percy, Bishop Thomas, 1 1811. 
Reliques of Ancient English Poetry 3 V. 

Philips, F. C 
As in a Looking Glass z v. — The Dean 
and his Daughter z v, — Lucy Smith z v. — 
A Lucky Young Woman z v. — Jack and 
Three Jills z v. — Little Mrs. Miuray z v.— 
YoungMr.Ainslie's Courtshipzv.— Social 
Vicissitudes z v. — Extenuating Circom- 
stances, and A French Marriage z v. — 
More Social Vicissitudes zv. — Constance 
2 V. — That Wicked Mad'mobelle, etc. 
XV. — A Doctor in Difficulties, etc. z v. — 
Black and White z v. — "One Never 
Knows" 2 V. — Of Course z v. — Miss 
Ormerod*s Protege z v, — My little Hus- 
band z V. — Mrs. Bouverie z v. — A 
Question of Colour, and otherStories zv. — 
A Devil in Nun's Veiling z v. — A Full 
Confession, and other Stories z v. — The 
Luckiest of Three z v. —Poor Little Bella 
z V. — Eliza Clarke, Governess, and Other 
Stories z v. — Marriage, etc. z v. — Scliool- 
girls of To-day, etc. z v. — If Only, etc. z v. 

— An Uiifortunate Blend z v. — A Bar- 
rister's Courtship z v. 

Taucknitz Edition. Complete List, 


Philips, F. C. & Percy FendalL 

A Daughter's Sacrifice x v. — Mai:^ aret 
Byng X ▼. 

PhHips, F. C & C J. Wills. 

The Fatol Phryne i v. — The Scudamores 
IV. — A Maiden Fair to See xy. — Sybil 
Ross's Marriage x ▼. 

Phillpotts, Eden. 
Lying Prophets 2 v. — The Human Boy 
I v. — Sons of the Morning 2 v. — The 
Good Red Earth x v.— The Striking Hours 
IV. — The Farm of the Dagger x v. — 
The Golden Fetich i v. — The Whirlwind 
3 V. — The Human Boy Again i v. 

Phillpotts, £. & Arnold Bennett 

The Sinews of War x v. 

Piddington, Miss: v/^ Author of 
**The Last of the Cavaliers." 

Poe, Edgar Allan (Am.),-|- 1849. 
Poems and Essays, edited wiih a new 
Memoir by John H. Ingram x v. — Tales, 
edited by John H. Ingram x v. 

Pope, Alexander, f 1744. 

Select Poetical Works (with Portrait) i v. 

Po3mter, Miss E. Frances. 
My Little Lady 2 v. — Ersilia 2 v. — 
Among the Hills x v. — Madame de 
Presnel x v. 

Praed, Mrs. Campbell. 

Zero I V. — Affinities x v. — The Head 
Station 2 v. 

-Prentiss, Mrs. E. (Am.), f 1878. 
Stepping Heavenward x ▼. 

Prince Consort, the, f 1861. 
His Principal Speeches and Addresses 
(with Portrait) x v. 

Pryce, Richard. 

Miss Maxwell's Affections i v. — The 
Quiet Mrs. Fleming x v. — Time and the 
Woman i v. 

Pym, Hor. N.: v, Caroline Fojl 
Queen, H. M. the: vide Victoria 

R I. 
Quiller-Couch, A. T. ("Q"). 
Noughts and Crosses i v. — I Saw Three 
Ships X V. — Dead Man's Rock x ^ j- 
and other Tales x v. — The Ship ^r' -.^ * 
I v. — TheAdventuresofHanyS^, St»» 
— Fort Amitv x v. — Shakespear^V ^^ * ^' 
mas, and Other Stories x v. — X^ tb^^*^' 
of Troy x v. — Merry-Garden, ^j^^^^ay^*^ 
Stories X v. 

Rae, W. Fraser, f 1905. 

Westward by Rail x v. — Miss Bayle*s 
Romance a v. — The Business ofTravel x v. 

Raimond, C £. (Miss Robins). 
The Open Question 2 v. — The Magnetic 
North a V. — A Dark Lantern 2 v. -- The 
Convert 2 v. 

"Rajah's Heir, the," Author of. 
The Rajah's Heir 2 v. 

Reade, Charles, f 1884. 
"It is never too late to mend" 2 v. — 
"Love me little, love me long" i v. — 
The Qobter and the Hearth a v. — Hard 
Cash 3 V. — Put Yourself in his Place 2 v. — 
A Terrible Temptation a v. — Peg Wof- 
fington XV. — Christie Johnstone i v. — 
A Simpleton a v. — The Wandering Heir 
IV. — A Woman-Hater 2 v. — Readiana 
IV. — Singleheart and Doubleface x v. 

"Recommended to Mercy," 
Author of (Mrs. Houstoun). 
" Recommended to Mercy " 2 v. — Zoe*s 
" Brand " 2 v. 

Reeves, Mrs.: v. Helen Mathers. 

Rh3rs, Grace. 
Mary Dominic x v. — The Wooing of 
Sheila x v. 

Rice, James: v. Walter Besant 

Richards, Alfred Bate^ f i8;6. 
So very Human 3 v. 

Richardson, S., f 1 76 1. 
Qarissa Harlowe 4 v. 

Riddell, Mre. (F. G. Trafford). 
George Geith of Fen Court 2 v. — Max- 
well Drewitt 2 v. — The Race for Wealth 
2 V. — Far above Rubies 2 v. — The Earl's 
Promise 2 v. — Mortomley*s Estate 2 v. 

Ridge, W. Pett 
Name of Garland x v. 

Souls I V. — The Jesters x ▼. — The Mas- 
queraders 2 v. — Queer Ladyjudas 2 v. — 
Prince Charming i v. — "Die Pointing 
Finger x v. — A Man of no Importance x v. 
— Tlie Millionaire Girl, and Other Stories 

I V. 

Ritchie, Mrs. Anne Thackeray: 
vide Miss Thackeray. 

Roberts, Miss: vide Author of 
"MademolscWe Moti." 

Robettson, "R^^- Ytcdtnck W., 


Tauchnitz Edition, Complete List, 

Robins, Miss: vide Raimond. 

Robinson, P.: vide Author of 
"No Church." 

Roosevelt, Theodore (Am.). 
Outdoor Pastimes of an American Hunter 
(with Portrait) x v. 

Ross, Charles H. 
The Pretty Widow x ▼. — A London 
Romance a v. 

Ross, Martin: vide SomerviUe. 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, f 1882. 
Poems XT. — Ballads and Sonnets x v. 

"Roy Tellet." 
The Outcasts x v. — A Draught of 
Lethe x ▼. — Pastor and Prelate 2 v. 

Ruffini, J., t 1881. 

Lavinia 2 v. — Doctor Antonio x v. — 
Lorenzo Benoni x y. — Vincenzo 2 v. — 
A Quiet Nook in the Jura x v. — The 
Paragreens on a Visit to Paris x v. — 
Carlino, and other Stories x v. 

Ruskin, John, f 1902. 
Sesame and Lilies x ▼. — The Stones of 
Venice (with Illustrations) 2 v. — Unto this 
Last and Munera Pulveris x v. — The Seren 
Lamps of Architecture (with X4 Illustra- 
tions) XT. — Mornings in Florence x v. 

Russell, VI. Clark. 
A Sailor's Sweetheart a ▼. — The " Lady 
Maud" a V. — A Sea Queen 2 v. 

Russell, George W. E. 
Collections and Recollections. Bv One 
who has kept a Diary 2 v. — A Londoner's 
Log-Book X ▼. 

Sala, George Augustus, f 1895. 
The Seven Sons of Mammon a v. 

Saunders, John. 
Israel Mort, Overman 2 ▼. — The Ship- 
owner's Daughter 2 v. — A Noble Wife 2 v. 

Saunders, Katherine (Mrs. 


Joan Merryweatilier , and odier Tales 

X V. — Gideon's Rock, and other Tales 

XV. — The High Mills 2 v. — Sebastian x v. 

Savage, Richard Henry (Am.), 

t 1903. 
My Official Wife i v. — The Littie Lady 
of Lagunitas (with Portrait) 2 v. — Prince 
Schamyl's Wooing x v. — The Masked 

Venus 2 V. — DeliUh of Harlem 2 ▼. —The 
Anarchist 2 v. — A Daughter of Judas 
XV. — In the Old Chateau z ▼. — Mis 
Devereux of the Mariquita 2 v. — Checked 
Through a v. — A Modem Corsair 2 v. — 
In the Swim 2 v. -> The White Lady of 
Khaminavatka 2 v. — In the House of His 
Friends 2 v.— The Mastery of a Shipyard 2 v. 
— A Monte Cristo m Khaki z v. 

Schreiner, Olive. 
Trooper Peter Halket of Mashona- 
land X V. 

Scott, Sir Walter, f 1832. 

Waverley (with Portrait) x v. — The 
Antiquary x v. — Ivanhoe x v. — Kenil- 
worth IV. — Quentin Durward i v. — Old 
Mortality x v, — Guy Mannering i v. — 
Rob Roy X V. — The Pirate x v. — The 
Fortunes of Nigel x v. -> The Black Dwarf; 
A Legend of Montrose x v. — The Bride 
of Lammermoor x v. — The Heart of Mid- 
Lothian 2 V. — The Monastery z ▼. — The 
Abbot XV. — Peveril of the Peak 2 v. — 
Poetical Works 2 v. — Woodstock iv. — 
The Fair Maid of Perth x v. — Anne of 
Geierstein x v. 

Seeley, ProU J.R., M.A.,f 1895. 

Life and Times of Stein (with a Portrait 
of Stein) 4 V. — The Expansion of Eng- 
land XV. — Goethe x v. 

Sewell, Elizabeth, f 1906. 
Amy Herbert 2 v. — Ursula 2 ▼, — A 
Glimpse of the World 2 v. — The Journal 
of a Home Life 2 v. — After Life a v. — 
The Experience of Life 2 v. 

Shakespeare, William, -j- 1616. 
Plays and Poems (with Portrait) (Second 
EdiiionJ 7 v. — Doubtfid Plays x v. 

Shakespeare* s Plays may ako be had in 
37 numbers, at Ji 0,30. eadi number. 

Sharp, William: vide Miss 

Howard and Swinburne. 
Shelley, Percy By sshe, f 1822. 

A Selection from his Poems x v. 

Sheppard, Nathan (Am.), f 1 888. 
Shut up in Paris x v. 

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 
t 1816. 
The Dramatic Works x v. 

Shorthouse, J. Henry. 
John Inglesant 2 v. — Blanche, L«dy 
Falaise i v. 

Taucknitz Edition, Compute List. 


Slatin Pasha, Rudolf C, CB. 
Fire and Sword in the Sudan (with 
two Maps in Colours) 3 v. 

Smedley, F. E.: viifl? Author of 
"Prank Fairlegh." 

Smollett, Tobias, \ 1771. 
Roderick Random i v. — Humphry 
Clinker x v. — Peregrine Pickle 2 v. 

"Society in London," Author of. 
Society in London. By a Foreign 
Resident i v. 

Somerville, E. CE., & Martin 

Naboth's Vineyard i v. — All on the 
Irish Shore x v. 

" Spanish Brothers, the," Author 

The Spanish Brothers 2 v. 

Stanhope, Earl (Lord Mahon), 

t 1875. 
The History of England 7 v. — Reign 
of Queen Anne 2 v. 

Steel, Flora Annie. 
The Hosts of the Lord 2 v. — In the 
Guardianship of God i v. 

Steevens, G. W., f 1900. 
From Capetown to Ladysmith i v. 

Sterne, Laurence, f 1768. 
Tristram Shandy i v. — A Sentimental 
Journey (with Portrait) i v. 

Stevenson, Robert Louis, f 1 8 94. 
Treasure Island x ▼. — Dr. Jekyll and 
Mr. Hyde, and An Inland Voyage i v. — 
Kidnapped i v. — The Black Arrow x v. — 
The Master of Ballantrae i v.— The Merry 
Men, etc. x v. — Across the Plains, etc. i v. 
— Island Nights' Entertainments x v. — 
Catriona x v. — Weir of Hermiston x v. — 
St. Ives 2 V. — In the South Seas 2 v. — 
Tales and Fantasies x v. 

"Still Waters," Author of (Mrs. 


Still Waters x v. — Dorothy x v. — De 

Cressy i v. — Uncle Ralph i v. — Maiden 

Sisters x v. — Martha Brown x v. — Vanessa 

X V. 

Stirling, M. C : vide G. M. Craik. 

Stockton, Frank R (Am.). 
The House of Martha z v* 

"Story of a Penitent Soul, the," 
Author of. 
The Story of a Penitent Soul x v. 

" Story of Elizabeth, the," Author 

of: vide Miss Thackeray. 
Stowe, Mrs. Harriet Beecher 
(Am.), t 1896. 
Uncle Tom's Cabin (with Portrait) 2 v. — 
A Key to Uncle Tom*s Cabin 2 v. — Dred 
2 V. — The Minister's Wooing x v. — Old- 
town Folks 2 V. 

"Sunbeam Stories," Author ot: 

vide Mrs. Mackarness. 

Swift, Jonathan (Dean Swift), 

t 1745. 
Gulliver's Travels x v. 

Swinburne, Algernon Charles. 

Atalanta in Calydon : and Lyrical Poems 
(edited, with an Introduction, by William 
Sharp) XV. — Love's Cross-Currents x v. 
— Chastelard and Mary Stuart x v. 

Ssrmonds, John Addington, 

t 1893. 
Sketches in Italy i v. — New Italian 
Sketches x v. 

Tallentyre, S. Q. : v, H. S. Merri- 

Uncle Piper of Piper's Hill 2 v. 

Tautphoeus, Baroness, j- 1893. 

Cyrilla 2 v. -- The Initials 2 v. — Quits 
2 V. — At Odds 2 V. 

Taylor, CoL Meadows, f 1876. 
Tara ; a Mahratta Tale 3 ▼. 

Templeton: vide Author of 
"Horace Templeton." 

Tennyson, Alfred (Lord), f 1 89 2. 
Poetical Works 8 v. — Queen Mary 
X V. — Harold x v. — Becket; The Cup ; 
The Falcon x v. — Locksley Hall , sixty 
Years after ; The Promise of May ; Tiresias 
and ot^er Poems x v. — A Memoir. By 
His Son (with Portrait) 4 v. 

Testament, the New: vide New. 

Thackeray, William Make- 
peace, -f 1863. 
Vanity Fair 3 v. — Pendennis i v. — 
Miscellanies 8 v, — Henry Esmond 2 v. — 


Tatichnitz Edition, Complete List, 

The English Humourists ofthe Eighteenth 
Centmy i ▼. — TheNewcomes 4 V. — The 
Virginians 4 V. — The Four Georges ; 
Lovel the Widower x v. — The Adventures 
of Philip 2 V. — Denis Duval x v. — 
Roundabout Papers 3 v. — Catherine 
X V. —The Irish Sketch Book 2 v. — The 
Paris Sketch Book (with Portrait) 2 v. 

Thackeray, Miss (Mrs. Ritchie). 
The Story of Elizabeth x v. —The Village 
on the Qiff x v. — Old Kensington 2 v. — 
Bluebeard's 'Keys, and other Stories i v. — 
Five Old Friends x v. — Miss Angel i v. — 
Out of the World, and other Tales i v. — 
FulhamLawn, andother Tales xv. — From 
an Island. A Story and some Essays x v. — 
Da Capo, and other Tales x v. — Madame 
de Sevigne; From a Stage Box; Miss 
Williamson's Divagations x v. — A Book 
of Sibyls XV. — Mrs. Dymond 2 v. — 
Chapters from some Memoirs x ▼. 

Thomas a Kempis: v. Kempis. 

Thomas, A. (Mrs. Pender Cudlip). 
Denis Donne 2 v. — On Ghiard 2 v. — 
Walter Goring 2 ▼. — Played Out 2 v. — 
Called to Account 2 v. — Only Herself 
2 v. — A Narrow Escape 2 v. 

Thomson, James, \ 1748. 

Poetical Works (with Portrait) x v. 

"Thoth," Author of. 
Thoth X V. 

"Tim," Author of. 
Tim X V. 

Trafiford, F. G.: v, Mrs. Riddell. 

Trevelyan, Right Hon. Sir 
Qeorge Otto. 
The Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay 
(with Portrai^ 4 V. — Selections from the 
Writings of Lord Macaulay 2 ▼. — The 
American Revolution (with a Map) 2 v. 

Trois-Etoiles, vide Grenville: 

TroUope, Anthony, f 1882. 

Doctor Thome 2 v. — The Bertrams 

2 V. — The Warden x v. —• Barchester 
Towers 2 y. — Castle Richmond 2 v. — The 
West Indies x v. — Framley Parsonage 2 v. 

— North America 3 v. — Orley Farm 3 v. 

— Rachel Ray a v. — The Small House 
at AUington \y. — Can you forgive her? 

3 V. — The Belton EsUte a y. — Nina 
Balatka x v. — The Last Chronicle of 
Barset 3 v. — The Claverings 2 v. — Phineas 
Finn 3 v. — He knew he was right 3 V, — 

TheVicar of Bullhampton 2 v. — Sir Harry 
Hotspur of HumbleUiwaite x v. — Ralph 
the Heir 2 v. — The Golden Lion of 
Granpere x v. — Australia and New Zea- 
land 3 v. — Lady Anna 2 v. — Harry 
Heathcote of Gangoil x v. — The Way we 
live now 4 ▼. — The Prime Minister 4 V. — 
The American Senator 3 v. — South Africa 

2 V. — Is He Popenjoy ? 3 v. — An Eye for 
an Eye i v. — John Caldigate 3 v. — Cousin 
Henry i v. — The Duke's Children 3 v. — 
Dr. Wortle's School x v. — Ayala's Angel 

3 v. —The Fixed Period x v. — Marion Fay 
2 v. — Kept in the Dark x v. — Frau Froh- 
mann, and other Stories i v. — Alice Dug- 
dale, and other Stories x v. — La Mere 
Bauche, and other Stories x ▼. — The 
Misdetoe Bough, and other Stories x ▼. — 
An Autobiography x v. — An Old Man's 
Love X V. 

TroUope, T. Adolphus, \ 1892. 
The Garstangs of Garstang Grange 2 v. 
— A Siren 2 v. 

Trowbridge, W. R. H. 
The Letters of Her Mother to Elizabeth 
X V. — A Girl oi the Multitude x v. — That 
Little Marquis of Brandenburg x v. — A 
Dazzling Reprobate x v. 

Twain, Mark (Samuel L. 
Clemens) (Am.). 
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer z v. — 
The Innocents Abroad ; or, The New 
Pilgrims* Progress 2 v. — A Tramp Abroad 
a V. — "Roughing it" x y. — The In- 
nocents at Home IV. — The Prince and 
the Pauper 2 v. — The Stolen White 
Elephant, etc. x v. — Life on Uie Mis- 
sissippi 2 y. — Sketches (with Portrait) 
XV. — Huckleberry finn 2 y. — Selections 
from American Humour x v. — A Yankee 

at the Court of King Arthur a v The 

American Claimant x v. — The £ x 000000 
Bank-Note and other new Stories x y. — 
Tom Sawyer Abroad x v. — Pudd'nhead 
Wilson X y. — Personal Recollections of 
Joan of Arc a v. — Tom Sawyer, Detective, 
and other Tales x v. — More Tramps 
Abroad a v. — The Man that corrupted 
Hadleybiu^, etc. 2 v. — A Double-Bar- 
reUed Detective Storyj etc. x v. — The 
$30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories x ▼. — 
Christian Science i y. 

"Two Cosmos, the," Author of. 
The Two Cosmos i v. 

Vachell, Horace Annesley. 
Brothers a v. — The Face of day x ▼. — 
Her Son x v. — The Hill x y. 

Tauchnitz Edition. Complete List, 


"Venus and Cupid," Author of. 
Venus and Cnpid z v. 

"V^ra," Author of. 
V&ra 1 V. — The H6tel dn Petit St. 
Jean x v. — Blae Roses 2 v. — Within 
Sound of the Sea 2 v. — Tlic Maritime 
Alps and their Seaboard 2 v.— Ninette i v. 

Victoria R. I. 
Leaves from the Journal of our Life in 
the Highlands from 1848 to z86z z v. — 
More Leaves, etc. from Z862 to z882 z v. 

"Virginia," Author of. 
Virginia x v. 

Vizetelly, Ernest Alfred. 
With Zola in England z v. 

Walford, L. B. 
Mr. Smith 2 v. — Pauline 2 v. — Cousins 
2 V. — Troublesome Daughters 2 v. — 
Leddy Marget z v. 

W^allace, D. Mackenzie. 

Russia 3 V. 

Wallace, Lew. (Am.), -j- 1905. 
Ben-Hur 2 v. 

Warburton, Eliot, + 1852. 
The Crescent and the Cross 2 v. — 
Darien 2 v. 

Ward, Mrs. Humphry. 
Robert Elsmere 3 V. — David Grieve 
3v. — MissBretherton z v. — Marcella 3 v. 
Bessie Costrell zv. — Sir George Tressady 
2 V. — Helbeck of Bannisdale s v. — 
Eleanor 2 v. — Ladv Rose's Daughter 2 v. 

— The Marriage of William Ashe 2 v. — 
Fenwick's Career 2 v. 

Warner, Susan wa!?: WetherelL 
Warren, Samuel, f 1877. 

Diary of a late Physician 2 v. — Ten 
Thousand a- Year 3 v. — Now and Then 
I ▼. — The Lily and the Bee x v. 

"Waterdale Neighbours, the," 
Author of: ». Justin McCarthy. 
Watts-Dunton, Theodore. 

Aylwin z v. 

Wells, H. Q. 
The Stolen Bacillus, etc. z v. — The War 
of the Worlds z v Thelnviaible M;m. 

— The Time Machine, and The lai , ] \ 
Doctor Moreau z v. — When tie Ki 
Wakes z v. — Tales of Spa cb a n tT X\ ''^'P^ 

— The Plattner Story, and Otlr^fJ'^p j ^^ 
Love andMr. Lewisham z r.—I J, JK .^ 
of Chance z v. — Antidpatlont i " Vl,^. ^^l3 
FirstMen in the Moon z v.— Tbe ,^ * ^Lhe 
I v.— Mankindin thcMakii^ 2^- '^^ "^ * j^ 

Stories and a Dream z v. — The Food of 
the Grods z v. — A Modem Utopia z v. — 
Kipps 2 V. — In the Days of the Comet z v. 

— The Future in America z v. 

Westbury, Hugh. 
Acte2 V. 

Wetherell, Elizabeth (Susan 

Warner) (Am.), f 1885. 

The wide, wide World z v. — Queechy 

2 V. — The Hills of the Shatemuc 2 v. — 

Say and Seal 2 v. — The Old Helmet 2 v. 

Weyman, Stanley J. 

The House of the Wolf z v. —The Story 
of Francis Qudde 2 v. — A Gentleman of 
France 2 v. — The Man in Black z v. — 
Under the Red Robe z v. — My Lady 
Rotha 2 V. — From the Memoirs of a Minis- 
ter of France z v. — The Red Cockade 2 v. 

— Shrewsbury 2 v. — The Castle Inn s v. 

— Sophia 2 V. — Count Hannibal 2 v. — In 
Kings' Bywajrs z v. — The Long Night 2 v. 
— The Abbess of Vlaye 2 v. — Starvecrow 
Farm 2 v. — Chippinge 2 v. — Laid up in 
Lavender z v. 

Wharton, Edith (Am.). 
The House of Mirth 2 v. — The Fruit of 
the Tree 2 v. 

"Whim, a, and its Conse- 
quences," Author of. 
A Whim, and its Consequences z v. 

Whitby, Beatrice. 
The Awakening of Mary Fenwick 2 v. — 
In the Suntime of her Youth 2 v. 

White, Percy. 
Mr. Bailey-Martin xv.-TheWestEnd2v. 
— The New Christians z v. — Park Lane 2 v. 
— The Countess and The ICing's Diary z v. 

— The Triumph of Mrs. St. George 2 v. — 
A Millionaire's Daughter z v. — A Pas- 
sionate Pilgrim z V. — The System 2 v. — 
The Patient Man z v. — Mr. John Strood 
z V. — The Eight Guests 2 v. —Mr. Strudge 

X V. 

White, Walter. 
Holidays in Tyrol i v. 
Whiteing, Richard. 

The Island ; or, An Adventure of a Per- 
son of Quality z v . — No . § John Street z v. 
-TbeLiieoiParis X v.-TbeYeWowVani V. 
_-Rizxg in the New iv. — AUMoonslune 


Tauchnitz Edition, Complete List, 

Roumania, edited by Sidney Whitman z v. 

— Conversations -with Prince Bismarck, 
edited by Sidney Whitman x ▼. — Life of 
the Emperor Frederick 2 ▼. 

"Who Breaks— Pays," Author 
of: vide Mrs. Jenkin. 

Wh3rte Melville, George J.: 
vide Melville. 

Wiggin, Kate Douglas (Am.). 

Timothy's Quest x ▼. — A Cathedral 
Courtship, and Penelope's English Ex- 
periences X V. -> Penelope's Iri^ Experi- 
ences X V. — Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm 
z V. — The Affair at the Inn z ▼. (By K. D. 
WigKin, M. & J. Findlater, and Allan 
McAulay.) — Rose o' the River x v. — 
New Chronicles of Rebecca x y. 

Wilkins, Mary B. (Am.). 
Pembroke x v. — Madelon x v. — Jerome 
s V. — Silence, and other Stories x v. — 
The Love of Parson Lord, etc. x ▼. 

Williamson, C N. & A. M. 
The Lightning Conductor x v. 

Wills, C J., vide F. C PhiUps. 

Winter, Mrs. J. S. 
Regimental Legends z v. 

Wood, Charles: vide Author of 
••Buried Alone.'* 

Wood, H. F. 

Tlie Passenger from Scotland Tard x v. 

Wood, Mrs. Henry ([ohnny 
Ludlow), t 1887. 

East Lynne 3 V. — The Channings 2 v. — 
Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles 2 v. — 
Vemer'8Pride3y. — The Shadow of Ash- 
lydyat 3 ▼. — Tjrevlyn Hold a v. — Lord 
Oakbum's Daughters 2 v. — Oswald Cray 
2 ▼. — Mildred Arkell 2 v. — St. Martin's 
Eve 2 ▼. — Elster's Folly 2 v. — Lady Ade- 
laide's Oath 2 V. — Orville College x v. — 
A Life's Secret i v. — The Red Court Farm 
2 v. — Anne Hereford 2 v. — Roland 
Yorke 2 ▼. — George Canterbury's Will 
2 v. — Bessy Rane 2 ▼. — Dene Hollow 
2 V. — The Foggy Night at Offord ; Martyn 
Ware's Temptation; The Night -Walk 
over the Mill Stream x v. — Within the 
Mace 2 ▼. — The Master of Greylands 2 ▼. 

— Johnny Ludlow 2 ▼. — Told in the 
Twilight 2 ▼. — Adam Grainger i v. — 
Edina 2 v. — Pomeroy Abbey 2 v. — Court 
Netherleigh 2 v. — (The following by 
Johnny Ludlow) : Lost in the Post, and 
Other Tales x ▼.— ATale of Sin , and Other 
Tales XV.— Anne, and Other Tales x y. — 

The Mystery of Jessy Page, and Other 
Tales I V. — Helen Whitney's Wedding, 
and Other Tales x v. — The Story of 
Dorothy Grape, and Other Tales z v. 

Woodroffe, DanieL 
Tangled Trinities x y. — The Beauty-Shop 

X V. 

Woods, Margaret L. 

A Village Tragedy x v. — The Vaga- 
bonds XV. — Sons of the Sword 2 y. — The 
Invader x v. 

Wordsworth, William, f 1850. 
Select Poetical Works 2 v. 

Wrazall, Lascelles, f 1865. 
Wild Oats X V. 

Yates, Edmund, f 1894. 
Land at Last 2 v. — Broken to Harness 2 v. 
— The Forlorn Hope 2 v. — Black Sheep 
2 V. — The Rock Ahead 2 v. — Wrecked 
in Port 2 y. — Dr. Wainwright's Patient 
2 y. — Nobody's Fortune a v. -^ Castaway 
2 v. — A Waiting Race a y. — The yellow 
Flag 2 V. — The Impending Sword a y. — 
Two, by Tricks x v. — A Silent Witness 
2 y. — Recollections and Experiences a v. 

Yeats: vide Levett-Yeats. 

Yonge, Charlotte M., + 1901. 

~ > 2 y. — Hea 

The Heir of Reddyiie a . . 
2 y. — The Daisy Chain 2 v. — Dynevor 
Terrace 2 v. — Hopes and Fears ay. — 
The Young Step-Mother 2 v. —The Trial 
2 v. — The Qever Woman of the Family 
2 y. —The Dove in the Eagle's Nest a v. 

— The Danvers Papers ; The Prince and 
the Page x v. — The Chaplet of Pearls 
2 V. — The two Guardians x y. — TheCaged 
Lion a v. — The Pillars of the House 5 v. 

— Lady Hester x y. — My Young Akides 
2 v. — The Three Brides 2 v. — Woman- 
kind 2 v. — Magnum Bonum ay. — Love 
and life x v. — Unknown to History a v. 

— Stray Pearls (with Portrait) 2 y.— The 
Armourer's Prentices 2 v. — The Two 
Sides of the Shield ay.— Nuttie's Father 

ay. — Beechcroft at Rockstone ay. — f 
A Reputed Changeling 2 v. — Two Penni- { 
less Princesses x v. — That Stick x y. — * 

Grisly Grisell x v. — The Long Vacation 
2 y. — Modem Broods x v. 

"Young Mistley," Author of: 
vide Henry Seton Merriman. 

Zangwill, I. 
Dreamers of the Ghetto ay. — Ghetto 
Comedies a v. — Ghetto Tragedies a y. 

"Z. Z." 
The World and a Man a y. 

Series for the Young. 

30 Volumes, Published with Continental Copyright on the same 
conditions^as the Collection of English and American Authors, Videp, /. 

— Price 1 M. 60 Pf. or 2 Fr. per Volume. — 

Barker, Lady (Lady Broome). 
Stories About: — x v. 

Charlesworth, Maria Louisa, 

Ministering Children x y. 

Craik, Mr8.(MissMulock),ti887. 
Our Year i v. — Three Tales for Boys 
IV.—. Three Tales for Girls i v. 

Craik, Georgiana M. (Mrs. May). 
Cousin Triz, and her Welcome Tales i v. 

Edgeworth, Maria, f 1849. 

Moral Tales x v. — Popular Tales s v. 
Kavanagh, Bridget & Julia, 

t "^^n- 

The Pearl Fountain , and other Falry- 
Tales z v. 

Lamb, Charles & Mary, f 1834 
and 1847. 
Tales from Shakspeare x v. 

Marryat, Captain, f 1848. 

Masterman Ready i v. 

Marshall, Mrs. Emma, f 1899. 
Rex and Regina x v. 

Montgomery, Florence. 
The Town-Crier; to which is added: 
The Children with the Indian-Rubber 
Ball z V. 

" Ruth and her Friends," Author 
Ruth and her Friends. A Story for Girls xv. 

Wood, Mrs. Henry, f 1887. 
William AUair x v. 

Yonge, Charlotte M., f 1901. 
Kenneth; or, the Rear- Guard of the 
Grand Army x v. — The Little Duke. 
Ben Sylvester's Word x v. — The 
Stokesley Secret x v. — Countess Kate x v. 
— A Book of Golden Deeds 2 v. — Friars- 
wood Post-OfBce XV Henrietta's Wish 

XV. — Eangs of England x v. — The 
Lances of Lynwood ; the Pigeon Fie z v. 
^P's andO'sx v.— AnntCharlotte'sStories 
of English History x v. — Bye- Words zv. — 
Lads and Lasses of Langley, etc. x v. 

Collection of German Authors. 

57 Volun^s, Translations /rem the German, published with universal 

copyright. These volumes may be imported into any country, 

— Price 1 M. 60 Pf. or 2 Fr. per Volume. — 

Auerbach, Berthold, f 1882. 
pn the Heights, (Second Edition) ^v, — 
'Brigitta XV. — Spinoza 2 v. 

Ebers, Georg, f 1898. 

An Egyptian Princess 2 v. — Uarda 
2V. — Homo Sum 2 v. — The Sisters [Die 
Schwestem] 2 v. — Joshua 2 v. — Per 
Aspera 2 v. 

Fouqu6, De la Motte, f 1843. 
Undine, Sintram, etc. x v. 

Freiligrath, Ferdinand, \ 1876. 
Poems (Second Edition) x v. 

Gdrlach, Wilhelm. 
Prince Bismarck (with Portrait) x v. 

Goethe, W. v., f 1832. 
Faust X V. — Wilhelm Meister's Ap- 
prenticeship 2 V. 

Gutzkow, Karl, f 1878. 
Through Night to Light x v. 

Hacldfinder, F. W., + 1877. 
Behind the Counter [Handel und 

HaufiF, WUhelm, f 1827. 
Three Tales x v. 

Hejrse, Paul. 
L' Arrabiata, etc. x v. — The Dead Lake, 
etc. XV. — Barbarossa, etc. z v. 

Hillem, Wilhelmine von. 

The Vulture Maiden [die Geier-Wally] 
XV. — The Hour will come s v. 

30 Tatichnitz Edition, Collection of German Authors^ Students' Series, 

Kohn, Salomon. 
Gabriel x y. 

Leasing, G. B., f 178 1. 
Nathan the Wise and Emilia Qalotti z v. 

Lewald, Fanny, f 1889. 

Stella s V. 

Marlitt, E., \ 1887. 
The Princess of the Moor [das Haide- 
prinzesschen] s v. 

Nathusius, Maria, | 1857. 

Joachim v. Kamern, and Diary of a 
Foor Young Lady z ▼. 

Reuter, Fritz, f 1874. 

In the Year '13 i ▼. — An old Story of 
my Fanning Days [Ut mine Stromtid] 3 v. 

Richter, J. P. Friedrich (Jean 

Paul), t 1825. 
Flower, Fruit and Thorn Pieces 2 v. 

Scheffel, Victor von, f 1886. 

Ekkehard 2 ▼. 

Taylor, George. 

Klytia 2 ▼. 

Zschokke, Heinrich, f 1848. 

The Princess of Brunswick • Wolfen- 
biittel, etc. z v. 

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Bulwer, Edward, Lord Lytton, 
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Craik, Mrs. (Miss Mulodk), 
t 1887. 
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Dickens, Charles, f 1870. 

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Franklin, Benjamin (Am.)^ 

t 1790. 

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n. Tell. Die Mannesjahre (X73X bis ^ 
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Freeman, Edward A. f 1892. | 

Three Historical Essays. Von Dr. C. | 
Baiter, Br. .4 0,70. Kart. .4 0,80. I 

Harte, Bret (Am.), f 1902. 
Tales of the Argonauts. Von Dr. G. 
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Tauchnttz Edition, Students* Sengs, Manuals. 


Hawthorne, Nathaniel (Am.), 

t 1864. 

Wonder Book for Boys and Girls. Von 

E. Roos, Br. Ji 0,70. Kart. Jt 0,80. — 

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Hughes, Thomas, f 1898. 
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Misunderstood. Von Dr. R, Palm, Br. 
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Scott, Sir Walter, \\%iz. 

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