"Calling my thoughts to the necessity of taking steps for my own safety, I hurried on my way. It was important that before the morning dawned I should have placed many versts between my pursuers and me. They were not men, I guessed, to venture through the forest at night, and I calculated that, after having chased me as they supposed for an hour or two, and not finding me, they would give up the pursuit and return home. All night I walked on; the fresh cool air revived my strength and spirits; when morning came I felt much less fatigue than I expected, for the chief portion of the night I had been in the open country. At dawn I again made for a wood for the purpose of concealment, and as day advanced, and people were likely to be about, I climbed up as usual into a tree to sleep. I used to fasten myself on to a bough with my sash, so that I had no fear of falling off. In the evening, having surveyed the country carefully, to see that there was no one apparently pursuing me, I came down and continued my journey. For several days I met with no adventure. I was daily gaining strength; and as I approached my father's village, and expected so soon to meet him and my mother, and her I loved, my hopes grew stronger, and my spirits rose. Yet I had still a wide extent of country to traverse. I went on for days together without even seeing a human being. On the high road I should have met them, but the country itself is so thinly inhabited, that often for thirty or forty versts together not a hut is to be found. My provisions were now again running short; how to replenish my stock I scarcely knew. I had reached the brow of a hill one morning, when I saw below me an encampment. On looking closer I saw that it was composed of young lads who were tending a drove of horses feeding in the plain below. They had kindled a large fire, and were busily cooking their morning meal.

"I had no fears of their intentionally betraying me, and the fact of their cooking arrangements made me suspect that they were some way from home, so that they would not speak of me thoughtlessly, and thus get me into trouble. I was very soon among them.

"'My dear boys,' said I, 'I am a wayfarer, hungry and weary; can you spare me some of your food?'

"They all looked at me earnestly for a minute before one of them spoke, as if they would learn if I was telling the truth. Then, satisfied apparently, they all found their tongues together.

"'Gladly, gladly, stranger, whoever you are. Come and sit down and rest—you are welcome.'

"Ah! The candour and heartiness of youth before bitter experience has taught it to mistrust the world is very delightful. They were boiling potatoes. They had a large can of milk with them. The potatoes were just cooked. One of the lads plunged his long knife into the cauldron, and drew out a potato at the point. He presented it to me, with some salt, in a dish. There were eight lads in all, fine intelligent fellows, not serfs, but sons of freemen, small farmers and others: The occupation in which they were engaged is looked upon as honourable. It is highly exciting and interesting. Their herds were feeding together near them. The moment one was seen to stray, one or two lads threw themselves on their own steeds, which they kept tethered near, and galloped off in pursuit of the straggler. They had, too, to defend their cattle from the wolves—often hazardous work. They offered me some milk, and then each lad helped himself to some potatoes; they had an abundance cooked, so that I was not depriving them of their food. They were all light-hearted and communicative. They told me how they had been startled in the night by unearthly sounds, and whence they proceeded they could not tell.

"'Not tell!' said one, looking up from his dish of potatoes. 'We did not see what it was, but we can tell well enough. It was the Vodainoi calling to us from the neighbouring river, trying to tempt us to come near, that she might draw us into the water. She has drowned many people in that way. Why she does it I do not know. Perhaps she wants their souls to destroy them; perhaps their bodies, to eat them. She is very beautiful, all clothed in green garments, glittering with jewels. She is never seen in the daytime—very seldom at night. No one would wish to see her, for she is certain to deceive all she meets. The only chance of escaping is to clasp the cross, and pray to our patron saint; even then she will try to tempt the unwary to let go the cross, and cease praying. Oh! She is very vile, with all her loveliness.'

"'What you say is very true, I doubt not,' said another lad, 'but the sounds we heard last night were as likely to have come from the wood as from the water. Now, to my mind, it was the Leechie calling to us from the forest. He is as bad as the Vodainoi, and ugly instead of handsome. Anybody seeing him is frightened, and runs away; so far he can do much less harm. He is a great brown monster, the colour of the bark of a tree; he never appears in the day, and at night always keeps out of the moonlight, as if he was afraid of anything bright. He does not shriek out like some other spirits, but goes moaning and groaning about the forest as if he was in pain. So it will be to the end of the world; he never sleeps and never dies. Some time ago little Koulik, the cobbler of our village, was returning home at night from his brother's cottage, three versts off, where he had been to the wedding of a niece, when just as he came to the wood by the side of the hill he saw a Leechie looking out at him from among the trees. He did not cry out, for he is a brave fellow, but tried to pass this evil spirit as fast as he could. He did not think of his cross, though, and he did not say his prayers, so the Leechie caught hold of him, and kept knocking him about, against the trunks of the trees and over the fallen branches and roots, till he had scarcely a whole bone left in his body. The Leechie did not say a word, but only went clack, clack, clack, and chuckled with pleasure. Poor Koulik was almost dead with terror and pain, but still he never thought of his cross. Had the Leechie once got him well inside the forest, I do not know what would have become of him. He would probably never have been seen again by mortal man. He had just sense enough to keep outside, and when he was driven in to run out again, till at length the dawn appeared, and the Leechie left him. More dead than alive, he had just strength to crawl home and take to his bed. Next day he went to the priest, and the priest asked him if he had thought of his cross, and said his prayers. He confessed that he had not. "Then you only got your deserts," said the priest; "how can you expect to be protected from evil spirits if you do not pray to the saints, you infidel? Do you think they would take the trouble of looking after you if you do not pray to them and bring them offerings to their shrines?" Frightened out of his wits and deeply penitent, poor little Koulik promised to buy two dozen wax-tapers at least, as soon as he could scrape together the money, and to bring them to the shrine of his patron saint. The priest told him if he did this the Leechie would not dare to attack him for a whole year or more.' The other young lads seemed deeply interested with this story of their companion, and to believe it implicitly, so I took the opportunity of explaining to them the folly, not to say the wickedness, of such a superstition. I told them that in this instance the appearance of the Leechie was easily explained. The cobbler Koulik had, without doubt, taken more vodka than his brain could stand, and that in his tipsy state he had fallen against the trunks and roots of the trees and hurt himself. The priest ought to have known this. If not, he was a blind leader of the blind. If he did guess it, and knew better than to believe in such folly, he was worse, and designedly imposed on the people. I told them that a belief in ghosts and goblins and omens, and such like things, was a sin, and showed a total want of faith in God's guidance and providence. They were all lies and inventions of the Evil One, and were introduced into the world by him to deceive and mislead human beings. The lads listened to me attentively. Much more I said to the same effect. I urged them to think of what I had said, but not to talk about the matter to strangers till they were convinced I was right. How I longed to have a Bible to give them, but I could not spare mine. Some of them could read, but they had never even heard of the book, and knew not that the religion they professed was drawn from it. I grieved to part from these fine lads. I wished them farewell. They did not inquire who I was or whence I came, but I won their hearts by speaking to them the truth. They were ready to do anything for me, and one of them insisted on lending me his horse and accompanying me part of my way. This was a great help to me, because I got over the ground three times as fast as I could otherwise have done, and could besides venture to travel during the daytime, as a person on horseback with an attendant would be less suspected than a poor wayworn traveller on foot. Thankful for the assistance so unexpectedly afforded me, I set off with my young companion. He was one of the most intelligent of the lads, and full of life and spirits. Vacia was his name. He told me he was an orphan: he lived in the house of a neighbouring proprietor, more as a servant than as an equal, though his parents were both noble, he believed. He never knew them. 'Ah! I wish that I had some one like you to live with,' he exclaimed; 'I would go with you round the world.' I was pleased with the lad's warmth. 'I am but a poor man myself,' I answered, 'very poor, Vacia; believe me, I could not afford you protection.'—'I care not for that; I like you much, very much; not for what you appear, but for what you say. You speak wisdom;—you speak to my heart.' I told him where I got that wisdom; that I spoke not of myself, but that I spoke from the Bible, and that all who would go there would get the same. We rode on talking thus for many versts. I at last reined up my horse and reminded him that he must return home, that the horses were not his, and that I had no right to tire them.

"'Oh, the Count would not object to my thus using them,' he answered. 'He is not unkind, understand. I am grateful to him for many things, but I cannot love him. He has no soul—he cannot talk to me—he never reads—he has no thought except as to what he will eat and what he will drink. He esteems his cook more than his wife—more than any one. Who can love such a man?'

"I fully entered into young Vacia's feelings. 'I should much like to have your company,' I replied; 'you would make my days far more pleasant than they now are, and I might instruct you in many things you do not now know; but, alas! My young friend, this cannot be. My course is full of difficulties and dangers, and I must not let any one share it with me.' What I now said only increased the lad's ardour. Difficulties and dangers he longed to encounter. He scarcely knew, however, what they signified. The danger was not death, but a protracted march to Siberia, or the knout, and imprisonment—inflictions far more trying than wounds or death. 'Come, come, my young friend, we must part,' I exclaimed, throwing myself from my horse. 'I am most grateful to you for your regard and for your kindness, but farther I will not let you go with me.' I was obliged to be firm. I gave him the reins of my horse. His was without saddle or bridle. He had guided it with a rough halter. When he saw that I was firm, he burst into tears.

"'Who shall I have to speak to me? Where shall I again hear such words as you have uttered?' he exclaimed.

"Again I told him I was but a poor peasant, and that I could not help him. All I could do was to advise him not to rest till he had found a copy of that book which had given me such wisdom as I possessed. I knew not how further to afford him advice.

"'I will, I will!' he exclaimed. 'I will find that book before I rest from the search. When I have found it, I will not cease from studying it, and I will often think of you who told me of it.'

"This thought seemed to console him. He told me that if I would let him ride one verst more with me he would then turn back. This I could not refuse; but he rode very slowly, and made the verst a very long one. At the end of it I dismounted once more, on the skirts of a wood, when, embracing my young friend, I charged him to return, while I plunged hastily among the trees. I hurried on that I might get into the depths of the forest before I should chance to meet any one who might have authority to stop me. For several more days I travelled on, across plains and through forests, till my provisions ran short. I wanted rest also. A few versts on was a village, but I dared not enter it till the evening, and I must then depart privately and speedily, before any inquiries might be made concerning me. I had plenty of money, so that I could always purchase provisions. I, one morning, had just entered a forest; I walked on through it till I suddenly found myself on the farther edge. It was on a slight elevation, and, as I looked down on the plain surrounding it, I recognised the village I was in search of. It was scarcely more than fifty versts from my native hamlet. In two nights more I might be there. I longed to push on, and for the moment I felt that I could reach the place by the following morning; but I remembered that by precipitation or carelessness I should make unavailing all my long-continued toils and exertions. Of course every day, as I drew nearer home, I ran a greater chance of being recognised. I retreated, therefore, a little way into the forest, and climbing up into a tree, secured myself as usual, and fell asleep. Those who have not toiled on, day after day, can scarcely understand the suddenness with which I could lose all consciousness in sleep, or the ease with which I could again awake at the slightest unusual sound. Those placed in the position I so long have been in, can most fully appreciate the blessing of sleep."



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A Russian Village—Danger of being discovered—Providential Warning— Flight—Approach to his Native Village—Horror on discovering his Home deserted—Encounter with old Soukhoroukof—Taken to his House—Account of his Parents—Aneouta carried away—His Agony—Encouraged to rouse himself—Plans for rescuing his Parents and Aneouta—Sets off again— Encounter with Zingari—Old Friends—A bold Exploit—They offer to assist him—Plan arranged.

"I have given a far longer account of myself and my travels than I intended, gentlemen, but I wished to interest you," continued the stranger. "I trust that I have done so already. What I have further to tell you will, I hope, excite your sympathy and commiseration, and induce you to accede to the request I have to make. I awoke just before sunset, and descending from my tree hastened towards the village, now bathed in the calm glow of the evening. I knew the spot well. I had often been there. I recognised the little church with its gilt dome and blue and pink walls, the pride of all the inhabitants—the whitewashed houses of the richer villagers, and the rough log-huts, thatched with straw, of the poorer serfs. A sparkling stream ran by it, and green fields and orchards surrounded the place. It was altogether a flourishing little village. The stream ran from out of the side of the very hill from which I was descending. I stopped by its brink, and having enjoyed a draught of the clear, pure, cold water, I took off my upper garments, and washed away all signs of travel from my countenance. Much refreshed, I proceeded. I had hopes of finding some one who could give me information about my parents. I walked on with as unconcerned an air as possible. First I went to a baker's shop, where I bought bread, but he scarcely knew the name of my village. I procured also some cheese, and salt, and dried fish. With a beating heart I made inquiries of those of whom I bought these articles, but not a particle of information could I obtain. At last I thought that people began to look at me suspiciously, and that it would be more prudent to take my departure. Having come to this resolution, I went straight on, neither looking to the right hand nor to the left, and endeavouring to appear as unconcerned as possible. I had gone a little way when a person passed me as if running to reach some object before me. He did not look at me, but I heard him say, 'Hasten on, brother. Tarry not to-night—you are suspected, and may ere long be pursued.'

"'Thanks, thanks; may our brother be rewarded by Heaven,' I replied, without looking at him or altering my pace. To this day I know not the countenance of the man who gave me this timely warning. As soon as he had gone on some way, I began to walk quicker than before; and darkness having now concealed me from any loungers near the village, I hastened on as fast as my feet could carry me. Young Vacia's horse would have been truly welcome, still I dared not rest. Never had I travelled on so rapidly. I had, indeed, two powerful motives to hurry my steps—fear of capture, and a longing desire to see my parents and my betrothed. I escaped the threatened danger. Suffice it to say that, after another night passed on foot, I stood within half a verst of my father's door, yet I dared not venture into the village by daylight. I had hoped to reach it before dawn, but my weary feet refused to carry me along faster. I could gain no information of those I loved. All my friends whom I could trust had been removed. Many new inhabitants had been sent to the place, and I was as a stranger on the spot where my childhood and youth had been passed. I lay concealed all day in a sheltered nook on the hill-side, which commanded a wide view in every direction, and would enable me to retreat should any one approach. How can I paint the anxiety of those hours, as I looked down on my native village, and recognised my father's cottage, and every spot I knew so well? I tried to discover any inhabitants moving about the door, but none came out whom I could see all day. Evening drew on; the cows came lowing home to be milked, the horses were driven forth to their pastures, and the field labourers loitered in weary from their work. Many a hearth in the village sent up its tiny wreath of smoke into the pure blue sky, but I could see none ascending from my father's cottage. Forebodings of evil tidings grew upon me. It was impossible longer to curb my anxiety. I hastened down the hill, regardless of danger. No one observed me as I hurried on. The cottage stood in a small garden, railed off from a field. I ran across the field, leaped over the railing, and looked in at a window at the back of the dwelling. All was silent; no one was there. Perhaps they may be sitting in the porch in front of the house, I thought. My sudden appearance will alarm them, though; but it cannot be helped. I got over the paling again, and with beating, anxious heart went round to the front. The porch was empty; the door was off its hinges. My heart sank within me. A villager was passing—an old man—I remembered his face well. He used to be kind to me as a boy, but he liked not our new tenets.

"'What has become of Loutich Saveleff and his wife and their adopted daughter, my father?' I asked, with a trembling voice.

"'Do you belong to this place, as your voice informs me, and ask what has become of them?' exclaimed old Soukhoroukof. 'I always told my friend Saveleff that the same thing would happen to him which has happened to his son, if he would persist in adopting the newfangled doctrines which have been so rife of late years. What has become of his son I know not. It is supposed generally that he is dead. He was a good youth, but fanciful and unsteady. Not content with the old-established, well-approved religion of this country, but he must needs run after these new inventions, and get himself into trouble. Well, I was telling you about friend Saveleff. He had long been suspected of harbouring those doctrines, when lately it was discovered that he had given shelter to three or four convicted heretics escaping from justice. None of our old villagers would have informed against him, but some of the newcomers brought the matter before the Starosta, who was obliged to look into it. He carried the matter, as in duty bound, to the steward, who, unfortunately for old Saveleff, owed him a spite, and was but too glad to indulge his ill-feeling. The steward, Morgatch (I will not say what I think of him), brought the affair up to our Barin, the Count. Now the Count is a staunch religionist, and wonderful orthodox; though between you and me, if his heart was looked into, he cares as little for priests and the good of the Church as he does for the Grand Sultan of the Turks. However, whatever that—hum!— Morgatch advises him to do he does. Morgatch brought forward plenty of witnesses to prove that the heretics had been seen in Saveleff's house, and that he and his wife and daughter had served them with food; and what is more, read out of the Bible, and prayed with them. Such atrocious crimes, of course, could not go unpunished; Morgatch, to make sure of the condemnation of his victims, brought forward evidence to prove that, not content with holding those pernicious doctrines themselves, they had endeavoured to instil them into others. This, too, was clearly proved. Saveleff had not a word to say in his defence, nor had his wife, but rather they boldly confessed and gloried in their crime. Had they been serfs, their owners might have claimed them; but they were free, and the old couple, without the power of appeal, were condemned to be transported to Siberia. No mercy was shown them on account of their grey hairs and their excellent character. They were sent off with felons, murderers, thieves, and traitors, to Moscow. One consolation is, that ere this they have probably sunk down, overcome with fatigue and ill usage, and been released from their sufferings by death.'

"I groaned as I heard these words; I had no questions to ask concerning my parents—the worst was revealed to me. 'And Aneouta, their daughter, what became of her?' I gasped out. 'Ah, poor girl, her fate was a hard one. She would have been transported also, but that—hum!—Morgatch proved that she was a serf, the property of a brother of our Barin's, the Count; that her father and mother were serfs, and that she had never been manumitted, as old Saveleff, who had adopted her, supposed. Instead, therefore, of being sent to Siberia, she was packed off without ceremony to her native village, to work in the fields, I suppose, or— But what is the matter, young man? You are ill, surely,' continued the good-natured Soukhoroukof, extending a hand to me, as he saw me at these words about to sink on the ground.

"'Oh, nothing, nothing,' I answered, trying to conceal my agitation, but in vain.

"'Young men do not look like that for nothing,' he replied. 'Come along—come into my house. You require food; perhaps a glass of kvass will do you good. Come along,' and seizing my arm he led me, scarcely conscious of where I was going, to his own cottage.

"Had I had time for consideration I would not have allowed the good man to have run the risk of harbouring me. He made me sit down at his table, and gave me food, and the kvass he promised. I ate and drank mechanically.

"'When did all this happen?' I asked, with a trembling voice.

"'About a fortnight ago only,' he answered, looking very hard at me. 'You seem very interested in the people; did you know them?'

"'I did,' I answered, doubly agitated; 'but oh, father, do not ask me questions; it can do no good.'

"'I must ask you one. Are you young Steffanos Saveleff, my old friend's son?'

"'I am,' I answered, bowing my head. 'And oh, father, I would not have entered your house had you given me time to think of the danger I might place you in; and you, I am sure, will not betray me.'

"'Speak not of it, my son. You have eaten of my loaf and my salt, and drunk of my cup, and you are safe. No one saw you enter, and no one need see you depart. Rest a little while, and then go on your way. I must not venture to harbour you longer than a few hours. Before daylight you should be far from this.'

"'Thanks, thanks, father!' I exclaimed. 'And now you know who I am, will you advise me how to proceed? Have I a chance of rescuing my parents, should they be still alive? You know that I am betrothed to Aneouta. Can I save her from the fate to which she is doomed?'

"Soukhoroukof leaned back in his chair and thought for some time. 'I have an idea,' he exclaimed at length. 'The Emperor, our great Czar, is about to be crowned shortly. On such an occasion he will surely grant the requests of his loving subjects. Get a petition drawn up: go to Moscow: present it. Tell the Czar your whole story. He will be interested. If he grants your petition, as he may, ask him boldly to increase the favour by enabling you to marry Aneouta. Say no more than that you are betrothed to a beautiful girl who loves you, and that difficulties which the Czar alone can overcome lie in the way of your nuptials.'

"'Oh, my kind father, the advice you give is excellent,' I answered; 'but thousands will be offering similar petitions, and what chance shall I have?'

"'You will have as good a chance as others,' he replied. 'Try and be one of the first. But I doubt if many will venture to present petitions. The difficulty of reaching the city is great, and few, even if they wish it, will be allowed to go, while those who dwell there are not likely to have any petitions to present. Try your chance, at all events.'

"'I will, I will,' I exclaimed, grasping eagerly at the proposal, as a sinking man does at a straw, though I had little hope of its success. 'But how shall I reach Moscow?' I asked. 'It is a long, long way, I fear, from this.'

"'Go to the banks of the Volga; you will there find steamers going up to Nishni; get on board one of them, and your way will then be easy.'

"I warmly thanked the kind Soukhoroukof for his advice, and rose to take my departure. I was unwilling to jeopardise him by remaining a moment longer under his roof than was necessary. 'One thing more I would wish to speak about before I go,' said I, taking his hand. 'Oh, my father, if you would but study that book on which we place our faith, how happy, how wise it would make you!'

"'Well, well, my son, speak not of it. Perhaps I do: I think not as I used to do. The times are evil. It is necessary to be cautious. I will say no more on that point. But I have another matter to speak to you about before you go. You will want money to prosecute your plans. I am a widower; I have no children left to me alive. The bones of my sons whiten many a battle-field. My daughters died giving birth to those who will be dragged off to the same fate;—slaves, slaves all. I have no one to provide for; I am rich—rich in gold, that is to say, poor in everything else. I can well spare what I give. Take this purse; it contains two hundred roubles. It will help you on your way. Heaven prosper you!'

"My heart came into my mouth as the old man uttered these words. I could not reply to him; no words could have expressed my feelings; I took his hand, I bathed it with tears. I fell on his neck and wept. He saw how grateful I was; I would not have had him for a moment think me otherwise. 'And a less sum than this would have purchased my Aneouta's freedom,' I exclaimed; for I could not help thinking of my betrothed, though I did not in any possible way desire to withdraw it from the still more important object of saving my parents from worse than slavery—a banishment to Siberia, or rather, a cruel death on the road.

"'I think not,' answered my host to my last observation. 'The brother of our Barin, the Count, who owns Aneouta, is not likely to give her her freedom for any sum a poor man can offer; through the Emperor, alone can you hope to succeed with him. He will not refuse to comply with any request made to him by the Czar; depend on that. If you fail with the Emperor then come back to me, and we will try what money will do with the Barin. I will offer to pay the money for the poor girl's freedom, to adopt her. We must let her know, in the meantime, that she has still friends in the world, and that she must keep up her spirits. She must also endeavour to make herself of little value in the sight of the Barin, her owner. She must feign sickness or foolishness, and disfigure her countenance, or refuse to work; a woman's wit will advise her best, though, what to do.'

"'Oh, my father, my father, you overwhelm me!' I exclaimed. 'I will go and see her; I will carry your advice to her. It cannot be far out of the way; I will travel day and night not to cause any delay.'

"'You may pass by the estate on your way,' answered my old friend, 'but the danger is very great. Any one seeking to speak to her is certain to be watched, and if you are captured, your punishment will be of the severest kind. They will knout you till you are nearly dead, and you will then be sent off to work for the rest of your miserable life in the mines of Siberia.' 'I know all that, but I will run every risk for Aneouta's sake,' I answered; and so it was settled. In spite of the almost desperate state of my prospects, I felt my spirits rise with the hope of overcoming the difficulties which lay before me. Soukhoroukof amply stocked my wallet with provisions, and before the end of another hour I had left my native village three versts behind my back. Five days' hard walking would, I calculated, bring me to where I expected to find Aneouta. My strength, I felt, would sustain me till I had seen her, and to see her I was determined at every risk. I would entrust to no one our friend Soukhoroukof's message and advice. The idea occurred to me that if I could but get a horse I might push on more rapidly than I possibly could on foot, but how to secure one was the difficulty. To purchase one would require more money than I could spare, and it would be impossible to get one at the postmaster's without a pass. I should instantly have been questioned, and imprisoned till I could give an account of myself. Indeed, the greater portion of my route lay along byroads, or no roads at all, across the country. Morning was approaching, and I was getting very weary, for it must be remembered that I had taken but little rest the previous day, when I saw in the distance, reflected in the sky, a red gleam of light. It was a wild district, and I knew of no village in that direction, but it appeared to me to proceed from the burning of some cottage. 'Some woodman's hut, perhaps, has caught fire,' I said to myself, as I pushed onward. As I drew still nearer there seemed to be several fires, and I began to fear that an entire village, perhaps, was on fire. I determined, at all events, to ascertain the cause of the conflagration before I stopped to rest. I walked on, therefore, as fast as I could, and at length, having reached a slightly rising ground, I saw before me a number of tents grouped together, at a short distance from each other, and enclosed by a circle of waggons. Outside the waggons were tethered horses, and donkeys, and mules, and several head of cattle. The whole encampment, even at that early hour, was astir: some persons were bending round the fires which had at first attracted my attention, busily employed in cooking; others were lashing up packages, filling panniers with the contents of the tents; while young lads were carrying round fodder and water to the horses and cattle. They might have been mistaken for a party of merchants going with goods brought from far-off provinces to the fair of Nishni, but I recognised them at once as a band of Zingari or gipsies, probably bound in the same direction. I had often met these people during the long period of my wanderings, and I was well acquainted with their habits. Under certain restrictions from Government they rove about the country, and lead a free and independent life of a purely nomadic character. They are not so wealthy as those who live in the towns, and sing on the stage and in public gardens; but they are more trustworthy, and have more rude virtues than their brethren of the city. Oftentimes had I spent nights together in their tents when they knew that they were running some risk by sheltering me, and might, perhaps, have obtained some reward by handing me over to Government. I was in hopes that I might find among them some of my former friends, so I resolved at once to go boldly among them. As I drew near the encampment, a number of dogs rushed out from beneath the waggons, and began barking at me furiously. The noise brought out several of the men, who came from among the tents, peering at me cautiously through the darkness.

"'What do you want here?' asked one of them gruffly, calling back the dogs.

"'Shelter and assistance,' said I.

"'You are not likely to find either one or the other here. We are moving from hence, and require no strangers.'

"'Lead me to your chief, then, and I will hear what he has to say,' I replied, in a confident voice.

"'He is here,' said a man, stepping out from among the tents. 'Tell me what you require.'

"There was nothing in the appearance of the man to distinguish him as the chief, except that his voice was particularly clear and firm, and there was an air of authority in his manner, as if he was accustomed to command.

"'You are known to be kind to the persecuted and to the friendless, and I am one of those coming to seek your assistance.'

"'You shall have what you require, my friend, if it is in my power to give it you,' he replied; 'but come in here, and let me know more particularly what it is you require.'

"He took me by the hand, and led me in front of a tent, where he made me sit down on a bale, which had just been prepared for loading a horse.

"'We have met before, father,' said I, as soon as I saw his features more distinctly by the bright light of the fire. 'It was some time ago, though, yet you will remember the circumstance, I know. The first snows of winter had just fallen, and a hard frost had set in, when one of your children strayed into the woods. On, on she went, thinking she was approaching your encampment, but was all the time getting farther from it. The evening was setting in, when she saw three huge animals moving towards her; they were wolves, ravenous with hunger. An armed man might well have dreaded to encounter them alone. I was, happily, in the wood, a houseless wanderer. I beheld the scene from the entrance of a rude hut I had just constructed to shelter myself from the inclemency of the weather. The sweet child stood petrified with terror—the savage beasts approached her—my fowling-piece lay by my side—I levelled it, fired, and brought the largest wolf to the ground. Then loading as I went, I rushed forward with a loud shout, which made the animals stop to see whence it came. This gave me time to load and to shoot another through the head; the third took to flight, but I killed him also just as he was disappearing among the trees. The little girl stood staring at me with amazement, then burst into tears. I took her up in my arms, and wrapped a sheepskin round her. She was a sweet little creature. Her features and her dress told me the race to which she belonged. I had seen the encampment in the morning; it was more than two versts away, but I was strong and active, and I knew I could carry her as far. She rested quietly in my arms, with all the beautiful confidence of childhood. I took my gun with me, and went gaily on over the crisp ground. In less than an hour I reached the encampment. There was joy and gratitude in the hearts of those to whom I delivered her. They had been searching for her in vain, and had already believed her a prey to wolves, which much infested that region.'

"'Ah, she was my own, my beautiful little Azeota,' exclaimed, the gipsy chief, looking at me earnestly. 'Every circumstance you relate was told me then, I remember. But was it you did that brave act? Was it you who saved my child? Pardon me that I did not know you; you are much changed since then.'

"'So I believe,' said I. 'Toil and anxiety have done their work on my features, I doubt not. I am glad of it in one respect, for though at times it may prevent my friends recognising me, it will more effectually guard me from being discovered by my enemies.'

"'Ah, my dear friend, my son, my well-beloved, I know you now, though,' exclaimed the gipsy, springing up, and throwing his arms round my neck, while his countenance exhibited the deepest emotion. 'Ah, my Azeota, my sweet flower! I have lost her; death has taken her from me, but I am not the less grateful to you for what you did for her, and I thank the fates who have sent you once more to me that we may converse together of her. But tell me, how is it that you come here to seek me?'

"On this I told him such part of my history as I thought would afford him interest, and informed him of my purpose of endeavouring to find Aneouta, and of going on afterwards to Nishni and Moscow.

"'I will think over the matter as we go along,' he replied; 'we shall soon be on the move; you will ride along with me. But stay, you have had no food this morning, probably. Here, Kazan,' he cried, calling to a lad who was passing; 'bring some provisions here immediately for this, my friend; your mother will give them to you—the best she has, tell her. Then saddle my black mare, and bring her along with my horse; he will ride her.'

"I thanked the gipsy chief for his arrangements. Nothing could be more opportune than the encounter. The tribe were proceeding in the very direction I wished to go, and though I could have performed the distance almost as quickly on foot, I should now be enabled to do it without fatigue. I ate a hearty breakfast, and by the time it was finished, the gipsy's mare was brought to me to mount. Accompanying the chief, I rode on to the head of the caravan. As he passed along the line he issued his orders in a tone which showed that he was accustomed to be obeyed, and this increased my confidence that he would be enabled to assist me effectually. There were nearly three hundred people, I calculated, altogether; quite a little army. Some of the younger men and boys were on foot, lightly clad, with sticks in their hands to drive the horses and cattle; others were on horseback, while some of the very old men and women and children were carried in the waggons, which were driven by some of the men on foot. The story of my having preserved little Azeota from the wolves had already got about, and as I rode by, I was saluted with expressions of gratitude, which were very satisfactory. I felt indeed thankful that I had again fallen among friends so well able to help me. At the time to which I allude, I had remained many days in the camp. I had conversed much with the gipsies on religious subjects, and, alas! Had found their minds totally ignorant of the truth. Though living in a land at least called Christian, they knew nothing of that pure faith; they were almost destitute of any hope, any fear; this life was all they thought of. The future, eternity, was totally beyond their comprehension. They put their hands before their eyes as if to shut it out when I spoke of it. Gradually I unfolded to them holy things; I spoke to them of the Bible and its wonderful history, and by degrees they listened and were interested. Finally, I believe that I made much impression on the minds of many of them. Then I was once more obliged to fly for my liberty. Still I often visited the Zingari whenever I had an opportunity, and never was otherwise than kindly received by them. But to return to my late adventure with them.

"We had ridden some versts, and the gipsy chief had long been silent, when he turned to me, and said:—

"'I have thought of a plan by which you may not only see your Aneouta, but you may, if she will consent, carry her away from those who keep her from you. You shall disguise yourself as a gipsy, and, accompanied by one of the young women of the tribe, you will easily gain access to her, under the pretence of telling fortunes. If you can persuade her to fly from her persecutors, we will protect her. No one will suspect that you have gone to the house for any other purpose than collecting a few kopecks, or stealing chickens, perhaps; and who will think of searching for her with us?'

"I saw at once the advantages of the plan proposed by the Zingari chief, and yet I trembled at the thought of leaving Aneouta so long among his people; not that I doubted they would protect her to the utmost of their power, but I feared she might suffer from the hardships to which she would be inevitably exposed. Still I felt that I must wait to decide till I had seen my betrothed. For five days we travelled on with far greater ease than I had been accustomed to, so that at the end of the time I was fresher and stronger than when I fell in with the encampment.

"But I am wearying you, sirs, with my long history, and I am sure that this kind gentleman, who has been interpreting for me, is completely out of breath."

Mr Allwick smiled as he said this.

"Oh, no, no," exclaimed Cousin Giles, and the boys, and Mr Evergreen, in a breath. "We are very much interested. Tell him to go on. We would rather hear his adventures than see all the sights in the place."

The stranger bowed, and continued his narrative.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Disguised as a Zingari—Start on the Expedition—Minetta's Fortune-telling—Communicative Serfs—A tyrant Land-steward—Outbreak of Peasants—Dreadful Result—Old Scratchichna—Discovery of Aneouta— Their Flight—Stratagem of the Zingari Chief—Aneouta left in the Gipsy Encampment—Reaches the Volga—Voyage to Nishni—Conclusion of History—Cousin Giles promises to assist him.

"The gipsy tents were pitched on a wild moor, surrounded by low, barren hills, about three versts distant from the estate of young Barin Peoter Petrovitch, the owner of my poor Aneouta. Although my features are not at all of the gipsy cast, and any one examining them narrowly would at once have seen that I was no Zingari, yet by dressing carefully in their style, and by having my countenance doubly dyed, and my beard shaved off, I certainly might hope to be taken for one by the casual passer-by.

"The chief himself attended to the arrangement of my costume. He was a widower, and childless, but he had a niece, the child of a brother, whom he adopted. She was a clever, spirited girl, and gladly undertook to be my companion; indeed Minetta—that was her name—fully entered into the spirit of the undertaking. It was arranged, also, that a little lad, her brother, should accompany us. I described Aneouta to them both, so that they might know her at once should they meet her. My countenance had been so altered by the dye and paint that I looked quite an old man, and no one could possibly recognise me. Whatever may be the faults of the Zingari, they may be safely trusted with the secrets committed to their tribe; therefore, though every one in the encampment knew my object, I had no fears of being betrayed.

"Many a good wish was uttered as we three set off together on horseback. The chief had furnished me with a strong, active steed, which would carry Aneouta as well as me, should I be so fortunate as to be able to bear her off unperceived. We rode on till we came to a copse, a quarter of a verst or so from the house of the young Barin.

"Minetta and I then dismounting, left the horses under charge of her brother, and sauntering along in an unconcerned way, we approached the house. I had agreed to feign to be dumb, lest the tone of my voice should betray me. Thus I knew I should be perfectly safe from detection, and even Aneouta would not know me. Our difficulty was to learn where she could be found. Eagerly I cast my eyes about in every direction, expecting to see her among the work-people in the fields, but nowhere did she appear. Minetta had a good excuse to go among them, to offer to tell the girls their fortunes. They were not unaccustomed to such visits, apparently, for they smiled and laughed as she talked to them, and willingly held out their hands that she might read their fate by the marks on their palms. She cleverly adapted her promises according to the age and appearance of each, and seemed to give universal satisfaction. After she had gained their confidence, she began to put questions to them, to which they seemed fully willing to reply. First she spoke to one; then to another a little way off; and what the first told her she made use of with surprising facility, as if she had been long informed of it, to draw information from the second. I listened with painful eagerness to all that was said to her, but for a long time she could elicit nothing which could give me information about Aneouta. At length she got nearer to the subject.

"'Surely all the girls of the estate are not in the fields to-day?' she said. 'Not long ago I heard weeping and moaning, as from one in pain or grief. The sounds came a long, long way through the air, even to where I then was standing, many versts away from this.'

"The girls looked at each other.

"'Yes, you are right,' said one. 'It was a maiden who had gone away from this when a child, and thought herself free, but she was mistaken; and the Barin, our lord, is fond of keeping all his people about him, so when he found it out, he had her brought back. Poor thing, she was very unhappy, for she was taken from all her friends; but she will be better by and by. She will marry one of our young men, and then she will make new friends, and be reconciled to her fate.'

"'Ah, let any one beware who marries her,' exclaimed Minetta, promptly. 'I have read his destiny in the stars. He will speedily die. Let him beware, I say.'

"The girls looked at each other with horror, resolved to warn all the young men in the village of the fate they might expect if they wished to marry the new-comer.

"'Then she has not yet been sent out into the fields to labour?' she continued. 'I thought not.'

"'Oh, no, she is still in the overseer's house,' answered one of the girls; 'she has plenty of work there, for he is a hard man, and not likely to excuse her because she is weak or ill. For my part, I would rather be in the fields, where at least we have freedom to talk, and laugh, and sing as much and as loud as we please, at least as long as the land-steward keeps away from us. When he comes all are dumb and grave. If we talk, he thinks we are plotting mischief; if we laugh, he fancies we are laughing at him. He is miserable himself, and he wants to make everybody miserable also.'

"'Why is that?' asked Minetta. 'He is well-to-do in the world—a good house, and plenty to eat and drink.'

"'Ah, but he is always in terror of his life,' answered the girl. 'Before he came here he was steward of an estate owned by a Barin and his wife, who were the most grinding couple in all the country round. They starved their house serfs, and ground every moment of work out of the peasants that the law would allow. No other man but Gavrillo, our land-steward, would have lived with such people, I verily believe. The mujicks bore it for many years, not without complaining and grumbling, but without trying to right themselves. At last they could bear it no longer. A bad season came, and they were starving, and when they complained, they were only ground more and more; so they rose up with arms in their hands, and attacked the Barin's house one morning, just before daylight, and the Barin put his head out of the window, and they shot him, and he fell down into the road; and when his wife looked out to see what had become of her lord, they shot her too. When they were certain that they were both dead they went off to the house of Gavrillo, intending to shoot him also. He, however, hearing the shots, guessed that something wrong was happening, and, mounting his horse, galloped away as hard as he could go. The mujicks saw him, and followed. They thirsted for his blood; and as they well knew that no mercy would be shown them, they were determined to have it. They followed him across fields, and there they kept up with him. Then he reached a plain, a wild heath, and he distanced them, but at the other side of the heath was a wood—he must either skirt it or go through it. Fear drove him through it, and they rapidly gained on him again. They now were almost sure that they should catch him, but as they got to the farther edge of the wood they saw him tearing along, his horse all foam, and his clothes in shreds, and his hat knocked off, a quarter of a verst or less before them. Shots were fired at him, but the bullets missed. A broad and rapid river was before him. They thought that they should now certainly overtake him, and already they fancied their revenge secure, when he reached the bank. He hesitated not a moment. He heard the infuriated mujicks behind him—their cries of rage and fierce threats—and saw the broad rapid stream before him. Death from behind was certain. The water might float him—he urged in his horse—the animal was strong and fearless. Bravely it swam on, encouraged by its master's voice. Shot after shot was fired at him—still he held on. He was mounting the one bank when his pursuers reached the other, uttering cries of disappointed hate. He shook his clenched fist at them, and galloped on. He did not stop nor think himself safe till he had reached the nearest town. He there gave notice of what had occurred, and the governor sent off for troops to punish the rebels. The mujicks, meantime, with shouts of vengeance, went back to his house. His wife and children were within, and a hoard of his ill-gotten gold. They could not fly. He had had no time to secure his gold. The mujicks surrounded the dwelling, and closed the doors that no one might escape. There was a shout for faggots, dried branches, logs of wood. They were brought, they were piled up round the house, and a fire was kindled on every side. It blazed up fiercely. It crackled, and hissed, and roared. There was a strong wind: the cries of the inmates were overcome. Soon the smoke stifled them; and Gavrillo, when he returned with the troops many days afterwards, found nothing but a heap of ashes where his house had been. The mujicks then burnt down the house of their lord and emptied his granaries, and then dispersed in every direction. Not an inhabitant was left in the place. Even the old men and the women and children were carried off. Some of the latter, alas! Were soon captured and cruelly treated, but many of the men escaped to the distant steppe, and there, banding themselves together, robbed and plundered all they could venture to attack. That is the reason that Gavrillo is so melancholy and morose,' said the girl.

"'Enough to make him so,' answered Minetta. 'But has he not married again? Who takes care of his house?'

"'Oh, no, he has taken no second wife. I should pity the woman to whom should fall such a fate. He has a blind and deaf old woman who takes care of his house, and I suppose he thinks if his house was again burnt there would be no great loss if she was burnt too. She is as sweet tempered as he is. A pretty life poor Aneouta will have with her.'

"'And Gavrillo himself, where is he?' asked Minetta.

"'Oh, he is away from home just now—gone to see after the sale of some timber; and the Barin is away on his road to Moscow, and won't be back till after the grand doings at the coronation of the Czar, and that makes us all so merry, you know.'

"Minetta had now heard all she required—so had I. The Barin's absence would enable me the better to carry off Aneouta; at the same time I fancied that he might make out a good story to the Emperor, and persuade him to disallow my petition when he found that I was interfering with one whom he claimed as his serf. The Zingari chief, however, who knows the world well, afterwards told me that I need have no fears on that score, and that if the Czar grants my petition no one is likely to interfere with me. Well, Minetta and I left the field highly satisfied with the information we had obtained, and betook ourselves to Gavrillo's house. The old woman, his housekeeper, sat in the porch knitting. The girl we had spoken with had in no way done her injustice; a more unattractive female was never seen. I groaned as I thought that my poor Aneouta should have been committed to the charge of such a being. A brown handkerchief was tied over her head: from beneath it escaped a few straggling white hairs. The eyes in her parchment-like countenance were scarcely perceptible, while her mouth was garnished with two yellow bones, which did the duty of teeth; her feet were encased in straw shoes, and her entire dress was of a dark hue, obtained by age and dirt. There was not a spot of white about her.

"'What do you want here?' she growled out, as she saw us approach.

"'To tell your fortune, dear mother,' answered Minetta, in the blandest voice.

"'My fortune has been settled long ago, and a bad one it has been,' answered the old woman.

"'The moon changes, and fine weather comes at last,' replied the gipsy, smiling. 'Those who are wise never mourn the past, but look to the future. See what wonderful things this age has produced! Steamers, and railroads, and balloons—all you have heard of, I doubt not. Even now the world is ringing with the latest and grandest discovery, made by our people, too. Those only who come to us can benefit by it.'

"'What is it, girl?' asked the old woman, with more animation than could be expected.

"'What is it? What you, perchance, would like to have, if you could afford to pay for it,' answered Minetta archly.

"'How do you know that I cannot afford to pay? Tell me what your discovery is, and I will tell you whether I will pay for it,' croaked out the old woman.

"'Oh, no, no; you will not trust to it,' answered Minetta. 'There are others who will value the great secret more than you; I must keep it for them. Farewell, mother;' and taking my hand, she began to move away.

"'Stop, stop, girl; let me know what it is,' cried the old woman, her curiosity fully excited.

"Still Minetta went on.

"'Stop, stop!' again croaked out the old woman.

"The Zingari maiden pretended to relent, and stopped.

"'Well, mother dear, perhaps you would like to try the effects of this great discovery. Often has the attempt been made, but in vain, to give back youth to age, to renovate the beauty which years and sickness have destroyed. The secret has been obtained. A liquid, distilled from the dew found on certain plants at early dawn, has that wondrous power. Every day the effect is perceptible; the limbs become strong, the muscles vigorous, the cheeks fill out, the roses return, the eyes grow bright, the step elastic, the—'

"'Oh, give me some of it!' shrieked the wretched hag, stretching out her withered arms. 'I'll try it!—I'll try it! What do you demand, girl?— say quickly!'

"'Try it first, and as you prove its effects, then you shall reward me accordingly,' said Minetta, producing a bottle with a colourless liquid from under her cloak. She poured out some of the liquid on a sponge, and held it to the mouth of the hag. In a few moments its effects were indeed perceptible; her eyes closed, her arms hung down, and she was in a state of stupor.

"'What have you been about?' I exclaimed, afraid that some injury might have been done the old woman.

"'No harm whatever,' she answered, laughing. 'Do you go in, and bring out your Aneouta. I will watch here, and then the sooner we are away the better.'

"With a beating heart, I sprang into the house. There were but five or six rooms. In the last I found a female, sitting with her hands crossed on her knees, looking on vacancy. She started on hearing a person enter, and gazed up at my countenance. I knew her by her figure; but, alas! Grief and anxiety had sadly changed her features. Still she was my Aneouta. Of that I was certain. Eagerly, inquiringly, she looked at me. Her eyes ran over my gipsy costume, then she once more gazed into my eyes, and springing up, threw herself into my arms.

"'It is you—you, my Steffanoff!' she exclaimed, in a voice that went to my heart. 'Tell me not that it is any one else. It is you—it is you. I know you through your disguise. The dark skin—the Zingari dress—the white hair cannot deceive me. You have come to save me from this—to take me away—to carry me to your home. Tell me that I do not dream. Tell me that it is a reality I enjoy. Tell me that it is you yourself I hold in my arms!'

"'Oh, my Aneouta, it is indeed your Steffanoff who has found you out— who has come to carry you from this place,' I exclaimed, pressing her to my heart. 'But there is no time to delay—I will tell you all by and by. We must be away at once, or we may be pursued.'

"'Yes, yes, I come. Take me with you at once, my beloved,' she cried, pressing closer to me. 'But ah!—old Scratchichna, where is she? She will give the alarm, and clutch us with her claws, till some one comes to stop us!'

"'Fear not about her,' I answered, as I led her out of the room and into the porch. 'See, she will not stop us.'

"The old woman was sitting as I had left her, perfectly unconscious. Certainly she did not appear as if her youth was returning; she looked far more as if death had overtaken her. Minetta stood over her, and as we were going, applied the sponge once more to her nostrils.

"'She is not dying, I trust?' said I.

"'Oh, no, no!' answered Minetta, laughing. 'She will come very soon to herself, and then sit quiet, indulging in the fancy that she is growing young again, forgetting all about her charge and us. When she finds that this bird has flown, she will give such a confused account of the matter, that no one will know what has occurred. Good-bye, old mother— you do look very young, certainly!' Minetta laughed in a peculiar self-satisfied way as she said this.

"Minetta having thrown her own cloak over Aneouta, which much assisted in disguising her, we hurried towards the copse where we had left the horses. Anxiously we looked around on every side to notice if any one was watching us, but the peasants were in the fields, and we carefully avoided the high road and the main street of the village. We found the lad with the horses all safe—no one had come near him. Things may be done in a thinly-peopled country which could not occur in the denser population of a town. Taking up Aneouta on the horse before me, away we galloped—my heart lighter than it had been for many a year. Still I knew that the time might be far distant when I might hope to live with her in peace and security.

"We were cordially welcomed by the Zingari chief and his people, who seemed to take an especial interest in the achievement we had accomplished. Its success was, I confess, entirely owing to the tact and adroitness of Minetta. The means she took were, however, not such as in my calmer moments I could in my conscience approve of.

"The Zingari chief received Aneouta as a daughter. 'You shall eat of my bread and dwell in my tent, and occupy the place of one who is lost to me, till your betrothed comes to claim you,' said he, taking her hand. 'Minetta will be your companion, and she will tell you many things to make the hours pass lightly away.'

"Soon after we reached the encampment the orders were given to strike the tents, that we might remove to some distance before nightfall. Of course we knew that directly Gavrillo, the steward, returned, he would make every effort to discover what had become of Aneouta. The chief had placed her carefully in a covered waggon, when he asked her for her mantle and the handkerchief she had worn over her head. He took them, and rolling them up, gave them to the young lad who had been with us. I asked him as we rode along why he had done this.

"'The river which passes near the village is deep and rapid; I have told him to go there as soon as it is dark, and throw them on the bank. Their being found there will effectually mislead the steward, who will believe that Aneouta has drowned herself, and will make no further search for her.'

"In the hopes that this stratagem would succeed, my mind was relieved of a very great anxiety; for I was certain that if it was known that Aneouta had taken refuge among the gipsies, and she was demanded from them, they would not venture to retain her. I expressed my fears to the chief.

"'We will see to that,' he answered, laughing confidently. 'They cannot prove that she is among us, and they may come and search through every tent, and not discover her if she desires to remain concealed.'

"'How can that be?' I asked.

"'By disguising her, so that she will become like one of ourselves,' he answered.

"'You could not disguise me,' I answered; 'she knew me at once.'

"'Ah, the eyes of love pierce deeper than any other eyes,' he answered; 'besides, Aneouta's features are much of the Zingari cast, and her eyes are dark like ours. Depend on it, we will disguise her so that no one will know her. If any come to look for her, we will tell them to come and search, and take her if they can find her. Depend on it they will fix on the wrong person rather than on her.'

"The perfect confidence of the Zingari chief very much assured me, if it did not do so completely. When we encamped at night, I gave Aneouta a rapid account of all that I had gone through, and all I proposed doing. The watch-fire, by which we sat, had almost burnt out before we had ceased talking, and I had not then told her half I had to say. When I informed her that my great object, the sacred duty I had imposed on myself, was to try and rescue my parents from the cruel fate to which they were condemned, she at first eagerly besought me to let her accompany me, and endeavour to aid in the object. However, this I soon showed her would be impossible, and she then willingly consented to remain with the Zingari till I had accomplished it or found the effort hopeless.

"'If you fail entirely, my beloved, then we will fly together to the far east,' exclaimed Aneouta warmly; 'for rather would I live among the wild tribes of the Tartars in their rude tents than exposed to the fate from which you have rescued me in this country.'

"I applauded her resolution—the same thought had been running in my own mind. To escape, however, from the confines of Russia is a work not easy of accomplishment. I will not detain you longer with an account of our progress towards the Volga. We were not pursued, and we had reason to fancy even that the Zingari were not suspected of carrying off Aneouta. Probably the chief's trick succeeded, and she was supposed, in a fit of despair, to have thrown herself into the river. At last the time came that I must part from Aneouta. Sad as it may seem, I with more confidence left her under charge of those wild, untutored children of the desert, than I would with many who profess the tenets of Christianity. I neither exacted nor received any oaths from the chief and his people.

"'Your betrothed will be safe, as far as we have power to protect her, while she remains under our tents; and I hope, my brother and my friend, when you return, to deliver her to you with renewed strength and spirits,' he said, taking my hand.

"All the tribe assembled to wish me farewell. I will not describe my parting with Aneouta. Our mutual grief can better be imagined. While journeying with the Zingari, I had retained their dress. I had now again taken the stains from my face, and habited myself as a mujick. I stood at length on the banks of the mighty Volga among a crowd of travellers, waiting for the appearance of a steamer which was to touch at that village. I had been travelling lately with so much ease and freedom from care, that I forgot my present position. I was again in danger. I might be asked for my pass. Not having one to show, I might be stopped, and sent to prison. I had fastened my money about my body, but I kept a few roubles ready at hand in case of necessity. There is nothing like a bribe in Russia to alter a person's vision—black is made white, and white black. I had never before seen a steamer. I was struck with amazement when I beheld the astonishing sight. On it came, gliding over the surface of the river, like a huge swan, without apparent effort. When it drew nearer I saw that it had huge wheels driving it along. I could scarcely contain my admiration; yet it would not do to exhibit it, lest I should appear a novice in the world. When the vessel stopped, people rushed on board; I followed them. They were all too busy about their own affairs to think of me. I passed on with a number of mujicks into the fore part of the vessel, where we stood huddled together like a flock of sheep in a pen. Everybody was talking, or laughing, or making a noise of some sort. Several had swallowed more vodka than their heads could stand, and were still more vociferous; but the confusion added to my security. I talked away as fast as anybody else, and tried to learn who people were, and struck up acquaintances with them, and I was so busy in asking them questions, that no one thought of asking me any. For several days we steamed on, living, and eating, and sleeping on deck; but the weather was fine, and it mattered not. I always have been happy in making friends wherever I have been, and on this occasion I fell in with a merchant, whom, from his remarks, I recognised as one of the Molokani. Although he took me by my dress only for a humble mujick, he had at first addressed me kindly, and I soon got into intimate conversation with him. He invited me to attend on him at Nishni, where I might assist him in selling his goods. He told me, also, that he thought he could succeed in procuring me a pass, which would enable me to proceed on to Moscow. He had been often to Nishni, also more than once to Moscow and Saint Petersburg, and through many other parts of Russia. As he knew somewhat of the world, therefore, his advice was of much value. By degrees I learned to place confidence in him, and told him part of my history. He much applauded my plan of petitioning the Emperor, but he advised me, if possible, to gain the friendship of some Englishmen who were going to Moscow, and would allow me to accompany them. In that way the pass he could procure me would be unquestioned, and they would afterwards probably assist me in gaining access to the Emperor. He, too, would undoubtedly be willing to appear magnanimous in the sight of foreigners, and be more ready to grant my request.

"There, gentlemen, I have told you my history; far more of it, I own, than I at first purposed. My object in so doing, you have, I doubt not, divined. I earnestly beseech you to allow me to accompany you to Moscow, to remain with you while you are there, and to assist me in getting access to the Emperor. Every word I have told you is true. You will run none of the risks of offending against the laws of the country which Russians in your position might do, while you will be conferring a great blessing, not only on me, but on my aged parents, and on my betrothed, and you may be the means of bringing, happiness to a whole family."

"Tell him that we are all deeply interested in his history, and that we believe it to be perfectly true," said Cousin Giles, as soon as Mr Allwick had ceased translating; "but that I do not see how we can assist him, as he proposes, while I certainly cannot suppose that we can in any way enable him to get access to the Emperor."

"I hope that you will allow me to plead for him myself," returned Mr Allwick. "I knew his parents. I have been to their village, and he himself is not a stranger to me. He recognised me this morning in the crowd, and that induced him to pay us this visit. The truth is, I have seen much of the Molokani. A more inoffensive, earnest, religious people do not exist. When travelling in the south of Russia with a gentleman, to whom I was attached as secretary, we have had thirty of them dining with us at once, and, though peasants of the humblest class, they have invariably behaved like gentlemen. Their Christianity has taught them not only to be kind and courteous to each other, but to put aside all dirty habits and customs, and I am certain that no persons in the most polished society would have acted in a more refined manner than they did."

"If that is the case, and you are willing to be responsible for your friend, I, for my part, shall be happy to run any risk which may arise from our connection with him, and will most gladly give him every assistance in my power. He is a fine fellow, of whom any nation might be proud. Tell him that we wish him every success, and will help him as far as we can. What say you, Mr Evergreen; do you agree with me?" asked Cousin Giles.

"Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr Evergreen, with his usual bland smile, "whatever you think right I think right also; so, Mr Allwick, tell him from me, that I will give him a helping hand whenever I can; and if we can get back his old father and mother from Siberia, or rather from their way there, we will see what can be done for them."

The stranger, as soon as Mr Allwick had told him what had been said, warmly pressed the hands of the Englishmen, and placed them on his heart, to show the depth of his gratitude. Mr Allwick assured them that he was sure they were acting generously and rightly in thus affording the stranger their protection. So it was arranged that he was to return in the morning in his mujick costume, and be regularly engaged publicly to act as their servant.

They proposed remaining another day in Nishni, and then making a tour through the country, before returning to Moscow for the coronation.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Cousin Giles meets an old Friend—Excursion into the Interior—Fine View on the Volga—Scenes on the Road—The Count's Estate—Welcomed with Bread and Salt—The Count's old-fashioned Mansion—A Fishing Excursion—Winter in Russia—Russian Stoves—Modes of keeping out Cold—Mode of Dressing in Winter—Result of a Snowless Winter.

"I know that man, I am certain," exclaimed Cousin Giles, as the travellers were on their way from their hotel to the busy part of the fair. Just before them was a tall, gentlemanly-looking man, dressed in a shooting-jacket, with a stout stick in his hand, and walking along with that free and independent air which generally distinguishes a seaman. "Hallo, old ship! Where are you bound to? Heave-to till I can come up with you, will you?" sung out Cousin Giles, in a loud, jovial voice, which instantly made the person who has been described turn his head. His countenance brightened as he did so, and with extended hands he came back, and heartily shook those of our friend.

"Well, Fairman, I am delighted to see you," he exclaimed heartily, "I am indeed; but what has brought you to this part of the world?"

"The love of travel, and the pleasure of showing a small portion of the globe we inhabit to these young lads," answered Cousin Giles. "But I assure you, Ivanovitch, I am equally delighted to meet you, though I should little have expected to find you acting the part of a country gentleman when last we parted on the deck of the Asia."

"I have been through a good deal since then, but we will talk of that another time," answered the Russian in English, without the slightest foreign accent. "Well, we have met most opportunely. I stopped a day at this place to see the humours of the fair, on my way to take possession of an estate which has lately been left me, and if I can induce you to accompany me, it will indeed be a satisfaction."

"The very thing I should like; and as I know you are sincere, I will accept your invitation; but I have several companions, and I fear we shall crowd you," said Cousin Giles.

The Russian laughed heartily.

"A dozen people, more or less, makes no difference in on? Of our houses," he answered; "I shall be delighted to see them, and any more you may like to ask."

"My present party, with a servant we engaged yesterday, are all I will bring," said Cousin Giles. "When are we to set off?"

"To-morrow morning, at daybreak, to enjoy as much cool air as can be obtained. We shall get there in two days without fatigue."

So it was all arranged. Nothing could be more pleasant or convenient. The travellers would thus see country life in Russia to great advantage, and be able to get back to Moscow in time for the coronation.

Alexis Ivanovitch, Cousin Giles' old friend, had been educated in England, and afterwards served for several years on board a British man-of-war, for the purpose of learning seamanship and navigation. Several Russians have been allowed by the British Government to study on board their ships; and they have, with perfect impartiality, allowed Turks, in the same way, to learn the art of naval warfare. It was while serving together afloat that Cousin Giles and Alexis Ivanovitch, now a Count, had formed their friendship.

Towards evening of the second day the carriages of the travellers reached a village standing on a height overlooking that father of European rivers, the Volga. The scene was a lovely one. The cloudless sky had a faint pinkish tint, while a rich mellow glow was cast over the landscape. Far in the east, across the river, were boundless steppes, their verdant hue depending entirely on the dews of heaven, there not being a well or water-spring throughout their whole extent. To make amends for the want, Nature has planted on them the juicy water-melon, which those only who have luxuriated on it, in a hot country, can appreciate. Here and there might be seen the camp-fires of troops of Cossacks, bivouacking for the night, or of herdsmen preparing to watch their cattle, or of haymakers, who go out there to prepare fodder for the winter food of their beasts; while in the west the eye wandered over ranges of hills, cultivated fields, and populous villages, with their grey wooden houses peeping out from among the trees.

The village before them contained several neat houses; the gable-ends of all, formed of wood, and often tastefully decorated with carved work, being turned towards the road.

On the river below them, gangs of bargemen, or boorlaks, were towing against the sluggish stream vast barges deeply laden with corn; the voices of the men, modulated by distance, rising in a pleasing chorus. Others, again, were dragging along immense rafts of timber, cut from far distant forests, destined to construct navies in widely scattered lands; while craft of all sorts were steering their course up the stream, laden with produce for the extensive market then taking place. No sooner had the carriages stopped than a troop of villagers were seen approaching along the street, some with garlands, others with banners, those leading bearing in their hands large dishes. In one dish was a large black loaf, in another a pile of salt, on a third a jug of water. The men had flowing beards of patriarchal length and thickness, and were habited in long sheepskin garments, which gave them a comfortable, substantial look. They all bowed low as they approached the Count, but he entreated them in a kind voice to rise and stand upright before him.

"We come, most noble Goshod, to offer you the congratulations of our village on your coming among us for the first time, and we beg to present you such poor food as we can supply, according to the ancient custom of our country," said the chief man of the party.

The Count having thanked them in a few kind words, cut some of the brown bread, which he dipped in the salt, and then drank a draught of the water, which was of delicious coolness. It was drawn, they told him, from a well celebrated for its purity, and which, even in the height of summer, had always ice on the shaft. This ceremony over, the Count and his friends drove on to his mansion, about a verst farther within the estate. A long avenue of lime-trees conducted them up to the house, which was of considerable size, and surrounded by all descriptions of out-houses, in anything but a flourishing condition. The mansion was built partly of brick and partly of wood, with verandahs and galleries, and steps running round outside it, and odd little projections, and bits of roofs apparently covering nothing, and for no other object than to serve as ornaments. The land-steward came down the steps, making many low bows, and followed by a troop of servants in faded blue liveries, all of them endeavouring to imitate his movements with very ridiculous ill success. The Count could scarcely restrain his laughter.

"I shall have plenty of work here to get things shipshape," said he, turning to Cousin Giles. "My uncle, from whom I inherited this property, was a noble of the old school. State with him was of the greatest importance. He loved to make a show—not that he really cared about it himself, or had any large amount of vanity, but that he considered it necessary to maintain the dignity of his order. Thus he kept up this useless troop of lazy varlets in faded liveries, when a good house-steward and two active footmen would have served him much better. I shall turn some of those fellows to the right-about very soon, and try to employ them in productive labour."

While the Count was talking they entered the house. Everything within betokened the old-fashioned taste of the former owner. Large sofas, numberless card-tables, high-backed chairs, huge, badly gilt picture-frames, enclosing daubs of most incomprehensible subjects, mirrors of all shapes and sizes, not one condescending to give a correct reflection of the human face. There was a large hall with a table down the centre, on which an ample meal was spread. At the upper end was a profusion of silver and glass, and two huge salt-cellars. Below the salt-cellars were plates and knives and forks of a far more humble description. The house-steward came forward with many a bow, and inquired when his lord would condescend to dine. "As soon as dinner can be ready," was the answer; "but come, gentlemen, we will go up to our rooms and shake off the dust of our journey."

The guests were shown by the house-steward to their bedrooms. They were very humbly furnished. All the grandeur had evidently been reserved for the public apartments. They came down to the dining-hall, when the Count took his seat at the head of the board, and his guests arranged themselves on either side. A number of other persons then came in, retainers of some sort,—persons of an inferior order, at all events: among them was a man in a long green gown, yellow boots, a dark vest, and light hair straggling over his shoulders. He bowed low, as did the others, to the Barin, the lord, and took his seat humbly below the salt.

They all ate with the gravity of judges about to condemn a fellow-mortal to death.

"I am glad that you have had an opportunity of seeing how Russians of the old school lived," observed the Count, turning to Cousin Giles. "I could not endure this sort of thing long, but it would not be wise to make too sudden changes. I shall in future only dine in state on great occasions, when it is politic to exhibit myself in public. We cannot all of a sudden introduce the freedom of the English. Ah! You should indeed value your institutions, both public and domestic."

The Count was busy all the next morning in seeing his overseers, and receiving deputations from the inhabitants of the various villages on his estate, who came to welcome him, and bring the accustomed offering of bread and salt. He arranged, however, ample amusement for his guests during the day, by supplying them with horses to ride, and boats on a lake a couple of versts away from the house, where they caught a large supply of fish in a very short time. In the afternoon several visitors, who had been invited to meet them, arrived. They were proprietors, large and small, of estates ten, twenty, and thirty versts away. The Count's own estate extended thirty versts in one direction, so that he had not many near neighbours. Some of these gentlemen spoke English fluently, and had seen the world. Fred and Harry were delighted with them, and so especially was Mr Evergreen, they were so polite and polished, and so full of information. Mr Evergreen declared that he should be proud to be a Russian, to be like them.

"Ah, my dear sirs, you should see Russia during the winter," exclaimed Baron Shakertoskey. "It is then we are most full of life and vivacity. Then nature kindly forms us roads, over which we are borne, gliding smoothly, at a rapid pace by quick-footed steeds; bridges are thrown across streams, by means which far surpass the art of man; and fresh fish, and flesh, and fowl are brought to market in the forms which they held when alive. Fish stand up on their tails, as if about to leap out of the baskets where they are placed. Sheep, oxen, and calves, rabbits and hares, look as if they could still run about, and fowls rear up their heads as if still denizens of the poultry-yard. A true Russian winter is only to be found at Moscow or in the interior. At Saint Petersburg, owing to the neighbourhood of the Baltic, the wind which blows over it frequently produces a thaw or a partial thaw, even in the middle of winter. Thus, as the wind shifts, so does the temperature rise and fall. With a west wind comes rain, and with a north-east a bitter cold; other winds bring fogs, and some, cheerful, bright frosty days, so that the inhabitants of that great city are liable to wind and rain in January, and frost and snow in April. Still the thermometer of Fahrenheit often falls to 55 degrees below zero, which it seldom reaches in Moscow. As in summer it often rises to 99 degrees, we may calculate a range of temperature of 150 degrees. This is a difference of temperature which would dreadfully try the constitution, did not people take very great precautions against it by the mode in which they warm their houses and clothe themselves. In Moscow, when the winter begins, it commences to freeze in right earnest, and does not leave off at the beck of any wind which may blow. We consider it to begin in October, and to end in May—a period of six months—long enough to please the greatest admirer of ice and snow. We then, once for all, don our fur cloaks, caps, and boots, without which we never show our noses out of doors till the beginning of spring. We then also light our stoves and paste up our windows. You have seen a Russian stove? It is worth examination. It is a vast mass of stone, which, though it takes a long time to warm, will keep warm for a much longer period without any additional fuel. The interior is like an oven, with a chimney, a long snake-like passage leading to it. As long as the wood continues to blaze the chimney is kept open, but as soon as it is reduced to ashes, the passage to it is closed, and the hot air is allowed to pass by numerous channels into the room. Sometimes the outer air is allowed to pass through pipes over hot plates in the stove, and in this way fresh air, properly charged with oxygen, is supplied to the inhabitants. In large houses the mouth of the stove is in an outer passage or in an ante-room, while the front is a mere mass of china, or concealed altogether by looking-glasses or other furniture. One or more servants in large houses have the entire charge of the stoves. They fill them with wood the last thing at night, and light them some hours before the family rise in the morning. In the sleeping-rooms they are kept in all night. In the houses of the poor, one stove of huge proportions serves for every purpose. It serves not only to heat the hut, but to bake their bread, and for all sorts of cookery, and to dry their clothes, articles of which are generally seen hung up round it. Benches are placed before it, where the inmates sit to warm themselves, while on a platform above it are placed beds, where, wrapped up in sheepskins, they indulge in idleness and heat—the greatest luxuries they are able to enjoy. To all our houses we have double windows: we paste paper over every crevice by which air may enter, and we fill up the lower part of the interval between the two windows with sand, into which we stick artificial flowers, to remind us that summer, with its varied-tinted beauties, will once again return. Two or three doors also must generally be passed before the inside of the house is reached. Thus, you see, in spite of the bitter cold in the outer world, we contrive to construct an inner one where we can make ourselves tolerably comfortable. We never venture out without being well wrapped up in furs, and then we move from house to house as fast as we can, so as to avoid being exposed any length of time to the cold. We have also large fires lighted in front of the places of amusement and the palaces of the Emperor and nobility, where the drivers and servants may warm themselves while waiting for their masters. Generally with great cold there is little wind; and people, as long as they are warmly clad and in motion, have no reason to fear its effects, but unhappy is the wretch who is overtaken by sleep while exposed to it. His death is certain. Death thus produced is said to be accompanied by no disagreeable sensations, at least so say those who have been partially frozen and recovered, but I would rather not try the experiment. When the thermometer falls to 50 or 55 degrees below zero, it is time to be cautious. No one shows his nose out of doors unless compelled by urgent necessity, and when he does, he moves along as fast as he can—keeping a watchful look-out after that prominent and important feature of the human countenance. As no unusual sensation accompanies the first attack of frost on the nose, it is difficult to guard against it. A warning is, however, given by the peculiar white hue which it assumes, and immediately this sign is observed by a passer-by, he gives notice to the person attacked. 'Oh, father! Father! Thy nose, thy nose!' he will cry, rushing up to him with a handful of snow, with which he will rub the feature attacked, if, on a nearer inspection, he sees that it is in danger. Of course people generally take the best possible care of their noses, so that the dreaded catastrophe does not often occur. We wrap up warmly, and leave only the eyes and mouth and nose exposed, so that nearly all the heat which escapes from the body has to pass through that channel, and thus effectually keeps it warm.

"We Russians are not so fond of violent exercise as are you English, and therefore we depend on the heat of our stoves and the thickness of our clothing to keep ourselves warm. We sometimes forget that our servants are not so substantially clad as ourselves, and while we are entertaining ourselves in-doors, they, foolish fellows, fall asleep, and get frozen to death outside the palace or theatre, or wherever we may happen to be. Every year, also, people lose their lives by getting drunk and falling asleep out of doors. They may try the experiment several times, but some night the thermometer sinks to zero, and they never wake again. In summer, travelling is all very well, but in winter it is enjoyable; no dust, no dirt, no scorching heat. Well covered up with warm skins, and with fur boots on our feet, away we glide, dragged rapidly on by our prancing steeds over the hard snow, fleet almost as the bird on the wing, and like the bird directly across the country, where in summer no road can be found. Mighty streams also are bridged over, and we journey along the bed of water-courses; which in spring are swept by foaming torrents. The thick mantle of ice and snow which clothes our country forms a superb highway, which the inhabitants of other lands may in vain desire. The snow, which seems so cold and inhospitable to the stranger, is our greatest and most valued friend. It is like a fur cloak; it keeps in the warmth generated in the bosom of the earth, and shelters the bulbs and roots and seeds from the biting cold, which would otherwise destroy them. More than anything else we have to dread a snowless winter; then truly the earth is shut up by an iron grasp, and tall trees, and shrubs, and plants wither and die under its malign influence. The earth, deprived of its usual covering, the ruthless cold deeply penetrates it, and man and beast and creeping things suffer from its effects. Oh, yes, we have reason to pray earnestly to be delivered from a snowless winter?"



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Sports in Winter—Bear and Wolf Hunting—Story of the Miller and the Wolves—Other Tales about Wolves—Shooting Wolves from Sledges—Narrow Escape from a Wolf—Breaking up of the Ice on the Volga—Dreadful Sight of a Boat's Crew carried away with the Ice—Loss of an old Man on the Ice—The Russian Bath—Trial of Vocal Powers of Two Musicians.

"But have you no sports in the winter season?" asked Fred. "I thought that the country abounded in bears and wolves, and deer and game of all sorts. They are the sort of animals I should like to look after."

"We have an abundance of bears and wolves, and of smaller animals too, but we are not very fond of leaving our comfortable homes to shoot them. Sometimes, when a bear becomes troublesome in a neighbourhood by his depredations, the villagers turn out in a body to destroy him; and wolves are the enemies of all. In winter, when hard pressed by hunger, a flock of these are very dangerous, and numberless persons have fallen victims to their voracity. A dreadful circumstance relating to wolves occurred near this a few winters ago.

"A miller, Nicholas Eremeitch by name, was, with his wife and children, returning from the neighbouring town to his own village, a distance of some twenty versts or so. He and his wife sat in the front part of the sledge; their children, well covered with skins, were behind, except one, which was in its mother's arms, another at their feet. Their road lay partly through a forest, and partly across an open plain, now exhibiting one unbroken sheet of snow. The children were laughing cheerily, for though the frost was excessive, there was no wind, and the cold was scarcely felt. They had accomplished more than half their distance at a good rate.

"Nicholas Eremeitch was well-to-do in the world, and he had a pair of good horses, which knew how to go over the ground. A common peasant would have driven but one, but he required them for his trade. He and his wife were conversing together on what they had seen in the town, when they were startled by a sharp yelp at no great distance off.

"'Is that a dog who has lost his master?' asked the miller's wife.

"'No, wife, no,' answered the miller. 'Heaven protect us!'

"As he spoke there was a rushing sound heard from far off in the forest. At first it was very faint; then it grew louder and louder. Their sagacious steeds knew too well what caused the sound, and, snorting with fear, they started off at full gallop. There was no necessity for Nicholas to urge them on. He, also, too well knew the cause of the sound. Anxiously he looked over his shoulder. Another yelp was heard, louder and sharper than before. They were just entering on the plain. Another and another yelp rang in their ears, and at the same moment a pack of wolves, in a dense mass, were seen emerging from the forest. The affrighted steeds tore on. It was with difficulty the miller could keep them together. His wife clasped her infant closer to her bosom. The children looked from under their fur covering, and then shrunk down again shivering with fear, for they had an instinctive dread of the danger which threatened them. The stout miller, who scarcely before had ever known what fear was, turned pale, as the sharp, eager yelps of the infernal pack sounded nearer and nearer behind him. He had no weapons but his long whip and a thick stick. He clenched his teeth, and his breath came fast and thick, as the danger grew more imminent. With voice, and rein, and whip, he urged on his steeds, yet they wanted, as I said, no inducement to proceed. They felt the danger as well as their master. The miller's wife sat still, an icy coldness gathering round her heart. All they had to trust to was speed. The nearest isba where they could hope for aid was yet a long way off; yet rapidly as they dashed onward, the hungry pack were fleeter still. A miracle alone could save them—from man they could expect no help.

"'On!—on! My trusty steeds,' shouted the miller. 'Courage, wife!— courage! We may distance them yet. Trust in the good saints; they may preserve us. Oh that I had my gun in my hand, I would give an account of some of these brutes!'

"In vain, in vain the horses stretched their sinews to the utmost. Fast though they flew through the air, the savage brutes were faster still. The miller's shouts and cries seemed for a short time to keep the animals at bay, but still they were gathering thickly around the sledge, singling out its inmates for their prey.

"The poor children shrieked with terror as they beheld the fiery eyes, the open mouths, and hanging tongues of the fierce brutes close to the sledge. They fancied that they could feel their hot breath on their cheeks—the terrible fangs of the animals seemed every instant about to seize them. Again and again they piteously shrieked out—