For Alexander I had begun to feel a sincere affection. I doubt if there was any other man in Russia who understood him so thoroughly as I did. During these familiar hours we had passed together he had told me many things concerning himself, his ideas, and his hopes; and these confidences had revealed the real man—that is, the man behind the czar—to me, and I knew that of the thousands of crimes attributed to him only a few had ever come to his knowledge until it was too late for him to interfere, or too impolitic for him to do so. Intellectually, he was not preponderant; indeed he was rather deficient in this respect; but he was naturally a kindly disposed man, and at the beginning of his reign, and indeed through more than half of it, he proved that fact to the people. It was just before the time of my arrival in St. Petersburg that he allowed himself to fall more and more into the power of the nobles who in reality ruled the empire, and who do so still. Easily influenced by those in whom he trusted, thousands of crimes were committed in his name of which he had no knowledge and of which he had never known. At all events, I liked him, and moreover, I had thorough faith in my own influence over him.

In like proportion to my familiarity at court and to the emperor's fondness for my society, I was cordially hated by the nobility; but as they feared me quite as much as they hated me, and as my real standing among them remained a mystery, I was constantly fawned upon to a degree that was nauseating. Even the story I had so lately heard from the lips of the princess had not materially lessened the liking I felt for Alexander, for I could understand much better than she could, all the influence that had been brought to bear upon the emperor not to pardon the woman in whose possession had been found cyanide of potassium intended for his wine. I did not believe he had intended that she should go to the island of Saghalien; I did not believe that he could be held accountable for the evils that befell poor Yvonne in the isolated garrisons of Siberia. He had been convinced that she intended to poison him, and he banished her; there his part of the evil ceased. The awful things that happened in the garrison he did not know about, could not hear about, for I believe that among all his friends, I was the only one who dared to tell him the truth. Even the prince lied to him, for I had often heard him do so.

As to the killing of Stanislaus, who could blame the czar for that? The man had endeavored to kill him; had twice snapped a pistol in his face and still held it in his hand when the emperor tore it from his grasp and struck him on the head with it. Who would not do the same? I repeat all this as my excuse for still feeling that affection for him which our intercourse had taught me. The real criminal in the case of the story of Yvonne was Durnief. Him I hated, and his name was on one of the lists that had been read off to me before going to the palace that night. There were special orders concerning him, too—but that will be dealt with later.

Now, as I entered the cabinet with the prince, I confess that I had some doubts concerning my reception for I had no idea what the prince had said to his majesty, and I knew only too well the inclination of the czar to listen to anything that had a suspicious side to it, particularly if that suspicion concerned one of his closest and most intimate associates. I could at any time, within five minutes, have poisoned the mind of the czar against the prince; and I did not doubt that he could accomplish the same delicate attention for me. The prince preceded me; the czar rose as we entered.

His majesty was alone, and I advanced at once with extended hand, as he had often requested me to do when I discovered him thus; but he bowed coldly, feigning not to see it. I halted, drew myself up, and returned his bow in the same manner that he had given it. Then I waited for him to speak.

"You are late, sir," he said. "You have kept me waiting."

"I was not aware that your majesty expected me," I replied. "Otherwise I should have been here sooner."

"The prince expected you and led me to do the same."

"Had the prince done me the honor to tell me he intended to receive me in your cabinet, I should have understood. The prince—perhaps unintentionally—deceived me."

Prince Michael flushed hotly, but said nothing. The czar smiled grimly.

"What detained you?" he demanded.

"The same business which detains me in Russia, your majesty."

"Ah; you were concerned in the work of our fraternity?"

"I was."

"I understood that you were much more pleasurably employed."

"Whoever gave you so to understand that either did not know, or lied." I turned so that I half faced the prince, and I saw that he made a motion as if to spring upon and strike me; but he did not dare to commit such an act in the czar's presence, and long training got the better of his temper.

"Why, sir, did you take Princess Zara d'Echeveria to the house of Prince Michael?" continued the czar.

"Because I believed him to be an honorable man who would stand ready to protect her good name, and who would conceal from all the world, even from your majesty, the fact that she was there. Because he had told me that he loved her, and I was innocent enough to believe that his love was unselfish; and further, because I regarded him as my friend. There are three reasons, your majesty, any one of which seems to me to be sufficient."

"But why was it necessary to take her anywhere?"

"That, your majesty, is a question which I must answer to you alone."

"Do you mean that you will not tell the prince?"

"I mean that it was my intention to tell the prince as soon as I arrived at the palace, but that now I deem it unnecessary. He has taught me a lesson in hospitality that is as new as it is unique."

"Perhaps she will explain the strange affair herself."

"I have no doubt that she will, your majesty."

"I have sent for her. She will remain here in the palace as long as danger threatens her. She should be here by now."

"May I inquire of your majesty whom you sent?"

"The captain of the palace guard."

"Captain Durnief?"

"Yes."

I looked at my watch, replaced it in my pocket, and then said calmly:

"Captain Durnief will not return with the princess, your majesty."

Then I saw the heavy frown of rising anger. I knew my man, for kings and emperors are less than men of the world when it comes to studying them. Their own opportunities for observing others are so much more limited. The czar angry, was a much easier man to influence than the czar satirical.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "Why will Durnief fail to carry out my personal orders? Dare the princess refuse to accompany him?"

"She most certainly would not have the bad taste to refuse, and if she did so, the captain would doubtless bring her by force; but Captain Durnief has the misfortune to be, by now, a prisoner."

"Durnief a prisoner! The captain of my personal staff arrested! By your order, sir?"

"By my order, your majesty."

"You have dared to do this?"

"I would dare to arrest the prince, or your own son, if I found either of them inimical to your majesty's interests, and I beg you, sir, to understand that I gave the order before I knew that your majesty had sent him on the errand so treacherously suggested by Prince Michael." I was angry at the prince for involving my affairs so meanly. I could not withhold the thrust.

"It is a lie!"

It was the prince who spoke; but before I could reply to the accusation, the czar waved his hand and commanded silence.

"Was it the princess who informed you that Durnief was a nihilist?" he asked calmly, the smile returning to his face.

"No," I replied, understanding the motive behind the question. For I could read the czar like a book, and I already knew much concerning the villainy of Durnief; "but it was he who informed your majesty that SHE was one."

"By heaven, Derrington, you know too much! I begin to think that the days of your usefulness are past, in St. Petersburg. There seems to be no limit to the authority you assume, and now you have begun to dictate to me. I will not have it. I command that you tell me why you thought it necessary to take the princess from her own house to-night."

I knew that the crucial moment had come. I knew that if I weakened now, I was lost. The only possible escape for me, was to see the czar alone, and that I determined to do. The manner of the prince, upon my arrival at the palace, his conduct in the cabinet, the greeting accorded to me by the czar and his bearing towards me since then, led me to a shrewd guess which I determined to hazard. I decided to play my last card by making one bold statement.

"Your majesty," I said, deliberately, "has never until now, had less than perfect confidence in me. The prince, being jealous, and too impatient to await an explanation at my hands, has prevailed upon you to order me under arrest, for a time, in order that I may not return to his house where I have left the princess. If I do not mistake, he now has such an order, signed by you in person, in one of his pockets. Permit me to inform your majesty, and him, that there is another reason why he procured that order; he has guessed that my men, at this moment, have instructions to place him under arrest. He only sought to anticipate me, that is all. Order Prince Michael to his apartments, and direct him to remain in them, your majesty; for unless I am free to act as I see fit, this night, I would not give that"—and I snapped my fingers—"for the life of a single member of the royal family."

Then I folded my arms, and waited.



CHAPTER XXI

ONE EVENTFUL NIGHT

A nihilistic bomb exploded in the cabinet of the czar would scarcely have created more consternation than did my statement. The emperor himself started back in amazement, and then turned his face which was white with rage and terror, upon Prince Michael.

The prince, instead of shrugging his shoulders and laughing at the charge I had made, committed the mistake of turning deathly pale, and at once protesting his innocence. It was that protest which decided the battle of wits in my favor. Always ready to doubt those who were nearest to him, the czar remembered instantly that I could gain nothing by playing the traitor. He recalled also many instances, small in themselves but sufficiently prominent now, when the prince had deceived him. That, he knew I had never done. I had always possessed the courage to tell him the truth even when it was unpleasant. The habit of truthfulness told, then. He believed me, and he doubted the prince. More than that, I seemed to him to know everything, for it proved to be true that the prince had persuaded him to sign an order for my temporary arrest—or rather, my detention in the palace. It had been done when they were alone in the cabinet together, and how I could have learned of it was a puzzle which he could not fathom. The more the prince protested, the more certain the czar became that I had spoken the truth, and while he glowered upon the unhappy man who became paler and more uncertain in his speech with every effort, I stood calmly by with my arms folded, not enjoying the situation, but determined to win the fight.

"Michael," said his majesty at last, "give me the order to which Mr. Derrington refers." I knew then that I had won, and while the prince tremblingly produced it, I waited. The czar passed it to me with the words, "You may destroy it, Mr. Derrington," and then added: "Prince Michael, you will retire to your apartments and remain there until I send for you. I will spare you the indignity of an arrest until I know more. Go!"

I did not look at the prince as he left the room, and I have always regretted it, for if I had done so and had I seen the agony that must have been written on his face I might have saved him. I did not believe the charge against him when I made it, and there was no such thing as a direction to any of my men to arrest him. I charged him with complicity with the nihilists solely to get rid of him, and by that means to save myself and Zara, knowing that later I could save him, also; that he would ultimately forgive me, and that I could bring the emperor to regard it as a most excellent joke, for the czar dearly loved a joke if it were at the expense of some other person. Indeed I intended before I left the emperor's presence, partially to allay his fears concerning the prince by assuring him that my information amounted to nothing more than a mere suspicion which had been strengthened by his effort to detain me in the palace. But events demonstrated the fact that in making the charge I had builded better than I knew. I loved the prince, and that episode is one of the greatest regrets of my life. If ever a man was guilty without crime, he was. But I anticipate.

"Derrington," said the czar as soon as we were alone; he addressed me in French by which I knew that I was restored to favor; "you have startled me to-night in a way that I shall not soon forget. Is it true that Michael—ah, no, I cannot believe it, for if he is unfaithful, whom can I trust?"

"You must not cease to trust him entirely, yet, monsieur," I replied. "The charge against him is based upon evidence that may be disproved; but my drag net is out to-night, and the dawn will see nearly every nihilist in St. Petersburg in prison, or on the way out of Russia. If you had been prevailed upon to detain me I tremble for what might have happened."

"Tell me——"

"Do not, I beg of you, detain me now, monsieur. Every moment is precious. My men are swarming over the city, and even now the prisons are filling up. I must get to work, for this is a matter to which I must personally attend."

"And Michael?"

"Leave him where he is, in his apartments, until I return."

"When will that be?"

"Soon after daylight."

"Then come to me at once. Have me awakened if I am sleeping; but I shall not be."

"I will do so."

"One word more. What of the princess?"

"She would have been murdered to-night by the nihilists had I not arrested her as one, conducted her through the prison, and thence on to the house of the prince."

"Why did you not bring her here and place her in my care?"

"She would not wish to come here, monsieur. Princess Zara once had a lover who became crazed, and was killed here in the palace by one of the guards, I believe, so——"

"Yes—yes, I understand. You did right. Stop! One word more before you go. This conspiracy to which you referred, against the whole royal family; are you sure that you have got at the root of it?"

"As sure as I am that I am here in the presence of the Czar of Russia."

"You have never failed me yet, Derrington;" and he grasped me by the hand.

"And I never will, monsieur."

"Well, go. I shall expect you soon after daylight."

In reality there was little for me to do that night, more than I had already done, and yet it was impossible that I should be shut up in the palace with so much taking place throughout the city, immediately under my direction, and over which it was imperative that I must retain supervision. I knew that there would be frequent demands upon me for authority to do and perform certain things, and it was important that I should be on hand. I was always provided with the necessary papers for anything in the official line that I might be called upon to perform. This had been arranged in the beginning, the better to preserve the secret of my business in St. Petersburg. I had innumerable imperial passports signed and sealed in blank, and there was no outside authority exercised by any official of the realm which I was not prepared to meet. In short, my power was in many respects greater than that of the czar himself for I was always prepared for whatever I might have to do in any or all of the departments of the empire.

The wholesale arrests which I had ordered for that night, I had long had under consideration, and that I had decided to make them a little sooner than was my first intention, was due in part to the danger surrounding the princess; in part to my own suddenly formed determination to complete my business there and return to the United States; and lastly, to the fact that the last few reports that I had received so nearly completed the knowledge I had striven to attain, that I came to the conclusion that my work was about done, and that it was time to draw the net. My salary was enormous, and already amounted to a competence, and I knew that if I remained in Russia, sooner or later somebody would find me out; and then there would be short shrift for me, between the nihilists on one hand, and the jealous nobility on the other, for the latter saw in me nothing but an interloper who had stolen their prerogatives.

My first business on leaving the emperor, was to call upon Jean Moret, for now his usefulness was past, and the time had come for me to keep my word with him, and set him free. Somewhere in the world he would be able to find a safe haven of shelter from the enemies who would claim vengeance; and now, after my net was drawn this night, there would be few active nihilists remaining to seek his life.

"Well, Jean," I said, as I entered the room where he was confined, "would you like to leave prison and Russia?"

"Indeed I would, sir," he replied. "There is nothing that would make me quite so happy as that. Has the time come to let me go?"

"I think so. Are you quite sure that there is nothing that would make you as happy as permission and passports to leave the country?"

"Quite."

"Not even——"

"No, not even that to which you refer, or are about to refer. I have had plenty of time for thought, since you brought me here, and I have unraveled the fact that I made a consummate fool of myself. I will not deny that I still love her, or that I probably always will love her, but I know that she never did, and never will, love me. That ends it, you see, and so I am glad to get away."

"Was it the princess, Jean?" I asked.

"You have been very good to me, Mr. Derrington, and I ought to deny you nothing. Still I hope you will not ask me to tell you anything concerning the woman I was foolish enough to love so madly."

"I honor you for that expression, Jean, and I will ask you only one question. You can reply to it readily enough. Do you love her still, and well enough, so that you wish her every happiness? So well that you cherish no ill will against her for what she did to you?"

"I would give up my liberty, now, to be assured that she might always be happy; yes, even to know that she has broken with the nihilists; for sooner or later they would lead her to Siberia. Will you answer one question for me, Mr. Derrington?"

"Willingly."

"Has she been arrested?" He did not appreciate the confession involved in his question.

"No; and she will not be. She has also broken with the nihilists. And, Moret, I wish you to know that I honor you for not telling me her name. I know to whom you refer."

He was silent a moment, until with some confusion in his manner, he said:

"I would like to shake hands with you, Mr. Derrington. You are a good man, and in whatever country Jean Moret finds a home, there you will always find a friend of yours."

We had some other conversation, and then I gave him his passports, together with sufficient money for his needs. I personally conducted him from the place of imprisonment, and we finally parted in the street. That was the last I ever saw of Jean Moret, but whatever his ultimate fate, I knew him to be a man of sterling qualities.

From there I made my way to the office of my friend Canfield, where it was arranged that I should receive the reports of my men, and there, closeted with Canfield, I remained until daylight. Messengers were coming and going constantly, and I knew long before dawn that every plan that I had laid had worked out just as I intended it should. I knew that when the sun rose, there would not be a half dozen real nihilists at liberty in St. Petersburg, and that the order would be paralyzed and broken throughout the empire. To just one portion of the night's work, I paid particular personal attention, and that was to the arrest and disposition of those who knew Zara and Ivan, personally, and who were aware of her condemnation to death by the order. Many of those who were arrested that night, were sent to Siberia for life, and others, for long terms of imprisonment; but I could not be criticised for that, for they one and all deserved to go. I was yet to meet with an adventure before I returned to the emperor, however.

After leaving Canfield I sought an interview with O'Malley. I found that without going out of my way, I could pass the residence of the prince, where I believed Zara to be peacefully sleeping, for I knew that Durnief must have suffered arrest before there was opportunity for him to carry out the czar's order. I had taken the precaution to instruct Coyle, early in the evening, to place a good watch on the house, fearing there might be a chance that one of the spies of the nihilists had succeeded in following us, and that they might attempt an attack upon her, there. Of Durnief, I had not thought again, for when the czar told me that he had been sent after the princess, I had every confidence that the man would be arrested before he could gain admittance to Zara's presence. Later, at Canfield's office, I had received the report that he had been taken.

It was just breaking day as I approached the house, and I could see that a light was burning in the room where I had left her. I decided at once that she had determined to remain in that room, and had probably not thought of retiring. I could not criticise such a reluctance, under the circumstances; and while I was congratulating myself upon the fact that she would not have to pass such another night as this one, I saw the front door swing suddenly open, and the form of a woman in whom I instantly recognized Zara, ran down the steps and leaped into a waiting droshka, which had hitherto escaped my notice. Instantly the horses started away at a gallop. I was two hundred feet distant. There was not a person in sight, for Coyle, believing, doubtless, that all danger was past, had withdrawn his guard.

There are times in our lives when peril, in threatening a loved one, brings out the best there is in a man, and renders him suddenly capable of coping with any emergency. I knew of but one way to stop those horses, and I used it. Always a good shot, I drew my revolver, aimed it at the nearest horse, and pulled the trigger. Then, before the sound of the first report had lost itself along the street, I fired again. One of the horses pitched forward, shot through the brain, I knew; the other fell upon the first, and I ran forward at all speed, towards the wrecked and overturned droshka.



CHAPTER XXII

THE COMBAT IN THE SNOW

As I ran, I saw an officer in uniform leap from the interior of the droshka, and draw his sword in preparation for my attack, while his yemschik, whip in hand, scrambled from the snow, and assumed a place beside him. They evidently supposed the attack to be of a very different character than it really was. The wounded horse was struggling and kicking, and I found time to think of the grave danger that its hoofs might injure Zara, whom I judged to be unconscious from fright, or because of the shock; and so, heedless of my own necessities in undertaking an assault upon the two men who now faced me, I fired a third bullet into the maddened animal. Then, as I sprang to the attack, I saw and recognized the man who confronted me, and my heart bounded with thanksgiving that I had taken that route to the palace. I recognized Alexis Durnief.

The report of his arrest had been false, or he had managed in some way to escape; and even then, in that instant of rushing onward upon the two men, I could not help wondering by what means he had managed to entice Zara from the house in which she had taken refuge. I had two bullets remaining in my revolver; at least I thought so, and I raised it, and pulled the trigger a fourth time, thus placing the yemschik effectually out of that combat, and rendering it impossible for him ever to engage in others; and then, when barely ten feet away from the scoundrelly captain, I leveled the weapon at him and ordered him to throw down his sword. He laughed derisively, for he was not a coward, and he knew that death would be far preferable to the fate that would be his, if he were captured alive.

"So! It is my friend Dubravnik, is it?" he said, insolently, but in a tone as cool as though he were greeting me in a ballroom. "You have killed my horses, and my yemschik; why not do the same for me?"

I hesitated.

To shoot a man like that, was against every impulse of my soul; and yet he was armed with a weapon as deadly as mine, if once I should get within reach of its point. I possessed none with which to meet him on even ground. But, inside the droshka, was unquestionably the unconscious form of the woman I loved. The occasion was a crisis. There could be no temporizing. Zara must be rescued.

"Throw down your sword, or I will certainly kill you!" I commanded him, again.

"Kill," he replied, laconically. There was no other way, and I pulled the trigger.

There was no report. Durnief did not fall, as the horses, and his yemschik had done. He stood unharmed, for the cartridge was bad, or the chamber of my revolver was unloaded. Instantly he understood that he had me at his mercy, and with a deadly smile upon his face he leaped forward to run me through.

As he sprang towards me, I hurled the pistol with all my strength towards him. It struck him squarely in the breast, staggering him, and forcing him off his guard. Then, before he could recover, I sprang past the point of his weapon. I seized his sword arm, by the wrist, with my left hand, and threw my other arm around his body. We were as evenly matched as though we had trained at weights and measurements for the combat, and for a moment we struggled madly together, while I exerted all my strength to bend his wrist backward, so that he would be compelled to drop his sword.

It seems strange that such a struggle, taking place in the streets of a great city immediately following upon the four reports of my pistol, had not attracted attention and drawn somebody to the scene, but the passing night had been one of terror; policemen had been called away from their posts, and at that hour, just after dawn, when everything was quiet, nobody heard, or if they heard, feared to come. In using all my effort to compel him to drop his weapon I neglected the other necessary points of the struggle, and although I succeeded in my design, he forced me backwards at the same instant so that I fell beneath him, but I still had my right arm tightly clasped around him, and I hugged him to me with all the strength that I could master. With Durnief, it was a struggle for life, liberty, and everything that he possessed, and he fought with all the desperation of a madman. With me, it was life, and the woman I loved, and I fought coolly, knowing that he could not get away from me, believing that I could tire him out, and satisfied that I could prevent him from securing his sword again. He managed to wrench his hand from my grasp, and he struck me a savage blow on the head with his fist, but I threw the other arm around him then, and hugged him all the tighter, so that he was unable to repeat the blow.

It was a strange combat. A person ten feet away could not have heard it, for there was no sound save our heavy breathing. The snow deadened every noise that might have been made otherwise. The air was bitterly cold.

Presently I became conscious of the fact that my opponent was striving with all his might to force me in a certain direction, and I correctly conjectured that he had been able to discover the location of the sword and was making an attempt to reach it. So I bent my energies to avoiding his effort. My life had been largely one of adventure, and I had taken part in many combats, but never before in one like this where it was simply a matter of endurance, where neither party to the fray was suffering injury, and where the hope of success was so evenly divided. Odd as it may seem, while pinioning him thus so that he could not act on the offensive, I began to conjecture how long we might hold out, and the probability of assistance arriving to end it; and it was the uncertainty of the nature of that assistance that concerned me most.

I have said that there were not half a dozen confessed nihilists remaining at liberty in St. Petersburg, but there were hundreds, ay, thousands of nihilistic sympathizers, and there were hundreds of others who had become allied to the nihilists in some extrinsic way, who were in sympathy with the order, even if only passively so. If one or more of such were to happen along the assistance would surely be upon the side of my enemy, and certain defeat and death would be my portion. If a mere citizen were to interfere, the captain who still wore his uniform, would secure the proffered aid, not I. He would be believed, not I, and hence I understood that whatever advantage there might be in the way of interference, was on his side. Appreciating these facts, I exerted my strength to the utmost to turn the tide of battle in my favor, but I could accomplish nothing. He was as strong as I, though not more powerful, and so I relapsed again into the mere effort to hold him helpless, and to take the chances of wearing him out before assistance should come.

It seemed to me as though an hour passed thus; in reality, it may have been only a few moments, for minutes are long under such circumstances; and then there came an interruption—and a strange one.

"With whom are you struggling, Captain Durnief?" I heard a voice say.

"Zara!" I exclaimed, before Durnief could reply.

"With an assassin who has shot our horses, murdered the yemschik, and who would assassinate you, princess," panted Durnief.

"Zara!" I called to her again. "It is I—Dubravnik."

I heard her gasp, and although I could not see her, I was conscious that she deliberately walked around us, probably to obtain a better view of me; and in that moment I think I doubted her; but I tightened my grip around the man I held, and waited grimly for events to shape themselves.

"Dubravnik?" she said, in a low tone, as if she were not convinced; but I did not speak again; and the captain also remained silent. Minutes, which seemed like hours, passed in another deathlike silence, broken only by the panting of Durnief. I wondered if Zara had fainted, or had gone for help, or what! There seemed to be no good reason for the silence, and the waiting. Why did she not grasp the sword, and send its point through one of us? It did not much matter to me, then, which one she might choose for its sheath.

Soon, however, I heard a sound directly above me—a sound which a stick might make in smiting the ground, and I felt that Durnief shuddered. In another instant it came again, and his arms relaxed, but only to tighten about me the more convulsively. Then a short pause, which was followed by the thudding sound of a blow heavier than its predecessors, and instantly following it, the tensioned muscles of Durnief relaxed. His arms fell from their clasp around me. I pushed him aside as though he were dead, and for a moment believed that he was; then springing upright, to my feet, I was just in time to catch the tottering form of my princess, who, though not unconscious, had spent her last remaining strength in that third blow. Her left hand held Durnief's sword. In her right was the mujik's whip, and I saw that she had used the stock of it to aid me.

"I stood for a long time, with the sword pressed against his back, where it would have pierced his heart," she murmured in my ear, while she clung to me. "I wanted to kill him, but I could not do it. Then I found the yemschik's whip, but I had not the strength to strike. Do you wonder why I left the house? The yemschik came to get me. He brought a note, signed by you. It said that my brother had been wounded, and was at my house; that it was safe for me to go there now. I hastened. I ran to the droshka, and sprang inside before I knew that it was occupied. Durnief was there. He seized me. Something was wrapped around my head, and I lost consciousness, I think. Then I heard sounds, as if men were fighting, and I crawled from the overturned droshka, and saw you two struggling together, in the snow. I was dazed, frightened, and very weak. I did not remember what had happened; I did not recognize you. I thought, at first, that it was Durnief whom I should assist, and I stood there, watching the struggle for a long time, trying to remember. Then recollection came, for I heard your voice. It recalled to me my senses. I remembered who Dubravnik was. Is it not strange that I should have forgotten? Even for a moment, is it not strange that I should have forgotten?"

"No, dear, no," I replied.

"Then I found the sword, in the snow. I remembered that I wanted to kill Durnief, and I put the point against his back. But I could not press upon it. I tried, but I could not do it. It was horrible, Dubravnik, horrible. I tried a second time, and the point of the sword was actually piercing his clothing, when my eyes fell upon the whip. I secured it. There! See! He is reviving. Seize him, for he must not escape."



CHAPTER XXIII

WHAT THE CZAR FORGOT

I took Zara back to the house of the prince, where I was well known to every servant of the establishment, for I had been a constant and an honored guest, there. From it I despatched messengers to O'Malley, and to Coyle, and presently sent Durnief away to prison, in charge of the former, while the latter brought a conveyance which took Zara and me to the home of my princess. It was a much quicker return than I had anticipated, at the time we departed from that house together, but the condition in which we found it, told only too plainly what might have been my sweetheart's fate, had I trusted to appearances, and left her there. The nihilists had lost no time in searching for her, when they were made to believe that she had betrayed them. The place was almost a wreck. It had been searched, and the searchers had not hesitated to become despoilers, also. Nevertheless it was a happy homecoming for Zara, for looking upon the devastation that had been wrought in her absence, she turned to me with a smile, and said:

"I have lost much, this past night, Dubravnik, in shattered idols and broken toys, but I have gained the whole world, too, for I have found you."

When I had seen Zara safely inside her own door, and had given her every assurance of her entire safety, I had myself driven to the palace.

Although I had promised to see the emperor as soon as I arrived, I felt that it was my first duty to interview Prince Michael, in the hope that the events of the preceding day might be reviewed in a better spirit. Accordingly, I proceeded at once to his apartments, after the captain of the guard had assured me that his majesty was still sleeping, not having retired until nearly daylight. When I rapped upon the door of the room occupied by the prince, as a sleeping apartment, there was no response, and I repeated the summons, more loudly than before. Still I waited in vain, and at last, feeling some misgivings, and being assured by the guard in the corridor that the prince had not left the room since he had gone to it the preceding evening, I turned the handle and entered.

I found him there. He was seated in a chair near one of the great windows through which the lately risen sun was shining full upon him; and the moment my eyes discovered him I started with horror, for I saw that he was dead. Instantly I stepped back through the door, and told the guard to call his captain, pointing out the lifeless form of the prince, and ordering him to tell nobody but his superior officer of the fact. Then I reentered the room and approached the body of my former friend. There was a pistol beside him on the floor where it had fallen from his nerveless grasp after the fatal deed was performed, but he reclined as easily in the chair as though he had dropped asleep naturally, for a short nap instead of forever.

"Poor Michael!" I murmured. "Did I drive you to this? Would that I had not spoken."

I turned to glance around the room, professional instinct getting the best of me even in that moment of sorrow, and I quickly espied a letter upon the table. It was addressed to his majesty, the emperor, and was tightly sealed, so I placed it in my pocket and started to leave the room. At the door I met the captain of the guard with two of his men, and them I instructed to keep watch, but on no account to touch anything without his majesty's permission. Then I sought the czar.

"Well, Derrington?" he asked, as soon as I was admitted to his presence. "What of the night? Is the conspiracy crushed, and have you been successful?"

"Entirely so. Nihilism is effectually crushed for many years to come. My work in St. Petersburg is really done, I think. At least I can assure you that you will have no cause to fear the hand of an assassin for a long time; until this weed starts up anew."

"We are safe, then. Thank God for that."

"You are perfectly safe. The prisons are full to overflowing. I have sent many of the less guilty ones over the border with instructions not to return for many years to come. You will miss a few faces at court. You will be forced to fill a few vacancies in the army. The next caravan across Siberia will be a larger one than the last, and the population of this city will be depleted by nearly three thousand souls counting all that I have enumerated."

"This is glorious news to awaken to—glorious! I cannot repay you the debt I owe you, Derrington."

"Now that you have heard the good news, can you bear to hear some that is not so good, monsieur?"

"What! Is there bad news also?"

"Necessarily, there must have been some fatalities."

"Ah! Some one was killed? Some friend of mine?"

"Yes. Some one has killed himself."

"Durnief?"

"No. He is a prisoner."

"Why keep me waiting? Tell me at once."

"I greatly fear, your majesty, that I am responsible for this death. Here is the letter he left. Read it. I do not know what it contains. I only just now discovered the body."

"Michael!" He exclaimed as soon as he saw the handwriting. I made no reply and he broke the seal and read the last words of his lifelong friend. Presently he returned it to me.

"Read," he said, and I read.

My Friend,—

In death, qualities of rank cease, hence I address you as I have always felt towards you—as my friend. Derrington was right; he told the truth, and I lied. I am not now and have never been a nihilist in spirit, but it is true that I am one in fact. I joined them in a moment of folly, to protect a friend whom I knew to be one. I have never allied myself to them, and have never attended one meeting of theirs. The friend for whose sake I joined has been generous, and no demands have been made upon me; nevertheless, I am guilty. Yet, believe me my friend, when with my last breath I assure you that I have never harbored one disloyal thought towards you or yours, and I should unhesitatingly have betrayed the nihilists had I ever known of a single circumstance inimical to you. But I can live no longer under this disgrace, so I die. I beseech you let not the truth of my dishonor be known abroad. I was unjust to Derrington, and I crave his pardon. I loved him as a brother, and as brothers quarrel at times, so did we. He is faithful; trust him. May God lead you in the right; may He preserve your life and your empire, and may He have mercy upon me.

MICHAEL.

Alexander was true to his friendship for Prince Michael. He mourned him sincerely, and nobody ever knew the true cause of the prince's death. The emperor respected that last wish of his dead friend. There was yet more mischief to be done, however, by that arch villain Durnief, for while we were still occupied with the care of Prince Michael's remains, the czar sent for me in haste.

"This is a day of surprising missives," he said. "Here is another letter for you to read." I took it in my hand and glanced at the signature.

"Durnief," I said, with a sneer. "Why should I read it? The man cannot tell the truth."

"Because I desire you to do so."

The note began in the usual form of addresses to the emperor, and was as follows:

You have ere this been informed, and supplied with ample proof, that I am among the ranks of your enemies, the nihilists. I confess it, but I became one of them for selfish motives, not for political ones. Never mind that. It is not my intention to intercede for mercy, for I know that your heart is a stranger to that quality. It is to tell you a truth that you should know. It is to tell you that the one most dangerous of all nihilists, is to go free; is to remain in Russia; is to have access to your palace; is spared by your trusted spy, Dubravnik; is upheld by him. This nihilist to whom I refer, has been, ever since the death of my one time rival, Stanislaus, the most dangerous of all the extremists. This nihilist leader is a woman, and her name is Zara de Echeveria. Dubravnik will spare her; he will spare her brother who is as violent as she is.

One last word. I will never go to Siberia for I have the means to cheat you out of the pleasure of sending me there, and when you read this, I shall have been an hour dead.

ALEXIS DURNIEF.

"Well," demanded his majesty, "what have you to say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing!"

"No."

"Have you arrested her?"

"I have not."

"Where is she now?"

"In her own home. I took her there this morning. Listen for a moment, and I will tell you how that occurred."

Then I related in detail the story of my struggle with Durnief, the rescue of Zara, her heroism in assisting me, and I told of the final capture and imprisonment of the captain. But his majesty shook his head in a doubt.

"I believe Durnief's letter. She is a nihilist," he said. "She must be arrested." I shook my head, but he did not see the motion and continued: "I believe that the princess is the friend to whom poor Michael referred. He was in love with her and nothing short of the love of a woman could have made him disloyal to me. Yes, I believe that she is what Durnief says she is. I order you to place her under arrest at once."

"She shall not be arrested," I said, coldly.

"What!" he cried, "you dare to disobey me?"

"Yes," I replied, "I dare to disobey such an order as that. It shall not be."

"Are you a traitor, also? Was Michael right?"

There was that sneering smile upon his face now, but I held my ground.

"I am not a traitor, but I will not carry out your request, and I will not permit it to be carried out." He was aghast at my effrontery. He could only gaze at me in amazement, too greatly confounded for speech; and I continued: "Listen to me one moment, your majesty."

"I will not listen to you. The road to Siberia may be traveled by you as well as by the friends whom you apprehended last night, and by heaven, you shall follow it!"

"You forget one thing," I said. "You have forgotten——"

"What have I forgotten?"

"The Fraternity of Silence."

"Bah!"

"I foresaw this moment, your majesty, and my men have their orders to meet it. If I am molested, every nihilist who was arrested last night—every one who was in prison in the city before that time—will be liberated in an hour, and you have not soldiers nor policemen enough to stop the tide that will flow against you then. Your empire will crumble like dust, and your life will go out like the snuffing of a candle. For the present, I am the Czar of Russia, and you are only Alexander Alexandrovitch." He sat still and looked at me with staring eyes. "You are only a man, after all, monsieur," I continued more softly. "In your fears for the safety of your family, for your empire, and for yourself, you are led to do unjust things. Only an hour ago you said that you owed me a debt that you could never repay. You do owe me a debt, and you can repay it if you will forget for a moment that you are a monarch, and remember that you are a man. You can repay all you owe me, and more, if you will still be my friend, and forget that this scene has occurred; and when you have done that, I will tell you that Zara de Echeveria is to be the wife of Daniel Derrington; is to leave Russia forever with her husband, and were she the worst nihilist in the empire—and I know that she is not—she will be far away from any temptation to do you harm, and under the guidance of one who has proven his devotion to you. I will tell you more: I will leave the direction of the affairs of the fraternity in the hands of one of my men who is as expert as I am, and who is in every way as worthy of your confidences as I have proven myself to be—Canfield."

The czar rose unsteadily to his feet and came towards me with his right hand extended.

"Derrington," he said, slowly, "I have been unjust. If I had other friends like you, who dared to tell me the truth as it is, and not distort it out of all recognition—if there were others here who dared to defy me when defiance alone will make me see things in their right light, Russia would be the better for it. Go to Zara d'Echeveria. Tell her that I wish her to come here. Tell her that the Czar of Russia will ask her forgiveness for an act that he could not avoid committing. She will understand. You shall be married in the palace, and you will both remain in Russia."

Then he put his arms around me in Russian fashion and bade me go.



CHAPTER XXIV

SABEREVSKI'S PROPHECY

All this time I had forgotten Ivan, whom I had left, bound and helpless, at my rooms, and who, I knew, must be suffering untold tortures of doubt and dread, concerning the happenings of the night. So now I hastened to him with all speed. Poor chap, he was nearly done for by the strained position he had been compelled to maintain for so long a time, but I have always believed that it did him good, and that without it he might have been less tractable, when the time came for a reconciliation with his sister. It gave him an opportunity for the right sort of meditation, which, perhaps, he had never enjoyed before. Every time the temptation came to him to break his bonds and make his escape, he remembered that he must remain where he was, for the sake of the sister he loved so well, whose life would be forfeited so easily, if he should carry to his nihilistic friends the knowledge he possessed. I found him weak, and worn, but still firm in the determination to await my coming. I unbound him, gave him food and wine and as soon as he was sufficiently recovered ordered my droshka and took him to Zara's house.

I made him wait until I had gone to her, and told her of my last interview with the emperor, and I succeeded in securing her reluctant consent to go to the palace with me that day. Then I called to Ivan, and when I saw the brother and sister clasped in each other's arms, I left them alone together. What passed between them, I have never been told, and I never thought it necessary to ask. I only know that when I was presently called into the consultation, Ivan offered me his hand, tenderly, and I grasped it, warmly.

"You are to be my brother," he said; "and Zara tells me that you two are going to America, to live. May I go with you, Dubravnik? Will you take me, also, out of this hell of plotting and scheming, and this chaos of exile and death? Will you make an American of me, and let me be your brother, indeed?"

After that, we three passed a very happy hour together, after which I hurried away, with the assurance that Zara would accompany me into the presence of the czar, that evening. I had not told her of the death of Prince Michael, for the knowledge of it, and why he had killed himself, could only cast a shadow over the great joy she was now experiencing; afterward, there would be a time and place for the telling, and I did not want the knowledge of it to come upon her with a shock, just now.

Weeks afterward, when we were on the deck of the steamer that was taking us to my own country, as we stood together, overlooking a moonlit sea, she reached up, and with one of her soft, fair hands, turned my face towards hers with a gesture that was characteristic; and I loved it.

"Dubravnik," she said—she still insists that she will always address me so, because it is the name by which she first knew me—"I do not know myself, any more. I am not the same woman who was once so vengeful. Love has taught me how to forgive. Love has made me over again. I am no longer the same Zara."

"No," I said lightly, "for now you are Zara Derrington."

"Tell me," she asked, after another interval of gazing across the waters, "shall we see Alexis Saberevski, over there, where your home is?"

I did not answer the question, for upon the instant she mentioned the name of my friend, it recalled to me the circumstance of my last parting with him. I remembered the sealed envelope he had given me, and the instructions that came with it. I had forgotten it entirely, until that moment; but now, without replying to her question, I drew the missive from my pocket and broke the seal.

What I read there seems wonderfully prophetic to me, even now, and I read it over a second time, in my amazement. Then I gave it to Zara.

"Read," I said, "for there is the answer to your question."

And this is the letter Zara read aloud to me, while we two leaned against the rail of the vessel that was bearing us to our home across the sea. The man in the moon was looking down, and smiling upon our happiness, and shedding sufficient light for my sweetheart-wife to see Saberevski's written words. They were:—

Derrington, these written words are to make you and Zara de Echeveria known to each other. Months will pass, and many of them may do so, before you will read what is written here; and it may be, it likely will be, that you are standing side by side when you break the seal of the last communication, written or oral, which I shall probably ever submit to you. For our paths, henceforth, will lead us widely apart, Derrington. You are a free agent, the arbiter of your own destiny; I am one who can take no initiative regarding the paths I must tread. But this letter is not to speak of myself, but is to tell you about her, if, perchance, when you read these words, you have never met.

Yesterday, when a ship sailed away from its pier in the North River, you accompanied me to the dock, amazed that I should ask you to do so, and doubtless wondering all the while why I made no effort to see, or to speak with any person, there. But when the ship had swung into the stream, you saw me wave my hand in farewell to some person among those who thronged her decks. That person was Zara de Echeveria, the princess to whose presence in New York you lately called my attention, but respecting which I was already informed; for at the moment of your communication I had already seen her, and talked with her, and we had parted as you and I will do when I place this letter in your hands—forever.

You are going upon a mission, Derrington, although it may be that you have not decided in your own mind to do so; but the decision is there, awaiting your recognition of it. Your mission will take you to Russia, to accomplish the great work I have suggested to you. I have willed it that you must go, and go you will. You will serve the czar as faithfully as I have done; but better, because you are not a Russian, and you have not the inborn awe of title and rank.

And you will have been successful in that mission when you have read these written words, for I shall instruct you not to break the seal until you are ready to take your departure from that country, which you will never do without having attained success. You are to serve the czar, and for him and in his name, will achieve the disruption of the nihilist societies of St. Petersburg, and therefore of the empire. I know your thoroughness, and I anticipate that very many among the prominent revolutionists will soon be known to you. Among them you will find the name I have written here—Zara de Echeveria.

I present her to you, Derrington, by this letter, as if we three were standing together in the form of formal introduction. I am a fatalist, and I know that you two will meet, and read your destinies in each other's souls. If you are already together, there will be no need of this letter, save to tell you how thoroughly and how well I love you both. God has written your futures on the same page of the book of destiny, and I have read the writing. You are created for one another, and as surely as God's love watches over us all, just so surely has He put the seal of enduring human love upon you both. Why it will be so, and how it will come about, I have not the skill to tell, but my prophetic vision looked into the futures of you both, when I talked with you, one after another, yesterday; and I saw you passing down the declining years of life, hand in hand, and heart with heart, like one.

If Zara be not with you, seek her.

The name will be familiar to you, by reason of your late employment, even though she may have escaped your personal recognition till now. Therefore, I repeat, if Zara be not with you now, turn about and seek her. I charge you so.

But something tells me that you will be together, standing side by side, happier in the great love that has come to you both, than all your dreams have ever promised. Therefore, I bless you and may the good God who made you for each other, hold you in his keeping always.

SABEREVSKI.

Zara and I were both strangely silent after the reading of the letter, but I took her quietly in my arms, and she pillowed her head against my shoulder while we looked out across the moonlit sea, praising God, and insensibly calling down blessings upon the name of our good friend.

"Saberevski knew me to be a nihilist, and warned me against it that day," she said to me.

"He was the dearest friend I ever had," I replied; and she murmured:

"He was a good man."

Who can tell how Alexis Saberevski could have foreseen this meeting of the ways, between Zara and me? What was it that directed his prophetic vision across the mystery of many months, to discover us two, standing side by side, when we perused his letter? What was it that told him that we would love and wed?

Many years have passed since that night on the steamship's deck, and we have never seen nor heard from Saberevski since.

He was a mystery to me when I knew him; he remains a mystery still.

But the greatest mystery of all is love.

THE END



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We have learned to expect from these fertile authors novels graceful in form, brisk in movement, and romantic in conception. This carries the reader back to the days of the bewigged and beruffled gallants of the seventeenth century and tells him of feats of arms and adventures in love as thrilling and picturesque, yet delicate, as the utmost seeker of romance may ask.

MY MERRY ROCKHURST. Illustrated by Arthur E. Becher.

"In the eight stories of a courtier of King Charles Second, which are here gathered together, the Castles are at their best, reviving all the fragrant charm of those books, like The Pride of Jennico, in which they first showed an instinct, amounting to genius, for sunny romances. The book is absorbing * * * and is as spontaneous in feeling as it is artistic in execution."—New York Tribune.

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GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York



FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS

IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS

Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time, library size, printed on excellent paper—most of them finely illustrated. Full and handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid.

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THE CATTLE BARON'S DAUGHTER. A Novel. By Harold Bindloss. With illustrations by David Ericson.

A story of the fight for the cattle-ranges of the West. Intense interest is aroused by its pictures of life in the cattle country at that critical moment of transition when the great tracts of land used for grazing were taken up by the incoming homesteaders, with the inevitable result of fierce contest, of passionate emotion on both sides, and of final triumph of the inevitable tendency of the times.

WINSTON OF THE PRAIRIE. With illustration in color by W. Herbert Dunton.

A man of upright character, young and clean, but badly worsted in the battle of life, consents as a desperate resort to impersonate for a period a man of his own age—scoundrelly in character but of an aristocratic and moneyed family. The better man finds himself barred from resuming his old name. How, coming into the other man's possessions, he wins the respect of all men, and the love of a fastidious, delicately nurtured girl, is the thread upon which the story hangs. It is one of the best novels of the West that has appeared for years.

THAT MAINWARING AFFAIR. By A. Maynard Barbour. With illustrations by E. Plaisted Abbott.

A novel with a most intricate and carefully unraveled plot. A naturally probable and excellently developed story and the reader will follow the fortunes of each character with unabating interest * * * the interest is keen at the close of the first chapter and increases to the end.

AT THE TIME APPOINTED. With a frontispiece in colors by J. H. Marchand.

The fortunes of a young mining engineer who through an accident loses his memory and identity. In his new character and under his new name, the hero lives a new life of struggle and adventure. The volume will be found highly entertaining by those who appreciate a thoroughly good story.

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GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York



FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS

IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS

Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. Library size. Printed on excellent paper—most of them with illustrations of marked beauty—and handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid.

* * * * *

THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE, By Mary Roberts Reinhart

With illustrations by Lester Ralph.

In an extended notice the New York Sun says: "To readers who care for a really good detective story 'The Circular Staircase' can be recommended without reservation." The Philadelphia Record declares that "The Circular Staircase" deserves the laurels for thrills, for weirdness and things unexplained and inexplicable.

THE RED YEAR, By Louis Tracy

"Mr. Tracy gives by far the most realistic and impressive pictures of the horrors and heroisms of the Indian Mutiny that has been available in any book of the kind. * * * There has not been in modern times in the history of any land scenes so fearful, so picturesque, so dramatic, and Mr. Tracy draws them as with the pencil of a Verestschagin of the pen of a Sienkiewics."

ARMS AND THE WOMAN, By Harold MacGrath

With inlay cover in colors by Harrison Fisher.

The story is a blending of the romance and adventure of the middle ages with nineteenth century men and women; and they are creations of flesh and blood, and not mere pictures of past centuries. The story is about Jack Winthrop, a newspaper man. Mr. MacGrath's finest bit of character drawing is seen in Hillars, the broken down newspaper man, and Jack's chum.

LOVE IS THE SUM OF IT ALL, By Geo. Cary Eggleston

With illustrations by Hermann Heyer.

In this "plantation romance" Mr. Eggleston has resumed the manner and method that made his "Dorothy South" one of the most famous books of its time.

There are three tender love stories embodied in it, and two unusually interesting heroines, utterly unlike each other, but each possessed of a peculiar fascination which wins and holds the reader's sympathy. A pleasing vein of gentle humor runs through the work, but the "sum of it all" is an intensely sympathetic love story.

HEARTS AND THE CROSS, By Harold Morton Cramer

With illustrations by Harold Matthews Brett.

The hero is an unconventional preacher who follows the line of the Man of Galilee, associating with the lowly, and working for them in the ways that may best serve them. He is not recognized at his real value except by the one woman who saw clearly. Their love story is one of the refreshing things in recent fiction.

* * * * *

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York



FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOK

IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS

Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. Library size. Printed on excellent paper—most of them with illustrations of marked beauty—and handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid.

* * * * *

THE SHUTTLE, By Frances Hodgson Burnett

With inlay cover in colors by Clarence F. Underwood.

This great international romance relates the story of an American girl who, in rescuing her sister from the ruins of her marriage to an Englishman of title, displays splendid qualities of courage, tact and restraint. As a study of American womanhood of modern times, the character of Bettina Vanderpoel stands alone in literature. As a love story, the account of her experience is magnificent. The masterly handling, the glowing style of the book, give it a literary rank to which very few modern novels have attained.

THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS,

By Frances Hodgson Burnett

Illustrated with half tone engravings by Charles D. Williams. With initial letters, tail-pieces, decorative borders. Beautifully printed, and daintily bound, and boxed.

A delightful novel in the author's most charming vein. The scene is laid in an English country house, where an amiable English nobleman is the centre of matrimonial interest on the part of both the English and Americans present.

Graceful, sprightly, almost delicious in its dialogue and action. It is a book about which one is tempted to write ecstatically.

THE METHODS OF LADY WALDERHURST,

By Francis Hodgson Burnett

A Companion Volume to "The Making of a Marchioness."

With illustrations by Charles D. Williams, and with initial letters, tail-pieces, and borders, by A. K. Womrath. Beautifully printed and daintily bound, and boxed.

"The Methods of Lady Walderhurst" is a delightful story which combines the sweetness of "The Making of a Marchioness," with the dramatic qualities of "A Lady of Quality." Lady Walderhurst is one of the most charming characters in modern fiction.

VAYENNE, By Percy Brebner

With illustrations by E. Fuhr.

This romance like the author's The Princess Maritza is charged to the brim with adventure. Sword play, bloodshed, justice grown the multitude, sacrifice, and romance, mingle in dramatic episodes that are born, flourish, and pass away on every page.

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GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York

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