"The Circassian Chief" (continued 3)

As soon as Groff had disappeared, the Count continued his walk through the corridor. “Fortune seems to favour me,” he soliloquised; “as to young Galetzoff, I need trouble myself no more;—his fate is sealed! I saw that in the look that villain Groff gave, as I promised him the gold! His eyes glistened as he seemed eager to clutch it. He is a faithful ruffian, and well earns his reward. Such slaves as he, would sell their very souls for gold; and I, some would say, would sell mine; but oh! for what?—Not for gold; no;—for revenge—for love—for power—a worthy exchange too! What would life be worth, if one could not enjoy all three?

“That Gipsy maiden has enchained me. I scarce know why, but, though lowly her lot, there is a fascination about her which I cannot withstand. I must win her at all hazards in some way. Either gold or flattery must gain her; she must be more than woman if she holds out against the two combined. And if she does, with that proud and haughty air she possesses, she is worthy to become the Countess Erintoff, though that is an alternative I would avoid. Bah! I cannot think I shall be brought so low as to sue at the feet of a Gipsy!”

While the Count was thus uttering his thoughts aloud, Groff returned.

“Success attends us, Sir,” he exclaimed. “The maiden is at length safe within your palace, from whence she may have some difficulty in escaping, though she firmly believes that she is under the roof of the most grave and virtuous Prince Raziminski, and continues heaping blessings on his head, for his charity in protecting one of her tribe.”

“Enough, knave! the reward shall be yours,” said the Count. “In what part of the palace have they put the boy?”

“I will lead you to it, Sir,” answered Groff, “for I doubt if alone you could find the room.”

“Shew me to it then, and leave me,” said the Count; “your presence would alarm the maiden!”

Saying which, he followed Groff down several flights of steps, and through long passages to a room in the lower part of the palace. He then waited at the half open door, through which he heard the sound of voices.

“I thought that few of the nobles of this city possessed charity sufficient to shelter a humble Gipsy boy; but I see that I am mistaken, and may blessings rest on the head of the good and kind Prince,” said Azila.

“He is indeed, kind,” said one of the boys, “for he has sent us abundance of good things to eat, and his servants told us we should have more, and that he would send us away with plenty of money in our pockets.”

“He will not go unrewarded. See, Conrin! I have bound up your brother’s arm, and he will now do well, and if the kind Prince will let you remain, you must take charge of him, for I have matters of importance to attend to, and must away!”

Hearing this, the Count moved from the door, and went in search of a servant.

“Go quickly,” said he, “to the chamber where the wounded boy and the Gipsy girl are, and say that the Prince—mark you, the Prince, your master, desires to see her, ere she departs, to inquire how her brother fares; then conduct her to the state apartment. Guard her well, and see that she escapes not, by any chance.”

The Count repaired immediately to the magnificent room he had mentioned, to await the coming of Azila. The floor was covered with rich Turkey carpets; superb pictures, and mirrors, reaching from the ground to the highly embossed ceiling, ornamented the walls, the latter reflecting the luxurious and handsome furniture which filled the room, while from the windows was seen an extensive view of the beautiful city of Moscow.

“Though other means have failed,” he said, “I will try if she is not to be tempted by this display of magnificence and luxury to become the mistress here. Surely a girl, brought up beneath a skin-covered tent, cannot resist such a temptation; and if so, my conquest is easy.”

He stood partly concealed by the thick drapery of the curtains; a light step approached; Azila entered the apartment, and the door was closed behind her. She was dressed in the same graceful costume as when Ivan and Thaddeus had first seen her, except that a cloak, worn over her dress, almost concealed her form. She advanced to the centre of the apartment, ere she had perceived the Count, when he turned towards her. She started slightly as she saw him, but betrayed no other sign of trepidation or fear.

“I must have been deceived,” she said. “I came to thank the noble Prince Raziminski for his kindness and charity to a wounded boy of my tribe; but it seems that to you is due the credit of that charitable deed. I will send some of our people to take away the child, and beg to offer you our grateful thanks for your charity in taking care of him. With your leave I will now depart.”

She was turning to go, when the Count advanced somewhat nearer towards her.

“Lovely girl,” he said, with an impassioned air, “I took advantage of the boy’s accident, and used an excusable artifice to draw you here. I sought but to see you, to convince you of the ardour—the truth of my affection. Believe me, that I regret the violence I before used, which your coldness—your cruelty compelled me to resort to. Let me hear my pardon from those lips, beautiful maiden! ’tis all I ask for!”

“For the favour you have done to one of my tribe, I would endeavour to forget any injury you would have caused me. Beyond this, I have nothing to forgive: I bear you no malice, noble Lord! and all I now ask is leave to depart,” said Azila.

“Still haughty and cold! why this indifference? you know not the love—the passion—with which your charms have inspired my bosom. Surely it cannot be in your nature to be thus so cruel to me, who love you to desperation, who would do ought to please you. Behold this spacious palace! these magnificent chambers! Are they not superior to your skin-covered tents? Remain, and you shall be mistress of all; numberless servants will obey you; sumptuous fare shall be served to you; boundless wealth shall be at your command. Every luxury and indulgence which love can invent shall surround you, if you will but consent to accept them at my hands. Whatever you may desire—any thing—every thing shall be granted to you?”

“I make but one simple demand,” answered the maiden. “It is to be allowed to depart, free as I came;—more I cannot say.”

“Have you no other answer to make than that, cruel, inexorable maiden? Hear me!” exclaimed the Count, throwing himself at her feet, and seizing her hand, which she vainly endeavoured to disengage. “Hear me! I love, I adore you to desperation; your very coldness has inflamed my passion! the bright glance of your eyes consumes me; the sweet tones of your voice thrill through my frame, and drive me to madness at the thought of losing you! I cannot exist without you. Hear me once again! I offer you wealth, power, unbounded luxury! I offer you more—my name—my rank—for well could you, as the Countess Erintoff, grace that station. Speak, ere I die at your feet, for I rise not till you give me hopes of life and happiness with you.”

Azila for an instant seemed moved, and turned aside her head, to avoid his fixed gaze; but there was no answering softness in the expression of her full bright eye.

She spoke at length: “Rise, noble Lord! rise, you but demean yourself by thus bending before one humble as myself! I am grateful for your generous offers, but I cannot accept them. A captive can make no just conditions with his jailor, and I still ask but one favour; to depart as I came.”

The Count started from the ground, astonishment and rising fury blending in his look.

“Can that heart,” he exclaimed, “be so frozen by the frosts of winter, that it is callous to the voice of love? But no, it would be contrary to the law of nature, it is impossible! Maiden, you love another! I know it—answer me—is it not the truth? By heavens! I cannot brook a rival in your love, and he shall deeply rue it!”

As the Count spoke, a blush did now for the first time rise on her cheeks and brow, and as he went on threatening his vengeance, with furious action against his rival, the colour again forsook her face, and left her as she then stood in an unintentionally commanding attitude; like some lovely statue of a goddess uttering her commands to mortals.

“If my love is given to another, why ask me for what I no longer possess? but I say not, that it is so. Again I ask to depart; for in no way, while an unwilling prisoner, could I make any engagements with my captor.”

The Count advanced furiously again to seize her hand, but she started back a step from him.

“Girl,” he cried, “think you I can tamely submit to be thus despised, to have my love—my devotion trampled on. Again I ask you, consent to return here—to become my Countess! to accept my love, and you are free to depart; my carriage shall then convey you where you will.”

“It cannot be,” answered Azila, firmly, “I have but to repeat my former words.”

“Rash girl, your obduracy has driven me to madness, and the blame must rest on your own head!” exclaimed the Count, again springing forward to seize her; but she calmly retreated, placing her hand beneath her vest.

“Proud noble, forbear! I fear you not, for I venture not abroad without the means of defending myself, since you first taught me the necessity of so doing. Advance another step, and you either destroy me or yourself.” The Count seemed again about to spring forward, when she drew a dagger from beneath her vest, and pointed it to her bosom.

“See,” she said, “my weapon is of so fine a tempered steel, that even my feeble arm will suffice to protect me.”

The Count stood astounded; he seemed fearful of advancing, and unable to speak, as she continued:

“Now let me depart, lead the way and I will follow you. See! I hold my firmest protector to my bosom, so attempt not to stop me, or the first hand that is laid on me will be the signal of my death. I fear not to die, so think not to detain me; with full confidence I leave the boys of my tribe under your care.”

The Count exclaimed, “Inexplicable girl! you have conquered for a time; I now obey you! but you have kindled an inextinguishable flame within my bosom, which will consume us both. We must soon meet again. I will lead the way as you desire.”

Uttering these words, the Count led the way from the apartment towards the hall of entrance, where the domestics stood with amazed looks, as their haughty lord passed, followed by the humble Gipsy girl. The portal stood open as Azila passed out, bowing coldly to the Count, when he stepped aside to allow her to pass; she did not cast a glance at the others who were present. She seemed more like some distinguished guest respectfully attended to the entrance of the mansion by her host, than one of a despised and lowly race, escaping from the toils of a proud and libertine noble.

The Count retreated to the upper apartments of his sumptuous palace, moody, and furious at his defeat. The ruffian Groff was then summoned to attend him.

“Hear me, villain,” he exclaimed, “the youth I spoke of must die! I will have no doubt or hesitation on your part. The sum I promised you, when I hear of his death, shall be doubled; although you have enough to revenge for your own sake, without requiring any other stimulant. Mark me! he has again crossed my path, so let there be no delay, for I cannot longer endure the thought that he should triumph over me.”

“Your orders are sufficiently clear,” Sir, answered Groff, “and they shall be obeyed without fear of the consequences. I am not a man to hesitate in my duty to so generous a master; and perhaps you will recollect that my first plan succeeded as far as it was in my power; the ultimate failure will be no fault of mine.”

“I understand you, knave, you would receive your wages as you proceed; here, take this purse, it contains a trifle in comparison with the sum you will be soon possessed of, if I do not mistake. Now begone! and let me not see your face till you can bring me the news I wish to hear.”

Groff departed, and the Count continued pacing the floor with feelings, of which few would envy him the possession.

Volume One—Chapter Eleven.

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind blew in violent and fitful gusts through the ill-lighted and irregular streets, now and then entirely extinguishing some of the few straggling lamps, while the remainder gave but a feeble and uncertain light, as the rain rushed down in torrents, making the road and pathway slippery with slime and mud.

The night had just closed in; yet, notwithstanding the inclemency and boisterousness of the weather, and the difficulties of the road, persons were still wandering abroad on various avocations, when a figure closely muffled in a large cloak, (apparently to shield himself from the tempest), issued from a side door of the palace of the Count Erintoff. He walked hastily along, keeping on the darker sides of the streets, as if to avoid recognition, and paused not till he reached the hotel where Ivan had taken up his abode. He remained concealed beneath the shelter of a porch, on the opposite side of the street, into which no gleam of light penetrated; though a lamp, burning in the doorway of the hotel, enabled him to command a distinct view of all who might enter, or depart. Thrusting his hand in his bosom, he thus muttered to himself:

“Ah! most trusty weapon, thou art not likely to fail me, if my arm proves true. Far better is the silent and sharp dagger to do such a deed, than the noisy and treacherous pistol, which has often failed a better man than myself, on a like occasion; yet, I did well to bring my noisy friend, in case, by any chance, the first should fail to strike home.—Ah! some one approaches.”

Groff, for it was he, drew farther back into the shade, to prevent himself from being seen by the stranger who was about to pass. At that moment, a person with a light and active step, completely shielded from the weather, walked quickly by, so that Groff could catch a glance of his features. He had not long to remain after this on his watch, when a figure appeared at the door of the hotel, whom he guessed must be his intended victim; for having cast a look at the dark and clouded sky, the person issued forth in the direction Groff expected him to take. The ruffian accordingly emerged from his hiding-place, and stealthily followed, at a short distance, the steps of his hoped for prey.

It was impossible to distinguish the figures of anybody, on such a night, wrapped up as all were who ventured abroad; but Groff felt that he could not be mistaken, both from seeing his intended victim issue from the hotel in which Ivan resided, and from the direction he was taking.

The person walked rapidly along, threading the intricate and obscure streets, without hesitation; every now and then, however, drawing his cloak closer around him, and casting a hurried look behind, as if to observe if he was followed. On these occasions, Groff contrived to shrink under the shade of some buttress, or projecting wall. Owing to his being perfectly well acquainted with the streets, and knowing each turning the person would probably take, he was enabled, successfully to dodge his footsteps, till he had arrived in the neighbourhood of the mansion previously described, in the garden of which the meetings of the conspirators were held. The man there stopped, and looked cautiously around, retracing his steps for a short distance, as if to assure himself that he had not been followed; throwing a scrutinising glance, as he lifted his hand to shade his eyes, down two or three narrow lanes, which there turned off from that along which he had passed. He seemed, however, satisfied, and was about to pass on.

“Now is my time,” thought Groff, who had hidden beneath a dark arch way, “I will now rush forward, and strike him, to make sure, and save myself a long and disagreeable watch; but he looks as if prepared for danger, and I may find a warmer reception than I wish, or he may cry out and give the alarm, before I have time to escape.”

While Groff was thus debating with himself, the person again walked on, unconscious of the danger he had so narrowly just escaped; and the assassin, fearful of being discovered after his evident wariness, if he pursued him further, concealed himself carefully under an arch, let into a wall, which had at one time served as an entrance to the garden behind it; but, for some reason, the inner part was now blocked up with stones, leaving, however, a recess sufficiently deep for a person to hide within it.

“Here I will await his return,” muttered Groff; “he has never yet failed to pass this way, and I have well marked his figure, so that I should know him if there was but a glimpse of light. I wish I had followed him to find out where he goes to, for there may be some secret worth knowing in that. It is an odd place for a person to come to so constantly, and I should make a fine thing of it, if I discovered any hidden plot, which the Count could reveal to the Emperor; it would bring him into high favour, and I, his follower, would benefit by it. I might easily manage to get rid of the youth in some other place, and if I slay him now, I lose my opportunity. But no! one scheme is but a chance, while his death will give me a certainty of reward.”

Having thus made up his mind, Groff remained in concealment for two or three hours, till he began almost to fear that his victim had escaped, by passing some other way. He watched with breathless expectation—anxiously looking forth from his place of shelter. The rain still fell in torrents, and flashes of lightning now and then darted from the heavens. One flash, brighter than the others, almost blinded him, as he grasped his dagger firmly in his hand; but he was no coward, though but a common ruffian, and he did not tremble. He again drew back, and listened attentively. Footsteps approached, he could not be mistaken; he heard the light and quick step advancing—nearer and nearer it came—he feared to breathe lest the sound might reach his victim’s ears—he more firmly clutched his dagger. With one foot advanced—his arm raised ready to strike, he stood pressing his body against the wall; he could distinguish the very breathing of him who was approaching. The figure filled the archway—the assassin sprang from his lair, his dagger’s point towards the breast of his victim. The lightning flashed brightly in forked streaks from the sky and played round the blue steel, but it failed to bring heaven’s vengeance, as it glanced before the eyes of the doomed one. He started back, but, alas, too late! the sharp point pierced his bosom. Too firmly was the assassin’s arm nerved; deep—deep, he drove his murderous weapon home; his whole force was in the thrust. Loud rolling peals of thunder reverberated through the heavens, as the work of blood was doing, and drowned the dying groan of the murdered man. Heavily he fell, struck down by the force of the blow. No sigh escaped his breast; but the foul midnight murderer was not content; drawing the reeking steel from the wound, his teeth grinding with fury, his eyes starting from his head, he plunged it again, and again, to the very hilt, into the bosom of the fallen man, the warm blood spouting from each fresh wound, and dyeing his hands. He stooped down, tearing aside the cloak and vest, seeking with eager haste, to feel the bosom of him whom he had slain, to find if perchance it yet palpitated with life; but well and truly had he done his work; a deep deadly wound had pierced that heart, which, but a few moments before, had beat with confidence—true patriotism—high hopes and aspirations; inflicted by his foul hand.

For a moment, a gleam of satisfaction passed through the murderer’s bosom that his work was accomplished, and his reward gained; but an instant afterwards, and oh! for ten thousand worlds would none have exchanged the most wretched poverty for the feelings which possessed him. It was his first cold, deliberate, mercenary shedding of blood; he felt himself to be an accursed wretch on the earth.

He could not fly, a fascination chained him to the spot; his fingers were clammy with blood, thick clotted to his dagger’s handle. He sought for a pool that he had stepped in near the spot; he tried to wash away the damning stains, but he knew that to be impossible.

In the exciting moment of the murder, he had been thoughtless of the blood which flowed over him, but he now observed that he was covered with it. The rain again fell in torrents, he stood exposed to its fury, to let it wash away the stain. It revived him; his thoughts again returned to their accustomed channel. The recollection of the money, for which he had done the deed, recurred to him; avarice seized his heart, and he remembered that, perchance, the murdered man might have gold about him.

He now neither trembled nor hesitated, as he felt about the body of his victim. With joy he clutched a purse, by the size and weight of which he knew it must contain gold; he felt in the breast, he drew from thence a packet of letters; a thought struck him that they might be of use to his master; he also possessed himself of watch and jewels. He was satisfied: no regret, no compunction for the deed oppressed him. His callous indifference had returned; an idea then occurred to him—horrid—diabolical. He searched around, to find some large stones, and with all his force he dashed one on the head of the murdered man; he seized another, and another, and hurled them with fury on the head of his victim, till he knew that every feature must be obliterated.

Again the lightning flashed brightly, and shewed him his work. He gazed on the ghastly spectacle; the thunder rolled terrifically, and seemed about to cast its bolts on his head. Even the assassin, callous and hardy as he was, now trembled, he could stand no more, and fled hastily from his cursed work. On—on—he went, nor dared to look behind him, for he felt himself pursued by some phantom of tremendous, of horrid aspect. There was a weight at his breast, his brain burned; he longed to shriek, to give vent to his feelings; but his voice seemed choked, he could utter no sound. He felt a longing desire to rush into fierce strife, to find more and more to slay, more to destroy. He was like the tiger who has once tasted of blood; nothing could slake his thirst; blood—blood he longed for, and still he fled away from that he had first spilled; but he thought he could blot out, with fresh blood, the remembrance of that dreadful deed.

He was flying on, a sort of brute instinct guiding his way, when he was called to his senses, by the loud challenge of a sentry from some government building. In a moment, he was again himself, the bold, careless ruffian; he answered calmly to the challenge, and was allowed to proceed onward; he drew his cloak closely around him, and walked towards the palace of his master, with a steady step; but it still required some exertion over his nerves, to prevent himself from rushing onward at his former pace.

At length he reached the palace, and knocked at a side door, where Kruntz was in waiting for him. His fellow ruffian started, as holding up a light, he caught sight of his pale, haggard cheek, his starting eye, and the dark red stains with which, as his cloak fell off, his dress was besmeared.

“What work hast thou been about now, Groff?” asked the man, “thou look’st like some wandering ghost.”

“A butcher’s!” answered Groff, in a thick husky voice; “but ask me no questions. Where is our lord? I must see him directly; I have matters of importance to communicate.”

“Would’st go to him in that pretty guise, friend?” said Kruntz; “truly it would please him much to see thee thus. Look at thyself in a glass, man, and thou would’st not much admire thine own countenance; if thou didst look always thus, thou would’st have but poor chance with the fair damsels thou seekest to captivate, and even men would be apt to shun thy company. I, for one, should not much like to be as near thee always as I now am. Get thee in, man, and change thy draggled garments.”

“Aye, I forgot me,” answered Groff. “Say not a word, Kruntz, nor rouse the other knaves. I’ll go change these wet garments, and then present me to our Lord; here, give me thy lamp.”

Thus saying, Groff seized the lamp from Kruntz’s hand, and turned the light away from himself. “Go, tell the Count, that I have returned and will give my news, when I am fit to appear before him.”

While Kruntz went to report the return of Groff, the assassin hastened to throw off his blood-stained garments, which he carefully tied up in a bundle, and hid them away together with his dagger; then having washed all stains from his cheeks and hands, he presented himself before the Count Erintoff.

He entered the room abruptly. “The deed is done which you required,” he said; “to-morrow morning the whole city will ring with it, and I may then claim my reward. I made sure work, and the youth will never more stand in your way.”

“Good,” answered the Count, “you shall have your reward. Come to-morrow to claim it.”

“It is well and hardly earned, let me say; and here is something that I found in the breast of the youth; these papers may give you some information,” said Groff.

“Let me have them,” said the Count. “Is this all you found upon him, knave, eh?”

“Nothing farther; I stayed not to search him,” answered the ruffian.

“Well, well, it matters not,” said the Count; “leave me, I will examine these papers.”

The murderer gladly withdrew from the presence of his instigator to crime, to join his companion, and to drown his conscience with wine; first examining and then carefully hiding the spoils he had taken from his victim.

The Count, when left alone, eagerly tore open the papers he had received, though he shuddered as on the outer packet, he caught sight of the stains of blood; the blood of the youth he had so heartlessly, so revengefully consigned to an early death; but all thoughts of remorse for the deed were forgotten, as he glanced his eye over the documents. Some were in cypher, but others he perused with the deepest interest. As he read, he exclaimed aloud: “Ah, this is a fortunate discovery! How many do I now hold in my power! Ah, and you too! The man I hate! I shall be amply revenged on him! My fortune is on the ascendant! By Heavens! this information is worth a princedom to me! Ay, and I will gain it too! I would have sacrificed a thousand lives to have gained it! My revenge satisfied, now for love! Ah, beautiful but haughty girl, your lover dead, you will now become mine; you will soon willingly come to my arms. Fortunately, that villain cannot read, nor has he even looked at these papers; I must not let him guess at their contents, or he may make higher demands on me. I trust he has not kept back any other papers; but no, he has given these as my share, and has kept the youth’s gold, if he had any, to himself:—he is welcome to it. But if I give information of this affair, may I not be suspected of the murder? However, that matters nothing; the government will be too well pleased to gain the information, to inquire very minutely how I came by it, or, if they should, I may easily invent a tale to account for it. I must see to this.”

Volume One—Chapter Twelve.

We must now turn our view to a chamber in the chateau of the Baron Galetzoff. It was furnished with heavy and old fashioned hangings which gave it a solemn and sombre air, increased by the windows being closed to exclude the glare of day; one stream of light alone entering through the curtains, and throwing a still darker shade into the rest of the room. Two female attendants stood by the side of a couch, on which reclined, now wan and emaciated, that unhappy and mysterious lady, whom Ivan had so short a time before left in health, and all the majesty of beauty.

Her eye fixed and regardless of all around, her thoughts seemed to be far away, wandering perchance amid the scenes of her youth, with the loved beings of other days, whom she had long, long ago lost, but soon hoped again to meet in other and happier realms. As she gazed, their airy forms flitted before her eyes, and the well remembered lineaments became clear, and distinct, beckoning her to follow. She moved not, she spoke not, and as the attendants looked on her, they thought her spirit had departed.

A slow and gentle step approached: it was that of a venerable grey-headed man in the robes of a priest, whose clear, calm eye, and placid countenance, betokened an amiable and tender heart. He seated himself quietly by the side of the couch, but the movement roused the lady from her seeming trance, and she turned her eyes towards him.

“Daughter,” he said, “I could not rest away from your side, and as soon as I had performed the duties which called me hence, I returned to afford you all the consolation of which religion has so great a store.”

“Father!” she answered in a low voice, “to your instructions do I owe the great, the inestimable benefits which I may now partake of; else had I remained like the beast that perishes, without that faith and hope which now sustain me.”

“Daughter! those are the sentiments which should possess the bosoms of all who are about to leave this vale of tears,” continued the holy man; “clear your thoughts of all things appertaining to this world, and fix them on the next.”

“I would do so, Father, but I cannot!” answered the lady. “I must, ere I die, see one, the dearest to me on earth; till then I cannot tear my thoughts from him. Has he arrived? Oh! that I could see him, ere my spirit wings its flight from hence. Oh! let there be no delay when he comes, for each instant I feel the throbbing of my heart grow weaker.”

“There shall be no delay, my daughter! a faithful messenger has been sent to summon him; but, when I just now entered the house, he had not arrived,” said the priest. Scarcely had he uttered the words, when the lady exclaimed, “Ah, I now hear his horse’s steps approaching; oh! haste, Father, and bid him come hither.”

“You are mistaken, daughter, I heard no sound, and he could scarcely arrive by this hour,” answered the priest.

“Ah, no! Father, I mistake not, even now I hear his footstep in the hall. He approaches. Oh, my heart! cease not to beat, till I have seen him once again,” she exclaimed, nor had her sense of hearing deceived her; rendered still more acute, as her other faculties were fast failing.

In a few moments, a gentle knock was heard, and the dwarf entered. “I know that he is come,” said the lady, “oh! let me see him without delay; and holy Father, I would be alone with him.” The priest rose to obey her wishes, and withdrew with the attendants, as Ivan entered.

As she saw him, her faded eye brightened; and she stretched out her arms to receive him, as throwing himself on his knees by the side of the couch, he shaded his face with his hands, and a convulsive sob escaped his bosom.

“Do I find you thus?” he exclaimed after a moment’s pause, “my friend—my kind protectress? why was I not before apprised of your illness? why was I not here to solace and comfort you?”

“I knew not that death was making such rapid strides towards me,” answered the lady; “but think not that I am unhappy. Now that I have you with me, loved one! I am content to bear my lot; but I must not waste these precious moments, for I have much to say and my time on earth will quickly end. Listen to me,” and she spoke in that language which she had taught Ivan in his youth, and in which they loved to commune together.

“Can you remember the early days of your youth, and those scenes of which I once forbade you to speak?” she said.

“Yes—yes—vividly can I now recall several to my mind,” answered Ivan. “I remember a strange land, and scenes far different to this country; and also your kindness, your love from my earliest days.”

“Think you that the affection and fond solicitude with which I tended your youth, could ever have been felt by any but a mother! None but a mother could feel the undying love which I bear for you. My boy! my child! come to my arms, and let me hold thee there, before I die. You are—you are my son, and though in life, I dared not, for your sake, acknowledge it, I rejoice to die, that now I may declare the truth before all the world.”

“My heart always told me so,” exclaimed the young man, fondly embracing her, as she held out her arms to receive him. “O my loved mother! would that I might thus have called you before! but say who is my father? Is it not the Baron?”

“Thank great Heaven! no, my loved son—no! Your father was noble, generous, and brave; methinks, I now see his noble countenance reflected in my boy; but my strength fails me, my voice grows weak. Listen, ere it be too late, to my story.

“It was in our own loved and beautiful land, amid the magnificent mountains, the green and fertile glens of Circassia, that your father was distinguished as one of the noblest and bravest chieftains. Five thousand daring horsemen assembled at his command, ready to follow wherever he should lead. Many of the neighbouring chiefs were subject to him; all honoured or feared him. He kept free from the feuds which distracted and weakened the other tribes, and all sought to be in amity with him. He had numerous flocks and herds, which fed on the richest pastures; he had abundance of wealth; fleet and hardy steeds; rich armour and apparel; faithful and devoted servants.

“I was the daughter of a neighbouring prince; your noble father sought and won me in marriage. We had two children, you my loved son, and a fair young daughter; how my heart has bled as I have thought of that lovely cherub, whom I have been destined to see no more, and whose fate I tremble to think of! But our happiness, which seemed as full as mortals could enjoy, was destined to be fleeting and transitory; we were awoke, suddenly and without preparation, from our short-lived dream of bliss.

“Our territories, which extended over many of the rocky and precipitous mountains bordering on the sea, had hitherto, on account of their lofty situation, almost inaccessible to attack, escaped the devastating visits of the invaders of our country. Our home was near, the coast, and your father, confiding in the security of our situation, had gone with the greater part of his followers to repel a distant inroad of the enemy, leaving only a few to protect our herds, when a fleet of the lofty ships of the Russians, made a sudden descent on our coast. Their troops landed in numbers, and stormed the passes leading to our dwellings, destroying the fields of corn on their road, and carrying off, or killing all the cattle they could seize; the few of our men remaining in the neighbourhood assembled in haste, and disputed each spot of ground practicable of defence, with all the energy and bravery of despair; even the women seized arms and joined the men, aiding them to their utmost; some hurling down stones on the heads of the invaders, as they defiled through each narrow gorge. But what could a handful of men do, taken almost by surprise, against a host of well-equipped and ferocious enemies? Frantic with our hopeless efforts, we fought till our men were all slain, for none would yield, while they had strength to use their weapons.

“My heart sickens even now at the wanton and cruel butcheries which the ruthless barbarians committed. The children were torn from their mothers’ arms and slaughtered in their sight; some few of the women however escaped with the infants under their charge, among whom was your young sister, and gained the mountains, beyond the reach of their pursuers.

“A ruffian was about to destroy you, my boy, when you were rescued from his grasp by a more humane comrade, who, as I afterwards found, was a servant belonging to the leader of the enemy’s forces. From a height overlooking the pass, I beheld you borne away in the arms of the soldier, and I sought to throw myself down, to tear you from the robber’s grasp, or to share your captivity. I was, however, forcibly prevented by my attendants, who deaf to my entreaties and disobedient to my commands, when I ordered them to release me, compelled me to remain concealed in a cavern from the sight of our enemies. The Russians had retired from the defiles and passes in the mountains and encamped near the seashore, under protection of the guns of then ships; we, the wretched and melancholy few who remained, watched from the neighbouring heights, there passing the live-long night, for we had no homes to return to; our once smiling dwellings were burnt to the ground, our streams choked with the dead, and tinged with their blood, our cattle carried off, and desolation reigned around.

“We were aroused from our lamentations over the fallen brave, by the arrival of a band of horsemen, who had been sent back by your father; they proposed to delay making any attack on the foe till their numbers could be increased from the neighbouring villages; but I thought of you, my boy—you a prisoner in the hands of our enemies, and I dreaded lest they should set sail, and bear you far away without a hope of recovering you. With lamentations and entreaties, with tears and commands, I urged on our men to the attack. I shewed them the ignominy, the disgrace, which would cover them, should they allow an enemy, who had devastated their lands, slain their kinsmen, and carried away captive their wives and children, to escape, without attempting to revenge their loss. I pointed out to them that the son of their beloved chieftain was in the power of their enemies, and that should they discover the value of their prize, they would endeavour to bring us to terms, disgraceful and injurious to our country, for the sake of recovering him. I excited their valour—I fired their souls with my eloquence, wrought to the highest pitch by a mother’s anxiety—I offered to lead them, putting myself at their head, and swore never to return unsuccessful.

“We sent out messengers in all directions around, summoning all who could be collected to join our forces. None hesitated to obey our summons, for the same detestation of our invaders animated the breasts of all. Before the morning broke, we had assembled from all quarters an irregular, but heroic band, eager to be led against the common foe. From the thick wooded heights, which overhung the coast, we rushed down upon the unprepared camp, like some mountain torrent, suddenly swelled by the thunder cloud, sweeping over the plain, bearing all before it. I felt not like a weak, timid woman, but as the enraged lioness, whose young has been torn from her by the hands of the huntsmen. I sprung to rescue you; by word and action, I encouraged our men to the assault, and heeded not the overwhelming numbers opposed to us.

“The Russians roused from their sleep, ere the out-posts could give the alarm, rushed to their arms; many, owing to the confusion and darkness, missed their weapons. In an instant we were upon them; and as corn before the sickle we hewed them down, none crying for mercy; they knew they deserved it not, we shewed none. But ere our work was done, the morning broke, and exhibited our scanty force to the enemy, who rallied at the sight, and retreated fighting in order. But I had not recovered my child, and it was for that object alone that I fought. Suddenly, I caught sight of you at a distance, with other prisoners amid the ranks of the foe. I strained every nerve to reach you—I saw not the blows aimed at me—I encouraged my followers, and on—on, we rushed, fearless of the danger, and ignorant of the vast power of the mighty engines of destruction which their huge ships bore. Fighting step by step, we repelled the Russians, till they gained the very margin of the sea, and then, just as we thought victory secure—their ships opened upon us suddenly the hot shower of their artillery, which no valour could withstand; my brave companions fell fast around me while fighting, and still hotly pursuing the foe, till death arrested their course.

“Scarcely any remained by my side, when it seemed that a sickness came over me, and I fell to the ground, and knew not what further happened.

“When I awoke to consciousness, I found myself on board of one of the Russian ships, borne far from my native land. I endeavoured to recall my scattered senses: a fever raged through my brain, as I was conducted into the presence of the chief who had led the attack on our territory—he was the Baron Galetzoff!”

Ivan’s brow grew dark, and an exclamation of anger rose to his lips; but he restrained his passion.

“He eyed me with a glance which pierced me through my soul, as I stood with my head bowed before him, nor could words find utterance through my parched lips. He spoke, but I was deaf to the sound. Strange people were around me; an uncouth language was spoken, whose meaning I could not understand: entreaty, resistance, complaint, were alike unavailing. I had none to appeal to from whom I could hope for assistance. I knew myself to be utterly helpless; none around me could understand my words. I was led back, unresistingly, to my solitary cabin. I yielded to my fate, for all thoughts of escape were hopeless. I thought of death as a refuge for my wretchedness; but one idea, one hope still sustained me, and bade me cling to life. I might, should you have escaped destruction, still have a chance, though a remote one, of meeting with you. The very thought restored me. I determined to live to devote my energies to find you; for I knew not of the difficulties in my way. The ship in which I was borne captive from Circassia, reached the shores of Russia; and I was transported to this mansion in some strange conveyance, which I had never before seen. I was here treated with every care and attention, having female attendants to wait on me, and to supply all my wants. From them I learned gradually the strange language they spoke, being inspired with the hope that it might be of service to me in my search after you; and sustained by this deep feeling, I became partially reconciled to my fate. I had not seen or heard of my captor since I left the ship, except that, as far as I could understand, he was still absent from his domain.

“My sole delight and employment was in wandering through the woods, while thinking of you, and in forming many different projects to discover to what part of the country you had been conveyed. On one of these excursions I had gone further than usual from home, and had for an instant lost sight of my attendant, when a child’s cry caught my ear. I rushed forward eagerly at the sound, for the notes vibrated through my heart like some beloved and well-known voice. I was not to be deceived. Oh! joy of joys! blessing unspeakable! it was you, my own loved boy—far off, I knew you. I sprang forward—I pressed you to my bosom—I covered you with kisses—I placed you on the ground: again and again I snatched you in my arms. I wept—I felt mad with joy; all my sorrows, all my miseries were, for the moment, forgotten; all the happiness I had lost, in an instant, appeared restored tenfold. I know not if you recognised me; but I thought you did; for you returned my embrace, looking up smilingly in my face.

“A rough, but honest-faced looking man, broke through the woods in search of you, and looked surprised and alarmed on finding you in my arms. He made signs that he must take you from me; and though I sought to prevent it, you returned willingly to him. With my spirit broken, I could not dare to oppose him; and I guessed, too, from his manners and countenance, that he might prove a friend. This honest serf was the father of Karl; and from him I learned that you had been carried off by his brother, who had saved your life from the hands of some of his comrades; that the Baron had seen you, and for some unknown reason, had taken a fancy to you, and ordered you to be committed to his charge; and also, that you had been conveyed to the estate at the very time that I was, while I had been pining in despair for your loss. Every day I frequented the same spot, which was near the serf’s hut, in hopes of seeing you and clasping you to my bosom; when the honest fellow at length, taking compassion on me, used to bring you forth to meet me. Oh! the happiness, the bliss of those moments, almost repaid me the misery I had suffered. I was not acquainted with the Baron’s disposition; but an idea occurred to me, though I scarcely know how it originated, that, should he discover you to be my son, he might, by threatening to tear you from my sight, endeavour to gain more control over me. Every time that this thought recurred to me, it gave fresh strength to my opinion, and I resolved, at all hazard, to profess utter carelessness on your account; and thankful I have ever since been, that I adopted that course; for no sooner did the Baron arrive, than my trials commenced. I, at first, with the most abject entreaties, prayed to be restored to my own country, hoping to take you with me; but he laughed at my petition; and when I pressed my demand, with some haughtiness of manner, he sternly refused.

“All hopes of escape were as vain as the prayers addressed to my captor had been unsuccessful, for I knew not even to what part of the country I had been conveyed. I thought of the beloved husband to whom I was lost—of my sweet daughter—of friends and home; and I felt that I could not survive their loss: but your voice, though at a distance, struck on my ear, and for your sake I resolved to live on.

“When you were brought to the chateau, your playful manners, and light prattle, seemed to win on the affections of the Baron, as much as his rough and savage nature would permit; but I kept to my prudent resolution, and pretended not to recognise you. At first you would oftentimes throw your arms round my neck, and call me by the endearing name of mother, in your native tongue; but I taught you not to utter that name, though it almost broke my heart to do so; and my artifice succeeded; for you were constantly allowed to be with me, and the Baron seemed to have no idea of our relationship.

“The Baron’s conduct towards you was always inexplicable, for it appeared entirely contrary to his fierce and cruel disposition, to treat you as he has done. I have lately suspected that he has some secret motive for thus acting, for to me he has always been harsh and tyrannical.

“There was one person in the Baron’s establishment who soon became entirely devoted to me—it was the dwarf Ladislau. I pitied his weakness and helplessness, treating him always with kindness, for which he has shewn his gratitude by every means in his power. From him I learned that the Baron had, some time before, married a lady of great beauty, who, his servants and dependants fancied, was a native of some foreign country, though they knew not from what part of the world she came. Ladislau added that he himself perfectly knew, and that she was of the Zingani race, and had been induced to marry the Baron, more for his rank and wealth, than for any great love she bore him. This he soon discovered, and in revenge treated her so barbarously, that she was preparing to fly from his mansion, but was prevented. Soon after the unfortunate lady died, after giving birth to a child; but, previously to that event, she had called the dwarf to her, and given some injunctions, which he had sworn most solemnly to fulfil, and even to keep secret within his own bosom.

“The Baron at first seemed repentant of his jealousy and tyranny, and grieved for his loss, seeking to make amends by his kindness to the child, for his cruelty to the mother; but, during his absence from home for a time, the child had mysteriously disappeared, and all his attempts at discovering it, had proved fruitless. Methought the dwarf gave a sinister look, as he told me the tale. He said that the Baron had raged and stormed at the loss of his child, but had at length given up all hopes of ever discovering the perpetrators of the deed; rather believing that it had come to some violent end, and perhaps, when he first saw you, the smiling cherub that you then were, he thought of supplying the place of his own lost one.

“From the dwarf I learned, that the Baron bore a deadly hatred to my country, for the reverses he had so constantly met with there; and he had sworn utterly to subdue, and reduce its inhabitants to the most abject slavery. He knew little of the noble spirit which animated their bosoms, while indulging in hopes of success against them. Ladislau added, when the Baron found that you, a Circassian child, had been saved by one of his soldiers, he, with a refinement of cruelty, had determined to bring you up, and teach you to feel the most deadly hatred against your own countrymen, if by chance they were not subdued before that time. I thanked heaven that I was at hand to counteract his evil intentions, and the aim of my life has been, to inspire you with a love of freedom, and a hatred of all tyranny and injustice. The Baron would be less than human had he not one redeeming quality; having been a father himself, he seemed, when you were a child, to have some sparks of affection for you, beyond the object for which he has educated you. He has even now adopted you, and would leave you all his wealth, would you comply with his requests. But oh! my loved son, be not seduced by the glittering baits he will offer—to turn traitor to your native land! Else shall my life, and all my sufferings have been in vain. Oh no! even I, to whom you are dearer than all else, counsel you to hazard death or captivity, rather than shed the blood of your countrymen, by the side of their foes. Let me beseech you to fulfil the lofty purpose for which I consented to live in this hated place; and when I am no more, as I soon shall be, then fly from hence, and endeavour to reach your native land. That amulet, which you carry round your neck, has always been worn by the eldest son of the chieftain of your tribe. No sooner shall your father’s followers see it, than they will acknowledge you, if unhappily your noble father no longer lives. Seek the spot which was once your home, then proclaim yourself, and relate my unhappy story, when all with joy will own you; and should my loved husband still exist, give him my parting sighs.”

Her voice, during this recital, frequently faltered through weakness; and as she fell back exhausted at its close, a thrill of horror shot through her son’s frame, as for an instant he thought that, in truth, her spirit had fled to the realms of bliss; but to his great joy, she again opened her eyes, to gaze on him she loved so deeply, as he held her sinking form in his arms. He was overwhelmed with the interest of the story he had heard; and though he had loved her before he knew she was his mother, how deep and earnest was his gratitude now for her devoted, her heroic affection for him?

“Mother!” he cried, “I swear to obey your commands. Already have I engaged in the accomplishment of a great work, after the issue of which I will haste to that land, which oft have I visited in my dreams.”

“Enough, my son, sure I am that heaven will protect you on your way; but I have yet more to add. When you reach your native land, oh! endeavour to instil into your countrymen that mild and pure religion, which the good priest, who educated you, first taught me to know. It was once the religion of our forefathers, and the cross—the emblem of that faith—is still to be seen in the land. Oh! reclaim them to the true and ancient worship of their country. My loved son! let me gaze on thee once more, ere my sight fail me. May heaven guard thy life, and make thee the deliverer of thy country! Then shalt thou be known by thy true name, and well wilt thou prove worthy of thy gallant father. I cannot longer see thee, my son; but kiss me once more, and receive my last sigh:—when thou bearest it to thy father, say that I loved him to the last.”

She ceased to speak, Ivan felt her form recline more heavily in his arms; no pulse answered to his touch. She looked lovely still, but her eye had lost that mysterious expression of the mind, when the living soul yet animates the frame. Her spirit had fled!

In that bleak land died the lovely exile, far distant from her own sunny clime: but she was happy at the last, when folded in the arms of that son for whose sake she had so nobly endured long and weary captivity.

The young man uttered no loud complaint; but laid her form calmly on the couch, and with reverent awe closed her eyes; then gazing earnestly on her features, he threw himself on his knees by her side. The attendants entered, and found him in this posture when he was aroused by the entreaties of his faithful friend Ladislau, who led him unresistingly to his chamber; and the kind-hearted dwarf then lavished his attentions upon the bereaved Ivan.

The stern Lord of the mansion had been for some days absent, unaware of his captive’s approaching liberation from her misery and thraldom; Ivan was thereby enabled to indulge his grief without interruption.

Volume One—Chapter Thirteen.

The female attendants and wives of the nearest serfs assembled to utter their lamentations over the body of the deceased, which was laid out on a couch, with the hands crossed on the breast, dressed in a crimson robe, and a rich coif placed on the head. The venerable priest who had attended her when living, came to sprinkle incense over her body; and while thus engaged, he chaunted psalms in a low and solemn voice.

On the third day from her death, the remains of the lady were placed in a coffin covered with crimson cloth, and surrounded with torches; from thence it was conveyed to the neighbouring church. At a distance, followed Ivan unknown and unnoticed, enveloped in his cloak; and as the priest concluded the short funeral service, he drew near, and kneeling by the coffin, kissed that cold and inanimate hand: on that spot he again swore to fulfil her commands, and to devote himself to the cause of his native country. With a tearless eye, but bursting heart; he saw all that he loved committed to the earth, and lingered long near the spot, until he was urged to depart by Ladislau.

The day after the sad ceremony had been performed, the Baron returned to the château, but made no allusion to the melancholy event, nor did it appear to affect him in any way. Summoning Ivan to his presence soon after his arrival:

“My plans are arranged,” said he; “our gracious Emperor has appointed me to the command of a strong force, to quell the rebellious Circassians; and, in a short time, I hope to bring them under lawful subjection. This has ever been the height of my ambition. I own that the difficulties are great; but if I fall, in you, Ivan, I hope to leave a worthy successor. In this parchment, you are made heir to all my possessions; and our noble Czar, in consideration of my services, and as the only favour that I have asked, will permit you to assume the same rank I bear.”

Ivan, for a time, remained silent after this announcement. A momentous period to him had arrived, and he almost dreaded the effects of what he was resolved to say, in reply.

“What, young man!” exclaimed the Baron, impatiently, “are you not overpowered with gratitude? What mean you by this silence—that fixed gaze—those clenched hands? Do you hesitate to accept my offer? Speak, boy! thwart not my will, or you will deeply repent your folly!”

While the fierce old Baron raved like a wounded lion, lashing himself into fury, before him stood the young Circassian, calm, but determined, like some courageous hunter, who has been unexpectedly allured into the lair of the beast. After a still further protracted silence, he at length addressed the Baron:

“I might once have accepted the noble offer you make me, Sir; but that time is passed. I now know who I am: and rather would I toil as the meanest serf on your domain, than bear arms against that country—my own, my native land. Yes, Sir, I am a Circassian; and prouder am I to belong to that heroic race, than to the highest rank the autocrat of all the Russias can confer.”

“What words are these I hear?” cried the Baron, furiously. “Disobedience to my orders: rebellion against the Emperor! Is it for this I have brought you up—have educated you; and would have made you wealthy and noble? I have treated you as my own son, and never wished you to know that I was not your father. Who has dared to fill your mind with such dreams? They shall richly repent their interference and folly.”

“She, who has escaped from the reach of your power,” answered Ivan: “she, Sir, who devoted her life to me, who was my only friend—my mother!”

“What! have I been deceived, then, by the wit of a frail woman; and have I been nourishing a young viper, for years past, within my bosom, that now rises to sting me. I recall the offer I made to you. Begone, leave my presence! and henceforth, let me see your face no more. From this moment I discard you—I throw you off for ever; and beware, lest you suffer as a traitor and rebel to the Emperor. Even now you should be seized: you have uttered treason and sedition, which merit full punishment. Before long, Siberia shall be your destination, where you may proclaim such fantastic nonsense without fear of injuring any. But with such pestiferous notions you shall no longer abide under my roof. Begone, quit my presence, or I will send my slaves to drive you hence. Am I to be thus bearded by a boy?—my offers despised?—no gratitude shown for my paternal care and liberality! Begone! Again I say, I will hear no reply.”

Overwhelmed by so many various and contending emotions, Ivan could with difficulty collect his thoughts, sufficiently, to determine how to act. He felt that the Baron had, indeed, afforded him many advantages, and had but just now made him what, at all events, appeared to be a generous offer; although he had, at the same time, treated his mother with cruelty and injustice, which might counterbalance all kindness shewn to himself. His better feelings, however, conquered; and as he slowly quitted the apartment, he turned, and was about to express them, when he encountered the fierce look of the Baron, and saw that further discourse would but increase his anger.

When left alone, the Baron, with furious gestures, paced the apartment.

“I would yet tame,” he muttered to himself, “that proud and haughty spirit, which, otherwise directed, might have fully answered to my wishes. No, no, I will let him range at large; his means will soon be exhausted, and I shall then find him returning to crouch at my feet. Ah! that will satisfy my vengeance; and I may then do with him as I list. He shall no longer remain here, nor return, until he comes a suppliant before me.”

Summoning his attendants, he exclaimed, “Let a horse be given to the rebellious youth who has just left me, and you, Karl! take whatever belongs to him from hence, and bear it wherever he lists. Henceforth he returns here no more. Do you hear me, slaves? Depart, and obey my orders!”

The frightened servants hurried out to obey their fierce Lord’s commands, and the dwarf Ladislau, who had stolen in unperceived among them, no sooner heard the order given, than he hastened to report it to Ivan.

“My best—my only true friend!” said Ladislau, in tears, “alas! you are banished for ever from hence, for I know that the Baron will not relent! nor shall I be allowed to see you again. I know not what course you mean to pursue; but this I know, my dear Ivan, that wherever you go, you will require money. Now I have no need of any myself, and therefore, if you have any regard for me, if you would not break my heart before its time, accept this purse. You will find in it enough to supply your wants for some time to come, and I shall never feel the loss of it.”

Ivan was affected to tears by this mark of affection from his diminutive friend, but at the same time he hesitated in depriving him of his means of existence, should he, like himself, be turned out into the world; but the excitable Ladislau broke out into a violent flood of tears, as he at first refused the gift, and swore that he himself would never touch it, if Ivan did not make use of it. So that at last, much against his inclination, he was obliged to accept a small portion, sufficient he trusted to carry him to the shores of Circassia.

After waiting some time, in the hope that the Baron’s anger would cool, he sent a message requesting permission to see him again before his departure; but a stern refusal was the answer, and an order that he should quit the house without further delay. His proud spirit thus irritated, he no longer hesitated to obey the stern command, after taking an affectionate leave of Ladislau, who refused to be comforted.

With heavy heart, and agitated feelings, he sallied forth for the last time from the gates of the chateau, amid looks of sadness and regret depicted on the faces of the servants, who dared in no other way to express their sentiments; and as he passed through the domain, many an affectionate regard was uttered by the serfs whom he met, grateful for his many acts of kindness to them; he then pursued his journey towards Moscow. On his arrival he repaired to the same hotel where he had before resided; he now had to undergo the pain of parting from the honest serf Karl, when he felt how few there were who cared for him; and this man having been his particular attendant from his childhood, he could not but feel grieved at the separation. The poor fellow, who would willingly and gladly have followed his fortunes, shed many tears as he embraced his master’s knees; but it was useless for him to repine, the stern law of the land forbade him. He was a slave chained to the soil, and obliged to obey the owner whoever he might be; and the Baron had ordered him to return to the château without delay.

It was long before he could tear himself away from the youth, whom he had attended from his boyhood, and for whom he felt a faithful attachment; but at length, bathed in tears, he rushed from him, mounted his horse and returned to his place of bondage, mourning over his own abject state, which should thus prevent him from following where his inclinations led. He had never before thought or dreamed of quitting the domain where he was born and bred; but now the wish to be free seized him, to throw off the yoke which could thus enchain his movements. He returned discontented and unhappy to his father’s hut, determining to seize the first opportunity to emancipate himself from bondage.

Ivan immediately despatched a messenger to acquaint his friend Thaddeus with the circumstances which had occurred; summoning him to his aid and counsel. He had now entered a new era in his existence; henceforth he felt that he must entirely depend on his own judgment and courage, to conduct him through the difficult and perilous way of life he had chosen, in preference to the one the Baron had offered.

His thoughts reverted to the days of his light-hearted boyhood, and he felt himself to be a man, indeed, with all the cares and anxieties almost inseparable from that stage of life; but he also felt that it was not a time for needless meditation—action, decided and instant action, was now become necessary.

He had devoted himself to assist in forwarding a great cause, the freedom of Russia; but then again, he felt that his own country had a prior claim to his services. He hesitated in deciding which plan it was most incumbent on him to pursue. Whether, at once to carry his sword to the aid of Circassia, or to fulfil the first engagements he had entered into, when he thought himself a Russian, and to assist in the liberation of Russia from despotism.

It occurred to him, at the same time, that by following the latter plan, he might be more effectually aiding his own country, for should freedom once be established among the Russians, he supposed it but natural that that people would desist from their unjust endeavours to deprive Circassia of her liberty.

Ivan determined, therefore, to wait a short time, at least, the course of events before he set off on his expedition in search of all which could now be dear to him. Country—home—father—and relations. He had to begin a new life: to throw off many of his old habits; to make new friends; and to consider those as enemies whom he had hitherto looked upon as countrymen. While these ideas were rapidly passing through his mind, he recollected that that evening had been fixed upon for a general meeting of the conspirators; and as soon as night arrived, he sallied forth amid the bustling crowds who hurried by, heedless of him and his intentions.

But there was one who anxiously had been waiting to observe his movements. As he left the house, that person, who was no other than his intended murderer, Groff, followed his steps, cautiously threading his way among the crowd, or retiring, when requisite, from observation to recommence his trail.

As Ivan walked quickly onwards, it struck him that he was followed, as he had been on a former occasion, and he prepared himself for any sudden encounter. Without any impediment, however, he reached the place of meeting, where he found the greater number of the chief conspirators assembled, and several new recruits among them.

On his entrance, all turned their faces towards him, and started from their seats.

“What! is it Ivan Galetzoff we see before us?” exclaimed one, advancing towards him with surprise on his countenance. “Is it possible that you stand before us alive and well?”

“Indeed,” answered Ivan, “I know it to be perfectly possible, although I do not understand the drift of your observations. Are you inclined to be merry? Yet I should suppose our affairs were too important to furnish matter for jesting!”

“Here’s some extraordinary mistake,” said the conspirator, “and glad are we to find you alive, when we thought you had been foully murdered.”

“Murdered!” exclaimed Ivan, “what gave rise to such an idea?”

“On the morning succeeding the last night you were here, a person was found, not far from this spot, murdered, with several wounds in his breast, and his features so disfigured that it was impossible to recognise him; it was also said that there was nothing found about his person, by which he could be known. Rumour proclaimed you to be the unfortunate individual, and from your not again appearing among us, we concluded that you had indeed been the victim.”

“It is clear that we have been mistaken,” said another conspirator, adding as he turned to Ivan, “Know you not that you have broken through the laws of our society, by absenting yourself without giving reason for so doing; it is for the safety of all, that the movements of every member of our association should be known to the committee of direction. Remember, that the sword of vengeance hangs over the head of him who shall turn traitor to our cause: secret, and sure will be the punishment, from which the guilty cannot escape, sheltered even in the palace of the autocrat.”

“Gentlemen!” said Ivan, rising, “ready should I be to suffer a traitor’s death, were I so base as to betray the sacred—the noble cause in which I am engaged. No time was allowed me to apprise you of my departure, when I was called away to attend a parent’s death-bed. If such be considered a crime, I am ready to suffer; but rather let my actions convince you how true and earnest I am in the cause of liberty. You see one before you now, ruined to all worldly prospects, and eager to assist in the work we have proposed. Let there be no further delay; we are already strong in the numbers and resources of our friends. Let us at once raise the standard of revolt against tyranny, and proclaim liberty to Russia, for sure I am that at the signal of deliverance, thousands will hasten joyfully to join our ranks, and that ere long the Russians, having thrown off the yoke of slavery, may lift up their heads among the free people of the earth.” These sentiments were received with loud acclamations by the majority of his hearers.

“The youth speaks well,” said one of the conspirators, rising; a violent and turbulent character, and a strong advocate for extreme measures; “but before we take the field openly, one great object must be accomplished, without which all our future efforts will be vain. Will you, who have so bravely spoken, undertake to perform that great, that sacred work? It is no slight deed—it is full of peril; but if success attends your aim, it will cover your name for ever with a wreath of glory. It is this: let me not hesitate to declare it; and let yours be the high honour of ridding the country of its greatest oppressor; let yours be the daring hand to stab the unsuspecting tyrant to the heart while revelling in the fancied security of his power; for until that first step be taken, naught else we can do will avail us!”

Ivan rose astounded, and indignant at the vile proposition; his feelings were responded to by the greater number of the most influential conspirators, at the same time that they were unwilling to damp the mad enthusiasm of others, who hesitated not in proposing violent measures; such men being but necessary tools to work out their own more moderate views.

“I came here,” he said, with deep emotion, “to offer my sword to the sacred cause of liberty, and not to act the abhorred part of a midnight assassin; and cursed will be the cause which requires such means to ensure its success. If such be the only resources by which liberty can be gained for Russia, I here demand back my pledge; my oath forbids me to denounce any to the Emperor; but I will never associate with men, who can even allow such a proposition to be made among them.”

He spoke proudly and dauntlessly, and, having uttered these sentiments, was about to quit the assembly, when several of the conspirators gathered round him, endeavouring to calm his agitation and anger; while others regarded him with stern and lowering glances, ready to sacrifice him to their vengeance, should he shew the least sign of betraying them.

Though some manifested a slight opposition to his leaving the meeting, he was nevertheless allowed to depart, by his more intimate acquaintance undertaking to answer for his fidelity.

Hot and eager discussions then arose, and many loudly stigmatised the vile proposition which had been made; though some still adhered to their opinion, that they were justified in any deed that would forward the great end. The debate had increased in warmth, until the conspirators formed themselves into distinct parties, when a person rushed into the assembly, consternation and dismay marked on his countenance.

“My friends,” he cried, “I have just made a discovery which places us all in imminent danger; for instead of Ivan Galetzoff, who was supposed to have been murdered, I find that it was the young Count Flatoff, who fell a victim to the dagger of an assassin, having in his possession the important dispatches for St. Petersburg, which he had undertaken to convey thither. Nothing was found about his person, when his corpse was discovered, so that there is every probability that the murderer has possessed himself of the documents. Some of the Count’s friends here have been making inquiries for him, on finding that he had not set off, and it was thus I first suspected that he was the person found murdered. We are, therefore, completely in the power of whoever possesses those papers, for even the assassin himself would obtain pardon for the deed from the government, in return for the valuable information he can give.”

This announcement caused deep alarm among the conspirators, who immediately broke off their debate, to prepare for departure and separation. But what was their dismay, when on emerging from the garden, they found every avenue occupied by officers of police, and one by one as the foremost appeared, were made prisoners. The rest, seeing the fate of their friends, formed into a body, and made a desperate effort to cut their way through the guards; some succeeding; but by far the greater number fell into the hands of their enemies. Those who got off fled in all directions, pursued by the police, but very few escaped.

Volume One—Chapter Fourteen.

The young Pole, Thaddeus Stanisloff, had been appointed to a regiment, destined to proceed with many others to join the army in the Caucasus, now quartered in Moscow on its way to the south. On the same day, that Ivan had been driven from the château of the Baron Galetzoff, he left his home to join his regiment; taking a farewell, which he felt might too probably be the last, of his broken-hearted father, now rapidly drawing towards his end, worn out by grief and sickness. He received also the warm and cordial adieus of his generous and high-minded host.

Thaddeus, naturally light-hearted and gay, by the time he reached Moscow, had forgotten the sorrow of parting, and was looking forward to the pleasure of again meeting his friend Ivan, as, soon after dusk, he rode through the streets towards the hotel where he expected to find him; but was disappointed on hearing that he had already gone out. He immediately set forth on foot by himself, in hopes of finding him at some of their usual places of resort, when, soon after leaving the hotel, the light of a torch falling strongly on his features, a small and feminine figure, who was about to pass on, stopped to look attentively at his face, and then addressed him in a timid and agitated manner. As she looked up to speak, the veil which had before concealed her face dropt on one side, and discovered the features of the Gipsy girl Azila.

“I meet you most fortunately,” she said, “for you may be able to give assistance, where it will be much required. Are you ready to meet a great danger to assist a friend?”

“I should be unworthy to be called a friend, by any whom I should hesitate to aid, whatever the risk to myself,” answered Thaddeus. “But of whom do you speak?”

“Of your friend, Ivan Galetzoff! I have this moment been to his hotel, in the hope of warning him of an impending danger, with which I have but just become acquainted. I could not trust any other with such a communication to him; he has already gone out, and although I am too late to prevent him from encountering danger, I may yet be able to rescue him with your assistance.”

“That, I will gladly give at every risk,” answered Thaddeus. “But how am I to find him? Where is he, that I may hasten to his aid?”

“That, I may not tell you,” answered Azila; “but trust wholly in me, and I will place you where you may be ready to lend your assistance, if required.”

“I will trust entirely to your guidance,” said Thaddeus.

“I knew that you were too noble to hesitate,” rejoined Azila, in a deep tone of gratitude. “Let us then waste no more time here.”

“Lead the way, fair lady, and I will follow,” said Thaddeus.

“Have you your weapons?” she asked, “for they may be needed.”

“Yes, I carry my sword under my cloak.”

“That is well,” said Azila; “and now, Sir, follow me closely, and promptly, or we may be too late.”

Azila, looking back for an instant, to see that Thaddeus followed, then advanced at so rapid a pace, threading her way through the intricate streets, that he could scarcely keep up without running. She crossed the river by one of the bridges, and passed through several desolate streets, where many of the houses had not yet been raised from their ashes, hurrying on, till she arrived beneath the dark shadow of a broad archway, and then paused.

Here she spoke to her companion, in a low earnest whisper: “I cannot lead you further, but you must consent to remain here patiently, till your assistance be called for, or until I return; as I now must hasten to summon one of my tribe, who are in the neighbourhood, to aid in your friend’s escape. Wrap yourself closely in your cloak, and remain concealed within this arch; keep your sword drawn for a sudden rescue, for I have reason to suppose that your friend will be set upon by assassins, as he passes near this spot. At all events, be cautious and on the alert.”

Gliding away noiselessly from the spot, she then left Thaddeus, who forthwith retired into the darkest corner, effectually concealed from any passer by, beneath the buttresses of the arch. He did not exactly comprehend by what means his friend had exposed himself to the danger, but it was sufficient for him to know that his aid was required, no matter at what risk to himself; and he determined to abide the result, whatever it might be.

He was doomed to keep a long watch; straining his eyes in endeavouring to pierce through the gloom, and intently listening, to catch the sound of any approaching footstep; when suddenly he heard the sound of voices in muttered conference, apparently approaching the spot where he stood concealed.

The arch, in which Azila had placed Thaddeus, was not the same in which Groff had concealed himself, ere he perpetrated the murder of the young Count Flatoff, but at a short distance from it. The former would not have answered the assassin’s purpose, being too far removed from the lane Ivan usually passed by. This will account for Thaddeus now remaining undisturbed in his concealment.

“Halt here, Kruntz,” said one voice; “this is the spot, I know it well, where I have seen this cursed youth pass so often, and I recommended our noble master to wait here for him. Something has enraged the Count more than ever against him, and he vows that he will not be content, until he has passed his own sword through him. He’ll make sure of him, I warrant.”

“More sure work than you did the other night, Groff,” said Kruntz.

“What mean you?” replied Groff; “what work do you speak of?”

“What mean I! why the murder of Count Flatoff! Tush, tush! comrade, think not to hide that from me, or fear that I would betray you. I suspected that you had been about some dirty work, when you came in, and I was not long in discovering the truth.”

“If you know it, what’s the use of speaking about it,” hoarsely muttered Groff. “I’ll not make a mistake again, trust me. We will have our revenge this time, and gain a reward. A pretty work the youth has given us, what with watching and hunting him about so long.”

“We ought to know each other by this time, Groff, and need keep no little secrets of this sort from one another: so, no fear of my betraying you. But say, how did you manage to find out that young Galetzoff is likely to pass this way?”

“Why, the Count set me to watch all his haunts; and several times I followed him in this direction, when I suddenly lost sight of him among the garden walls; but after waiting here, I found that he again passed by, and each night he has done the same. I felt certain that it was he, when I made the mistake the other night; but I will not fail a second time, trust me; and I know that he will come, for I am sure it was he, we saw pass at dusk. Ah! what is that object on the ground, Kruntz? see, it moves! It is too horrid to look at!” cried Groff, in a hollow, husky voice. “I see its mangled features. Do you believe in ghosts, Kruntz?”

“Ghosts—no!” answered Kruntz, jeeringly; “I never saw one yet. Why, what’s the matter, man? you are not wont to tremble. Rouse yourself, Groff: be a man. Why, what is there to care for, if you did put a wrong man out of the way; you are not the first who has done so.”

“It is well for you to laugh, Kruntz, who have no feelings; but if you had seen the horrible sight that appeared to me just now, you would have trembled.”

“Nonsense, man,” said his companion, “it was all your fancy; and now get rid of such ideas, for here comes some one. Be prepared!”

Thaddeus heard nearly every word of this conversation; and becoming much alarmed for the safety of his friend, stood ready to rush out to his assistance, for he fancied that through the gloom he saw him approaching.

As the footsteps drew near, the voice of the Count Erintoff was heard: “Hist, hist! what, knaves, are you there? Kruntz, Groff, answer!”

The men who had been concealed by the arch, stepped forward as they heard their master’s voice.

“Has the person I told you to watch for appeared, or have you again let him escape you, villains?”

“No, Count,” answered Kruntz: “no fear of that. I owe him a broken head, and I don’t forget my debts. I should like to catch his friend, the other young fellow; I would pay him off all old scores.”

“Hush, knaves!” said the Count. “Listen, some one approaches: be prepared to rush out. It is he!”

A footstep was heard. Thaddeus grasped his sword more firmly—his heart beat high, as he stood ready to spring from his hiding-place. The person had reached the spot. It was Ivan; for the Count and his servants sprung out upon him, and attacked him furiously.

“Yield; you are my prisoner!” exclaimed the Count, making a pass with his sword at Ivan’s breast, though, fortunately, not so rapidly but that he had time to spring aside, and draw his own weapon, with which he had provided himself since Azila’s warning; this enabled him to parry a second thrust made at him.

“Rescue! Ivan! here’s rescue, my friend!” cried Thaddeus, darting forward, most unexpectedly, and beating down the swords of the two servants, who attempted to oppose him. “What means this assassin-like attack?”

He was met by Groff and Kruntz, who had recovered from their surprise in a moment, and now turned upon him with their whole united strength, while their master pressed Ivan hard.

“Yield!” again exclaimed the Count, “you are a traitor to Russia, and have joined in a dark conspiracy against her laws.”

These words urged Ivan to defend himself with greater determination; and returning the Count’s attack with the utmost vigour, the latter would have fallen a victim to his own nefarious plot, had he not called Kruntz to his aid.

Left to engage Thaddeus single-handed, Groff now attacked him with such blind fury, that he left his own person exposed; while his opponent, anxious to lend his aid to Ivan, who was now so unequally beset, did his utmost to disarm him. Failing in this attempt, he made a lunge to terminate the contest, and his sword passed through the body of his adversary, who fell, with scarcely a groan, to the earth. In the meantime, Ivan had defended himself successfully from his determined assailants; but just as his friend turned to his aid, his foot slipped, and the Count observing the movement, passed his sword through his side. Thaddeus soon succeeded in disarming Kruntz, whirling his sword, by superior fence, out of his hand, and over the adjoining wall, when the ruffian, instead of assisting his master, turned and fled. Before the latter had time to follow up his advantage, by a second and more effectual wound on Ivan, he was vigorously assailed by Thaddeus, who, pressing him back to relieve his friend, disarmed him likewise; but, retreating behind a projecting buttress, the Count baffled his pursuing adversary, and being well acquainted with the different intricate windings, he succeeded in effecting his escape.

Retracing his steps, Thaddeus rejoined his friend, at the moment when the latter, returning to consciousness from the effects of his hurt, attempted to raise himself from the earth. Bending down by his side, he proceeded to bind up his wound, and as Ivan recognised him, he exclaimed:

“Fly, Thaddeus, fly! for treachery and danger surround us: there is not a moment for explanations; but I beseech you to fly instantly, or you will be involved in my ruin.”

“Never could I leave you thus,” replied Thaddeus. “Lean on me for support, and perhaps we may yet have time to escape.”

“Thanks for your generous aid,” said Ivan; “but I fear escape is impossible; I feel too much hurt to walk, and you would inevitably be overtaken: for be assured, that the Count has but retreated to call the police, without whose aid he first trusted to satiate his revenge. I know too well, by the words he uttered, that I am completely in his power, through secret information he has gained.”

At that moment, a light footstep was heard approaching, and a female form appeared, whom Thaddeus recognised as Azila.

A cry escaped her as she beheld Ivan hurt and on the ground; when, throwing herself beside him, she assisted Thaddeus in supporting his wounded friend.

“Alas!” she cried, “unhappy I am that I should have arrived too late to prevent this calamity; but I have friends on their way who may still be of service.”

“Thanks, fair girl,” said Ivan, raising himself with their assistance, “I will exert myself; but first, persuade my friend to save himself by flight, for his stay here can but subject him to great peril, without affording me further aid.”

“He speaks but too truly,” said Azila, turning to Thaddeus. “It were, indeed, madness to remain, and so offer another sacrifice to the Count’s revenge; for believe me, your friend has been betrayed by that dastard, Count Erintoff, and has incurred the rigour of the most tyrannical laws. Fly, therefore, while you have time, before the police are upon us, when your uniform alone would betray you; fear not for your friend, his safety will be cared for.”

Thaddeus still refused to desert his friend, in spite of the latter’s persuasions; when, as she spoke, lights were seen to glimmer in the distance.

“Fly, fly, Thaddeus! my dear friend!” cried Ivan: “see, the police are approaching, and you will but involve yourself in my misfortunes. And you, lady, leave me to my fate; your safety is also perilled if you are discovered.”

“I will not quit you, Sir; I have nothing to fear,” answered Azila. “Ah!” she exclaimed, “the Great Spirit is merciful!” as, at that moment, two dark forms emerged from the opposite direction to that in which the lights had appeared, and towards which she had constantly been directing an inquiring glance. “These are my friends, and may yet be in time to save you.”

Two men then approached, to whom she spoke in her own language, and instantly they raised Ivan gently from the ground, and bore him rapidly in the direction whence they had come.

Azila led the way in silence. Thaddeus followed, and he was happy to find that their distance, from the lights carried by the police, evidently increased.

The fugitives continued their way for some time, along the dark and narrow lanes, amid the ruined buildings we have already described, and with which Azila seemed perfectly acquainted; never for a moment hesitating which path to take, among the numerous turnings. They at length paused in front of a huge pile of buildings equally dilapidated, looming still larger and darker in the gloom through which they were seen. Their guide passing beneath a low covered way, followed by the rest of the party, struck a sharp blow on a small door, scarcely distinguishable from the masonry which surrounded it. It was opened without a moment’s delay; the party entered, and after descending a few steps, Thaddeus found himself in a small vaulted chamber.

The door was carefully closed behind them, and a decrepit old man made his appearance, bearing a lamp in his hand, with which he scrutinised each individual on entering. The two athletic gipsies now placed their wounded burthen on a low pallet which stood at one end of the vault, when Azila thus addressed the old man:

“Father! I am come to entreat your succour for one in distress, who has escaped from the police now in full search of him. While here, he would, you know, be in safety.”

“Daughter,” answered the old man, “I would refuse you nothing. I will do my utmost for the youth’s safety; but who is this other? An officer too! what does he here?”

“He is a friend of the Wounded man, and would not quit him, though at great danger to himself,” answered Azila. “Ere the morn dawns, he must be from hence. But now that you have granted us your hospitality, father, we must attend to your wounded guest.”

It was indeed time, as from the exertion Ivan had undergone, his wound bled afresh; the old man, however, produced salves and linen to apply to it; but his hands trembled with the feebleness of age as he performed the operation, assisted by Thaddeus.

“Ay, ay, I have bound up many wounds in my day, and thought to have long ago departed for that place where there will be none to cure. God’s will be done!”

Ivan had just strength to express his thanks, and fell back exhausted. In the mean time, Azila had dispatched the two men to watch the direction taken by the police, and to bring back word, as soon as it would be safe for Thaddeus to venture on his return to the city. She then took her seat by the side of Ivan’s humble couch, watching each movement of his pallid face, while Thaddeus was seated opposite, and their old host busied himself in producing various articles of refreshment, including a flask of wine; a small quantity of which considerably revived Ivan. The old man kept moving about, and muttering to himself, but bestowing few words on the strangers.