bearing a name which can never be made glorious by any achievement of my own. You know my story, and the fate of my father. Wassielewski has urged upon me to join you." “And I," said Leonard, also in French, "have urged upon him the madness and folly of joining in your plans. Gentlemen-you, M. le Comte"-he addressed the chief of them-" are not all wild enthusiasts. If you concert any plan of rebellion, draw it up without consulting my friend Ladislas Pulaski, He is not a soldier, nor is he of the stuff which makes soldiers. He is a poet and a musician. If you must pit the feeble resources of a province-I beg your pardon—a nation like Poland against the armies of a mighty empire which has been able to resist for two years the combined forces of England, France, and Turkey, do not add to your numbers a man who in the field will be useless to you, whose death can do you no good, and whose life may do others much good." The leader hesitated. Wassielewski. after all these years, would be stirred for a moment by the intelligence that a Pulaski had joined the insurgents? Was my first feeling one of relief or of humiliation? But the conference was brought to a sudden and unexpected end. The count, looking round, perceived Herr Räumer standing modestly in the shade of the curtain. "And who is this gentleman?" he asked.—“ Is he also a friend of yours, Count Pulaski?" Before I could answer, Herr Räumer replied for me. It was in his most mocking tone, which brought out the curious rasp in his voice. It was a voice which somehow haunted one; you could never forget it. I hear it still, sometimes, in dreams. "A friend of Ladislas Pulaski, and a friend to Poland. Perhaps a closer friend than any of you.— Pray proceed with your papers, M. le Comte." It was the ragged workman, the man in the blue blouse, who sprang forward as if he had been shot, Then he whispered to and, pushing everybody aside, began gazing in the German's face, gesticulating and gasping. And then the old captain had his say. "I do not," he said, stepping forward, and laying his hand upon my shoulder-"I do not, unfortunately, understand any language but my own. I have never regretted the fact till the present moment. Gentlemen, this boy is my son. I have adopted him, I have educated him, I refuse to let him go.' "The name of Poland-" began my old conspirator. use. " "In the name of Poland," said the captain, "I would let him go if I thought he would be of any But this is not in the name of Poland. It is -pardon me if I am rough-in the name of a conspiracy. Assure me, if you can, that the nation is with you, and Ladislas shall go." "No, no!" cried poor old Wassielewski. "He comes of his own accord, he cannot be kept back, he fights for his mother's wrongs.-Tell me, Ladislas, tell me, is not that the case?" His voice trembled, his eyes were so pathetic that I could not resist their appeal. I took his hand and pressed it. But I had no word to say. "I do not know," he replied, carelessly; "I did not see him come in. I have seen him walking with Ladislas. He belongs to the town." "Man!" cried the ouvrier, "do you not know his voice? Are you deaf, then? Have you forgotten?-Speak again-you! Speak, spy!" But Herr Räumer did not speak. He folded his arms, looking down upon the little ouvrier with an expression of great contempt. But he did not speak. The workman shrieked in a kind of rage. "Mais oui!" he cried, "mais oui! I am not The man they called the count looked disap- mistaken.-Wassielewski-M. le Comte, look at this pointed and uneasy. "This is not," he said to Leonard, "quite the reception which we expected. Still, no doubt, there is truth in what you urge, and besides-besides nothing is quite certain.-Be assured, M. le Capitaine "-he addressed the captain-" that we shall spare Count Pulaski if possible. If his name will help us, and if we can satisfy you that we obey the voice of the nation, we may call upon him-" "If-if?" repeated Wassielewski. "Why, are the Poles gone mad, to forget the glorious name of Pulaski?" "Not mad, my friend," said the count. "But twenty years have passed. In Polish villages, where there are no books and no papers, much is forgotten in twenty years." I understood his look as he said these words. I was not to go. Of what use could I be, and who, man, I say again. Look at him! Here is treachery, here is a spy of the Muscov. We are invited to meet a Pole-bah! a Pole who cannot speak his own tongue-and we find our enemy in the middle of us. Mes frères !"-he looked round him with a face which revenge and hatred made a curious and hideous caricature-“mes frères ! shall we let this man leave the house alive?" "Enfin !" cried the count. "Who is he?-Is it any use, Count Pulaski, asking you who he is?" "It is Herr Räumer," I said; "a German gentleman, who has lived in this town for many years." "Who brought him here?" asked the chief. "He came in with you," I replied. "I thought Wassielewski brought him." The old man, puzzled and uneasy, shook his head. He was so eager to begin the fighting, this veteran rebel, that this preliminary talk, even talk of traitors and spies, worried him. No, he had not brought in this stranger, he said. Then Herr Räumer laughed and spoke : I "I came," he said, in that deep bass voice which | jarred upon our nerves like a violoncello out of tune -"I came uninvited. Let that be understood. was not asked to come by any one. I wished to make one in this gathering of Polish conspirators. It is a movement in which I take so deep an interest that I may be excused for wishing to know all that goes on." Of course, he was sneering, and, equally of course, he did not expect to be believed. The Parisian Pole shrieked and danced with rage, ejaculating, cursing, pouring out imprecations with a volubility almost incredible. "Here!" he cried, a little exhausted-"here! In the very presence of the young Count Pulaski. You, Wassielewski, look at him. Do you not know him?" He lifted himself on his toes and hissed a name in Wassielewski's ear. The old man staggered. "Here-in the same town-all these years-and I not to know it!" he cried. "Not to know it-" Then he advanced upon Herr Räumer, tall, threatening, wild-eyed, waving his arms like the sails of a windmill. "Oh! men-men-shall we kill him?" He was hungry for the blood of the spy. Had he possessed a weapon, I think there would have been an end of him at once. Two of the others, the professor and the count, placed themselves before the door, and the man in the blouse danced round and round, loudly crying that he should be killed, and that at once. "He is a spy-O Ladislas-hope of my heartthe son of my dear mistress whom this man murdered, what have you told him about us--about our plans?" "Nothing, Wassielewski. nothing." "It is the hand of the man who drove Roman Pulaski along the road from Warsaw to Siberia." Leonard laid his hand upon my shoulder. "Steady, Laddy-quiet, dear boy, patience." Then the count spoke. "It is unfortunate. We might have known that Russian spies would be in this place somewhere. We did not expect to find one in our very midst." Among us all these years, and I never knew him!" groaned poor Wassielewski. "Poles! What shall we do to this man?" 44 'Meantime," said the count, "we have to face the fact that he has been here to-day, that he knew of our coming, and the reason of it, and that all our proceedings will be reported immediately to St. Petersburg. This, at least, changes our plans." "Not to-day's proceedings. For he shall diehe shall die!" cried the workman. And then there was dead silence. The men looked at each other as if asking who would strike the blow. The captain interfered. Gentlemen," he said, "do not forget that whatever this man is, or has been, he is in my house, and in England, and must be allowed to go unhurt. You cannot, as you might in Poland, kill him as a spy. That is impossible. You must let him go." "Let him go?" cried the Parisian, springing to the front. "Never!" I will do the man justice. He never flinched or showed the slightest fear. But the count drew him back gently. "Let him go in peace," he said. "In England we cannot shoot him.-Go; all that we can do, Monsieur le Mouchard, is to parade your name, to describe your person, to make your calling impossible Remember-I know unless you can disguise yourself, and therefore to ruin you with the secret-service department. Go, loathed and accursed among men! Go, canaille!" "He has told the spy nothing," Wassielewski repeated." Have you eaten his bread, Ladislas? Have you entered his house? Have you taken his hand?" "I have done all those things," I replied. Herr Räumer laughed. "He has done all those things. Why not, conspirator and rebel?" Wassielewski pointed to the man in the blouse. "Tell him," he said, "tell Ladislas Pulaski why he should not have done those things." "He should not have eaten his bread, or entered his house, or taken his hand, because the bread is paid for by Russia, because the house is the house of a Russian spy, and because the hand is red with Polish blood." "And more—and more!" said Wassielewski. "Much more. That hand was the hand which arrested Roman Pulaski on his way to the Austrian frontier. It is the hand of the man who led the Cossacks when they robbed the Polish mothers of He turned from him with such a gesture as Peter might have made to Judas. Leonard, to my astonishment, took Herr Räumer by the arm, and led him to the door, going out with him, as the Poles fell back right and left. Wassielewski and the man in the blouse whispered together for a moment, and then followed together. That boded ill for the spy, and I was relieved, on the whole, to think that Leonard was with him. I was left alone with the three Poles and the captain. "Count Pulaski," said the leader, "I greatly deplore this accident. I hoped that we should have been able to lay before you all our plans, to enlist you in the cause, and to hold out hopes of an immediate insurrection." "And now-?" 'Now, we have no plan. We must first find out how far our secrets have been made known by that man." "Can I not help you?" I asked. "I am-what you see me—but I might do something yet for Poland." none. "You shall live for Poland," he went on, with a sad but kindly smile. "No; we shall not, as your friend said, add murder to revolt in dragging you away from your peaceful life. Think, if you can, sometimes, of those who have personal sufferings and degradations burning in their souls. You have My back has felt the Russian stick; my cheek yet burns with the Russian blow. Still, you have the memory of your father's death, and you cannot love the Russian cause. Forget us as soon as you can. I shall take Wassielewski away, and leave you free. We shall have meetings, I suppose, but you will not be asked to join. Everything is uncertain, because in London, Paris, everywhere, the mouchards throng. And, of all mouchards, the most crafty, the most difficult to detect, is the Russian. I wish you farewell, Count Pulaski." and crossed his legs—“ was quite right, though he put things roughly. The Poles cannot see the other side of the question. That is why I wanted to explain to you one or two little things." He paused, as if trying for words. "I cannot hope," he said, "to make you understand that the execution of orders in the police is no more disgraceful than in the army. I did arrest Roman Pulaski. I tracked him down, and caught him just upon the frontier. That was my duty. I did escort him part of the way to Siberia, whither he walked on foot. That was my duty. The sentence was the czar's. I was his servant. Do you blame me? No; you cannot. As regards the other charge about the children, that is also partly true. I was not in charge of the carts, but I rode part of the way with them. I am in no mood for lying or for defending myself with you, but I ask you to let young Pulaski know that this is the first I have heard about his connection with that day. I did not He took my hand and was gone, followed by his know, when I first made his acquaintance, that he three friends, and I was left alone. This was the end of my grand deputation. I was free; my promise would never be fulfilled; I was relieved of my pledge. And I was profoundly humiliated. For I was allowed to go as one who could be of no use to the cause. I saw the disappointment on the chief's face when he turned from Leonard to me; I saw the readiness with which he acquiesced in Leonard's expostulation: I was of no use to him or to his party. The last of my race was another Edgar Atheling. And would they think-no-they could not-that I had revealed the plot to this Russo-German spy? Or that I was a foolish creature who could not hold his tongue? CHAPTER XLV. THE SPY'S EXPLANATION. was one of the victims of that-that-excess of zeal on the part of our Cossack friends. I knew nothing about his mother. You may believe me or not when I tell you that when I made his acquaintance-when I found him to be a poet and a dreamer-I resolved to prevent him if possible from being led to death by a madman. Do you blame me for that?" "Yes," Leonard replied. "I blame you for ever speaking to him or knowing him. I blame you-because you are a spy." "A servant in the secret-service department. Yes, and in that capacity I have been of use to my country." "I dare say you have," said Leonard. "I do not care to hear about that. I have only one more thing to say. Did you happen, when you came away, to catch the expression in old Wassielewski's eyes?" "I did. I watched all the eyes. Shall I tell you what they said as plainly as eyes can speak? That IN the street Leonard released his hold of Herr boy looked at me with a sort of wonder, as if it Räumer's arm. "You are free," he said. "Go your own way." The spy laughed. "Of course, I knew there was no danger. The danger begins now. Come with me to my lodgings. I have something to say to you." Leonard followed him. In his own place the man opened a bottle of hock, and after offering a glass to Leonard, who refused, drank glass after glass without stopping. "Nothing," he said, "steadies the nerves like hock. So you will not drink with a member of the Russian secret service? No. You will not sit down in his room? No. You will not take his hand? No. You think it a disgrace to belong to that service? Good. That is not a disgrace, but it is disgraceful to be found out, and I do not disguise from you that it will not do me good at headquarters to have been discovered. After all, they will remember that I have had a good long run. was not possible; the professor with curiosity; the count with disappointment, but no surprise. I know the count, he is a clever man, and, if he does not get shot in Poland, will rise in Paris. The old captain would have liked to hang me up at the yard-arm; and the other two, Wassielewski and our Parisian, looked murder." "I came with you, to warn you." "Thank you very much; I need no warning." "What are you going to do?" "Murder and revenge," he repeated-" that sounds ugly, but I have seen the look of murder in a good many eyes before now. The look does not kill. I shall do nothing." "You will remain here?" "Our friend in the blue blouse"-he sat down must go away." "Must? And why?' He explained that there were other reasons besides the fear of those two. The Poles would spread it abroad that he was a Russian spy; the town was full of sailors only a year or so from the Crimean War; and that an English mob were generally rough. Lastly, Leonard assured him that so far as lay in his power he should take care that he should enter no respectable person's house, that his profession should be told everybody, and that a highly-colored description of the deputation scene should be forwarded to the local and to the London papers. Then Herr Räumer gave way. "You are a pertinacious man," he said, "and you want to see me go. Well, I will go to-day. Will that satisfy you?" "I want, for the sake of poor old Wassielewski, to avoid a scandal. See "-Leonard pointed to the window-"the little man in the blouse is watching you in the street." This was indeed the case. He was marching backward and forward, gesticulating, and incessantly casting an eye at the door of the enemy's house. "Go in the daytime," said Leonard. "There is a train to London at five-go by that." 66 'Perhaps," said the spy; "perhaps by a later train; but I shall go to-day-that I promise you, for Wassielewski's sake. All this," he went on, after more hock-" all this, I confess, is horribly annoying to me. I had formed a pleasant plan for the future which has been entirely disarranged. At sixty-two one does not like to have one's plans upset. I pictured to myself ten years of ease and retirement from active work, giving my advice and experience to the department, going on those special missions reserved for the higher officers of the service, decorated, pensioned, and living at St. Petersburg with a young and beautiful wife. I confess I am disappointed. Now, I dare say, I shall never marry at all. After all, he who expects nothing from life gets the most. I am content." "I came away after that," said Leonard. "What a man it is! He has no shame; he glories in his trade. I hope he will go, as he promised; but I am not easy about it. I should like to watch old Wassielewski, or lock him up. And it seems too much to think that he will go away in broad daylight like a man who isn't a spy. Most likely he will steal away in the dark by cross-cuts and lanes and on tiptoe, after the manner of a stage spy." [CONCLUSION NEXT MONTH.] WIND FROM THE EAST. HE Spring, so fair in her young incompleteness, Now, through frail leaves and misty branches brown, The Earth, herself so gay, O masterful wind and cruel! at thy sweep, On the tall trees the foremost buds, half bare, Stared, as wild-eyed, on the keen, rasping air; Then shook-but not with softly-palpitant thrills, As when, o'erlooking the freed mountain-rills, VOL. IV.-31 They felt their life by loving arms caressed- The twigs that bore them flattened upward, lost Then many a tiny leaf, though waxing pale, "D "I was disturbed that any man dared to say such things of you-and to write them to me. That was natural." O you suppose that I shall ever deny that? Do you suppose that I shall ever explain? If you do-" And here the haughty, disdainful tones suddenly broke off in a passion of anger and defiance. The next moment the circlet of gold with its one flashing diamond was drawn swiftly from the finger, where twelve months ago it had been placed with such fond words and fonder hopes, and flung-if you could love as I thought-if you were the fiercely down upon the table before which the giver stood. 64 Essie-" "Don't call me by that name now! You have forfeited all right to do so." The man to whom this was addressed looked at the girl, who passed this sentence so fiercely, with a sort of stunned look of amazement. Recovering himself presently, he said, with emphasis: "I have not forfeited the right. You are simply misunderstanding me in the wildest manner." "Misunderstanding you !" This with an inflection of scern and unbelief that was like a blow. But the listener kept his temper well in hand. "Yes-misunderstanding me. I have neither asked you to explain nor to deny. You unfortunately take up a letter that I should never have shown you, and thus become acquainted with what-" He who hesitates is lost;" and the moment's hesitation here-perhaps for the right word, merely, for John Wayland was not a fluent man-lost him more than he would gain again in this interview. "With what you would have preferred to tell me," was the swift interposition, said with no diminution of hot anger. "I don't know that I should have told you at all!" "You don't know that you should have told me at all! How chivalrous! how generous, John Wayland!" And here the anger became mixed with a glimpse of that love that half an hour ago had made such a heaven for her. "If some wretch had written to me, as James Charlton has written to you, and accused you of such things as this, do you think that I would have insulted you by ever dreaming of telling you the contents? Never! never! I should know that I could never have told you. O John, John, why didn't you say, 'I should never have told you?'" The despairing break in the voice here was almost a sob. The man made a movement forward as he heard it, and a little flush crossed his face. "Essie-Esther," he said, in a moment, "I am not like you-quick in my thought and action; that is all." "No, no, it is not all! You doubted me from the first, after reading that letter. I saw something different about you—an absence of mind, a coolness -the moment I came in." "As if any man like James Charlton dared not lie about any one who had thwarted his purpose! I had thwarted his purpose, and he determined to revenge himself upon me. But if you had loved me man I thought you-you would listen to nothing, you would care for nothing-you couldn't be disturbed!" In an instant, without warning, as her voice ceased, Esther Dalrymple turned and left the room. John Wayland (Jack Wayland his friends dubbed him) stood for a second as if dazed, then sprang to the door with an idea at first of pursuit ; but a minute's reflection showed him that this was useless, and he turned back, with a look in his eyes that, if Esther Dalrymple had seen, might have gone far to heal her sore heart. Flinging himself down in a chair before the table, whereon lay the fatal let ter and the pretty, glittering ring, he saw also a little pair of rose-colored gloves and a soft, little, lawny handkerchief, with an odor of wood-violets. took them up with a sort of tender admiration, regarded them a few minutes, then, suddenly pressing them passionately to his lips, thrust them out of sight into an inner pocket against his breast. Then, as calmly as he could, he reviewed the situation. He Two hours ago he had been one of the happiest of men. Just promoted to the rank of colonel, possessing the love of the girl who had won his heart three years ago, in the prime of his young manhood he had just turned thirty-life stretched fair and promisingly before him. Now, rejected, scorned, this woman whom he loved suffering as he knew that she must suffer, and a dark shadow flung upon her sweet, fair name by a scoundrel whom to seek to punish openly would be to throw up to the world the whole hideous story-a story he did not doubt to be faise-a lie, as she had said, but none the less a shadow. He had known three years before that James Charlton was one of the moths that had fluttered round Esther Dalrymple's bright light; but he did not know how the light had scorched and burned this particular moth, though Essie, in the first days of her engagement, had told him of the young man's professed regard for her, and that at one time she had thought that she liked him, "until-until-" and Essie had stopped eloquently here with such a look at her lover that any man far less ardent even than Jack Wayland would have forgotten everything else but the bliss of the moment. He began to see now how "thwarted" James Charlton had been, and how, meanly jealous and revengeful, he sought to destroy the woman he had loved, and to keep her from other arms than his own. Gradually, as John Wayland pondered everything, the whole danger of the situation presented itself. Here was a thoroughly |