The Autobiography of a Slander.......................................................................................................................1

Edna Lyall ................................................................................................................................................1

MY FIRST STAGE.................................................................................................................................1

MY SECOND STAGE............................................................................................................................5

MY THIRD STAGE ................................................................................................................................8

MY FOURTH STAGE..........................................................................................................................11

MY FIFTH STAGE...............................................................................................................................13

MY SIXTH STAGE..............................................................................................................................17

MY SEVENTH STAGE ........................................................................................................................18

I was born on the 2nd September, 1886, in a small, dull, country town. When I say the town was dull, I mean,

of course, that the inhabitants were unenterprising, for in itself Muddleton was a picturesque place, and

though it laboured under the usual disadvantage of a dearth of bachelors and a superfluity of spinsters, it

might have been pleasant enough had it not been a favourite resort for my kith and kin.

My father has long enjoyed a worldwide notoriety; he is not, however, as a rule named in good society,

though he habitually frequents it; and as I am led to believe that my autobiography will possibly be circulated

by Mr. Mudie, and will lie about on drawing room tables, I will merely mention that a most representation

of my progenitor, under his nom de theatre, Mephistopheles, may be seen now in London, and I should

recommend all who wish to understand his character to go to the Lyceum, though, between ourselves, he

I was introduced into the world by an old lady named Mrs. O'Reilly. She was a very pleasant old lady, the

wife of a General, and one of those sociable, friendly, talkative people who do much to cheer their

neighbours, particularly in a deadlylively provincial place like Muddleton, where the standard of social

intercourse is not very high. Mrs. O'Reilly had been in her day a celebrated beauty; she was now greyhaired

and stout, but still there was something impressive about her, and few could resist the charm of her manner

and the pleasant easy flow of her small talk. Her love of gossip amounted almost to a passion, and nothing

came amiss to her; she liked to know everything about everybody, and in the main I think her interest was a

kindly one, though she found that a little bit of scandal, every now and then, added a piquant flavour to the

The sound waves set in motion by Mrs. O'Reilly's words were tumultuously heaving in the atmosphere when

I sprang into being, a young but perfectly formed and most promising slander. A delicious odour of tea

pervaded the drawingroom, it was orangeflower pekoe, and Mrs. O'Reilly was just handing one of the

"What a shocking thing! Do you really mean it?" exclaimed Miss Houghton. "Thank you, cream but no

sugar; don't you know, Mrs. O'Reilly, that it is only LowChurch people who take sugar nowadays? But,

"My dear, I am an old woman, and I have learnt in the course of a wandering life to put two and two

together," said Mrs. O'Reilly. She had somehow managed to ignore middle age, and had passed from her

position of renowned beauty to the position which she now firmly and constantly claimed of many years and

much experience. "Of course," she continued, "like every one else, I was glad enough to be friendly and

pleasant to Sigismund Zaluski, and as to his being a Pole, why, I think it rather pleased me than otherwise.

You see, my dear, I have knocked about the world and mixed with all kinds of people. Still, one must draw

the line somewhere, and I confess it gave me a very painful shock to find that he had such violent antipathies

to law and order. When he took Ivy Cottage for the summer I made the General call at once, and before long

we had become very intimate with him; but, my dear, he's not what I thought himnot at all!"

"Well now, I am delighted to hear you say that," said Lena Houghton, with some excitement in her manner,

"for it exactly fits in with what I always felt about him. From the first I disliked that man, and the way he

goes on with Gertrude Morley is simply dreadful. If they are not engaged they ought to bethat's all I can

"Engaged, my dear! I trust not," said Mrs. O'Reilly. "I had always hoped for something very different for dear

Gertrude. Quite between ourselves, you know, my nephew John Carew is over head and ears in love with her,

"Well, you see, I like Gertrude to a certain extent," replied Lena Houghton. "But I never raved about her as so

many people do. Still, I hope she will not be entrapped into marrying Mr. Zaluski; she deserves a better fate

"I quite agree with you," said Mrs. O'Reilly, with a troubled look. "And the worst of it is, poor Gertrude is a

girl who might very likely take up foolish revolutionary notions; she needs a strong wise husband to keep her

in order and form her opinions. But is it really true that he flirts with her? This is the first I have heard of it. I

"Nor I, for indeed he is up at the Morleys' pretty nearly every day. What with tennis, and music, and riding,

there is always some excuse for it. I can't think what Gertrude sees in him, he is not even goodlooking."

"There is a certain surface goodnature about him," said Mrs. O'Reilly. "It deceived even me at first. But, my

dear Lena, mark my words: that man has a fearful temper; and I pray Heaven that poor Gertrude may have

her eyes opened in time. Besides, to think of that little gentle, delicate thing marrying a Nihilist! It is too

"The thing I can't understand is why all the world has taken him up so," said Lena Houghton. "One meets him

everywhere, yet nobody seems to know anything about him. Just because he has taken Ivy Cottage for four

months, and because he seems to be rich and good natured, every one is ready to run after him."

"Well, well," said Mrs. O'Reilly, "we all like to be neighbourly, my dear, and a week ago I should have been

ready to say nothing but good of him. But now my eyes have been opened. I'll tell you just how it was. We

were sitting here, just as you and I are now, at afternoon tea; the talk had flagged a little, and for the sake of

something to say I made some remark about Bulgarianot that I really knew anything about it, you know,

for I'm no politician; still, I knew it was a subject that would make talk just now. My dear, I assure you I was

positively frightened. All in a minute his face changed, his eyes flashed, he broke into such a torrent of abuse

"Dear me, no! but Russia and the Czar, and tyranny and despotism, and many other things I had never heard

of. I tried to calm him down and reason with him, but I might as well have reasoned with the cockatoo in the

window. At last he caught himself up quickly in the middle of a sentence, strode over to the piano, and began

to play as he generally does, you know, when he comes here. Well, would you believe it, my dear! instead of

improvising or playing operatic airs as usual, he began to play a stupid little tune which every child was

taught years ago, of course with variations of his own. Then he turned round on the musicstool with the

"'It was composed by Pestal, one of the victims of Russian tyranny," said he. "The executioner did his work

badly, and Pestal had to be strung up twice. In the interval he was heard to mutter, 'Stupid country, where

"Then he gave a little forced laugh, got up quickly, wished me good bye, and was gone before I could put in

"What a horrible story to tell in a drawingroom!" said Lena Houghton. "I envy Gertrude less than ever."

"Poor girl! What a sad prospect it is for her!" said Mrs. O'Reilly with a sigh. "Of course, my dear, you'll not

"Not for the world!" said Lena Houghton emphatically. "It is perfectly safe with me."

The conversation was here abruptly ended, for the page threw open the drawingroom door and announced

"Talk of the angel," murmured Mrs. O'Reilly with a significant smile at her companion. Then skilfully

altering the expression of her face, she beamed graciously on the guest who was ushered into the room, and

I looked with much interest at Sigismund Zaluski, and as I looked I partly understood why Miss Houghton

had been prejudiced against him at first sight. He had lived five years in England, and nothing pleased him

more than to be taken for an Englishman. He had had his silky black hair closely cropped in the very hideous

fashion of the present day; he wore the ostentatiously high collar now in vogue; and he tried to be sedulously

English in every respect. But in spite of his wonderfully fluent speech and almost perfect accent, there

lingered about him something which would not harmonise with that ideal of an English gentleman which is

latent in most minds. Something he lacked, something he possessed, which interfered with the part he desired

to play. The something lacking showed itself in his ineradicable love of jewellery and in a transparent habit of

fibbing; the something possessed showed itself in his easy grace of movement, his delightful readiness to

amuse and to be amused, and in a certain cleverness and rapidity of idea rarely, if ever, found in an

He was a little above the average height and very finely built; but there was nothing striking in his aquiline

features and dark grey eyes, and I think Miss Houghton spoke truly when she said that he was 'Not even

goodlooking.' Still, in spite of this, it was a face which grew upon most people, and I felt the least little bit

of regret as I looked at him, because I knew that I should persistently haunt and harass him, and should do all

Apparently he had forgotten all about Russia and Bulgaria, for he looked radiantly happy. Clearly his

thoughts were engrossed with his own affairs, which, in other words, meant with Gertrude Morley; and

though, as I have since observed, there are times when a man in love is an altogether intolerable sort of being,

there are other times when he is very much improved by the passion, and regards the whole world with a

"How delightful and homelike your room always looks!" he exclaimed, taking the cup of tea which Mrs.

O'Reilly handed to him. "I am horribly lonely at Ivy Cottage. This house is a sort of oasis in the desert."

"Why, you are hardly ever at home, I thought," said Mrs. O'Reilly, smiling. "You are the lion of the

neighbourhood just now; and I'm sure it is very good of you to come in and cheer a lonely old woman. Are

"You were very much excited that day," said Mrs. O'Reilly. "I had no idea that your political notions"

"Ah! no politics today, dear Mrs. O'Reilly. Let us have nothing but enjoyment and harmony. See, now, I

And sitting down to the piano, he played the bridal march from 'Lohengrin,' then wandered off into an

LenaHoughton watched him thoughtfully as she put on her gloves; he was playing with great spirit, and the

I knew well enough that she would not follow this moral advice, and I laughed to myself because the whole

scene was such a hollow mockery. The placid benevolentlooking old lady leaning back in her armchair;

the girl in her blue gingham and straw hat preparing to go to the afternoon service; the happy lover entering

heart and soul into Sullivan's charming music; the pretty room with its Chippendale furniture, its aesthetic

hangings, its bowls of roses; and the sound of church bells wafted through the open window on the soft

Yet all the time I lingered there unseen, carrying with me all sorts of dread possibilities. I had been

introduced into the world, and even if Mrs. O'Reilly had been willing to admit to herself that she had broken

the ninth commandment, and had earnestly desired to recall me, all her sighs and tears and regrets would

have availed nothing; so true is the saying, "Of thy word unspoken thou art master; thy spoken word is master

The two ladies seemed to vie with each other in making pretty speeches, and Zaluski, who loved music and

loved giving pleasure, looked really pleased. I am sure it did not enter his head that his two companions were

not sincere, or that they did not wish him well. He was thinking to himself how simple and kindly the

Muddleton people were, and how great a contrast this life was to his life in London; and he was saying to

himself that he had been a fool to live a lonely bachelor life till he was nearly thirty, and yet congratulating

himself that he had done so since Gertrude was but nineteen. Undoubtedly, he was seeing blissful visions of

the future all the time that he replied to the pretty speeches, and shook hands with Lena Houghton, and

opened the drawingroom door for her, and took out his watch to assure her that she had plenty of time and

Poor Zaluski! He looked so kindly and pleasant. Though I was only a slander, and might have been supposed

to have no heart at all, I did feel sorry for him when I thought of the future and of the grief and pain which

In my first stage the reader will perceive that I was a comparatively weak and harmless little slander, with

merely that taint of original sin which was to be expected in one of such parentage. But I developed with

great rapidity; and I believe men of science will tell you that this is always the case with low organisms. That,

for instance, while it takes years to develop the man from the baby, and months to develop the dog from the

Personally I should have preferred to linger in Mrs. O'Reilly's pleasant drawingroom, for, as I said before,

my victim interested me, and I wanted to observe him more closely and hear what he talked about. But I

received orders to attend evensong at the parish church, and to haunt the mind of Lena Houghton.

As we passed down the High Street the bells rang out loud and clear, and they made me feel the same slight

sense of discomfort that I had felt when I looked at Zaluski; however, I went on, and soon entered the church.

It was a fine old Gothic building, and the afternoon sunshine seemed to flood the whole place; even the white

stones in the aisle were glorified here and there with gorgeous patches of colour from the stained glass

windows. But the strange stillness and quiet oppressed me, I did not feel nearly so much at home as in Mrs.

O'Reilly's drawingroomto use a terrestrial simile, I felt like a fish out of water.

For some time, too, I could find no entrance at all into the mind of Lena Houghton. Try as I would, I could

not distract her attention or gain the slightest hold upon her, and I really believe I should have been altogether

All through the prayers and psalms I had fought a desperate fight without gaining a single inch. Then the

rector walked over to the lectern, and the moment he opened his mouth I knew that my time had come, and

that there was a very fair chance of victory before me. Whether this clergyman had a toothache, or a

headache, or a heavy load on his mind, I cannot say, but his reading was more lugubrious than the wind in an

equinoctial gale. I have since observed that he was only a degree worse than many other clerical readers, and

that a strange and delightfully mistaken notion seems prevalent that the Bible must be read in a dreary and

unnatural tone of voice, or with a sort of mournful monotony; it is intended as a sort of reverence, but I

suspect that it often plays into the hands of my progenitor, as it most assuredly did in the present instance.

Hardly had the rector announced, "Here beginneth the fortyfourth verse of the sixteenth chapter of the book

of the prophet Ezekiel," than a sort of relaxation took place in the mind I was attacking. Lena Houghton's

attention could only have been given to the drearily read lesson by a very great effort; she was a little lazy

and did not make the effort, she thought how nice it was to sit down again, and then the melancholy voice

lulled her into a vague interval of thoughtless inactivity. I promptly seized my opportunity, and in a moment

her whole mind was full of me. She was an excitable, impressionable sort of girl, and when once I had

obtained an entrance into her mind I found it the easiest thing in the world to dominate her thoughts. Though

she stood, and sat, and knelt, and curtseyed, and articulated words, her thoughts were entirely absorbed in me.

I crowded out the Magnificat with a picture of Zaluski and Gertrude Morley. I led her through more terrible

future possibilities in the second lesson than would be required for a threevolume novel. I entirely eclipsed

the collects with reflections on unhappy marriages; took her off via Russia and Nihilism in the State prayers,

and by the time we arrived at St. Chrysostom had become so powerful that I had worked her mind into

The congregation rose. Lena Houghton, still dominated by me, knelt longer than the rest, but at last she got

up and walked down the aisle, and I felt a great sense of relief and satisfaction. We were out in the open air

once more, and I had triumphed; I was quite sure that she would tell the first person she met, for, as I have

said before, she was entirely taken up with me, and to have kept me to herself would have required far more

strength and unselfishness than she at that moment possessed. She walked slowly through the churchyard,

feeling much pleased to see that the curate had just left the vestry door, and that in a few moments their paths

Mr. Blackthorne had only been ordained three or four years, and was a little younger, and much less

experienced in the ways of the world, than Sigismund Zaluski. He was a good wellmeaning fellow, a little

narrow, a little prejudiced, a little spoiled by the devotion of the district visitors and Sunday School teachers;

but he was honest and energetic, and as a worker among the poor few could have equalled him. He seemed to

fancy, however, that with the poor his work ended, and he was not always so wise as he might have been in

"Good afternoon, Miss Houghton," he exclaimed. "Do you happen to know if your brother is at home? I want

"I am so glad to have this chance of speaking to you," she began rather nervously. "I wanted particularly to

Mr. Blackthorne, being human and young, was not unnaturally flattered by this remark. True, he was

becoming well accustomed to this sort of thing, since the ladies of Muddleton were far more fond of seeking

advice from the young and goodlooking curate than from the elderly and experienced rector. They said it

was because Mr. Blackthorne was so much more sympathetic, and understood the difficulties of the day so

much better; but I think they unconsciously deceived themselves, for the rector was one of a thousand, and

the curate, though he had in him the makings of a fine man, was as yet altogether crude and young.

"Was it about anything in your district?" he asked, devoutly hoping that she was not going to propound some

difficult question about the origin of evil, or any other obscure subject. For though he liked the honour of

being consulted, he did not always like the trouble it involved, and he remembered with a shudder that Miss

Houghton had once asked him his opinion about the 'Ethical Concept of the Good.'

"It was only that I was so troubled about something Mrs. O'Reilly has just told me," said Lena Houghton.

"Every one has taken him up," said the curate, with the least little touch of resentment in his tone. "I knew

that the Morleys were his special friends; I imagine that he admires Miss Morley."

"Yes, every one thinks they are either engaged or on the brink of it. And oh, Mr. Blackthorne, can't you or

somebody put a stop to it, for it seems such a dreadful fate for poor Gertrude?"

"Why, I don't profess to like Mr. Zaluski," he said. "But I don't know anything exactly against him."

"Why, she has found out that he is really a Nihilistjust think of a Nihilist going about loose like this, and

playing tennis at the rectory and all the good houses! And not only that, but she says he is altogether a

dangerous, unprincipled man with a dreadful temper. You can't think how unhappy she is about poor

Gertrude, and so am I, for we were at school together and have always been friends."

"I am very sorry to hear about it," said Mr. Blackthorne, "but I don't see that anything can be done. You see,

one does not like to interfere in these sort of things. It seems officious rather, and meddlesome."

"Yes, that is the worst of it," she replied, with a sigh. "I suppose we can do nothing. Still, it has been a great

relief just to tell you about it and get it off my mind. I suppose we can only hope that something may put a

This sentiment amused me not a little. Leave it to chance indeed! Had she not caused me to grow stronger

and larger by every word she uttered? And had not the conversation revealed to me Mr. Blackthorn's one

vulnerable part? I knew well enough that I should be able to dominate his thoughts as I had done hers.

Finding me burdensome, she had passed me on to somebody else with additions that vastly increased my

working powers, and then she talked of leaving it to chance! The way in which mortals practise pious frauds

on themselves is really delightful! And yet Lena Houghton was a good sort of girl, and had from her

childhood repeated the catechism words which proclaim that, "My duty to my neighbour is to love him as

myself . . . To keep my tongue from evilspeaking, lying, and slandering." What is more, she took great pains

to teach these words to a big class of Sunday School children, and went, rain or shine, to spend two hours

each Sunday in a stuffy schoolroom for that purpose. It was strange that she should be so ready to believe

evil of her neighbour, and so eager to spread the story. But my progenitor is clever, and doubtless knows very

By this time they had reached a comfortablelooking, redbrick house with white stone facings, and in the

All through that evening, and through the first part of the succeeding day, I was crowded out of the curate's

mind by a host of thoughts with which I had nothing in common; and though I hovered about him as he

taught in the school, and visited several sick people, and argued with an habitual drunkard, and worked at his

Sunday sermon, a Power, which I felt but did not understand, baffled all my attempts to gain an entrance and

attract his notice. I made a desperate attack on him after lunch as he sat smoking and enjoying a wellearned

rest, but it was of no avail. I followed him to a large gardenparty later on, but to my great annoyance he

went about talking to every one in the pleasantest way imaginable, though I perceived that he was longing to

At length, however, my opportunity came. Mr. Blackthorne was talking to the lady of the house, Mrs.

"Ah, here is Mr. Zaluski just arriving. I began to be afraid that he had forgotten the day, and he is always such

an acquisition. How do you do, Mr. Zaluski?" she said, greeting my victim warmly as he stepped on to the

Zaluski greeted the curate pleasantly, and his dark eyes lighted up with a gleam of amusement.

"Oh, we are great friends," he said laughingly. "Only, you know, I sometimes shock him a littlejust a very

"No, not at all," said Zaluski, with the audacity of a privileged being. "It is just my little amusement, very

harmless, verywhat you call innocent. Mr. Blackthorne cannot make up his mind about me. One day I

appear to him to be Catholic, the next Comtist, the next Orthodox Greek, the next a convert to the Anglican

communion. I am a mystery, you see! And mysteries are as indispensable in life as in a romance."

He laughed. Mrs. Courtenay laughed too, and a little friendly banter was carried on between them, while the

I drew nearer to him, perceiving that my prospects bid fair to improve. For very few people can feel out of it

without drifting into a selfregarding mood, and then they are the easiest prey imaginable. Undoubtedly a

man like Zaluski, with his easy nonchalance, his knowledge of the world, his genuine goodnature, and the

background of sterling qualities which came upon you as a surprise because he loved to make himself seem a

mere idler, was apt to eclipse an ordinary mortal like James Blackthorne. The curate perceived this and did

not like to be eclipsedas a matter of fact, nobody does. It seemed to him a little unfair that he, who had

hitherto been made much of, should be called to play second fiddle to this rich Polish fellow who had never

done anything for Muddleton or the neighbourhood. And then, too, Sigismund Zaluski had a way of poking

Something of this began to stir in his mind; and he cordially hated the Pole when Jim Courtenay, who

arranged the tennis, came up and asked him to play in the next set, passing the curate by altogether.

Then I found no difficulty at all in taking possession of him; indeed he was delighted to have me brought

Zaluski, in the seventh heaven of happiness, was playing with Gertrude Morley, and his play was so good and

so graceful that every one was watching it with pleasure. His partner, too, played well; she was a pretty,

fairhaired girl, with soft grey eyes like the eyes of a dove; she wore a white tennis dress and a white sailor

hat, and at her throat she had fastened a cluster of those beautiful orangecoloured roses known by the

If Mr. Blackthorne grew angry as he watched Sigismund Zaluski, he grew doubly angry as he watched

Gertrude Morley. He said to himself that it was intolerable that such a girl should fall a prey to a vain,

shallow, unprincipled foreigner, and in a few minutes he had painted such a dark picture of poor Sigismund

"Mr. Blackthorne," said Mrs. Courtenay, "would you take Mrs. Milton Cleave to have an ice?"

Now Mrs. MiltonCleave had always been one of the curate's great friends. She was a very pleasant, talkative

woman of sixand thirty, and a general favourite. Her popularity was well deserved, for she was always

ready to do a kind action, and often went out of her way to help people who had not the slightest claim upon

her. There was, however, no repose about Mrs. MiltonCleave, and an acute observer would have discovered

that her universal readiness to help was caused to some extent by her good heart, but in a very large degree by

her restless and overactive brain. Her sphere was scarcely large enough for her, she would have made an

excellent head of an orphan asylum or manager of some large institution, but her quiet country life offered far

"It is really quite a treat to watch Mr. Zaluski's play," she remarked as they walked to the refreshment tent at

the other end of the lawn. "Certainly foreigners know how to move much better than we do: our best players

"Do you think so?" said Mr. Blackthorne. "I am afraid I am full of prejudice, and consider that no one can

"And I quite agree with you in the main," said Mrs. MiltonCleave. "Though I confess that it is rather

The curate was silent, but his silence merely covered his absorption in me, and I began to exercise a faint

influence through his mind on the mind of his companion. This caused her at length to say:

"I have met him several times this summer," said the curate, in the tone of one who could have said much

"Now, tell me candidly," she said at length. "Is there not some mystery about our new neighbour? Is he quite

"I fear he is not," said Mr. Blackthorne, making the admission in a tone of reluctance, though, to tell the truth,

"Worse than that," said James Blackthorne, lowering his voice as they walked down one of the shady garden

paths. "He is a dangerous, unprincipled fellow, and into the bargain an avowed Nihilist. All that is involved in

"Indeed I do," she exclaimed with a shocked expression. "I have just been reading a review of that book by

Stepniak. Their social and religious views are terrible; freelove, atheism, everything that could bring ruin on

Mr. Blackthorne's conscience gave him a sharp prick, for he knew that he ought not to have passed me on. He

tried to pacify it with the excuse that he had only promised not to tell that Miss Houghton had been his

"I assure you," he said impressively, "it is only too true. I know it on the best authority."

And here I cannot help remarking that it has always seemed to me strange that even experienced women of

the world, like Mrs. Milton Cleave, can be so easily hoodwinked by that vague nonentity, 'The Best

Authority.' I am inclined to think that were I a human being I should retort with an expressive motion of the

finger and thumb, "Oh, you know it on the best authority, do you? Then THAT for your story!"

However, I thrived wonderfully on the best authority, and it would be ungrateful of me to speak evil of that

At right angles with the garden walk down which the two were pacing there was another wide pathway,

bordered by high closely clipped shrubs. Down this paced a very different couple. Mrs. Milton Cleave

"I am afraid he is running after Gertrude Morley! Poor girl! I hope she will not be deluded into encouraging

And then they made just the same little set remarks about the desirability of stopping so dangerous an

acquaintance, and the impossibility of interfering with other people's affairs, and the sad necessity of standing

by with folded hands. I laughed so much over their hollow little phrases that at last I was fain to beat a retreat,

and, prompted by curiosity to know a little of the truth, I followed Sigismund and Gertrude down the broad

I knew of course a good deal of Zaluski's character, because my own existence and growth pointed out what

he was not. Still, to study a man by a process of negation is tedious, and though I knew that he was not a

Nihilist, or a freelover, or an atheist, or an unprincipled fellow with a dangerous temper, yet I was curious to

"If you only knew how happy you had made me!" he was saying. And indeed, as far as happiness went, there

was not much to choose between them, I fancy; for Gertrude Morley looked radiant, and in her clovelike

"You must talk to my mother about it," she said after a minute's silence. "You see, I am still under age, and

"You could see my mother," she replied. "But Uncle Henry is still in Sweden and will not be in town for

"A whole week! But then we are sure of each other. I do not think we ought to grumble."

"But perhaps they may think that a merchant is no fitting match for you," he suggested. "I am nothing but a

plain merchant, and my I people have been in the same business for four generations. As far as wealth goes I

might perhaps satisfy your people, but for the rest I am but a prosaic fellow, with neither noble blood, nor the

"It will be enough for him that you are upright and honourable enough that you are yourself, Sigismund."

They were sitting now in a little sheltered recess clipped out of the yewtrees. When that softly spoken

"Sigismund" fell from her lips, Zaluski caught her in his arms and kissed her again and again.

"I have led such a lonely life," he said after a few minutes, during which their talk had baffled my

"An uncle of mine, the head of our firm in St. Petersburg. He was very good to me, but he had children of his

own, and of course I could not be to him as one of them. I have had many friends and much kindness shown

And then again they fell into the talk which I could not fathom. And so I left them in their brief happiness, for

my time of idleness was over, and I was ordered to attend Mrs. MiltonCleave without a moment's delay.

Mrs. MiltonCleave had one weaknessshe was possessed by an inordinate desire for influence. This made

her always eagerly anxious to be interesting both in her conversation and in her letters, and to this end she

exerted herself with unwearying activity. She liked influencing Mr. Blackthorne, and spared no pains on him

that afternoon; and indeed the curate was a good deal flattered by her friendship, and considered her one of

Sigismund and Gertrude returned to the ordinary world just as Mrs. MiltonCleave was saying goodbye to

"Indeed we did," said Gertrude, smiling. "We came off with flying colours. It was a love set."

The girl was looking more beautiful than ever, and there was a tell tale colour in her cheeks and an unusual

light in her soft grey eyes. As for Zaluski, he was so evidently in love, and had the audacity to look so

supremely happy, that Mrs. MiltonCleave was more than ever impressed with the gravity of the situation.

The curate handed her into her victoria, and she drove home through the sheltered lanes musing sadly over

the story she had heard, and wondering what Gertrude's future would be. When she reached home, however,

the affair was driven from her thoughts by her children, of whom she was devotedly fond. They came running

to meet her, frisking like so many kittens round her as she went upstairs to her room, and begging to stay with

her while she dressed for dinner. During dinner she was engrossed with her husband; but afterwards, when

she was alone in the drawingroom, I found my opportunity for working on her restless mind.

"Dear me," she exclaimed, throwing aside the newspaper she had just taken up, "I ought to write to Mrs.

As a matter of fact she ought not to have written then, the letter might well have waited till the morning, and

she was overtired and needed rest. But I was glad to see her take up her pen, for I knew I should come in

Before long Jane Stiggins, the member who had migrated from Muddleton to Dulminster, had been duly

reported, wound up, and made over to the Archdeacon's wife. Then the tired hand paused. What more could

"We are leading our usual quiet life here," she wrote, "with the ordinary round of tennis parties and picnics to

enliven us. The children have all been wonderfully well, and I think you will see a great improvement in your

goddaughter when you next come to stay with us""Oh dear!" sighed Mrs. MiltonCleave, "how dull and

stupid I am tonight! I can't think of a single thing to say." Then at length I flashed into her mind, and with a

sigh of relief and a little rising flush of excitement she went on much more rapidly.

"It is such a comfort to be quite at rest about them, and to see them all looking so well. But I suppose one can

never be without some cause of worry, and just now I am very unhappy about that nice girl Gertrude Morley

whom you admired so much when you were last here. The whole neighbourhood has been dominated this

year by a young Polish merchant named Sigismund Zaluski, who is very clever and musical and knows well

how to win popularity. He has taken Ivy Cottage for four mouths, and is, I fear, doing great mischief. The

Morleys are his special friends, and I greatly fear he is making love to Gertrude. Now I know privately, on

the very best authority, that although he has so completely deceived every one and has managed so cleverly

to pose as a respectable man, that Mr. Zaluski is really a Nihilist, a freelover, an atheist, and altogether a

most unprincipled man. He is very clever, and speaks English most fluently, indeed he has lived in London

since the spring of 1881he told me so himself. I cannot help fancying that he must have been concerned in

the assassination of the late Czar, which you will remember took place in that year early in March. It is

terrible to think of the poor Morleys entering blindfold on such an undesirable connection; but, at the same

time, I really do not feel that I can say anything about it. Excuse this hurried note, dear Charlotte, and with

"P.S. It may perhaps be as well not to mention this affair about Gertrude Morley and Mr. Zaluski. They are

not yet engaged, as far as I know, and I sincerely trust it may prove to be a mere flirtation."

I had now grown to such enormous dimensions that any one who had known me in my infancy would

scarcely have recognised me, while naturally the more I grew the more powerful I became, and the more

capable both of impressing the minds which received me and of injuring Zaluski. Poor Zaluski, who was so

foolishly, thoughtlessly happy! He little dreamed of the fate that awaited him! His whole world was bright

and full of promise; each hour of love seemed to improve him, to deepen his whole character, to tone down

his rather flippant manner, to awaken for him new and hitherto unthoughtof realities.

But while he basked in his new happiness I travelled in my close stuffy envelope to Dulminster, and after

having been tossed in and out of bags, shuffled, stamped, thumped, tied up, and generally shaken about, I

arrived one morning at Dulminster Archdeaconry, and was laid on the breakfast table among other appetising

Though I was read in silence at the breakfast table and not passed on to the Archdeacon, I lay dormant in

Mrs. Selldon's mind all day, and came to her aid that night when she was at her wits' end for something to

Mrs. Selldon, though a most worthy and estimable person, was of a phlegmatic temperament; her sympathies

were not easily aroused, her mind was lazy and torpid, in conversation she was unutterably dull. There were

times when she was painfully conscious of this, and would have given much for the ceaseless flow of words

which fell from the lips of her friend Mrs. MiltonCleave. And that evening after my arrival chanced to be

one of these occasions, for there was a dinnerparty at the Archdeaconry, given in honour of a wellknown

"I wish you could have Mr. Shrewsbury at your end of the table, Thomas," Mrs. Selldon had remarked to her

"Oh, he must certainly take you in, my dear," said the Archdeacon. "And he seems a very clever, wellread

Poor Mrs. Selldon thought that she would rather have had some one who was neither clever nor wellread.

But there was no help for her, and, whether she would or not, she had to go in to dinner with the literary lion.

Mr. Mark Shrewsbury was a novelist of great ability. Some twenty years before, he had been called to the

bar, and, conscious of real talent, had been greatly embittered by the impossibility of getting on in his

profession. At length, in disgust, he gave up all hopes of success and devoted himself instead to literature. In

this field he won the recognition for which he craved; his books were read everywhere, his name became

famous, his income steadily increased, and he had the pleasant consciousness that he had found his vocation.

Still, in spite of his success, he could not forget the bitter years of failure and disappointment which had gone

before, and though his novels were full of genius they were pervaded by an undertone of sarcasm, so that

people after reading them were more ready than before to take cynical views of life.

He was one of those men whose quiet impassive faces reveal scarcely anything of their character. He was

neither tall nor short, neither dark nor fair, neither handsome nor the reverse; in fact his personality was not in

the least impressive; while, like most true artists, he observed all things so quietly that you rarely discovered

"Dear me!" people would say, "Is Mark Shrewsbury really here? Which is he? I don't see any one at all like

Mrs. Selldon, who had seen several authors and authoresses in her time, and knew that they were as a rule

most ordinary, humdrum kind of people, was quite prepared for her fate. She remembered her astonishment

as a girl when, having laughed and cried at the play, and taken the chief actor as her ideal hero, she had had

him pointed out to her one day in Regent Street, and found him to be a most commonplacelooking man, the

very last person one would have supposed capable of stirring the hearts of a great audience.

Meanwhile dinner progressed, and Mrs. Selldon talked to an empty headed but loquacious man on her left,

and racked her brains for something to say to the alarmingly silent author on her right. She remembered

hearing that Charles Dickens would often sit silent through the whole of dinner, observing quietly those about

him, but that at dessert he would suddenly come to life and keep the whole table in roars of laughter. She

feared that Mr. Shrewsbury meant to imitate the great novelist in the first particular, but was scarcely likely to

follow his example in the last. At length she asked him what he thought of the cathedral, and a few tepid

"How odd it is that his characters talk so well in his books, and that he is such a stick!" thought Mrs. Selldon.

"I suppose he is eaten up with conceit and won't trouble himself to talk to me," thought the hostess.

By the time the fish had been removed they had arrived at a state of mutual contempt. Mindful of the

reputation they had to keep up, however, they exerted themselves a little more while the entrees went round.

"Seldom reads, I should fancy, and never thinks!" reflected the author, glancing at Mrs. Selldon's placid

"Very unpractical, I am sure," reflected Mrs. Selldon. "The sort of man who lives in a world of his own, and

"What delightful weather we have been having the last few days!" observed the author. "Real genuine

summer weather at last." The same remark had been trembling on Mrs. Selldon's lips. She assented with great

cheerfulness and alacrity; and over that invaluable topic, which is always so safe, and so congenial, and so

ready to hand, they grew quite friendly, and the conversation for fully five minutes was animated.

"How wearisome is society!" reflected Mrs. Selldon. "It is hard that we must spend so much money in giving

"One pays dearly for fame," reflected the author. "What a confounded nuisance it is to waste all this time

when there are the last proofs of 'What Caste?' to be done for the nineo'clock post tomorrow morning!

Then Mrs. Selldon thought regretfully of the comfortable easy chair that she usually enjoyed after dinner, and

the ten minutes' nap, and the congenial needlework. And Mark Shrewsbury thought of his chambers in

Pump Court, and longed for his typewriter, and his books, and his swivel chair, and his favourite

"I should be less afraid to talk if there were not always the horrible idea that he may take down what one

"I should be less bored if she would only be her natural self," reflected the author. "And would not talk prim

platitudes." (This was hard, for he had talked nothing else himself.) "Does she think she is so interesting that I

"Have you been abroad this summer?" inquired Mrs. Selldon, making another spasmodic attempt at

"No, I detest travelling," replied Mark Shrewsbury. "When I need change I just settle down in some quiet

country district for a few monthssomewhere near Windsor, or Reigate, or Muddleton. There is nothing to

"Oh, do you know Muddleton?" exclaimed Mrs. Selldon. "Is it not a charming little place? I often stay in the

"I know MiltonCleave well," said the author. "A capital fellow, quite the typical country gentleman."

"Is he not?" said Mrs. Selldon, much relieved to have found this subject in common. "His wife is a great

friend of mine; she is full of life and energy, and does an immense amount of good. Did you say you had

"No, but last year I took a house in that neighbourhood for a few months; a most charming little place it was,

just fit for a lonely bachelor. I dare say you remember itIvy Cottage, on the Newton Road."

"Did you stay there? Now what a curious coincidence! Only this morning I heard from Mrs. MiltonCleave

that Ivy Cottage has been taken this summer by a Mr. Sigismund Zaluski, a Polish merchant, who is doing

untold harm in the neighbourhood. He is a very clever, unscrupulous man, and has managed to take in almost

"Why, what is he? A swindler? Or a burglar in disguise, like the HOUSE ON THE MARSH fellow?" asked

"Oh, much worse than that," said Mrs. Selldon, lowering her voice. "I assure you, Mr. Shrewsbury, you

would hardly credit the story if I were to tell it you, it is really stranger than fiction." Mark Shrewsbury

pricked up his ears, he no longer felt bored, he began to think that, after all, there might be some

compensation for this wearisome dinnerparty. He was always glad to seize upon material for future plots,

and somehow the notion of a mysterious Pole suddenly making his appearance in that quiet country

neighbourhood and winning undeserved popularity rather took his fancy. He thought he might make

something of it. However, he knew human nature too well to ask a direct question.

"I am sorry to hear that," he said, becoming all at once quite sympathetic and approachable. "I don't like the

thought of those simple, unsophisticated people being hoodwinked by a scoundrel."

"No; is it not sad?" said Mrs. Selldon. "Such pleasant, hospitable people as they are! Do you remember the

"Quite soGertrude Morley. Well, would you believe it, this miserable fortunehunter is actually either

engaged to her or on the eve of being engaged! Poor Mrs. MiltonCleave is so unhappy about it, for she

knows, on the best authority, that Mr. Zaluski is unfit to enter a respectable house."

"Perhaps he is really some escaped criminal?" suggested Mr. Shrewsbury, tentatively.

Mrs. Selldon hesitated. Then, under the cover of the general roar of conversation, she said in a low voice:

"You have guessed quite rightly. He is one of the Nihilists who were concerned in the assassination of the

"Indeed, it is only too true," said Mrs. Selldon. "I heard it only the other morning, and on the very best

Now I can't help observing here that this must have been the merest figure of speech, for just then there was a

comfortable little glow of satisfaction about Mrs. Selldon's heart. She was so delighted to have "got on well,"

as she expressed it, with the literary lion, and by this time dessert was on the table, and soon the tedious

"But how did he escape?" asked Mark Shrewsbury, still with the thought of "copy" in his mind.

"I don't know the details," said Mrs. Selldon. "Probably they are only known to himself. But he managed to

escape somehow in the month of March 1881, and to reach England safely. I fear it is only too often the case

"To flourish like a green bay tree," said Mark Shrewsbury, congratulating himself on the aptness of the

quotation, and its suitability to the Archediaconal dinnertable. "It is the strangest story I have heard for a

long time." Just then there was a pause in the general conversation, and Mrs. Selldon took advantage of it to

Shrewsbury, flattering himself that he had left a good impression by his last remark, thought better not to

efface it later in the evening by any other conversation with his hostess. But in the small hours of the night,

when he had finished his bundle of proofs, he took up his notebook and, strangling his yawns, made two or

three brief, pithy notes of the story Mrs. Selldon had told him, adding a further development which occurred

to him, and wondering to himself whether "Like a Green Bay Tree" would be a selling title.

After this he went to bed, and slept the sleep of the just, or the unbroken sleep which goes by that name.

London in early September is a somewhat trying place. Mark Shrewsbury found it less pleasing in reality

than in his visions during the dinnerparty at Dulminster. True, his chambers were comfortable, and his

typewriter was as invaluable a machine as ever, and his novel was drawing to a successful conclusion; but

though all these things were calculated to cheer him, he was nevertheless depressed. Town was dull, the heat

was trying, and he had never in his life found it so difficult to settle down to work. He began to agree with the

Preacher, that "of making many books there is no end," and that, in spite of his favourite "Remington's

perfected No. 2," novelwriting was a weariness to the flesh. Soon he drifted into a sort of vague idleness,

which was not a good, honest holiday, but just a lazy waste of time and brains. I was pleased to observe this,

and was not slow to take advantage of it. Had he stayed in Pump Court he might have forgotten me altogether

in his work, but in the soft luxury of his Club life I found that I had a very fair chance of being passed on to

One hot afternoon, on waking from a comfortable nap in the depths of an armchair at the Club, Shrewsbury

"I thought you were in Switzerland, old fellow!" he exclaimed, yawning and stretching himself.

"Came back yesterdayawfully bad seasonconfoundedly dull," returned the other. "Where have you

"Talking of novels," he observed, with another yawn, "I heard such a story down there!"

"It's not a scandal. Don't raise your expectations. It's the story of a successful scoundrel."

And then I came out again in full vigournay, with vastly increased powers; for though Mark Shrewsbury

did not add very much to me, or alter my appearance, yet his graphic words made me much more impressive

"H'm! that's a queer story," said the limplooking young man from Switzerland. "I say, have a game of

Shrewsbury, with prodigious yawn, dragged himself up out of his chair, and the two went off together. As

they left the room the only other man present looked up from his newspaper, following them with his eyes.

"Shrewsbury the novelist," he thought to himself. "A sterling fellow! And he heard it from an Archdeacon's

wife. Confound it all! the thing must be true then. I'll write and make full inquiries about this Zaluski before

And, being a prompt, businesslike man, Gertrude Morley's uncle sat down and wrote the following letter to

a Russian friend of his who lived at St. Petersburg, and who might very likely be able to give some account

Dear Leonoff,Some very queer stories are afloat about a young Polish merchant, by name Sigismund

Zaluski, the head of the London branch of the firm of Zaluski and Zernoff, at St. Petersburg. Will you kindly

make inquiries for me as to his true character and history? I would not trouble you with this affair, but the

fact is Zaluski has made an offer of marriage to one of my wards, and before consenting to any betrothal I

must know what sort of man he really is. I take it for granted that "there is no smoke without fire," and that

there must be something in the very strange tale which I have just heard on the best authority. It is said that

this Sigismund Zaluski left St. Petersburg in March 1881, after the assassination of the late Czar, in which he

was seriously compromised. He is said to be an outandout Nihilist, an atheist, and, in short, a dangerous,

disreputable fellow. Will you sift the matter for me? I don't wish to dismiss the fellow without good reason,

but of course I could not think of permitting him to be engaged to my niece until these charges are entirely

Curiously enough, I must actually have started for Russia on the same day that Sigismund Zaluski was

summoned by his uncle at St. Petersburg to return on a matter of urgent business. I learnt afterwards that the

telegram arrived at Muddleton on the afternoon of one of those sunny September days and found Zaluski as

usual at the Morleys. He was very much annoyed at being called away just then, and before he had received

any reply from Gertrude's uncle as to the engagement. However, after a little ebullition of anger, he regained

his usual philosophic tone, and, reminding Gertrude that he need not be away from England for more than a

fortnight, he took leave of her and set off in a prompt, manly fashion, leaving most of his belongings at Ivy

Cottage, which was his for another six weeks, and to which he hoped shortly to return.

After a weary time of imprisonment in my envelope, I at length reached my destination at St. Petersburg and

was read by Dmitry Leonoff. He was a very busy man, and by the same post received dozens of other letters.

He merely muttered"That wellknown firm! A most unlikely story!"and then thrust me into a drawer

with other letters which had to be answered. Very probably I escaped his memory altogether for the next few

days: however, there I wasa startling accusation in black and white; and, as everybody knows, St.

The Leonoff family lived on the third storey of a large block of buildings in the Sergeffskaia. About two

o'clock in the morning, on the third day after my arrival, the whole household was roused from sleep by

The unlucky master was forced to allow himself, his wife, and his children to be made prisoners, while every

Leonoff had nothing whatever to do with the Revolutionary movement, but absolute innocence does not free

people from the police inquisition, and five or six years ago, when the Search mania was at its height, a case

is on record of a poor lady whose house was searched seven times within twentyfour hours, though there

was no evidence whatever that she was connected with the Nihilists; the whole affair was, in fact, a

This search in Dmitry Leonoff's house was also a misunderstanding, and in the dominions of the Czar

Leonoff knew himself to be innocent, and he felt no fear, though considerable annoyance, while the search

was prosecuted; he could hardly believe the evidence of his senses when, without a word of explanation, he

was informed that he must take leave of his wife and children, and go in charge of the gendarmes to the

Being a sensible man, he kept his temper, remarked courteously that some mistake must have been made,

embraced his weeping wife, and went off passively, while the pristav carried away a bundle of letters in

Leonoff remained a prisoner only for a few days; there was not a shred of evidence against him, and, having

suffered terrible anxiety, he was finally released. But Mr. CrichtonMorley's letter was never restored to him,

it remained in the hands of the authorities, and the night after Leonoff's arrest the pristav, the procurator, and

the gendarmes made their way into the dwelling of Sigismund Zaluski's uncle, where a similar search was

Sigismund was asleep and dreaming of Gertrude and of his idyllic summer in England, when his bedroom

His first feeling was one of amazement, his second, one of indignation; however, he was obliged to get up at

once and dress, the policeman rigorously keeping guard over him the whole time for fear he should destroy

"How I shall make them laugh in England when I tell them of this ridiculous affair!" reflected Sigismund, as

he was solemnly marched into the adjoining room, where he found his uncle and cousins, each guarded by a

He made some jesting remark, but was promptly reprimanded by his gaoler, and in wearisome silence the

Of course nothing was found; but, to the amazement of all, Sigismund was formally arrested.

"There must be some mistake," he exclaimed, "I have been resident in England for some time. I have no

"Oh, we are well aware of your residence in England," said the pristav. "You left St. Petersburg early in

Something in the man's tone made Sigismund's heart stand still. Could he possibly be suspected of complicity

in the plot to assassinate the late Czar? The idea would have made him laugh had he been in England. In St.

"There is some terrible mistake," he said. "I have never had the slightest connection with the revolutionary

The pristav shrugged his shoulders, and Sigismund, feeling like one in a dream, took leave of his relations,

Arrived at his destination, he was examined in a brief, unsatisfactory way; but when he angrily asked for the

evidence on which he had been arrested, he was merely told that information had been received charging him

with being concerned in the assassination of the late Emperor, and of being an advanced member of the

Nihilist party. His vehement denials were received with scornful incredulity, his departure for England just

after the assassination, and his prolonged absence from Russia, of course gave colour to the accusation, and

Words are mighty, words are living; Serpents with their venomous stings, Or bright angels crowding round

us, With heaven's light upon their wings; Every word has its own spirit, True or false, that never dies; Every

My labours were now nearly at an end, and being, so to speak, off duty, I could occupy myself just as I

For the first few hours after his arrest he was in a violent passion; he paced up and down his tiny cell like a

lion in a cage; he was beside himself with indignation, and the blood leapt through his veins like wildfire.

Then he became a little ashamed of himself and tried to grow quiet, and after a sleepless night he passed to

the opposite extreme and sat all day long on the solitary stool in his grim abode, his head resting on his

The second night, however, he slept, and awoke with a steady resolve in his mind.

"It will never do to give way like this, or I shall be in a brain fever in no time," he reflected. "I will get leave

He remembered how pleased he had been when Gertrude had once smiled on him because, when all the

others in the party were grumbling at the discomforts of a certain picnic where the provisions had gone

astray, he had gaily made the best of it and ransacked the nearest cottages for breadandcheese. He set to

work bravely now; hoped daily for his release; read all the books he was allowed to receive, invented solitary

In October he was again examined; but, having nothing to reveal, it was inevitable that he could reveal

There existed in the House of Preventive Detention a system of communication between the luckless

prisoners carried on by means of tapping on the wall. Sigismund, being a clever fellow, had become a great

adept at this telegraphic system, and had struck up a friendship with a young student in the next cell; this poor

fellow had been imprisoned three years, his sole offence being that he had in his possession a book of which

the Government did not approve, and that he was first cousin to a wellknown Nihilist.

The two became as devoted to each other as Silvio Pellico and Count Oroboni; but it soon became evident to

Valerian Vasilowitch that, unless Zaluski was released, he would soon succumb to the terrible restrictions of

"Keep up your heart, my friend," he used to say. "I have borne it three years, and am still alive to tell the

"But you are stronger both in mind and body," said Sigismund; "and you are not madly in love as I am."

And then he would pour forth a rhapsody about Gertrude, and about English life, and about his hopes and

fears for the future; to all of which Valerian, like the brave fellow he was, replied with words of

But at length there came a day when his friend made no answer to his usual morning greeting.

For some time there was no reply, but after a while Sigismund rapped faintly the despairing words:

Valerian felt the tears start to his eyes. It was what he had all along expected, and for a time grief and

indignation and his miserable helplessness made him almost beside himself. At last he remembered that there

was at least one thing in his power. Each day he was escorted by a warder to a tiny square, walled off in the

exercising ground, and was allowed to walk for a few minutes; he would take this opportunity of begging the

But unfortunately the doctor did not think very seriously of Zaluski's case. In that dreary prison he had

patients in the last stages of all kinds of disease, and Sigismund, who had been in confinement too short a

time to look as ill as the others, did not receive much attention. Certainly, the doctor admitted, his lungs were

affected; probably the sudden change of climate and the lack of good food and fresh air had been too much

for him; so the solemn farce ended, and he was left to his fate. "If I were indeed a Nihilist, and suffered for a

cause which I had at heart," he telegraphed to Valerian, "I could bear it better. But to be kept here for an

imaginary offence, to bear cold and hunger and illness all to no purposethat beats me. There can't be a

"To me it seems," said Valerian, "that we are the victims of violated law. Others have shown tyranny, or

injustice, or cruelty, and we are the victims of their sin. Don't say there is no God. There must be a God to

So they spoke to each other through their prison wall as men in the free outer world seldom care to speak; and

I, who knew no barriers, looked now on Valerian's gaunt figure, and brave but prematurely old face, now on

poor Zaluski, who, in his weary imprisonment, had wasted away till one could scarcely believe that he was

indeed the same lithe, active fellow who had played tennis at Mrs. Courtenay's gardenparty.

Day and night Valerian listened to the terrible cough which came from the adjoining cell. It became perfectly

apparent to him that his friend was dying; he knew it as well as if he had seen the burning hectic flush on his

hollow cheeks, and heard the panting, hurried breaths, and watched the unnatural brilliancy of his dark eyes.

"My friend," he said one day, "it is too plain to me now that you are dying. Write to the procurator and tell

A wild hope seized on poor Sigismund; he sat down to the little table in his cell and wrote a letter to the

procuratora letter which might almost have drawn tears from a flint. Again and again he passionately

asserted his innocence, and begged to know on what evidence he was imprisoned. He began to think that he

could die content if he might leave this terrible cell, might be a free agent once more, if only for a few days.

At least he might in that case clear his character, and convince Gertrude that his imprisonment had been all a

hideous mistake; nay, he fancied that he might live through a journey to England and see her once again.

But the procurator would not let him be set free, and refused to believe that his case was really a serious one.

The days and weeks dragged slowly on, and when, according to English reckoning, New Year's Eve arrived,

he could scarcely believe that only seventeen weeks ago he had actually been with Gertrude, and that

disgrace and imprisonment had seemed things that could never come near him, and death had been a

As I watched him a strong desire seized me to revisit the scenes of which he was thinking, and I winged my

way back to England, and soon found myself in the drowsy, respectable streets of Muddleton.

It was New Year's Eve, and I saw Mrs. O'Reilly preparing presents for her grandchildren, and talking, as she

tied them up, of that dreadful Nihilist who had deceived them in the summer. I saw Lena Houghton, and Mr.

Blackthorne, and Mrs. MiltonCleave, kneeling in church on that Friday morning, praying that pity might be

shown "upon all prisoners and captives, and all that are desolate or oppressed."

It never occurred to them that they were responsible for the sufferings of one weary prisoner, or that his death

I flew to Dulminster, and saw Mrs. Selldon kneeling in the cathedral at the late evening service and

rigorously examining herself as to the shortcomings of the dying year. She confessed many things in a vague,

untroubled way; but had any one told her that she had cruelly wronged her neighbour, and helped to bring an

innocent man to shame, and prison, and death, she would not have believed the accusation.

I sought out Mark Shrewsbury. He was at his chambers in Pump Court working away with his typewriter;

he had a fancy for working the old year out and the new year in, and now he was in the full swing of that

novel which had suggested itself to his mind when Mrs. Selldon described the rich and mysterious foreigner

who had settled down at Ivy Cottage. Most happily he laboured on, never dreaming that his careless words

had doomed a fellowman to a painful and lingering death; never dreaming that while his fingers flew to and

fro over his dainty little keyboard, describing the clever doings of the unscrupulous foreigner, another man,

Through the evening Sigismund rested wearily on his trucklebed. He could not lie down because of his

cough, and, since there were no extra pillows to prop him up, he had to rest his head and shoulders against the

wall. There was a gasburner in the tiny cell, and by its light he looked round the bare walls of his prison

with a blank, hopeless, yet wistful gaze; there was the stool, there was the table, there were the clothes he

should never wear again, there was the door through which his lifeless body would soon be carried. He

looked at everything lingeringly, for he knew that this desolate prison was the last bit of the world he should

He sighed as he felt the darkness close in upon him, for he knew that his eyes would never again see

lightknew that in this dark lonely cell he must lie and wait for death. And he was young and wished to live,

and he was in love and longed most terribly for the presence of the woman he loved.

The awful desolateness of the cell was more than he could endure; he tried to think of his past life, he tried to

live once again through those happy weeks with Gertrude; but always he came back to the aching misery of

The faint raps sounded clearly in the stillness of the great building, and Valerian dreaded lest the warders

should hear them, and deal out punishment for an offence which by day they were forced to wink at.

But he would not for the world have deserted his friend. He drew his stool close to the wall, wrapped himself

round in all the clothes he could muster, and, shivering with cold, kept watch through the long winter night.

From time to time Sigismund rapped faint messages, and Valerian replied with comfort and sympathy. Once

he thought to himself, "My friend is better; there is more power in his hand." And indeed he trembled, fearing

that the sharp, emphatic raps must certainly attract notice and put an end to their communion.

"Tell my love that the accusation was falsefalse!" the word was vehemently repeated. "Tell her I died

"I will tell her all when I am free," said poor Valerian, wondering with a sigh when his unjust imprisonment

There was a brief interval. Sigismund hesitated to tell a falsehood in his last extremity.

"It will soon be over. Do not be troubled for me," he replied. And after that there was a long, long silence.

Poor fellow! he died hard; and I wished that those comfortable English people could have been dragged from

their warm beds and brought into the cold dreary cell where their victim lay, fighting for breath, suffering

cruelly both in mind and body. Valerian, listening in sad suspense, heard one more faint word rapped by the

"God be with you!" he replied, unable to check the tears which rained down as he thought of the life so sadly

He heard no more. Sigismund's strength failed him, and I, to whom the darkness made no difference, watched

him through the last dread struggle; there was no one to raise him, or hold him, no one to comfort him. Alone

Valerian did not hear through the wall his last faint gasping cry, but I heard it, and its exceeding bitterness

And with that his head sank on his breast, and the life, which but for me might have been so happy and

Prompted by curiosity, I instantly returned to Muddleton and sought out Gertrude Morley. I stole into her

room. She lay asleep, but her dreams were troubled, and her face, once so fresh and bright, was worn with

Scarcely had I entered the room when, to my amazement, I saw the spirit of Sigismund Zaluski.

I saw him bend down and kiss the sleeping girl, and for a moment her sad face lighted up with a radiant

I looked again; he was gone. Then Gertrude threw up both her arms and with a bitter cry awoke from her

For a long, long time she lay in a sort of trance of misery. It seemed as if the life had been almost crushed out

of her, and it was not until the bells began to ring for the six o'clock service, merrily pealing out their

welcome of the new year morning, that full consciousness returned to her again. But, as she clearly realised

what had happened, she broke into such a passion of tears as I had never before witnessed, while still in the

darkness the new year bells rang gaily, and she knew that they heralded for her the beginning of a lonely life.

And so my work ended; my part in this world was played out. Nevertheless I still live; and there will come a

For poor Valerian was right, and there is an Avenger, in whom even my progenitor believes, and before

There will come a time when those selfsatisfied ones, whose hands are all the time steeped in blood, shall be

confronted with me, and shall realise to the full all that their idle words have brought about.

For that day I wait; and though afterwards I shall be finally destroyed in the general destruction of all that is

unmitigatedly evil, I promise myself a certain satisfaction and pleasure (a feeling I doubtless inherit from my

progenitor), when I watch the shame, and horror, and remorse of Mrs. O'Reilly and the rest of the people to