IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1.25

Ui |Z8 1 2.5

lAo mil 2.0

1.4

1.8

1.6

4^W <35

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

1980

Technical Notes / Notes techniques

The Institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Physical
features of this copy which may alter any of the
images in the reproduction are checked below.

L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire
qu'il lui a 6t6 possible de se procurer. Certains
d^fauts susceptibles de nuire d la quality de la
reproduction sont not6s ci-dessous.

Coloured covers/
Couvertures de couleur

Coloured maps/

Cartes gdographiques en couleur

Coloured pages/
Pages de couleur

Coloured plates/
Planches en couleur

Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/
Pages ddcolordes, tachetdes ou piqu^es

Show through/
Transparence

Tight binding (may cause shadows or
distortion along interior margin)/
Reliure serrd (peut causer de I'ombre ou
de la distortion le long de la marge
int6rieure)

Pages damaged/
Pages endommagdes

Additional comments/
Commentaires suppl6mentaires

Bibliographic Notes / Notes bibliographiques

Only edition available/
Seule Edition disponible

Bound with other material/
Reli^ avec d'autres documents

Pagination incorrect/
Erreurs de pagination

Pages missing/
Des pages manquent

D
D

Cover title missing/

Le titre de couverture manque

Plates missing/

Des planches manquent

Maps missing/

Des cartes gdographiques manquent

Additional comments/
Commentaires suppl^mentaires

The images appearing here are the best quality
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in keeping with the
filming contract specifications.

Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le
plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition at
de la netteti de I'exemplaire film6, et en
conformity avec les conditions du contrat de
filmage.

The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall
contain the symbol -^-(meaning CONTINUED"),
or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever
applies.

Un des symboles suivants apparaftra sur la der-
nidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas:
le symbols — ^ signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbols
V signifie "FIN".

The original copy was borrowed from, and
filmed with, the kind consent of the following
institution:

National Library of Canada

L'exemplaire filmi fut reproduit grAce i la
g6n6rosit6 de i'dtablissement prdteur
suivant :

BibliothAque nationale du Canada

Maps or plates too large to be entirely included
in one exposure are filmed beginning in the
upper left hand corner, left to right and top to
bottom, as many frames as required. The
following diagrams illustrate the methoJ:

Les cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour dtre
reproduites en un seul clich6 sont filmdes d
partir de Tangle sup6rieure gauche, de gauche d
droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre
d'images n^cessaire. Le diagramme suivant
illustre la mdthode :

1 2 3

9mmm

rttti

^K^.

ps^

THE

UNKNOWN.

BY BIRGER BECH.

NEW FORT, TORONTO.
AUTHOR OF "FIVE YEARS IN A SAILOR'S LIFBJ'

fe . (

THB QUEEN CITY PUBLISHING COMPANY,

1887.

'•" '■''jkiwmmmiT'wtm^'^-- ■ ^^^

•^

^ «»

o*-

THE

UNKNOWN.

BY BIRGER BECH,

NEW FORT, TORONTO. • >

AUTHOR OF ''FIVE YEARS IN A SAILOR'S LIFE."

THE QUEEN CITY PUBLISHING COMPANY.

1887.

mmimMm

£ 21S

■AlBllaMlMMHMia

PREFACE.

Half bashful and half afraid, I sent my first little
message, " Five Years in a Sailor's Life," out in the
cold, unknown world. It went out with a "God
speed," and a trembling, untried little thing it was.
But people were kind towards it ; it flew far and near,
and was praised where ere it went.

The good news reached me, and my heart was
filled with gladness. Encouraged by the good result :
encouraged by the many kind people I have learned
to know, especially here in Toronto, I send out my
second book, " The Unknown."

During my stay in Germany some years ago, I
gathered certain facts which I now have tried to make
use of, and although the principal names are altered,
the main points are real, and it is my hope that my
kind readers will like this book as well as my first.

BIRGER BECH.
Toronto, Dec. ist, 1887.

S, ■■ •;

fiilii.

♦,»

i: • ,:i^i

■i: ■-! "y- ■

• t . .■,.,. I .■. .^.•

» ■■• ■■■■*': ,'^",:

;;niiHTyj:ni

CONTENTS.

26
28

, PAGE.

CHAPTER.

I.„At thk Railway Station - - - - 3

II.-The Stranger's Arrival at the "Brown Bear" 13
III.— Returned from the Marrkt - - - ^7
IV.— A Cruel Scheme -

v.— The Baffled Assassin ' ' ' ' ' ^^

VI.— Planning an Excursion- ' ■ '

VII.— Lost in the xMines -

VIII.— The Miner in Pursuit - - - . ■ 33

IX.— Saved by The Unknown - - - - 4°

X.-MISS Agnes at the Gravedigger's Home - 48

XL— Once more at Landesruhe - - - 5^

XII.— The Murder of Edward Volken - - 53

XIII.— The Death of Bauon Volken - . 60

XIV.— Agnes in Italy - ' : • * " 5

XV.— Senor Pueblo's Visit ' - - " 7©

XVI. Visiting the Crater - - - - "73

XVII. -Agnes Receives Her Brother's Watch 80
XVIII. -The Unknown Stood Before Her - ■ 81
XIX.— Agnes Held Him Tight and Lovingly - 84
XX.— Senor Pueblo made a Prisoner - - -90
XXL— On Their Way to Canada - - \ ^^

■'*;v4'

iiii iii<«ii[iiii«ii«Mana<*ti—iMBit*

THE UNKNOWN.

CHAPTER I.

AT THE RAILWAY STATION.

'^-^ N the platform of a little railway station in the
German Province, Saxony, a mixed crowd of
people were eagerly waiting the coming of the
six o'clock train. It was the night before Christmas,
and everyone expected the arrival of somebody or
something from the nearest city. Business men, stu-
dents and schoolboys were on their way home to enjoy
a few days in a happy family circle ; large parcels with
Christmas presents and delicious fruits, sent from
loving hearts and packed with tender care, were now
swiftly borne to their destination by the coming train.
The weather was cold and would have been even more
so were it not for the great calm, which, combined
with the settling dusk and slowly falling snow-flakes,
made the fur -clad crowd feel warm and comfortable.

Close to the door leading from the waiting room
out on the platform, a number of farmers and small

THE UNKNOWN.

tradesmen were gathered, some loudly discussing
political affairs and others eagerly listening to the
different opinions. As a slight noise came from
within, a stout old farmer turned round and said in
a whisper : " Make room, boys ; the Baron and his
family are coming." The people now formed a line
on each side of the door and respectfully lifted their
heavy caps as a tall, elderly gentleman, followed by
two ladies, stepped out. Nodding to both sides, he
said in a clear and pleasant voice : " Good evening to
all," while a hearty "Good evening, and God bless
you," came from every one^ present. '

Baron Volken was as rich as he was beloved by
every one who knew him. He owned a large estate,
inherited from father to son through many generations,
and claimed relationship to the nobles of the land ; but
his pride and joy seemed centred in his beautiful
daughter who' now, with her arm resting on that of
her mother's, walked up and down the clean-swept
platform. And well he might be proud of her ; Miss
Agnes would win anyone at first sight. Her figure —
now hid in a black fur coat, closely buttoned up to the
finely shaped chin — was perfect, at once commanding
and graceful. " She would ' by most people be con-
sidered over medium size ; her complexion was fajr ;
her eyes, a deep blue and sparkling with mirth, yet

THE UNKNOWN. 9

deep feeling, combined with a true womanly heart,
shone out from under the long soft lashes. They were
eyes " once seen, never forgotten." The long abun-
dant tresses of light brown hair flowed loose over her
shoulders. Her voice sounded rich and sweet as she
looked up in her mother's face and said : " Oh ma ! I
do so wish Edward would come, as he promised to ;
it seems so long since he was home last, and what a
delightful Christmas we shall have if he keeps his
word this time." ■ , ,

This Edward, whom they had come to receive, was
the only son of Baron Volken and now going through
a course in the University of Berlin ; but young and
gay by nature, he often preferred spending his holidays
with his friends in the surrounding country, his father
giving him his own way in this a^ in everything else.
Edward had reached the age of twenty, but was re-
markably well developed, tall and strongly built,
rather handsome and very winning. .

" Ten minutes past six ; the train is late," said the
Baron, as he impatiently thrust his time-keeper back
in its place. Just then a whistle, accompanied by a
hissing noise, was heard. " At last" exclaimed a blue-
nosed porter, with a relieved sigh as the train, puffing
and snorting, came around the bend.

Soon everything was in a bustle ; hugging, kissing,

tttmm

lO THE UNKNOWN.

handshaking, unloading and loading of trunks and
boxes, people running to and fro seeking one an-
other made the usually quiet place a perfect Babel.
Like bees, cab and expressmen swarmed around the
new arrivals, offering to drive them for seventy-five
cents an hour. Loud and shrill came the cry.
" Learlinur Zeitung — Nervjervjhan," from the ragged,
shivering little newsboys, as they pushed their way
through the crowd. .* ..

In the meantime the Baron and his wife had been
looking all over for the expected young man, while
Miss Agnes had gone to the other end of the platform,
where a group of passengers had just stepped from a
first-class car. Among them was a tall young man in
a long overcoat, with the cape thrown over the broad
shoulders. He stood- with his ba'^k turned towards
her, and in the dim light from the nearest lamp, his
whole figure so closely resembled that of her brother,
that she in her eagerness thought it to be him. With
the glad cry : " Oh Edward, I am so happy!" she flew
towards him, threw both arms round his neck, and
would in the next instant have pressed the rose-red lips
of the already half upturned little mouth on those of
his, when she, blushing crimson, hastily drew back,
stammering : " I beg your pardon ; I thought — I mis-
took you for — "

THE VHxiVOyfV. if

The man turned sharply round and the light fell
ful) on a face remarkably handsome and expressive ;
a dark moustache, square chin and forehead, under
which a pair of coal-black eyes, now half admiringly,
half amused, and still with a touch of sadness, looked
full in hers. It was a face which at the same instant
seemed to be impressed on her very soul, never to be
removed. The excitement over, the mistake made
her almost speechless. In a moment the stranger took
in the true state of affairs, and politely taking off his
hat, said, in a deep, manly voice. '* Yes, it was a mis-
take, but now I wish it had not been." Agnes looked
round for her parents, and when again she turned, the
stranger had disappeared. r . • f v. • '

" Agnes, where have you been, child ? You look
quite excited ! " said her mother, a moment later. But
Agnes gave some trifling excuse, for she felt ashamed
to tell of what had occurred.

"Ah! here comes the boy at last," exclaimed the
Baron.

Yes, it was Edward, who had been delayed look-
ing after his baggage. Now he joined them, but the
reception Agnes gave him was perhaps a little colder
than it would have been had he come a few minutes
before her little accident. Why it was so she could
not tell — may be she never noticed it herself

mmk

IMIM

THE UNKNOWN.

Should anyone have taken a peep into the cosy
bed-room occupied by Miss Agnes, that night, they
would have found her wide awake, with the beautiful
eyes thoughtfully fixed on the ceiling, as if her mind
was far away. A blush and a happy smile swept
every now and then over her lovely face ; but not be-
fore the first stream of daylight stole in between the
heavy winter curtains did sleep carry her into the
fairyland, where dreams make us forget life's sorrows
and pains. What she there saw or did we do not
know, but the smiling lips and heaving bosom betrayed
it to be something pleasant. Only once the peaceful
rest was disturbed by a sudden start, while she softly
muttered : " But who could he have been, ha? "

■i f.

I .;

*^^fl

•:>Si..

THE UNKNOWN. 1 3

.\«

^ ' CHAPTER II. ^

THE stranger's ARRIVAL AT " THE BROWN

BEAR."

Then the stranger, with whom Agnes had so
innocently came in contact, left the station, he
walked several miles into the country, until he at
last, late in the evening, arrived at an old country
inn. Here, over the door, swayed by the wind,
squeaking and jerking on rusty hinges, hung a sign-
board on which "The Brown Bear" was printed in large
black letters on white underground, with the picture of a
foaming glass of beer on each side. A faint glimmer of
light came through one of the windows, which showed
that the otherwise so dark and gloomy looking build-
ing was occupied, wherefore the stranger knocked at
the door. On receiving no answer he grew impatient
and turning round, the heavy oaken door suffered from
two thundering kicks of his heels. The noise seemed
at last to have attracted somebody's attention. Slow
draggling steps came from within, then a bolt was
withdrawn and the door opened.

" What is it ? " growled a gruff whisky-voice, while
a sputtering candle-light fell on a thick-set old man

14 THE UNKNOWN.

with a large bloated grape-nose, small eyes hidden
under bushy gray eyebrows, and an ugly mouth, now
nervous by twisting and turning a big chew of tobacco.
His garments were rather ** negligee," and told that
he had just come out of bed. A pair of woolen pant>
aloons, rather the worse for wear, a shirt without
elbows, and a red woolen night-cap sitting on one side
of the head, completed his nightly costume. ,

** Give me a room and the best you have got," said
the stranger, as he entered and threw down a gold
piece. ,

A perfect transformation now underwent the drowsy
landlord, for he it was who had opened the door. The
sight of the gold piece, which he eagerly stooped to
pick up, made the small eyes glisten. With an awk-
ward bow he disappeared. Soon the whole household
was awake, and half an hour later the nightly visitor
had made himself as comfortable as circumstances
would let him, in a tolerably well furnished room on
the second floor. He sat in an old arm-chair, drawn
close to the open fire-place ; a cigar lighted and a
glass of wine poured out, and he was left to his own
thoughts. But not long did he remain in this position.
With an impatient gesture he threw the cigar in the
fire and commenced pacing the floor. One arm rested
behind him, while the aristocratic white hand of the

THE UNKNOWN. 15

other every now and thin ploughed through the thick
black hair. Deep sighs and passionate outcrys broke
frequently from the tightly pressed lips. Suddenly he
stopped in front of a large map hanging on the wall,
then in a despairing, sorrowful tone he spoke :

"Poland ! Poland ! what have you done that tyrants
trample you to the dust. Where is your former
grandeur.** Torn and bleeding like a hunted stag
have you fallen before the merciless foe. Ah ! shall
Poland's women see son torn from father and husband
from wife, to be dragged like wild beasts to Siberia —
worse than eternal doom ^ Shall we see freedom ebb-
ing away without raising hand or head ? Merciful
God, restore Poland to its former self."

Bang — bang — bang, came from the old clock in the
bar-room below. He counted twelve strokes ; then
prepared to go to bed. but first went to the window
and looked out. " "

I irr :--.'i..

The moon had come out bright and clear throwing
its silver stream over the sparkling snow fields. Still-
ness within — stillness without. Wonderful earth ! earth
where they hate and they murder ; earth where they
love and they cherish. What is lite after all } Only
a shooting star — once gone, soon forgotten. Still it is
my native land and the injustice remains the same.

MMMMMiMMtlMMt

*6 THE UNKNOWN.

So he reflected until gentler thoughts for a moment
healed the open wound.

When sleep closed the weary eyelids, he thought
himself once more in the railway station. He felt the
arms of that beautiful girl winding round his neck ;
tighter and tighter they pressed. He felt the warm
touch of her beautiful lips as they met his. It went
all through him like burning fire. He looked in those
wonderful eyes and knew he could love her as never
man loved before.

i/,:,;:'. ■ ^ .•'^: ":

■^-^'- - ...r-^— ^.-^— ..-^-..^ ~.^ —

THE UNKNOV/N. 1 7

CHAPTER III.

RETURNED FROM THE MARKET.

Christmas holidays are over. Bright and happy
days they have been, with play, dance and music.
Friend visited friend, while the air rung with laugh-
ter, mingled with the merry sound of bells, as the
sledges passed each other on the snow-clad roads.

At the inn everything had been very quiet. The
stranger kept his room all day, spending the most of
the time in writing ; but when twilight threw its
shades among the trunks of the stifif old poplars in the
garden, he would take a stroll out there ; otherwise
he lived unnoticed and untroubled. Who he was or
where he came from nobody knew ; only one being
took any special interest in the strange visitor — one
who watched and waited for his arrival in the garden.
This one was the landlord's daughter, Mary. Although
scarcely turned sixteen, her figure was splendidly de-
veloped and her face one of those pretty, innocent,
country faces so often met with in Germany.

To her this dark, silent and handsome man was a
novelty. She fancied all kind of things ; sometimes
she thought him a foreign prince, who, through some
misfortune, had taken the vow of entire future seclu-
sion from the world : still the more she saw of him
the more she liked him. A strange feeling would set

immmmmmMiidimitMimimt^i^tmmmmtmB

( I

I. I

I !

I :

i I

I I

1
I ;

1 8 THE UNKNOWN. .

her heart in a flutter whenever he made his appear-
ance. But little did he dream what eager eyes rested
upon him as he thoughtfully walked up and down in
the poplar a//e. Had he been able to detect those
bright brown eyes peeping through the kitchen
window ; or had he been able to read the dawning
love and deep curiosity, so clearly expressed in the
innocent face, he would have felt deep pity, and
forever shunned the garden.

Several days had passed, and preparations were
being made all over the surrounding country, as an
annual market was to be held in the nearest town.

The day came at last, bringing dry weather and
sunshine, as a market gift, for the happy farmers, who
now thronged the roads ; some driving a roaring herd
of cattle, while others rolled by with loads of eggs,
butter, cheese and poultry. We do not intend either
to follow those or enter the noisy, busy market-place ;
enough to say, that the bright evening star seemed
blushing to draw a cloud between it and the crowd
of people, which now commenced their homeward
journey. Those on foot tottered along with unsteady
steps, and those on horseback swung to and fro like a
ship in distress ; while the more fortunate and com-
fortable, seated in their large carriages, drove as fast
as the fat country horses could run.

mnaia II 1--^- ^-^-^^1 -.ii^^.t^^- .^^^-^-....■-^ ^,,-...3^ ^..

THE UNKNOWN. 1 9

Low, smutty songs, accompanied by coarse laughter,
jarred on the ears of the more sober travellers.

Some ten miles from town, on one of the principal
roads, a light shone out from a large stable, now well
filled with horses and carriages. The steam rising
from the flanks of the former, and the soiled, muddy
appearance of the latter, showed that the owners had
done some fast driving.

Loud tingling of glasses, laughter and oaths came
from the bar-room of the " Brown Bear," for this was
the inn. And now, to see what is going on inside,
we will take a peep through one of the dirty window
panes.

In one end of the room stood a large oak table.
Around this, on solid wooden benches, sat a mixed
crowd of farmers, cattle drivers, small tradesmen, and
a few tramps, with just money enough in their pockets
to pay for a night's lodging in the straw among the
cows. The theme of the conversation in general
seemed to be the proceedings of the day, and all that
had happened at the market. Then the talk turned
to the great topic of the day, that which had stirred
the whole world from pole to pole — the assassination
of the great Czar, Alexander II. Clearly did they
show their antipathy to the Nihilists, some of whom
had fled shortly after the murder had been committed.

;.!

iC THE UNKNOWN.

AmoFig those was a distinguished Polish nobleman,
who had been accused of taking part in the murder,
and on whose head was set a reward of five thousand
roubles. Still he was innocent, and tried to prevent
the misdeed, although having often spoken openly
against the tyrannical way in which Russia tried to
rule the torn and hard tried Poland — with all the
warmth and love for his native land, a love tender
and true, shown so plain and strong by this nation
more than any other in the world. With such love, I
say, he had tried all in his power to raise the sunken
spirit of his countrymen, to see Poland once more
free from the cruel yoke which now lamed and tor-
tured her, was the height of his ambition. In this
cause he had risked his life and lost his possessions.
But worst of all, to save himself from life-long slavery
in the mines of Siberia, he had been compelled to
flee from the place where he had spent his childhood's
days, and from those who had depended on his great
intellect, strong arm and warm heart, as he grew up
to sturdy manhood. With his soul bleeding for his
fellow-men's freedom, as an " Unknown " he roamed ,
about in a foreign land, while the well-known, hon- ,
ored and beloved name of " Ponzatowsky " existed
only in the memory of the past.

THE UNKNOWN. 21

CHAPTER IV.

A CRUEL SCHEME.

As the guests spoke of this nobleman, and the great
reward promised for his capture, a sudden change
seemed to undergo the landlord ; he drew nearer and
nearer the group, with both hands resting on the
end of the table. He leaned over it in an eager
listening attitude. Many expressed the wish to be
able to win the money, among those three villainous-
looking scamps, one of them a stout man with long,
unkempt hair and beard, a broken nose, and a red
bloated whiskey face, was known as Old Derrick. He
seemed very intimate with the landlord, and as the
guests later on one by one left the inn, he called Old
Derrick and the other two to one side : " Follow me,"
he said, leading the way into the next room, which to
all appearance seemed empty. " What is up now,
old boy," said Derrick with a grin, which showed two
huge yellow teeth sticking out in front of the rest.
" Tut, tut, not so loud. I tell you what it is, I have
found something out," whispered the landlord in a
hoarse voice. "What do you mean?" asked all three.
** Well," said the former, *' the man whom they are
after — him who was in the Nihilist affair at St. Peters-

-y

22 THE UNKNOWN.

burg and^ afterwards slung his buck — the Polish
fellow. What is his namt now? I can't get my
tongue round it, but I think I could lay my claws
on him this minute if I wanted ; but if you want to
go in for business, then I claim half of the reward, the
other half you can divide between you." " All right,
my chick. Now tell us how we can get at the man,"
said Derrick, impatiently.

Then the landlord proceeded to tell how his strange
visitor had come to the inn in the middle of the night
and how he had lived in secrecy ever since. That he
was a nobleman and used to better living, was easy
discovered, therefore, through the conversation. Dur-
ing the night he had come to the conclusion that the
unknown man was no other than the escaped Nihilist.
A plan was now laid to capture, or if it should be
necessary, even to kill him. The silent midnight
hour was the time selected for the foul deed. Tem-
porary the three, therefore, parted, not noticing a pair
of bright, sparkling eyes behind the old-fashioned
stove in the corner.

■-■«•;

THE UNKNOWN. *$

1. .,">■■ *

CHAPTER V.

THE BAFFLED ASSASSIN.

In his chamber sat the stranger. Musingly he let
the blue columns of smoke from a Havana cigar play
around his handsome head. In front of him lay
several close- written papers. He had just grasped
the pen to address a large envelope, when a tap on
the door made him start. Nothing can describe his
astonishment when he saw it was the landlord's
daughter, Mary, who answered the loud " Come in."
What could have brought her there at such an hour
of the night, when everybody else in the house seemed
to have gone to sleep .'* Still there was no time for
reflection. Here she was, and evidently on no ordi-
nary errand, as her confused, timid and frightened
aspect elearly showed. She tried to speak, but her
voice failed, her head was bent a little to one side,
and the beautiful eyes cast down ; the quivering lips,
the rapid rising and falling of her bosom, betrayed
how agitated she was. The stranger arose, went over
to her, and laying his hand gently on the girl's head,
he said in a soft, deep voice ; " Is there anything you
want to tell me, child ? "

1^ THE UNKNOWN.

Then the long restrained tears broke forth, under a
violent sobbing, and in broken words she stammered,
** Hee, flee as fast as you can. In half an hour it will
be too late." Then a small, warm hand grasped and
pressed his, but only for a second. Before he had time
to form his bewildered thoughts into a question, the
girl had disappeared.

For a few moments he stood, lost in deep thought ;
then a sudden resolute expression came into his face.
From his valise he took out a plain suit of blue work-
man's clothes. These he put on, and, with a few
more things added to the new costume, he soon suc-
ceeded in getting the appearance of a sturdy, good-
looking workingman. The thin, white hands he
soiled with dust ; then he blew out the light, tied a
rope to the window-post, and a minute after he had
disappeared in the darkness.

Close on twelve o'clock, after everything had be-
come quiet, the landlord and his three companions
made preparations for their nightly work. Old Der-
rick carried a small lantern well hidden under his
blouse, while a long knife glittered in his belt ; the
landlord had a stout rope in his hand, and the third
of the worthy gang clenched the handle of a big ham-
mer. When in the hallway and at the foot of the
staircase leading up to the room occupied by their

THR UNKNOWN. 25

victim, the landlord whispered : *' I say, boys, if this
aristocratic lubbard should make too much trouble,
then we will make short work of it, and afterwards in
quietness lower him down in the garden well. Let
the reward go to thunder ! I am sure the money in
his valise far exceeds any reward promised by a
beggarly Russian Government. This proposal was
generally accepted, and the four climbed the stairs
slowly and noiselessly, in their stocking feet. " The
light is out," whispered Derrick, as he looked through
the keyhole ; then, pressing his ear to the door, he
declared the inmate fast asleep. With great care the
handle was turned, and now all four stood in the
room — the landlord with his rope ready, another with
uplifted hammer, and Old Derrick with one hand on
the lantern and the other on the knife. When a sud-
den flash from the lantern, as it was drawn from under
the blouse, showed an empty bed — the half-closed
window, with the dangling rope fastened to the post,
told its tale. The bird had flown.

A stream of fearful oaths now poured forth over the
escaped victim, and the landlord to pacify the baffled .
would-be murderers, who now savagely turned on
him, had to take them do^n to the bar-room and fill
them with whiskey till they fell senseless on the floor.
Who had warned the stranger nobody ever found out.

26 THE UNKNOWN.

But in her chamber Miss Mary lay bathed in tears.
For a few days she had been so happy, oh so happy.
Without thinking of the consequences, she had given
her poor young heart to him who had gone, never
to return.

V CHAPTER VI.

J/
PLANNING AN EXCURSION.

Winter and spring had passed, and summer with
ail its beauty, its warm, sunny air fanning your cheek ;
summer with nature in full bloom, like a maiden just
turned into womanhood, had begun. Excursions and
picnics, of which the Germans are so fond, were made
all over. As yet the Volken family had not been
anywhere this season. They had travelled so much
that nothing seemed new to them. But one after-
noon, as Miss Agnes lay out under the veranda,
slowly swinging herself to and fro in a hammock,
while she chased the intruding mosquitoes away from
her lovel face with the daily paper, her eyes fell on

a description of the salt mines in V . The more

she read, the more interested she grew. How won-
derful, that deep under the earth should be a world of
its own — a city with streets, churches and market
places^— a city where the reflection of lamp lights is

THE UNKNOWN. 27

thrown a thousand fold back by the sparkling, glitter-
ing salt-pillars. How strange to think of being down
there — to live and die in the seat of the earth without
knowing anything of the wonderful world above.
How awful the thought of being lost in the numerous,
far-stretching passages, where no human being ever
comes, and where total darkness rules alone.

Here was something new, something piquant, and
Miss Agnes thought she should like immensely to

visit the salt mine.s. They were a long distance froqi
Saxony ; but what of that. Her father had money
enough, and never left her a wish ungratified.

That night, at the tea table, Baron Volken and his
family discussed the best and most convenient way in

which to travel on their excursion to V . All

were in good spirits, and seemed to like the idea
extremely, and a week from that time was chosen for
their departure.

Gaily humming a piece of an old ballad. Miss
Agnes tripped into her bedroom. Many happy
thoughts crossed her mind as she unfolded and
brushed the long silken tresses of her beautiful hair.
" I wish I were a bird, then I would sing night and
day," she said, as she quickly jumped into bed.
Strange to say, that night she dreamed of a tall,
handsome man, with a black moustache, who saved

i^ THE UNkNOWMi

her from some great danger. As she looked closer,
she saw he resembled the stranger from the railway
station. A happy, thrilling feeling made her heart
beat quicker ; then a peaceful slumber took possess-
ion of her until the dawn of day, when she awoke,
refreshed and glad.

CHAPTER VII.

LOST IN THE MINES.

The impression which the underground city made
on our friends, as they a few days later stood in one
of its brilliantly illuminated squares far exceeded
their expectations. In the middle a fountain threw
up a column of water, which fell down like a shower
of snowflakes. In the strange light it looked as a
human being dressed in a long, white robe. Little
stands with delicious fruit stood here and there, with
beautiful Bohemian girls behind the counter, who if
possible seemed more attractive than the fruit they
sold. Flower girls, with rare hot-house plants and
pretty nosegays brought from the magnificent gar-
dens above, were seen everywhere. Heavy loads,
with sparkling blocks of salt, were now slowly
dragged along by long-eared and long-haired mules,
who looked as if a century had passed over them.

tttE UNKNOWN. 29

As the party moved further on, the streets became
more narrow and the houses fewer. At last the noise
of hammer stroke and the klick of spades told them
that they were close to the place where the miners
worked. In '^^irj places six or more would work
together under a foreman, but in the more distantly
removed passages one man would work alone by the
light of a single lantern.

A kind of fascinating awe took possession of
Miss Agnes as they went farther in those half dark
passages. The last light seen in the passage, where
they now found themselves, came from a small lantern
standing close beside a tall, broad shouldered miner.

Miss Agnes was] not aware that she] was a
little ahead of the others, who had stopped to admire
a curious shaped salt pillar. The lonely miner had
his back turned to her. In mute wonder she watched
his movements, as he with a graceful ease swung a
heavy hammer, splitting one large block after another,
his splendid figure and great strength showing it.self to
great advantage ; and she was curious to see what his
face looked like. Just then he turned round, his eyes
falling on her, seemed to so bewilder and astonish
him, that the hammer unnoticed slid through his
hand ; at the same time falling heavily on the lantern,
completely smashing it. A scream escaped Miss

30 THE UNKNOWN.

Agnes, she stOv \ in darkness, and in front, of her the
man she came so near kissing at the railway station ;
a second before the accident with the lantern, his
handsome face, with the dark deep-set eyes and long
black moustache, was recognized by her ; perhaps he
never had fully been out of her thoughts since that
night. In the excitement she did not notice, that the
road forked just where she stood ; she saw her parents
and her brother just looking round to see where she
was, then she ran to join them, but at the same time
taking the wrong passage. A second after a nameless
terror overcame her, all light had disappeared, she was
in total darkness.

The miner not realising the danger in which Miss
Agnes had thrown herself, but thinking her still stand-
where last he saw her, asked her pardon for the awkward
position and the darkness he so suddenly and uncon-
sciously had caused, then hastened to the nearest
group of miners. Shortly after he returned with
another lantern, and instead of meeting the young

lady, he found the remainder of the visitors, all of
them greatly agitated ; she had completely disappeared.

The last seen of her was when they stopped in front

of the salt pillar ; thinking her soon to rejoin them

they had waited until the disappearance of the light

had alarmed them ; now she was nowhere to be seen.

THE UNKNOWN. ^%

Soon the fearful truth dawned on all. In her excite-
ment she had taken the wrong passage ; but which
one ? That was hard to tell. Many passages led
from the place where they stood, all of them old and
condemned. They crossed and re-crossed one another
running how far under the ground no one knew ; for
years they had been untrod by a human foot.

The unlucky tidings spread like wildfire down
among the miners. Soon the distressed family was
surrounded by hundreds of people, who showed a
great deal of sympathy for the bereaved parents.
Everyone knew it was almost certain death to enter
the dark labyrinth of passages.

" Twenty thousand marks for any one who brings
back my daughter ! " shouted the Baron, almost out
of himself with grief.

The greatest part of the miners were poor people ;
therefore, the offer being great, a number of them
resolved to try their luck. After some minutes' dis-
pute, they all came to the conclusion that the road in
front of them, in all probability, was the one taken by
the unlucky , young girl. When at last they stood
ready with torchlights, provisions and compass, two
hours had elapsed — two hours which to those who
waited in dire distress seemed equal to two years.
Hand shaking and well-wishing from their families

THK UNKNOWN.

.1 1

I I

was over. The men were just in the act of entering
the said passaj^e, when a hollow, thunder-like sound,
immediately followed by a loud crash, shook the very
ground they stood on. A heartrending shriek escaped
the Baroness. She was the first to discover that the
passage now holding her beloved daughter had caved
in. Everyone present turned white with fear, and
Edward carried his now senseless mother to the
nearest hotel.

Men with spades and pickaxes were soon at work
trying to remove the rocks now barricading the
entrance, or perhaps which was far worse, filled the
whole or a large part of the passage. How far they
had to work no one could tell. Should it last long,
the poor girl would die the death of starvation. Oh !
cruel fate, for one so young and pure! -i

•

• S» r t^-^^n r»(r»«4< iLAk^* jt

liKMIlHSiai

l iMU Ml M^

THE UNKNOWN. 33

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MINER IN PURSUIT.

No sooner had the strange miner heard that the
young lady was missing, before he understood she had,
by a mistake, gone wrong ; and fully realizing the
great danger in which she now was, he plunged in
after her. A short way from the entrance his foot
touched something soft, and picking it up, found it to
be a handkerchief. This proved him to be on the
right track, and onward he pressed through the death-
like darkness. But soon he had to slacken the speed
as the ground lay strewn with blocks of salt. Over
one of these he stumbled and fell, at the same time
striking a rock with such force as to leave him stun-
ned and senseless, stretched on the cold, damp ground.
When at last he awoke from the fainting fit, he felt
quite bewildered.

" Where am I ? It is all dark as night," he mut-
tered. Just then the pain in his forehead, and a warm
stream slowly trickling down his cheek, reminded him
of what there had passed. A handkerchief tied tight
around his head momentarily stopped the bleeding.

" Oh, what precious time I am losing." he groaned,
as he commenced the pursuit anew.

i! '

1 1

! 1

.^4 THE UNKNOWN.

There was great danger that the young girl should
enter one of the many branches which crossed the
passage ; if so, she would be lost forever. All de-
pended, therefore, on him overtaking her before this
should happen. A nameless fear, a fearful anxiety
betook, him as he thought of the peril in which the
fair young girl now was placed. He would gladly
give years of his life tu save her. Often and often
had the nicniory of this bright and beautiful face
made his blood feel warmer and the heart beat
quicker, as he imagined those well-shaped arms en-
circled his neck, while he seemed to feel the touch of
the youthful form as it slightly pressed against his on
that memorable night at the railway station.

While thus reflecting, a thunder-like noise shook the
walls of the dark passage. His hair stood on end.
By the pressure of the air, following the unearthly
noise, he knew the passage had caved in behind him.
With trembling limbs and bathed brow he staggered
onward. How long would it last before the cold,
sharp-pointed rocks would fall down and bury him ?
How was he to get out ? And how was he to break
the news to the poor girl if he did find her ? Those
thoughts almost maddened him.

" Merciful God, help me to save her ! " came from
his trembling lips, like a l^st pi^jrcij^g ory txom a

tt^vTf^^' Ai^'^Hiiiimirt ' '^lfmv.iy^l ' ■^valms &!i

THF UNKNOWN. 35

sorely oppressefl soul. Just then his feet touched
somethinpr on the ground. H.e stretched out his hand
as he kneeled down to examine what it could be; a
second after he started back like one receiving his
death wounrl. Long trej^ses of soft hair had run
through his (tngers.

"It is her," he groand. "Can she be dead;? Oh,
no, this must not be, I would gladly die for one more
look into those beautiful eyes." But still and immove-
able she lav. Unheeded and unheard were the words
of sorrow and pain poured forth by the man beside
her. After undoing the dress, which encircled the
slender waist, he placed his hand on her heart. Had
anyone been able to see his face, they would have
noticed the nameless joy which overspread it like a
sudden stream of sunshine on a cloudy day. The
slow, faint beating of the heart showed that she was
still alive.

If she was hurt, or how she had fainted, he could
not tell ; down there in the fearful darkness he
had no means by which he could revive her, but
tenderly and carefully he lifte<l her from the ground,
and sitting on a large stone with his back against
the wall, he placed her on his knees, her head
rested on his deep chest, while his hand caressingly
stroked the heavy, damp hair, which now, in disordered

I I

36 TttK UNKNOWN.

tresses, Mowed down her shoulders and over the beau-
tifully shaped bosom ; thus he sat watchin*]; and wait-
ing for consciousness ^to return ; still what hope would
there be after she awoke, what was he to do or say,
when she asked him to take her out of the mines ? he
thought and thought until he grew sick and dizzy,
but all at once an idea struck him. That part of the
mines in which he now was, led to the bank of a great
valley, and perhaps, if he could reach so far, he would
be able to dig them out ; one of the sharp, flat stones
down there was almost as good as a spade — all de-
pended upon how thick the earth was between the
outside of the bank and the passage; but the mere
probability of saving the life of her for whom he had
risked his own, filled him with renewed vigor and
hope. Just then Miss Agnes showed signs of reviving,
slowly she stretched her lithe body, and throwing both
arms around his neck, she whispered, " Why don't you
light the lamp, mother ? It is so dark. Oh ! what a
fearful dream I had — I dreamed, mother dear, that —
uttering the last wor''\ she had laid her soft, white
cheek up against his, but as the heavy moustache
touched her, she gave a start and a loud scream, while
she struggled to free herself ; but tighter and tighter
did the strong arms press her, until she lay helpless,
like a baby in its mother's lap. Then he told her

•\

THE UNKNOWN. 37

jE^ently and slowly all which had happened, and that
he would save her or die in the attempt ; he begged
her to trust him as she would a brother. They were
thrown together — two lonely beings, deep under the
earth in total darkness, with death staring them in
the face, therefore, much would be justified, and many
an action allowed which otherwise, and under other
circumstances, would have been out of its place, or
even improper. She now listened to him with the
silent trustfulness of a child, and while he had spoken,
all that which had happened came back to her mem-
ory, she knew he was the only one from whom she
could look for help Then laying her small hand in
his broad palm, she said, in a low, soft voice, " God
help me ; I trust you." As soon as Miss Agnes was
strong enough the fearful journey commenced; through
the thick darkness and the numerous loose-laying
rocks and blocks of salt, they made but slow progress.
To help the poor girl over the ground, the miner took
her trembling hand in his; thus they wandered foi*
several hours, but to them it seemed an eternity. And
now a new calamity set in — the thin shoes worn by
the young lady, were completely cut to pieces by the
rugged ground ; already had the sharp points torn the
flesh, and if any light had been there, the bloody foot-
prints would have showed quite plain on the shining,

-Ml

' '

i '

i I

38 THE UNKNOWN.

|j salty ground. Still she bore it bravely, without falter-

11 ; ing, without murmuring; but she was only a woman—

ij' the pain overpowered her, a groan escaped the tightly

j, pressed lips, and she would have fallen had not the

ij; ever- watchful man be.side her caught her in his arms.

i Time was precious ; they had to walk while strength

I still remained, therefore he picked her up like one

I I would a little child, and then continued the wander-
ing. He had walked like this for some time, when
the rushing of water reached his ear ; welcome indeed
was this familiar sound, as they both were very thirsty.
Soon they stood in front of a foaming well, springing
out from the wall. Gently placing his burden on a
stone, he was in the act of approaching the hissing
water, when something startled him — his foot had
struck a hard body, causing a sharp, ringing sound
like that of metal, in the next minute he held an old
crowbar in his hand ; where this is more may be
found, he thought. Then telling Miss Agnes not to be
afraid, but remain in the same place for a few min-
utes, he commenced crawling about on his hands and
knees. Soon an exclamation of joy escaped him.
" What is it ? O tell me quick," cried Agnes, as she, in
her eagerness, forgot her sore feet, left her seat, and
ran over to where the sound came from. "I have
found a large tool-chest," answered the miner, who, in

THE UNKNOWN. 39

the meantime, had examined the lock, and found it
one of those heavy, old-fashioned padlocks, but with-
out a key in it. " Please stand back while I try to
open it," he said ; in the next instant the passage
echoed with heavy strokes, borne down on the chest
by the crowbar ; at last the hinges on the lid gave
way, and the chest was opened. The first thing which
touched the tingers of the man bending over it, was
a lantern. Only he knew how valuable this discovery
was, because on every miner's lantern an almost air-
tight little tin box is attached; this is always supposed
to be filled with matches. With feverish brow and
trembling hands, he opened it. 0, joy ; luck seemed
now at last to smile upon them — it contained over a
dozen well-preserved matches — he struck one, held it
to the wick in the lantern, a second after the bright
shine of a light brought forth the surroundings, clear
and distinct. Overcome with emotion and joy. Miss
Agnes threw herself on his breast, and sobbed like a
child. ^

iiil

ij I'l
Hi.'

I i

(I '

40 THE UNKNOWN.

CHAPTER IX.

SAVED BY THE UNKNOWN.

Where they now stood, the passage formed a small
square with perpendicular walls and smooth ground,
judging from the well, the tool-chest and a rough
table standing in a corner, the place had formerly
served as a resting-place for the miners. Besides the
lantern, a tin cup, a hammer, and a woollen blanket
were found in the chest. After satisfying their thirst
with the cold, clear water, the miner bathed the young
girl's feet and bandaged them with strips of cotton
torn from his blouse ; then she firfnt discovered the
cloth wound round his head ; it was nearly hidden by
the brim of his hat, which had been drawn well over
it. " What is this / " she exclaimed, with white, terror-
stricken face, " you are wounded. Oh, why did you
not tell me this ? See ! one side of your face is covered
with blood. Then she took off the cloth, bathed the
wound carefully, and replaced the bandage. Breaking
up the table, a rough bed was quickly made of the
planks, which, if not comfortable, at least kept out
the dampness of the ground, using the remainder of
his blouse as pillow, and the woollen blanket serving
as mattress and '"uilt both, he told Miss Agnes to lay

THE UNKNOWN. 4t

down and try to sleep. Overpowered by weariness
and excitement, the poor girl obeyed; to rest her sore,
bruised body, even in a bed like this, seemed to do
her a world of good. Not to waste the oil, as they
did not know how far they had to go, or how long to
stay in the present dreadful prison, the light was
blown out. Once more wrapped in darkness. Miss
Agnes, with the true instinct of a woman, who always
seeks to lean on something stronger than herself, and
to call for protection, bade the miner sit down along-
side the bed. 8oon her small warm hand found its
way into his, and a second after the regular breathing
told him sleep had come. - ?; ; • ?-- -^^ ;r^

Half asleep and half awake strange pictures passed
in rapid succession before his weary eyes. He saw him-
self in a dark room, with windows and doors closed,
suddenly the cry of "Fire! fire!" startled him, and
he tried to escape, when he found both feet chained
to the floor; nearer and nearer the hissing flames
came until they licked the v/indow- panes, while their
red tongues threw a strong glare into the room. All
at once the door was thrown open ; with streaming
hair a beautiful girl, who he thought resembled Miss
Agnes, flew to his rescue ; a touch of her finger and
the chains broke into fragments ; then she seemed to
grow taller and taller, until her head reached the

"Bpviiiitv;

M I

42 THE UNKNOWN.

ceiling. With the strength of a giant, she picked him
up and bore him out into the fresh air, where she,
wrapped in a stormcloud, disappeared. A mist came
across his eyes, and he stood in a large hall sur-
rounded by the nobles of Poland. All was in con-
fusion, each one talked at the same time. Above
them all a thunder-like voice shouted : " Down with
the tyrant ! Poland free or die I" Just then the sound
of regular footsteps, mingled with the clank of
weapons, was heard outside. A second after the
bolted door fell in with a loud cra.sh, and the hall
filled with Russian soldiers, who silently handcuffed
the terrified and betrayed Pollacks. Again the scene
changed. He was at home, once more a child ; the
sun shone bright and warm, the fresh many coloured
flowers in the meadow sent their sweet fragrance out
into the air, which seemed to dance and glitter in
gleeful play. Above the azure blue heaven curved its
beautiful half-circle, while far away the dark pine
forest threw long streaks of shade out over the yellow
corn-fields. On the terrace leading to the large en-
trance of the stately mansion stood his mother. Oh !
what unspeakable love there shone in those deep, dark
eyes, as she tenderly opened her arms to receive him,
while he ran up to . her and once more laid his head
on the beloved bosom. A long unknown peace came

THE UNKNOWN. 43

over him, then the eyes closed and the head drooped
more and more until it rested on the bosom of the
slumbering girl beside him. Soon the angel of peace
and innocence had spread its wings over both. Not
long did the miner's slumber last, his mind was too
troubled to rest, still the few hours' sleep had strength-
ened him greatly ; now he sat upright, again thinking
and planning how to act so as to save them both.
While he sat thus, low broken words uttered by Miss
Agnes reached his ear, she was apparently dreaming ;
first he listened without heeding or trying to find any
meaning in the unfinished sentences, but suddenly, as
if stung by a serpent, he gave a start which shook his
whole frame and made a shiver run all through him.
It must have been caused by what he heard, for now
he puts his face close to hers as if to catch the words ;
slowly they came in a sad, reproachful voice: "Edward
do not leave me, it is so dark, so dark." A terrible
despairing look settled on his face as he again took
up his former position, a look which told that the
dawning love he bore to the slumbeiing girl had to be
torn out of his heart, the bright hopes and newly laid
plans were crushed for ever. " Edward," he mur-
mured, "it is him !" the same she mistook me for that
night at the railway station. I wonder who he can
be. She loves him dearly. Fool that I am, ever to

44 THE UNKNOWN.

dream of winning one so good, so beautiful. She is
here in my power. So much more reason why I
should act nobly to both. Be it so Edward, yon
lucky one, from me you have nothing to fear, my
heart and eye is henceforth closed. Closed even for
her, for whom I gladly would suffer death." Thus he
sat murmuring with a blank vacant stare into the
deep darkness before him, his heart seemed in a few
minutes to have died within him; here in front of
him lay, bound to another with sacred ties — the ties
of love and promise — the only being he ever loved,
and this love he now had to withhold and tear out,
without mercy, without delay. '

As soon as Miss Agnes awoke, the lantern was lit,
and, wrapped in the blanket, he carried her onward
once more. Once or twice she spoke, but as the
answers were short, the conversation dropped, — his
altered manner she thought sprang from the anxiety
he felt over their present situation. Often did she
ask to be let down : " I can walk now, I'm sure I can ;
do let me try," she pleaded, but all of no avail ; with
never-failing strength and sure steps, he kept on.
There seemed to be no outlet to the passage, what
would the end be ? both were hungry, although each
kept it to themselves, and now the light burnt feebler
with every fleeting minute ; soon the oil would be con-

THE UNKNOWN. 45

sumed and they left in darkness as before. When at
last hunger and fatigue, combined with the fearful
mental strain they had undergone, commenced to tell
on those two lonely beings, a faint shimmer of light
as from far away daylight, broke like a silver thread
through the thick darkness: " Great God, can it be!"
exclaimed the miner, at the same time striding out in
long, gigantic paces. At first he was afraid to say
anything about the discovery, it might only be an
illusion, caused by an excited brain, — but broader
and clearer shone the blessed light. Gently he
touched the beautiful head resting on his shoulder.
Miss Agnes had fallen into a short slumber, but the
pressure of his hand as it pushed from her forehead
the heavy mass of hair, made her start and look up in
alarm. " Do not be afraid, — help is near ; see, yonder
is daylight," said her rescuer, pointing forward to the
streaming light, which already threw a radiant glance
over both. Singularly beautiful did Miss Agnes look
at that moment, with shining eyes, flowing hair, and
half-parted, rose-bud lips; in wonder and joy, she looked
at the long-lost daylight. Anyone who could have seen
her would have thought her the picture of health and
happiness, had it not been for the feverish flush which
burned on the former so marble white cheeks. The
man, who so nobly and unwearingly had carried her

imiiiii^iMi

46 THE UNKNOWN.

through all danger and almost snatched her from the
outstretched arms of death, looked long and earnestly
into her face, it was a look so admiring, nay loving,
and still so despairingly sad, that it would have melted
a heart of stone. Then he spoke in a voice which
betrayed the terrible fight going on within him : " See,
soon you will be restored to your friends, but in time
to come, when happiness and bliss smiles upon you,
then give a kind thought to one who roams about in
foreign lands without home, friends, or hope; one who
deemed it the grandest day in his life, when snatched
from death and darkness, you were saved to smile on
others more fortunate than he.

Then with a quick look, he continued, " Before we
part, may I know your name.' " Agnes Volken," she
whispered in a half smothered voice, while two large
burning tears fell on his face. Poor girl, have I hurt
her, thought the miner, as he raised his eyes and
looked at her. Just then they were near the opening
of the passage, and the light fell full on his face and
head. A piercing scream escaped Miss Agnes as she
looked at him and she fell in a dead swoon, lying
like a corpse in his arms. Had he been able to see
himself at that moment, he would have known what
caused her to faint. His beautiful black hair had, in
a single night, become white as snow. Through the

THE UNKNOWN. 4^

Opening he saw the head of an old man who. with an
amusing scared look, peeped down into the passage.
Farther on he saw the spire of a church and the
upper part of several near-standing monuments. Put-
ting it altogether, he came to the conclusion (which
afterwards proved to be right) that they had arrived
at the valley where a churchyard sloped down one of
the banks, and a new grave had been dug just over the
place where the old passage ended, which caused the
ground to fall through, thus saving the two im-
prisoned. Promptly acting on this conclusion, he
handed the young girl up to the simple, but good-
natured old man. Told him to take her to his home,
care for her and fetch a doctor immediately, at the
same time he flung a full purse at his feet. Taking the
last look at the lovely face of Miss Agnes now lying
white and motionless in the arms of the old man, who
tottered off towards his house, he gave a deep sigh and
with a feeling of loneliness and woe, he hurriedly dis-
appeared on the winding road leading up into the dark
forest which crowns the Carpathian mountains.

',,.■., '■•*,■■, ■ •

■ f'---. • *■ -':-:. ' • a-:: --■ . , r , -

i-iayiiitiiiiiM

4^ THF TINKNOWN.

(JHAITER X.

MISS A(;ni':s at thk (iRAVEniGOEk's home.

Two (lay.s almost ^'one, and the man working in the
mines have as yet not been able to get beyond the
fallen rock, which so suddenly and fearfully separated
the grief-stricken parents from their dearest child.
The Baroness is removed to an hotel in the city above
the mines — she lay dangerously ill. Baron Volken
and son are ahnost frantic with sorrow. On the after-
noon of the second day an old man came to the hotel
asking to see the Baron ; by orders of the later he was
shown up stairs to a private room. " What do you
want, my good man ? " asked the Baron, at the same
time pointing to a chair. The visitor nervously
twisted an old well-worn felt hat in his bony hands,
then sitting down on one corner " the chair, as bash-
ful people sometimes will e commenced, in a
cracked feeble voice, to teL .,e following story:

Scl)cn fie, mein $cn* (you see, sir), I am a grave-
digger in a little village called ^i^cnborpf) (Oaktown),
some three miles from here; this afternoon I was
occupied in digging a grave for, attc citi-augcb ^ctcr
(old one-eyed Peter), who died in the workhouse last
week (here an impatient gesture from the Baron,

THE UNKNOWN. 49

made him yo on ([uicker), when nearly finished, the
ground conirnenced to give away. With a jump, which
made every bone in my old body smart, I Hew out of the
grave, and will you believe me, sir, on looking down I
saw nothing but a deep black hole. All the ghost stories
from my childhood days seemed to crowd in on me,
and I thought for sure I had discovered the entrance to
.... While I lay on the ground looking down, strange
noises came from below, it sounded like some one
talking, but the voice had a horrible hollow sound, a
cold shiver ran through me, I thought for sure it was
mc iHid (old nick), who I heard speak. This belief
was strengthened when a minute after I saw a human
form approaching out of the dark ; but on closer ex-
amination I discovered it to be a real man carrying a
young lady in his arms ; at first I thought her dead,
it seemed a groat pity, for she was beautiful as an
angel. As it turned out afterwards, she had fainted a
short while before ; she had been a long while in the
mines, and the sudden daylight was too much for her,
poor thing Well, the man handed her up to me, telling
me to carry her home and fetch a doctor, this I did,
while the doctor examined her, mcincm atte Jrau (my
old woman), discovered the letters %. 35. on her linen,
^d) bu ttebc, bag ift bie fcrtorne signer 53oIfcn (oh, dear, this
is the missing Agnes Volken), she cried, and immedi-

MHiB

I i-

i I

I i.

50 THE UNKNOWN.

ately I rau to tell you, sir ; so now you know all. Your
daughter is alive, and in my humble dwelling. V

Half unconscious and unable to move, had the Baron
listened to the latter part of the story that his adorod
daughter had escaped a fearful death, was still alive
and not far from him. It almost pi^ralyzed him — the
joy was so sudden, so great. Without a moment's
delay, he got into a cab, and drove with tlie old man
as fast as the horses could run. Two hours later, Miss
Agnes was with great care removed to the hotel ; both
mother ar^d daughter lay under the same roof, danger-
ously ill of a raging fever. The man who had saved
Miss Agnes was supposed to be the miner working
in the place where she had disappeared. Who he was,
or where he came from no one knew ; in the mines he
always went by the name of " the Unknown." Next
morning the following paragraph was to be seen in
bcr ^^agfbtatt (the daily paper).

" Miss Agnes Volken, who two days ago got lost in
the mines, was saved, and restored to her parents by
an 'Unknown.'"

''„,;^a:../. ■■ •:..;.

THE UNKNOWN. ^i

CHAPTER XL

>, !•

ONCE MORE AT LANDESRUHE.

For a long while did Miss Agnes linger between life
and death, but at last her youth and strong constitu-
tion conquered, and she became gradually better. Not
so her mother ; the shock received on seeing the mine
cave in had been fatal to her. Eight days the fever
raged ; then came a few calm, peaceful moments,
sufficient to take a last look at the beloved child
beside her, and to speak a few words tu her grieved
husband, and her soul went to a fairer and better
land. Very lonesome did the Volken's find it after
returning home to Landesruhe. The leading spirit
the tender, all-observing eye, and the helping, caressing
hand which makes every happy home what it is, had
gone forever ; yes they all missed the Baroness very
much, but none as much as Agnes. She had many
friends, but no one to whom she could reveal her
.sacred thoughts and inmost feelings. Often her
thoughts went back to the accident in the mines, and
lUthough it caused a shiver to run through her fine
form, she could not keep back that strange thrilling
sensation ; that pleasant feeling, which the recollection

5t THE UNKNOWN.

of her rescuer brought forth, — she wondered who he
was, — why he had disappeared, and if she ever should
see him again. This last, was to herself an unknown
wish. In other words. Miss Agnes had come to love
this noble, self-sacrificing stranger, who, without
exception, was the manliest and most handsome man
she ever saw ; a deep yearning love it was, strong in
its freshness and passionate through the way it had
sprung up — as they shared pain, fear, danger and joy
together. She was a woman, young, impulsive, and
with deep feeling, it could not but affect her to call
back the scenes they had gone through ; she remem-
bered how her head had rested on his breast, she
seemed still to feel his arms encircle her, and every
word spoken by him came back again, the last
especially were imprinted with letters of fire in her very
soul, they filled her with joy and pain — joy, because
through them she had learned that he loved her —
pain, because he labored under a false illusion, think-
ing that she loved another ; this latter she would per-
haps in some way or other have cleared, but fainted
before she could do so. The mental agony which had
given his hair the color of snow, must have been great
indeed ; and bathed in tears she would murmur : " Ah
me ! ah me ! I am not worthy of such love. How
shall I ever repay him. I would gladly lose ray life

THE UNKNOWN. 53

if it could bring him happiness." But winter followed
summer, and she saw him not ; it was cold without,
but colder still within, for peace had flown from her
youthful heart. Moaning and tearing did the wind
go through the old elm trees; weeping and sighing did
Miss Agnes go to sleep in her lonely chamber. , ,

• CHAPTER XII.

THE MURDER OF EDWARD VOLKEN.

It was a cold December evening, the gaslights in
the broad, even streets of Berlin looked like a yellow
mist through the thick and fast-falling snowflakes ;
people hurried homeward with their heads buried in
warm fur collars and mufflers, determined on letting
their stay out in the cold, sharp air, be as brief as
possible. Already the greatest part of the brilliant
shops were closed and secured for the night; but as were
enter a side street, a tiny streak of light forces its way
through a hole in the window-shutters of a large brick
house, and falls like a warning finger on the snow out-
side. The very sight of this house would rouse sus-
picion, were it to be scrutinised by a keen eye ; dark
and gloomy, it towered high above the rest, and

Illi !

! I

I i

14 THE UNKNOWN.

through the loop-hole in the strongly-bolted door an
ever watchful eye peered out into the dark night. At
half-past twelve, a tall, broad-shouldered man, with
his hat drawn well over both eyes, and part of the
cape thrown over one shoulder, so as to hide the re-
mainder of his face, was seen to approach the house ;
he walked with a rapid, elastic step, which proved him
to be a young man of strength and agility. Three
raps and a low whistle opened the door as with magic,
while a hoarse voice whispered, " Is that you Baron."
The man thus addressed gave a slight nod, and as-
cended a stairway leading up to the second floor: here,
in a large hall, a number of men were engaged in vari-
ous games. The large stacks of money in front of
some, and the feverish, excited look of others, as they
followed the game, showed it to be a gambling place
of the worst kind. '' Edward, is it you, old boy ?
Come to get revenge for last night, eh ? " These words
were spoken by a portly, over-dressed, middle-aged
man, as he came forward and placed one of his plump,
bloated hands in that of the new-comer ; then without
waiting for an answer, he led him to one of the tables
where the wheel of luck kept on turning — some to luck ,
and others to woe. " I do not want to play to night ; a ,
hundred thalers is my whole fortune, and no one knows
better than you, Von Falken, what this cursed gam-

THE UNKNOWN. 55

bling has done tor me." Thus spoke Edward Volken,
while he nervously turned the money in his pocket.
The man above-mentioned, only smiled and twisteci
his dark moustache with fingers sparkling with dia-
mond-set rings. Since the death of his mother, Kd-
ward thought home had lost its greatest attraction,
and very seldom did his relations see him there ; but
in the large city of Berlin, the bright, open-handed
young Baron had found numerous friends, of whom
some, hidden under the mask of politeness and good
breeding, bore a heart of stone, and who shrank from
nothing when gold was within their reach. To these
Herr Von Falken belonged. An only son of a rich
banker, he had, after coming of age, in three years
squandered the fortune left him ; since then he had
lived the life of a gamble* and a swindler ; he enticed
young men in his net, and did not let go his villainous
grasp until their last thaler had become his. Lately
he had established this gambling den in which we now
find him, and among his victims the young Baron
Volken proved the most profitable; already the scoun-
drel had wrung a fortune from him, and this night ho
expected to get the last hundred thalers from the puur
ruined man before flinging him away. As he saw a
little coaxing was needed, he said, in a light off-handed
way, " Now, come Edward, to-night the luck ijiay

I ^

56 THE UNKNOWN.

turn — look at that man yonder, he has just won a
large stake, besides, when your funds tuirb au^QC^plelcb
(played out), then come to me, you know I would only
be too glad to help a friend in a momentary pinch, de-
pend on me, and try once more."

Dear reader, whatever you do, let no sin ever be-
come a vice. When first you give way to a sin and
let it get the better of you instead of controlling iti
then you are lost. No one who has not tried it can
understand what a fearful demon the vice of gambling
is. If some do not feel the effect as much as others, it
is because they have not as much to lose — either of self-
respect, reputation or money. But take a man of
society, who has an honoured name and a good posi-
tion, persuade him to visit such a place, let him lose a
sum of money, and perhaps next night win the double
amount back again; let the fascination, the excitement,
gradually steal upon him, and then look into his heart
when first he discovers he has gone too far: then the
terrible struggle commences. Remorse, despair, and
ever-broken vows, with sleepless nights and long
weary days, rushes soul and body to sure destruction.
It is a struggle fearful to realize ; especially if the vic-
tim is young, intelligent, and otherwise respected.
Here stood Edward Volken, his tall, commanding
figure high above the rest, his remarkably handsome

THE UNKNOWN. 57

face turned towardw the table where death and eternal
doom lurked among the glittering gold pieces. Had
he already become a slave of this ever-eating, tempt-
ing sin ? His thoughts were at that moment far
away. What would father say, if he knew how I
spent his money? What would mother say if she saw
me here to-night ? O mother, dear mother ! no matter
whether I win or lose to-night, this shall be the last
time I ever put my foot in a gambling house. Then
with a strong effort he turned a deaf ear to the re-
proaching, pleading voice, and schooling himself against
all softer feelings, he threw the last hundred thalers
down on the table, accidentally it fell on the red.
" mt qmadjt, aae ^Jlnabc" (" Well done, old boy,")
whispered Von Falken in his ear. After all the
stakes were put out, the wheel was turned by
the marker who, a few seconds after, in his usual
dragging, nasal voice announced, " 9^ot^ njonn. )R'OU\)
w-o=n*n." (" Red won.") Edward now placed four hun-
dred on the same colour. Again he won. Eight hun-
dred were put down and won. By this time every one
present were on their feet : seldom was such luck seen
before. Jealousy and curiosity stood plainly written
in the many agitated faces who now surrounded the
winner. Without hesitation he put eighteen thousand
thalers on red. White with fury von Falken had fol-

58 THE UNKNOWN.

lowed the game ; he could not understand, but silently
cursed the unexpected luck whicli that night followed
his victim.

" Are you mad, man. Have you not got enough
now ? You risk to lose all," he hissed, but unnoticed
was his warning, and the game went on. Two more
rounds with the luck still following the Baron, and the
bank was declared " bursted." Coolly Edward pocketed
the money, which had run up to fifty thousand
thalers, and left the place, followed by the loud curses
of those whose money he had won.

The night was dark and cold ; it had ceased snow-
ing, but the black, heavy clouds hastened onwards as
driven by evil spirits. The wind came in big gusts,
furiously shaking and tearing everything movable.
In its maddening dance it struck Kdward with such
force that, before letting go its tight and chilling em-
brace, it actually lifted and carried him several yards
ahead. " Hu, what a night ! " he murmured, giving
his hat a strong pull, which brought it down over
both ears. " Would to God, mother was alive, and I
once more at home by the merry old fireside," he said.
Then half forgotten memories from his childhood came
back again ; bright and happy thoughts they must have
been, judging by the tender, winning smile which spread
over his handsome face — a look of long lost peace and

THE UNKNOWN.

Joy. His mind was far away, therefore he heeded not
where his feet carried him. The main streets were
left far behind, and dingy, narrow quarters surrounded
the thoughtless wanderer. But see, right above him,
the clouds scattered for a moment, a bright, gleaming
star shone down U[)on the great slumbering city.
" Ah, mother, dearest mother, I see your message,
would I could be with you for a little while ; it is so
cold and dark down here, sin and temptation lures
everywhere, but 1 will try to do better. (?od help
me!" The last words Edward uttered with a deep
sigh, and they were the last ever escaped him in this
life. The next instant he fell silent and lifeless to the
ground with a dagger plunged to the hilt in his still
quivering heart, while a dark furin for a few minutes
bent over him, and then left him in the cold, the
storm, and the darkness.

' - - . ,

6o THE UNKNOWN.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE DEATH OF BARON VOLKEN.

In contrast to the wild wintry night, the morn
arose calm and beautiful. The first rays of shimmer-
ing dayligJit were thrown out over the still slumbering
city, as an early risen workingman started on his way
to the place of his daily labor. Leisurely he sauntered
along yet the deserted streets, sending volumns of blue
smoke from a short clay pipe out into the cold still
air. In one hand dangled a dirty, dented tin pot,
containing a scanty breakfast ; under the other arm a
pair of well-patched overalls. All of a sudden he
came to a dead stop, the tin-can fell rolling over the
ground, while, white as ashes, with staring eyes and
open mouth, stood stiff and motionless ; and well he
might look with a terror-stricken face. In front of
him lay a man, face downwards, the arms thrown out
on both sides, his dark hair sweeping the ground, while
a crimson stream ran from under the body, forcing
its way through the sparkling snow. Only a few
seconds did he look at the ghastly sight, then he
hurried to the nearest police station and related what
he had seen. Soon the police were at the spot, and

iHMII

THE UNKNOWM. 6l

there discovered the murdered man had been robbed ;
his watch and chain were gone and all his pockets
turned inside out. In a ring found on his little finger
a name was engraved which identified him as Baron
Edward Vol ken. At once the best detectives were put
on the track of the man who committed the dastardly
deed, but all of no avail, he seemed sunk into the
earth.

A cold December wind swept over the stately man-
sion of Landesruhe. The Baron and his daughter sat
in the well-furnished parlor, a bright fire threw a ray
of light out over the costly Brussels carpet, the hea^^y
curtains were drawn close together in front of the deep
set windows, while a crystal chandelier lit up every
nook and corner in the large room.

Baron Volken leaned back in his velvet-cushioned
arm-chair, and with a sad look he turned to Miss
Agnes, saying : " To-night it is just six months since
your dear mother died." He would have said more,
but a knock at the door interrupted him ; a servant
entered, bowed, and said in a hurried tone : " I beg
your pardon, sir, there are two gentlemen outside who
want to see you very particular." " Very well, show
show them into the dining-room," ordered the Baron,
then he arose, went behind Agnes* chair, took her
fair head between both hands, bent it backwards and

•tl

62 THE UNKNOWN.

kisHed lier tenderly on the white forehead. As he a
few seconds after stood in front of the two visitors,
something seemed to tell him that they came for noth-
ing good, and a chilling sensation went all through
him. " What can I do for you gentlemen," he asked
in a forced, calm tone. " Sir ! " commenced the elder
of the two, " I suppose we have the honor of being
in the presence of Baron Volken ?" The latter bowed
slightly. " We are bearers of sad tidings ; it concerns
your son, who has met with an accident in Berlin ; "
he stopped suddenly, as if afraid of going any further.
Pale as death, the Baron grasped the back of a chair
to keep from falling ; but it lasted only a second, then
his commanding form stood as erect and firm as ever.
" Go on gentlemen, I know what is coming, my son is
dead." " You have said it, sir," answered the spokes-
man, and added : " But worse still, he has been mur-
dered, foully murdered." This was more than the
Baron could bear, with a heart-rending shriek he fell
senseless to the floor. Two hours after, a coffin stood
in the large hall of Landesruhe. A tall man walked up
and down the floor, the hands clasped in one another
on his back, and the noble head drooping on his hard-
laboring chest, while large, hot tears rolled down the
furrowed cheeks. Suddenly he stopped in front of the
coffin, drew away the black cloth which hid the face

THE UNKNOWN. 6$

of his son ; buautit'ul indeed looked the pale upturned
face. Oh, what rest and lieavenly peace there wa8 ex-
pressed on those handsome features, it was so strik-
ing that Baron Volken murmured: " Poor boy, what-
ever has been your last thought, it was good, pure and
noble, may God take care of your soul!" then, pushing
away the heavy gray locks encircling his forehead, he
commenced pacing up and down again. As his thoughts
fell on the nnirderer, his step.s became more firm, th<;
hands clinched, and the dark, bushy eyebrows were
drawn close together. " I'lie scoundrel must be found ! "
came from his tight-pressed lips, then sorrow o'ercame
him, with his face hidden in his hands, he sank into a
chair groaning : " This is too hard, first my wife, and
now my only .son." When Baron Volken next morn-
ing stepped into the parlour. Miss Agnes noticed he
looked ten years older. Dark and dreary days now
commenced at Landsruhe, after the funeral, which not
alone robbed a father of his only son ; but also caused
a long-honoured name to die out, the Baron seemed to
have lost all strength and spirit ; his health became
very delicate, notwithstanding all the efforts Miss Agnes
made to console and comfort him, a speedy death
threatened to take away this her last and dearest pro-
tector. In Berlin lived an unmarried sister of Baroness
Volken. At the request of Agnes to come and spend the

I
I

i ,

1;! !

ill ii

M i

I !

64 THE UNKNOWN.

rest of her days with her, she left her home in the city
and went to Landsruhe, where she, on seeing the red,
tearful eyes of Miss Agnes promised herself to be all she
could for the poor, hard-tried girl. It would be too
sad to linger at the dark, gloomy days and nights
which followed the Baron s illness ; enough to say,
after making a will, which left his daughter sole heiress
to the estate, and a moderate sum settled on her aunt,
he sent for the minister, asked God in Heaven to let
him join his beloved wife and son, kissed Agnes ten-
derly, and then fell into a quiet slumber. When those
who watched by his bedside, an hour after, touched
the folded hands, they found them cold, as only death
can make them — Baron Volken had gone whore sor-
row is not.

Five months passed ; cold, snowy days have yielded
to the warm, all life-inspiring sun; pure air, green
fields, beautiful flowers and singing birds, made nature
attractive and pleasant on, and among, the estate of
Landesruhe. Still Miss Agnes thought of going away;
her parents and brother were no more, only sad, bitter
memories clung to the large, empty rooms in the
former so happy home. She looked pale and troubled.
The shocks so shortly following one another, had, to a
certain extent, undermined her otherwise strong con-
stitution, wherefore her Aunt Therese proposed a trip

MMaOMMaMMMH

THE UNKNOWN. 65

to Italy. Being of age, Miss Agnes was her own mis-
tress, and need be responsible to no one for her actions.
Drawing a large sum on the bank in Berlin, and giving
the estate in charge of some trustworthy, distant rela-
tion, the two ladies started for Italy.

CHAPTER XIV.

AGNES IN ITALY.

Far up in the chain of mountains, running from
north to south, thus forming a backbone for Italy, a
lonely house crowned one of the many cliffs almost
hanging out over the valley beneath. In a distance,
seen through the surrounding trees, it looked very
much like a crow's nest. A nest it was indeed, but oc-
cupied by a far lovelier bird than that mentioned. Miss
Agnes had, by the aid of her aunt (who, in former
days, used to be a frequent visitor to fair Italy),
secured this lovely spot, where she hoped to regain
the failing health and clouded spirit. Hissing, splash-
ing, and foaming a river tore along in the valley be-
low the cliff, and just where the thick forest ended,
it plunged into a lower lying canal, like a tiger mak-
ing the fatal spring at its victim, but here its motions

66 THE UNKNOWN.

became less violent. The even-cut banks and many
sluices, showed that nature had been interfered with
by man, who even went so far as to let this nature's
spoiled and wilful child water his fields and turn his
mill wheels. Where the waterfall commenced, and
the forest ended, a well- sized town lay in and up over
the valley, spreading itself over both banks, like a
great bird ready for flight. But returning to where
we started — a sandy path wound its way through a
thick growth of tropical plants, which united with
sweet-smelling flowers and green ivy, formed, as they
met above, an airy archway, through which heaven,
at intervals, appeared in dark blue spots. Where the
path ended, the mountain top lay smooth and semi-
circled ; here trees of all kinds and of all sizes,
from the blushing rose to the proud, towering palm,
surrounded a tastefully constructed little cottage.
On the porch sat Miss Agnes, rocking herself in a
soft arm-chair, her eyes were thoughtfully fixed on
the beautiful clear blue sky, in her lap lay Moore's
poems; the upturned leaf pointed to a place where
the great poet, in a wonderfully deep and touching
way, speaks of pure love, truth, self-sacrifice, strong
all-daring youth and manhood. Her thoughts, what-
ever they were, had left a brilliant flush on the
beautiful cheeks, while the warm, soft air played with

THE UNKNOWN. 67

the golden locks which had escaped the abundant
mass of hair now loosely kept back by a silk ribbon.
In the black dress of mourning, with the returning
healthy color and those deep blue sparkling eyes
peeping through the wavy silken locks, Miss Agnes
looked if possible lovelier than ever. There was a
look of freshness, purity and grandeur about her
which would have kindled instant love, and tilled
with sweet rapture the heart of any man — even such
who had toyed with love until his heart had become
an outburned volcano. These thoughis must also have
struck Aunt Therese, who, on stepping out on the
porch from the parlor, held one hand up over her
eyes, as if to shade them from the dazzling sight ;
then breaking off a geranium, which had pushed its
head in between the espalier, surrounding the porch,
she said : " Agnes mine, did you ever think of getting
married ?" The question came so suddenly and unex-
pectedly, that Agnes gave a little start and flushed
crimson from neck to temple, then in a sad reproachful
tone she answered : " Oh, Aunty ! how can you — how
do I know ? Besides it is so short a time since those
dearest to me were laid in the grave, that it would be
wicked to think of such." No more was said just
then ; but the far away look, the deep, unconscious
sigh, and the heightened color, told Aunt Therese that

lit

t •

i!
i

68 THE UNKNOWN.

Miss Agnes thought of somebody for whom her heart
beat warmer than she would acknowledge, even to
herself. Shortly after a bandy-legged, active little
Italian, who performed the duty as servant, rang the
bell for dinner. Next morning the two ladies received
the following note : —

3u bie ^njet IDeutfcJe T)amen !

(5m ©err bcr !^eutfd) fpnd)t, macfttc fu^r gem \m\\nn, ob cr
feine jnjci [c^bnc Tia^baxtn ettva^ jum nit^c fun fontc, fon er
baff, bon faben fci nur gu bcfelcn unb er njitl fu^r glUd^Kc^ fein

i^re be[e(en ,^it nacfifomtnen.

mt 9?e«pect,

@. ^uebto.

To THE Two German Ladies : —

A gentleman who speaks the German tongue, is

very anxious to know if he in any way can be of use

to his two fair neighbors, if so, they only have to

command, and he will be very happy to obey.

Respectfully,

S. Pueblo.

" He ust be a nice man, a very nice man," exclaimed
Aunt Therese, who felt herself highly flattered by the
expression, " his two fair neighbors." " What answer
am I to give ?" asked Miss Agnes, after a moment's
reflection, her Aunt answered : " He is our neighbor ;
then it must be his mansion we see yonder among the

^^. ^^ -^n^mmttMrnti'—' — -^ -

!W»W^^?^^"^""*^"' ' ' '" ■""■ -'

THE UNKNOWN. 69

mountains ; a real old and noble place it looks to be.
I am sure aristocratic blood runs in his veins, further-
more he speaks German, so he might be of great use
to us — protect us, show us round the country, etc.
After all, I think, we do well in accepting his kind
offer, and the best way will be to invite him here to
dine with us." ** As you will," Auntie, replied Agnes ;
then going to an ebony writing desk, she wrote in a
beautiful plain, hand :

" The two ladies will be pleased to see Senor Pueblo
to-morrow afternoon at three,

A VOLKEN.

In despatching this little note she felt as if there
was something wrong, but where the wrong lay she
could not tell, still the feeling grew until it almost be-
came a fear, and she run to call back the messenger —
it was too late, yonder where the road turned the
mountains took him out of sight and hearing. With
a sigh. Miss Agnes returned to the parlor. That
evening Aunt Therese was very talkative, and Agnes
unusually quiet.

70 THE UNKNOWN.

", I

liM

CHAPTER XV.

SENOR pueblo's VISIT.

On the stroke of three the following afternoon a
man on horseback dashed up to the porch, where the
two ladies were sitting. Giving the reins to a servant,
who led the noble looking beast away, he went up
to the ladies, made a deep bow, and said in a some-
what lisping voice : " It is a great happiness for me to
make the acquaintance of the Volken family, which I
so often heard praised on my travels in Germany, and
I thank you for the permission given to yield \yhat
little help I can to two fair strangers in a strange
country." This little s'peech pleased Aunt Therese
greatly. She saw him seated, and then commenced
telling him of her former visits to Italy ; how charm-
ing she found everything here, how much she liked
the people, and so forth. In the meantime Miss
Agnes had studied the visitor reverse to Aunt Therese.
The first impression of him had been very unfavor-
able, and it increased as time went by. Senor Pueblo
was a stout, middle-aged man, with a bloated face,
small black eyes and black beard ; his fat fingers, over-
dressed with costly rings, were constantly and nerv-

THE UNKNOWN. ft

ously twisting his moustache. Altogether he was a
man whom a pure girl, through instinct, would shrink
from. Every now and then he would fix his restless,
lustful, little eyes on her, and then try to draw her
into the conversation, but she evaded this as much as
possible ; shortly after she gave a trifling excuse and
withdrew until dinner was announced. By that time
Aunt Therese and Senior Pueblo had become very in-
timate ; he related some amusing anecdotes from his
travels, flattered the old lady on account of the taste
shown in selecting such a beautiful spot for their stay
during the season, etc., all which she enjoyed greatly.
To her great annoyance Miss Agnes heard that a visit
to a volcano lying near by had been arranged for the
following day, and that Senor Pueblo was to be their
guide and protector. At first she intended to stay at
home, but on thinking of her credulous and simple
minded aunt alone and in this man's power, she re-
solved to go.

Dinner over, the visitor took his departure, after
receiving the ladies' promise to be ready for the ex-
cursion next day at three o'clock. " A very agreeable
iiT'Sn, very agreeable," said Aunt Therese, after the
object 01 her thoughts had disappeared between the
mountains. To her astonishment Agnes quietly said :
*• Excuse me Aunty, I find him anything but agree-

lil i

ill

i!i
III

7«

THE UNKNOWN.

! h

II' I

able, and I wish you had not been so rash in promis-
ing to undertake this excursion to-morrow." " Oh,
Agnes," cried her aunt, " I thought you liked him too.
What is it that you have against him ? He is polite-
ness itself, seems to be very rich, and of good family."
" Still there is something about him, which turns me
against him. For one thing, I do not believe he is
what he pretends to be; in short, I distrust him."
This last Agnes said almost in a whisper — she was
afraid to hurt her Aunt's feelings.

■*' ■""i ;,.'<■" . ,

■f :..';■

* •«• -.4.

k' fW|-Wk.. I

tlrttfH^W

THE UNKNOWN. 73

CHAPTER XVI.

VISITING THE CRATER.

Early next morning Miss Agnes made her toilette
and went out on the porch ; here a glorious sight met
her wandering look, — far away to the east the sun
arose like an all melting ball of gold, throwing its first
warm rays of shining light out over the distant dark
blue ocean, where the waves, drunk with sleep, gently
tumbled over one another, until the last of them,
caressing and laughing, rippled up among the pebbles,
leaving a drapery of white foam on the green and red
seaweed; but further and further the light spread,
until it lay like a warm, soft hand over the smiling
valley below. To the west, dark mountains, covered
with thick, evergreen forest, barred the way for a
further view ; but as Miss Agnes threw a glance in,
among and up over the silent forest trees, two giant
eagles shot out from the thicket, — how noble and proud
they looked as they sailed through the air, borne by
strong, heavy strokes of those large far-stretching
wings, Miss Agnes followed them with her eyes,
until only to two specks were left in the warm and
sparkling air. Amidst all this glory, amidst smil-

Ilii'

74 THE UNKNOWN.

ing, life inspiring nature, Miss Agnes was lonesome; a
feeling of longing came over her, those nearest to her
were no more, and the one she had learned to love
until he became a part of her very soul, had disap-
peared in the moment this love sprung up and became
known to herself. Still she cherished in memory both
the moments of trial and those of bliss, and now she
wished she had wings like the mighty eagle, then she
would riy away, far, far away, until she had found
him for whom her heart yearned in despair and long-
ing. It seems so unfair that man alone shall have the
power to secure his own happiness, that he alone shall
have the power to choose, to win and woo ; how^
many a fair woman's happiness is blighted on that
account ; she loves, but alas ! the chosen one knows
it not, and perhaps canis not ; weary, dreary the time
creeps along, no hope, no future, all is a blank to her.
A man loves a woman, makes it known to her, and, if
his affection is returned, takes her to his heart and
seals the union with a kiss. A man loves a woman,
his affection is not returned, — but if he is a man, he is
determined to win her, even if the whole world is
against it; he battles with difficulties, shows the
woman he loves, that he is worth having ; gains her
respect, her admiration, and, in nine times out of ten,
her love. . , ,; ■ -,,_,■. , ,. ,.,,^^:^,^; ■ „,:,^. :.

i I

THE UNKNOWN. 75

The sting of this helplessness was in her thoughts
as she stood there with heaving bosom and parted lips,
looking at the disappearing birds. " Oh, why did he
not speak ; his eyes betrayed his love ! " thus she
murmured, sighed, and went in to join Aunt Therese.
The afternoon came, and with it Senor Pueblo. A ser-
vant followed with two gentle horses, intended for the
ladies. Half an hour after, the latter appeared in rid-
ing habit — very sweet, very lovely did Miss Agnes
look in the tight-litting dress, and the long flowing
veil. Senor Pueblo hastened toward her to help her
into the saddle, but before his plump, fat hand could
touch her graceful form, she had mounted, and said,
with a bow, " Thank you, sir, my Aunt is more in need
of your aid than T." The baffled Senor turned with a
forced smile bo Aunt Therese, who readily accepted
his assistance. Their way led through the valley and
up over the next range of mountains. The pure, warm
air, and the beautiful surroundings, made Miss Agnes
feel stronger and happier than she did a few hours
earlier. She rode ahead on the broad, smooth road,
Aunt Therese followed with Senor Pueblo, who, anx-
ious to pleavse, kept up a lively conversation, pointing
out everything worth seeing from their elevated posi-
tion, and telling amusing tales, which sometimes had
a grain of truth in them, but most often not.

I III I i

H •

.1'!,

II '1

^ 76 THE UNKNOWN.

Many travellers thronged the road, for the volcano
they now went to see, although neither large nor dan-
gerous, as it never, in man's memory, had been in seri-
ous action, lay in so beautiful a place that it was well
worth visiting. People of all kinds either ascended or
descended on both sides, and to the right and left of
Miss Agnes. Musingly her eyes wandered from one
to another. Here were men and women of many na-
tions, and of all ages. Strangely contrasted the fat,
phlegmatic Englishman, leaning languidly back in his
heavy carriage, with the dark, slender Frenchman on
his spirited Andalusian horse. Alongside of beautiful,
aristocratic young ladies from Germany and Scandin-
avia, accompanied by their beaux, and seated on long-
haired mountain mules, strode the bare-headed, bare-
legged and crafty Italian guide, while the sun shone
on his rags, his uplifted face, and ever swinging
brawny arms.

Half an hour's prolonged ride brought our party to
their destination. All four dismounted, so as to take
a better view of the place. Where they now stood,
the mountains formed a great plateau, no obstacle
hindered the sight, for miles and miles their eyes wan-
dered over vale and hill, over forest and field, until they
at last dwelt on the calm, dark blue ocean to the east,
where small fishing smacks, and graceful sporting

THE UNKNOWN. 77

yachts, floated like so many swans. " What causes
this ?" asked Aunt Therese, at the same time pointing
to a column of smoke, which seemed to come from the
ground and rise until it melted in the tingling air above.
" It is the volcano, and now we will go to where the
smoke comes from," answered the Italian Senor. A
minute after, all three looked down into the dark,
ever-working crater. A voice like distant thunder
came from below, down in the yawning abyss, sulphur
and pitch hissed and boiled on the red brimstone,
while the blue smoke, like serpents, came from every
crack and corner, licking the sides of the crater on
their way upward ; but the phosphorous smell, com-
bined with the hot ground, which threatened to burn
the soles of their boots, did not allow a long stay; still
the dreadful sight had made an impression on all,
never to be forgotten. " If there is such a thing as a
hell, it must be something similar to this," exclaimed
Senor Pueblo, as he helped Aunt Therese on her horse.

They descended quicker than they ascended, soon
the village lay far behind, and they not far from the
cottage, when, all of a sudden Senor Pueblo's horse,
scared by a white dove which flew up from a bush in
front of it, gave a bound, stumbled over a root running
out from a large tree, and fell heavily to the ground,
at the same time throwing its rider several yards over

78 THE UNKNOWN.

it8 head, still neither man nor beast got hurt. After
the scare had pasred, Miss Agnes covered her mouth
with her handkerchief to keep back the desire of
laujjhinn: which ove*'came her, on seein<; how comical
Senor Pueblo looked as he flew through the air, with
ills coat-tails sticking out like two wings ; but more
amusing still, was the pitiful face he put on after pick-
ing himself up off the dusty road, and limping as if all
power had gone from his underlimbs, he reached the
still trembling horse, where he more climbed than
swung himself into the saddle. Whether the subdued
laughter, or the two sparkling eyes peeping out over the
handkerchief betrayed Miss Agnes' feelings, is hard to
tell ; but giving her a look of hate and rage, the Senor
put spurs to his horse and flew in the direction of his
home. The two ladies proceeded alone. Aunt Therese
in great distress, and Miss Agnes in the best of spirits.
Unnoticed by all, Senor Pueblo lost his watch in the
fall, and only the chain hung dangling in the button-
hole of his black satin waistcoat. A few minutes after,
a tall, broad-shouldered man, clad as a wandering ar-
tist came the same way, saw the watch lying in the
dust, picked it up, opened it, and rearl the following
plain engraved words : " Given to my son Edward on
his sixteenth birthday." A deep flush overspread his
handsome features, and throwing a quick look after

hSMSmmBSmSimmiit

MiMiiiiitiii^ '

THE UNKNOWN.

the now fast disappearing riders, he murmured : " Miss
Agnes, so it was you and he. Ah ! why can I not for-
get ! Oh God, help me to tear out the memory, (then
softer), no, let it reiimin, it is all I have." After re-
turning to the village in which the hotel where he and
several tourists stayed, he inquired of the landlord
where the Volken family lived. At first, the worthy
man did not know who he meant; but concluding it
to be the two German ladies up on the mountain, to
whom he daily sent fresh milk and butter, he pointed
to the cottage which could be plainly seen from where
they stood. On a little note, the man who found the
w^atch wrote the following : " Found under the large
tree, on the road between your cottage and the village,"
then giving a boy a goldpiece, he ordered him speedily
to carry the watch and note to the cottage. An hour
after, he stood at the entrance to the hotel, satchel in
hand waiting for the carriage which was to take him
to the nearest seaport.

I I

,1(1^ .-:

■V t

80 THE UNKNOWN.

CHAPTER XVII.

AGNES RECEIVES HER HROTHER'S WATCH.

As soon as the two ladies in the cottage had takeu
tea. Aunt Therese retired to her own room ; the day's
journey and the accident it wound up with had upset
her and completely unstrung her nerves. On the
porch, reading a favorite poem, sat Miss Agnes, when
the sound of quick, light footsteps called her attention
to a ragged little boy, v/hose dark, sparkling eyes
were fixed on her as he approached and commenced a
mysterious twisting and turning, while one of his
bare, brown arms was buried up to the elbow in his
trousers. After a few minutes' diligent search, he
triumphantly brought forth a note and a watch, both
of which he placed in Miss Agnes' lap ; after reading
the note, the watch underwent an examination — it
was pure gold set with diamonds, strangely familiar
it looked. No sooner had she opened it than a scream
escaped her trembling lips. " Who gave you this ? '
she asked the boy. " Un Senor," was the answer.
"And how did he look ?" was the next question. A
beaming smile overspread the boy's upturned face, as
he in his musical language said : " A tall young man

THE UNKNOWN. 8l

with shoulders so hroad, (holdint^ out both his little
arms as wide apart as he could) and eyes like the
Tni<lnight star, but hair as the ocean foam." The
blood rushed to her temples as Miss Agnes listened,
then taking hold of the boy's dirty, but finely shaped
hands, she eagerly asked : " Could you find him ? If
so, run quick and tell him to come to me at once."
" Nil desperandum, Senorita " "(" Never despair, Miss ")
shouted the boy as he more flew than ran back to the
hotel. He reached there just at the moment the man
who sent him was ready to leave Italy for ever. The
message delivered, our little sans cillotte (ragged
urchin) danced off' to show his regiumi donum (royal
gift) the gold piece to his parents.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE UNKNOWN STOOD BEFORE HER.

No words can describe the great agitation which
took possession of Miss Agnes as the boy left her.
Her thoughts went back to the murder of her only
brother. Here in her hand she held his watch, a
birthday gift from their father, now a mute messenger
crying for vengeance. Often and often after the sad
occurrenct3, this bright-spirited girl had wished herself
a man, then she would go in search of the murderer,

82 THE UNKNOWN.

and never cease till he was found and handed over
to justice. All she could <lo had been done, and even
skilled detectives had given up the case as a hopeless
one. Edward ' oik en had been found alone and mur-
dered in the st* <)et. Whore he had been the night
previous no one knew but the gamblers themselves,
and their lips were sealed, as all gamblers when
found out were severely punished. How came
Edward's watch to be in Italy, on the very road too
that she an hour ago had traversed ? Then all at once
a thought struck her. " Merciful God can it be !" she
cried. " Yes," she continued, " under the tree where
Senor Pueblo fell the watch was found ; 1 suspected
that man from the first, and now I am convinced he
had something to do with the murder." (Then with
a shudder,) "Uh, to think that I have been with him
a whole afternoon without knowing this ; what a
base man he must be to come here, a wolf in sheep-
skin, seeking our friendship ; surely there must, be
something under that too, but how am I to act now ?
my head is in a whirl." Miss Agnes felt much dis-
tressed — she had no one to guide her. Aunt Therese,
inferior in mind, could be of no use in a case like this.
But now she remembered him who had picked up the
watch, by the description of the boy, but still more
by the, to women, peculiar instinct, she knew him to

>'MM'iiiiMiMiimnviiiiiir r niiii I

.AUtfl

NiMMI

mmmmffffrm

THE UNKNOWN.

be the " Unknown," and now she could expect him
every moment. Her breath came short and hot, and
her heart beat violently, as she sat there alone in the
parlor, with her face Hushed and buried in her deli-
cate white hands. Unnoticed, the " Unknown " entered
The thick, soft carpet, drowned all noise, and now he
stood before her with folded arms, and the large, dark
eyes fixed on the beautiful loved head. It is hard to
tell what passed in his mind at once more being near
her whom he loved so passionately, and, as he thought,
so hopelessly, for he was one of those strong men who
are able to hide thoughts and feelings, whatever they
may be. Deep, steady and clear, sounded his voice as
he at length said, " You sent for me, Miss Volken."
Both frightened and glad, Miss Agnes sprang to her
feet ; giving both hands to the Unknown, in her pure,
candid way, and with sparkling eyes, she said, " I am
so glad you have come. By the boy's description, I
knew it was you who found my brother's watch."
" Your brother's," (j noted the Unknown. Then re-
treating a step or two, he put his hand to his fore-
head, now surrounded by thick, soft, but snow-white
curls, and said, without thinking of her presence :
" Oh, my God ! what have I not sutterod ? Edward, her
brother! Yes, now I understand it all." In wonder
Miss Agnes listened, then slowly a radiant smile lit up

84 THE UNKNOWN.

her fair face, and the dark blue eyes fairly danced
with glee as she said, " And did you not know all this
time ? Was that why you disappeared so mysteriously,
without even giving me a chance to thank you for
saving my life ?" " Partly, Miss Volkcn ; but let us be
seated, then I will give you the history of my life,
that you ma}^ understand me better." ^

CHAPTER XIX.

AGNES HELD HIM TIGHT AND LOVINGLY.

" My name is Erlow Ponyatowsky. I belong to
one of the oldest families in Poland, where my father
owned a large estate. From my early childhood, the
wrongs and illtreatment inflicted by the Russians, went
through Poland like a cry of pain, my heart bled for
its people, and the resolve to secure their freedom
arose strong within me, and grew as time went by,
carrying me from childhood into manhood. After my
father's death, which, in my twentieth year, left me
sole heir to an immense fortune, I joined the nihil-
ists, whose object was to enlighten the people, upon
whom for ages had rested the slavery of ignorance,
thus laming every attempt of freedom. The next
move would have been to force the Czar, who has an:

'mmmk

rv»i».»n* w »i Hi

mmmm

THE UNKNOWN.

absolute veto, to accept a parliament, where repre-
sentatives of the people could fi<]fht for their rights
and well-being, but here, as always, opinions varied ;
lack of unity caused the members of our society
to separate — now forming two parties. One be-
lieved in working slowly and cautiously, to this I
belonged ; and another, which wanted to act quickly,
thus giving way to momentary impulses, without
caring for the means used, so long as they gained their
point. This last party, headed by a reckless, all-
daring man, thought every attempt for improvement
useless as long as the then Czar, Alexander II.,
reigned, wherefore the order for his speedy removal
was given, the die cast for its execution fell on a young
nobleman. Already for years, this man, who was of
good family, but poor; had been tantalized by the
demon of jealousy, he could not bear to see me get so
far ahead of him, my wealth and position was to him
a source of misery, and now^ the task before him,
when completed, would cause his death. Should he
die, and thus willingly let me live on, prospering and
gaining new laurels and glory ? No ; this should not
be, and the poor wretch w^rote a note, in which he
stated that I had been the leader and planner of the
murder, using him as a tool for its fulfilment. This
paper he gave to a priest, after securing a promise not

86 THE UNKNOWN.

to hand it over to justice before so many months. At
last the stroke fell, the great Czar was swept into
eternity, then all Europe was startled by the shock ;
no monarch felt himself safe after this. Unseen and un-
known the nihilists raged, destruction following them
everywhere, breaking forth some here and some there ;
but close on their track, like so many bloodhounds,
were the detectives, thus leaving them neither rest
nor peace. Being more and more disgusted by the
way in which the nihilists worked, I left them to their
fate, went back to my home, and swore never more to
interfere with men, who, blinded by the cause for
which they fought, forgot themselves so far as to
throw away all humanity and judgment. But not for
long did I remain in my seclusion ; a letter sent by a
near friend in Russia told me to leave Poland instantly,
as the order for my a rest was on the way, he feared
greatly that it would reach the place before his letter.
To all luck this was not the case, as the severe winter
had broken off all communication bv wire and steam.
Taking with me what loose money and jewellery I had,
I prepared to leave the home so long occupied by the
Ponyatowskys. Throwing a last lingering look at the
large, strong houses, the garden, the park, and the
meadow in whose soft, green grass I had played as a
boy, T tore myself away, forcing down the tears and

S!S3SS3iEii]BlitMllM

mMMM

I' i'^9\ ' I r.f Iff »t»»i

THE UNKNOWN.

«7

bitter feelings laboring in my heart. It was just the
evening before Christmas eve that 1 came to the little
railway station where first I saw you (here a deep
crimson stole over the lovely face of Miss Agnes), you
mistook me for another, and as I then thought; your
betrothed. When I left the station, I walked to a
country inn, laying some ten miles away from here. I
saw in the papers that the Russian police accused me
of having had a hand in the murder of the Czar ; my
noble estate had been confiscated, and on my head was
set a reward of several thousand roubles. An attempt
of murdering me then and there was made, and brought
to naught by the landlord's daughter, who told me to
flee for my life : disguised as a miner, I went to the
salt mines of Velizka, what then followed you know.
From there I fled, partly because I feared our adven-
ture would create curiosity among people, who
naturally would ask who I was, and not to fall in
the hands of Russian detectives I came here to Italy,
where I have been ever since. But there was another
reason why I left you so suddenly, and this I must
tell you, for although hope is crushed within me,
yet fain would I relieve my heart of its long
pent up feelings. The touch of your arms as they
stole around my neck that memorable night first we
met, the look from your beautiful eyes, filled me

THE UNKNOWN.

with a rapture never known before ; it created
an ever-growing feeling, a longing to see you again,
to know more of you ; and although I suspected
you loved another, then I thought it to be one of
those matches made when youths as boy and girl, and
merely existing in fancy. I hoped it would die out
as time went by, and flattered myself that I would
stand as good a chance to win you as any one. Then
you visite;! the mines, you witnessed my astonishment
on seeing you ; this, together with the catastrophe, as
the lamp went out, caused me to blame myself for
your disappearance. I followed you, determined to
rescue you or die. That night, tossed to and fro in an
unruly slumber, you again spoke of this Edward, and
that in such a way that I could no longer doubt you
loved him still. What afterwards kept up my spirits
I do not know ; all hope seemed crushed, for I had
learned to love you, — being thrown so close together
one in suffering, one in trial and danger. Yes, I
loved you deeply and earnestly, still my conscience
forbade me giving vent to this feeling ; loyal to the
absent lover, loyal to you T would be, even should my
heart break in the attempt ; as a brother I would act
towards you, and as a brother I left j^ou, but my
heart bled within me. To life and happiness I had#
restored you, for another to win and wed had 1 saved
the fairest and loveliest woman 1 ever knew. The
love I bore you I deemed hopeless, putting miles and
miles betwt^en us. Entering a foreign land and throw-
ing myself into society again, I thought to forget ;

BlUiiwj'""'""""

«»t'Ktnntti

•PBP

THE UNKNOWN.

but alas ' T might as well have tried to escape my own
shadow. Night and day you were in my thoughts.night
and day 1 longed for you, to be nigh you once more
I felt would be bliss, therefore, when the boy gave
nie your message, the temptation became too strong.
I yielded and came, but now something tells me that
you, for whom great men gladly would give their all,
could they thereby call you their own, scorn to listen
to one banished from his native land, one who has
nothing to give, nothing to call his own, not even a
name, still I love you. Yes, Miss Agnes, 1 thought
myself strong, but my love for you is stronger, it will
follow me to my grave, and now I must leave you for
ever. Then giving way to an overmastering feeling,
he took her in his arms and pressed his fevered lips
to her forehead. Almost instantly after he turned to
hasten away, but round his neck Agnes wound her
arms, holding him tight and lovingly, while her face
flushed, and beaming ^vith joy, bent a little down-
wards as if half ashamed of the rash act; "Oh, Erlow,
Erlow, do not leave me, 1 love you, I am so happy," she
whispered. Large, heavy tears rolled down his cheeks
and fell on the lovely head nestling close to him ;
then taking her head gently between both hands, he
held her face up towards him, kissed the rosy lips,
and said v/ith a voice so full of joy and gladness that
it went to her very soul : " God in heaven bless you,
child."

.": -'/

■■ /.,

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

I^IM |2.5

^ 1^ 12.2

2.0

1.8

L25 ||!!!_u_ iiiii.6

■'' *. >\

°;^>^

^^i."

90 " THE UNKNOWN.

CHAPTER XX.

SENOR PUEBLO MADE A PRISONER.

"For hours had the bright evening star sent its stream
of silver light out over the blue firmament Before
the "Unknown" left his Agnes, much, and many things
had been discussed ; but first and foremost the mys-
tery connected with Edward's watch. Not daring to
disport himself to the public in acting for his be-
trothed. Erlow advised her to telegraph for a Berlin
detective ; this she did the next morning, and three
days after, one of those answered in person. With
energy he set to work, made himself a confidant of
Pueblo's servant of whom he not alone heard, that his
master had lost a watch ; but also saw the chain be-
longing to that which had been found. Now fully
convinced of being on the right track, the detective
gained admission to the room, where Senor Pueblo
kept his writing desk, this he opened with a false key
and found papers which showed Senor Pueblo to be
no other than " Herr Von Falken," furthermore, a
photograph of Edward together with a blood-stained
dagger, spoke so plain against the scoundrel, that the
detective felt justified in arresting him on the spot.
Assisted by two Italian policemen, late in the even-
ing he surprised Von Falken in his bedroom. After a
desperate struggle, he was securely handcuffed, and
the next day already on the way to Germany ; but
destiny would not let him see the place of his crime
any more in this life. During a short sf^ay of the

mMMMMM

THE UNKNOWN.

train at a small station in S , he suddenly broke

loose from his keepers, and made a break out of the
car ; but in doing so, his foot slipped. Stunned and
helpless, he fell between the car wheels ; a second after,
the whistle blew for advance, onward the train flew,
leaving a ghastly sight behind. A murderer's soul had
gone to meet its doom, and here his mangled body lay
cut in two, a part on each side of the rail.

CHAPTER XXI.

ON THHIR WAY TO CANADA.

Two months after, a large-sized yacht left the har-
bor of Bordeaux, in France. On the quarter-deck,
leaning out over the railing, two persons, a man and
a woman, stood gazing into the dark blue water,
where flakes of silver spray thrown fron the sides
of the fast-running vessel, slowly disappeared in
the deep, like so many pearls. The snow-white
sails, filled by a fresh-blowing breeze, until every
stitch, every fold, stood stretched and stiflf, the sleek,
shiny masts bending under the press forced upon
them ; the sheets and braces taut as bow-strings ; the
splashes of water now and then thrown on deck
from a rising wave as it gave the vessel a friendly
push, nay, even the lead-colored skies above, now
drFving in reipid succession before them, told. of the
eagerness in gaining ^peed j^ow animating the
very vessel as well as its surrbunding elements — an
eagerness which corresponded #ith the longing for

^^aem

gi THE UNKNOWN.

illUUUIUUyUPjjjyU

rest and peace, that filled the hearts of those two
standing by the railing. A leap had they made
for freedom and happiness, a leap into the uncertain
future, and now to gain this they needed speed, for
the journey was long, the de"«tination Canada. More
beautiful than the great foam-laden ocean, more grand
than the sinking sun, now spreading a purple veil over
the western hemisphere, more healthy than the breeze
which carried them over the dancing waves, were
those two, who now, as man and wife, sailed into life's
journey — one in sorrow, one in joy, and one in love —
it is the Unknown and his Agnes. Leaving all sad
memories behind, under another name, and in a freer
land, they hope to enjoy what happiness life yet has
in store for them. Landesruhe is sold, and the large
amount it brought, enable them to live without care,
as far as money is concerned. As evening came, and
darkness set in, the Unknown bade the captain good
night, and led his wife to their cozy cabin, which had
been furnished with every comfort and luxury money
could buy ; but before retiring, he took her to a win-
dow facing the north, pointed up towards the numer-
ous, sparkling gems on the now clear blue heaven,
and said, ** Agnes, mine, do you see yonder bright,
twinkling star ? In that direction lies Canada, our
future home." .

Canada, fair Canada, with your long, brilliant, win-
ter nights, your fertile soil and sturdy sons ; Canada,
with the dawning of future greatness, receive in kind-
ness the " Unknown and his Agnes."

I II III i_^mwwiii|(ini ,

-5,lfa.iiiu».-l

>:-,M'y-

--A(